Fandom: Princess Tutu, Pairing: Fakir/Ahiru
Title: Guiding Lights - (Short fic)
Author:
serika_san
Pairing: Fakir/Ahiru
Fandom: Princess Tutu
Theme: #1, Starlight
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I don't own Fakir and/or Ahiru, or anything in Princess Tutu.
Title: Cleaning - (drabble + Art)
Author:
serika_san
Pairing: Fakir/Ahiru
Fandom: Princess Tutu
Theme: #5, Strawberry Jam
Rating: PG-13 (to be safe)
Disclaimer: I don't own Fakir and/or Ahiru, or anything in Princess Tutu.
Title: Distraction - (fic)
Author:
serika_san
Pairing: Fakir/Ahiru
Fandom: Princess Tutu
Theme: #12, Impossible; stubborn
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own Fakir and/or Ahiru, or anything in Princess Tutu.
Title: Portrait - (fic)
Author:
serika_san
Pairing: Fakir/Ahiru
Fandom: Princess Tutu
Theme: #15, Photograph
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own Fakir and/or Ahiru, or anything in Princess Tutu.
(Notes for theme #1: Takes place after the anime ends. Ahiru has regained girl form and the two of them are shacked up in Fakir's cottage, outside of Kinkan Town. References made to Acts 6 and 8 in the anime.)
(Theme #1 - Starlight)
Guiding Lights
She had a habit of "disappearing" when his back was turned, even for a moment. It was like she couldn't stand still. (Or perhaps, he mused, merely had the attention span of a four year old.) The duck-like girl was always moving, with only the light of curiosity to guide her wandering feet. It was no wonder she got herself into trouble so often. Whether it were getting lost, unknowingly immersing herself into things she shouldn't have, or pulling one of her clumsy stunts, that girl would manage to do it every single time.
It was one of Ahiru's...special talents.
Therefore, he should have expected that the second he gave his attention to the woodstove and lit the dying embers within, something would grab her attention in that short time span and effectively lead her out of his view.
Instead, when he whirled about to check on her, he found himself mildly surprised that the redhead was missing and the cottage door left slightly ajar. It was a frigid December night, afterall. Was she trying to catch a cold or something?
"Idiot," he mumbled in an agitated fashion, brushing a dark lock of hair from his face as he rose from his kneeling position and headed toward the open entrance.
Right before he pulled the wooden door fully open, her voice rang clear from just beyond his standing point.
"Fakir!" she called, tone loud enough to mirror that she believed him to still be inside the house. "Will you come outside for a minute?"
"What is it?" he questioned casually, the door creaking as he pushed it aside. "It's freezing out here," he noted with a shiver and immediately frowned at her lack of proper apparel for such conditions. "Couldn't you have at least grabbed a coat or something? You're so careless."
She ignored his commentary, pointing upward with undisguised delight. "Look, look!"
He gazed upward, not impressed in the least. "I don't see anything worth getting riled up about," he remarked, turning back around. "You'd better get back inside before you catch something."
His leave was halted, in the form of one pale hand catching his own.
"You didn't even look," she accused with a frown of her own, pulling his taller form closer to hers.
He sighed, unable to resist her, and obediantly turned his emerald eyes skyward again. "They're just stars," he said after a moment.
"We don't get to see them very often, since the sky is usually too clouded," she argued. "And they're not just stars, Fakir."
He raised one eyebrow, green orbs focusing on her. "Oh? What are they supposed to be then?"
Ahiru lifted her head higher, and for a moment, he was stunned by how pretty she looked when the moonlight kissed her skin.
"I think they're special lights," she mused with a smile. "They're like the gems Edel-san used to carry." She raised her free hand and pointed toward a very bright star in far north. "You see that one? That's Hope." Her finger trailed over the sky, picking each out one by one. "Over there is Courage, the red and white stars right next to each other. And Dream is the soft blue-ish one over here..."
He felt himself smile a little as she named them, one by one.
"You can't see them all the time," she continued, eyes reflecting the sparkling constellations, "but I know they'll always be up there somewhere. And I feel a little happier knowing that."
She fell silent then, and he tugged lightly on the hand still grasping his own. "Alright, Ahiru. That's enough stargazing for one night. You should get indoors and warm up by the fire."
"Okay, okay," she agreed finally, allowing him to usher her small figure beyond the threshold and into the waiting warmth.
Fakir cast "Hope" a final glance before closing the door soundly behind them.
Maybe they weren't just stars, afterall.
------------------------------------------
(Notes for Theme #5: Originally started as a simple sketch, but I actually put some time into coloring it. Still a bit messy, but gets the point across, I think. :P)
(Theme #5 - Strawberry Jam)
Cleaning
The gentle brush of her fingertips kissed the skin right below his neck as she leaned toward his face and carefully darted her small pink tongue out, proceeding to lick the area of red fruit from just below his cheekbone.
Her close proximity and bold, unexpected gesture made rapid heat rise like wildfire across his face as he stammered, "W-What the hell are you doing, Ahiru?"
"Cleaning," she said simply, further removing the remaining red stains in the same manner. "Didn't you notice you had strawberry goo stuck to the side of your face?"
"That's your fault!" he retorted immediately, still heavily flushed as she continued. "Y-You were trying to force food on me while I was busy writing!"
"Then I'm fixing my mistake," she amended with an innocent smile, giving one final lick right dangerously close to his parted lips before she pulled away.
Sometimes Fakir wondered just how innocent she really was.
-------------------------------------
(Notes for Theme #12: This one is set well after the anime, by a few years. Again, Ahiru has her human form back and has been staying with Fakir. I tried to keep Fakir especially in character, while giving him and older feel at the same time. And this is rated PG-13 for a good reason. Pretty lengthy piece, as well. I'll leave it at that.)
(Theme #12 - Impossible; stubborn)
Distraction
SNAP
The tip of the quill came clean off, broken from the pressure exerted upon it by a less-than-pleased dark-haired writer.
"Dammit," Fakir growled, whirling around in his chair to send an irritated glare to the one responsible for his now-busted quill. Ahiru was sitting innocently on the floor about ten paces behind him, legs spread and arms bent over her left leg. "Go make noise somewhere else!"
She frowned back, a small pout on her lips. "You have to be the only person alive who could find the sound of stretching so disturbing."
"Why are you even in here? Can't you see I'm trying to write?"
Her reddish-colored braid fell to one side as she tilted her head to smile in his direction. "I thought I would keep you company while I warmed up."
"I don't want company," he grumbled, fidgeting with another quill tip to replace his "accident". "You're ruining my concentration."
"What are you writing?"
"A story."
"About what?"
"Stop asking questions."
She challenged his glare, sticking her tongue out in retaliaton, like a child might.
Fakir blinked. He sometimes mused she still was like a child in many ways. Ahiru was as petite as a young woman could get, still had those large and ever-curious sky blue eyes, still held mannerisms such as turning from a sobbing mess to being bright and energetic again at the drop of a hat, and vice versa. Even now, she was mimicking his expression in a very exaggerated way.
The ex-knight sighed. "You're not going to leave, are you?"
She immediately detected victory by the sound of that defeated breath and smiled. "You won't even know I'm here."
He gave her a very skeptical look and turned his attention back to the abandoned writing.
Ahiru paused before continuing her body warm-ups, her gaze finding the young man's back. The tail of his forest green hair was resting against his white shirt, the latter of which was a little wrinkled due to being scrunched against the back of the wooden chair. She felt her cheeks heat a little.
Somehow he looked remarkably attractive, even from what little she could actually see of him from her viewpoint below.
Realizing she was staring, the duck-girl muffled a "quack" behind her hand and immediately averted her gaze to the floor, hastily continuing her forgotten exercises. She kept in mind to go through the formations as quietly as possible, so as not to disturb the easily-annoyed Fakir.
And he still hadn't written a single word, even though the new tip was resting securely on the quill, which was leaning against the paper's surface. However, the off-white paper was already stained in two different places, puddles of half-dried black ink blotching out the tan color.
Fakir dipped the writing utensil into the ink well for a third time, poising it over another clean area. The hand readied to write and then stilled in midair, just centimeters above the parchment surface.
He could hear her quickened breathing pattern from behind him, clear enough that it was as though she were close enough to be breathing right into his ear. And the image of her performing such an action came unbidden to his mind, teasing him before he could prevent it.
Ink fell from the quill, soundless drops landing and slowly spreading their dark color into the grains.
Another soft noise. An unidentifiable sound, like a cross between a whine and moan. Not at all uncommon during stretching and taxing your muscles.The ex-knight could imagine how she looked just then, arms bent in a long arc, expression taught with determination and focus, strands of red hair falling loose from their bond and clinging to her ivory neck. He swallowed.
Drip, drip, drip.
Fakir dropped the quill down to the desk and rolled up his sleeves, suddenly finding it a lot warmer than it had been a few minutes beforehand.
She froze, startled by the abrupt and sharp movement, but when he made no move to reprimand her, Ahiru diligently continued her stretching. Her blue eyes glanced up at him every few moments, perhaps unconciously. She thought he seemed a little over-stressed for just some simple writing.
Further unbuttoning the top two clasps on his shirt in attempt to cool himself down, Fakir reached for the fallen feather-quill and repositioned it to the waiting blank area on the paper.
He paused, and his ears caught wind of a particularly sharp intake of breath from Ahiru. As if triggered by the soft sound, the quilltip hit the paper and streaked one large, jagged black line across the page.
"Damn it!"
The yell, accompanied by the crash of Fakir's chair as it clattered to the floorboards, abruptly startled the unsuspecting Ahiru out of her practices, causing her to fall backward in surprise. She caught herself with her arms against the wood behind her just before she could hit the floor and sent a baffled stare to Fakir's back.
As far as she could tell, she'd been quiet as a mouse. What had set him off?
Fakir was still facing away from her, gripping the edges of his desk with both hands. "Are you incapable of being silent?"
His words were calm and barely spoken above a whisper, but she felt an underlying lack of patience in them and swallowed.
"You're impossible," he continued, fingers curling and gripping the wooden desk's unsanded edge. "I can't get a moment's peace when you're in the same room."
"I was making as little noise as possible," she offered meekly.
The redhead nearly jumped when he turned sharply to face her, as though provoked to action by her words. And for a moment, he just stared at her in silence. Then his brows knit together, expression growing dark and becoming further shadowed by his long bangs as he took a step toward her leotard-clad figure.
"Do you have any idea just how distracting you are?"
The speech was soft and even, but she somehow felt like he had just issued a threat instead of a question.
"Fakir, don't get angy," she blinked her broad azure eyes up at him in growing remorse. "I didn't really think you were serious about my presence messing up your writing."
He didn't reply, but instead took another couple of paces closer, dark green eyes still focused upon her face. She rose to her feet. "I thought you were just being your usual grumpy and irritable self. You know, like when you call me an idiot daily, and..."
The ex-knight's approach hadn't ceased during her talk and Ahiru was forced to start backing up to keep the distance. "-And when you insult my cooking and lack of grace, you, you know you're...you..." she trailed off, getting lost in his intense emerald gaze.
Her retreat was cut short when her back hit the wall and she bit the edge of her lip nervously, feeling as though she were being sucked into the depths of his dark eyes. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Fakir raised a hand to her face and tilted her small chin up to meet his gaze more directly. "It's your fault for distracting me," he replied huskily.
And without warning, his free hand slipped around Ahiru's waist and hoisted her lithe form into the air, cradling her body up against him as his mouth claimed hers, swallowing her gasp of surprise before it could even leave her lips. His kiss was strong and wet, leaving her no room to catch her breath or retaliate against his demand. She felt herself give in, drowning in his touch and responding slowly with inexperience.
It was rare for him to show such an emotion or behave in this manner. Already they'd been living together in his small lakeside cabin for a couple years. He was usually quiet and withdrawn, faithfully writing the Kinkan villagefolk's stories as he said he'd do. He had written a story for her too, of course. She hadn't forgotten that.
But the way he was kissing her now, the hand held tight against her waist, and the other pressed against her cheek, seemed to speak of some hidden desire or longing he'd been holding back. There was unspoken desperation in his touch.
When had he felt something like this for her? Ahiru was puzzled. Even now as her own hands rose, one wrapping around his neck, the other brushing gentle fingertips against the fabric covering his chest, she could not recall any indications of him feeling more than friendship toward her.
Any interactions between them had either consisted of petty fights and bantering, or the calming silence of just enjoying one another's presence by a crackling fire on a cold night. Even when she had insisted on talking with him, or giving his shoulders a good rub after a particularly long period of writing, he never responded in any way beyond the "Fakir" way. Nothing like...
Nothing like this.
This was sheer insanity.
All she'd been doing beforehand were some simple warm-ups before she practiced ballet. Making as little noise as she could. Not even touching him.
True, she'd been adamant on not leaving the room when he'd asked, but this method of retaliation didn't fit the Fakir she knew.
The train of her rapid thoughts was shattered when he suddenly parted his lips to release hers. Ahiru's voice longed to speak the questions of her mind, but the loss of contact lasted for no more than a second, just enough time to take a much-needed breath, before he dove in again, searching, tasting, and burning the very surface of her swollen lips. His significantly taller figure had also managed to effectively imprison her between himself the barrier behind her.
Ahiru couldn't see it before, but she could feel it now, to the very tips of her airborne toes. Fakir felt strongly for her. What his words would never say was being spoken by his body instead.
How could she have been so blind?
The quiet, intense stares, the abrupt and often rude retractions from her laying her hands on him in any manner...
It made sense now. He was refusing to acknowledge, even to himself, that he felt anything for her. He had pushed her away and become a slave to his writing to avoid having to face it.
The invisible hand clamping over her heart loosened its grip. He'd really been shrugging off her affections and kind words due to his own stubborness, and not because he disliked her.
It filled Ahiru with a joy she couldn't express in words. Not that words mattered anymore. Smiling against his lips, she pushed back to meet him, the hand behind his head curling up into his dark locks of hair.
Her actions would speak for her as well, she decided. She wasn't afraid anymore.
Fakir pulled away from her returned pressure, breaking the contact. Not realizing she'd closed her eyes, the blue orbs reopened. His cheeks were flushed from exertion as he stared down upon her, a mixture of conflicting emotions whirling in the depths of his eyes.
She blinked back at him, innocently bewildered.
Fakir's expression immediately twisted to one of severe annoyance, but his grip upon her did not slacken. On the contrary, his fingers found a more secure hold around her tiny waist.
"Well, are you going to leave me to my business now or do you want further persuasion?"
Her pale skin regained its red hue from the implications of the question, mixed with the breathy masculinity of his tone. Now that the time came for words, she found herself flustered. "E-Eh? Well, I... If you want," she stammered awkwardly, wriggling her feet in midair. "Just let me down and I'll go ahead and-"
"On second thought, I think you deserve a little more punishment," he interrupted fluidly.
The redhead could only squeak in surprise as he swiftly carried her small form to the bedside and deposited her on top, crawling over her and quirking one eyebrow in a suggestive manner. The ghost of a smile rested on his lips as he bent down to her face again, long darkgreen strands of hair tickling her skin. "Now be a good girl and accept your punishment, Ahiru."
And she did, relishing in the returned feeling of his warm mouth enveloping hers completely.
If Fakir's idea of punishment had changed from locking people in storage rooms to this, then perhaps she would make it a habit to annoy him more often.
-------------------------------------
(Notes for Theme #15: I took into account that in the timeframe and era Princess Tutu seems to be set in, there was no such thing as cameras. So that proposed an interesting idea into how to handle this theme...and I went with it.)
(Theme #15 - Photograph)
Portrait
He was certainly used to her asking strange things of him, ranging from performing a pas de duex through the kitchen one night while she was cooking, to reading poetry for her when she had trouble sleeping.
But this...
"Come on, Fakir!" she tugged his arm and the delight shining through her blue eyes was impossible to miss. "We don't want to be late for our portrait!"
...was bizzare.
They stood outside a quaint and rather weathered-down building. There were frames hanging in the front windows, each containing a very detailed sketch portrait of various families, couples, and single people.
He glanced distastefully at his own attire. Puffed out sleeves of blue and black, accented with gold lining that formed intricate patterns down the sleeves and front of the long coat, ruffled white neck piece trailing out from under the jacket's collar, and matching dark pants with cuffs of gold hanging over the simple black shoes.
...Why had he agreed to this?
Once glance upon her was all it took to remember. She was dressed in soft blues, creams, and white that accented the salmon-pink hue of her long hair (which was flowing freely without the binds of a braid for once), looking every bit like a princess from fairytales, complete with the tiny silver hairpiece on the crown of her head. And the radiant smile she graced him with spoke volumes of her appreciation.
Fakir knew that deep down, he could not say "no" to that face.
Thus, here they were.
And just as the ex-knight reached for the handle, the wooden door opened from within, revealing a middle-aged man who was grinning broadly, looking from boy to girl and back again. "Mr. Fakir and Miss Ahiru, I presume?"
Fakir gave a curt nod in the affirmative, Ahiru siddling up next to him to get a better look at the man.
"My name is Pagin," he introduced with a short bow, and ushered them inside. "Please follow me to my little studio and we can get started."
The inside of the shop had the same "old" feeling to it that the outer appearance did. The walls were worn, the floor was dusty, and aside from portraits hanging almost everywhere, there were also a few antiques strategically placed about.
However, once entering the artist's studio, there was quite a bit of improvement, appearance-wise. Various chairs and seats were placed throughout the room, each with curtains of various colors and textures hanging in the background. And the room was very clean, unlike the rest of the shop.
"Now then," the elderly man started, taking a seat before his canvas. "What kind of portrait did you have in mind?"
Fakir raised an inquiring eyebrow toward Ahiru, who looked up at him sheepishly and shrugged. He frowned. "You didn't even give this any thought?"
"I did," she amended quickly. "But I thought it would be better to discuss it with you."
He rolled his dark eyes. "Fine time you chose to discuss this."
Pagin cleared his throat. "You don't have to mind me, you know. I draw couples a lot. Just do whatever you feel comfortable with and pretend I'm not even here."
Fakir and Ahiru's faces flushed in unison. "I-It's not like that," the ex-knight cleared hastily. "We're just friends."
Unseen to the dark-haired writer, Ahiru's expression dulled slightly, but she said nothing.
The elderly artist raised an eyebrow at the pair, running a hand through his graying hair. "Really now? Usually my eyes are never wrong in that sense, but if you're sure..." He trailed off, then sighed. "Well, have you decided on your positions yet?"
"Um, do you have an suggestions?" the petite blue-eyed girl asked Pagin timidly.
He placed a hand beneath his chin in thought, studying the two. "Well, you have a pretty significant height difference between you," he deduced. "And I've heard you two are from the Kinkan Ballet Academy." Ahiru nodded and he continued, "I could take a stab and guess you've done a pas de deux or two. Perhaps you could find a pose in something like that?"
The redhead girl poked her fingers together nervously, casting a glance to her stoic companion, who was expressionless. "Well, what do you think of that, Fakir?"
"I don't care," he said simply. "Let's just get this over with."
"You're such a grouch," she muttered.
Emerald eyes narrowed. "What?"
"Nothing," she forced a smile quickly. "So what should we do?"
He ran a hand through his dark-green bangs, expression growing more irritated. "You can't decide anything, can you?"
Ahiru's eyebrows drew together. "I can too!" she challenged. "I just thought it would be-"
"Forget it," he cut her off, taking her by surprise when he pulled her in front of him, and laid his hands down on her shoulders. "Will this do?"
Cheeks tinted pink from the feeling of his warm hands on her shoulders, she raised one of her own hands to cover his, turning toward him slightly in the process and leaning back against his chest to look up at him.
"Oh, that's a very nice pose!" Pagin praised from his viewpoint. "If you can just hold that for a few minutes..."
The middle-aged portrait-sketcher started drawing immediately, the scritch-scractch of his utensils echoing through the small enclosure.
Ahiru found herself unable to tear her gaze from Fakir's dark orbs, which seemed to be alight with a more gentle luster than usual, despite his lack of facial expression. She felt a tingling sensation upon her shoulders as his fingertips moved ever-so-slightly to brush across the open skin beneath. Her cheeks grew warm, eyelids just barely falling over the top of her azure pools.
"Excuse me," There was a light cough from the other side of the room, but neither had taken notice of it, completely lost in their own world.
Pagin cleared his throat loudly. "Pardon my interruption, but the portrait is finished."
Fakir's hands dropped like they were filled with lead, freeing Ahiru's shoulders, and found their way across his chest as he averted his gaze.
Further flushed from embarrassment, the redhead gave an apoligetic smile to the elderly artist. "Sorry about that," she said awkwardly.
Pagin smiled warmly, his knowing gaze travelling between the two of them. "No harm done, so think nothing of it," he assured. "But I must say, you both complement each other so very well. I enjoyed drawing the two of you together."
Ahiru chuckled, tucking one arm behind her head. "Well, I don't know about that, but thanks for taking the time to do a portrait."
The middle-aged artist rose from his seat and took the picture off the canvas, making his way toward the exit. "I'll just frame this for you and you can be on your way."
The freckled redhead nodded and then quickly turned toward the window, finding it hard to face Fakir at the moment. However, the silence weighing in the air between them was getting too heavy for her to stand. "So...that wasn't so bad, huh?" she ventured, rubbing the toe of her shoe on the floor.
"It was hell," he clarified, causing her to whirl around in shock. "Having to look at your face for ten minutes straight. I thought my eyes were going to burn out of their sockets."
She growled, itching to walk over and stomp on his foot. "How can you say such nasty thi-"
"And here you go," Pagin interreupted, striding back into the room. He held the portrait out toward her, and Ahiru, anger forgotten, eagerly came forward to take it.
That is, until Fakir blocked her path and accepted it instead. "Better let me handle this," he said, taking the large framed picture into his hands. "That walking disaster will probably drop it," he added, casting a glance toward Ahiru. She glared back, feeling the re-ignited urge to do him bodily harm.
"Thanks for stopping by and accepting my services," Pagin bowed. "I would be delighted to do another for the two of you in the future."
Fakir gave one short nod in thanks and headed straight for the door, feet moving very quickly toward the exit. Ahiru paused to give the elderly sketch artist another bow of thanks before sprinting to catch up to her irritable companion.
And to her displeasure, throughout the entire promenade back, Fakir was refusing to let her even look at the picture.
"You can see it when we get back," he stated in a no-nonsense manner. "And not before then."
She puffed her cheeks out and stalked after him, making various mocking faces at his back the whole way.
Once they'd finally returned, she immediately bounced up to his side, fingers groping for the picture frame. "Let me seeee," she whined.
"Fine," he agreed, laying the frame gingerly into her waiting hands. "Just don't break it."
Too excited to see the picture, she spared him a retort and brought the frame into her vision. Blue eyes went wide with amazement as they travelled across the glass-covered canvas. "Whoa," she near-whispered. "The likeness is incredible. And you're actually smiling!"
The statement caught Fakir offguard. "Smiling? What?" He came to her side, glancing down at the picture from over her shoulder. His eyebrows drew together in confusion. "There's no smile. You're seeing things."
"Your eyes are smiling," she challenged, gazing at the picture fondly.
"Hmph. That's the artist's doing, not mine," he stated simply, lowering into one of the wooden chairs.
She ignored his retort and propped the picture frame up on the end table. Coming up behind him, she placed one small hand to rest on his shoulder. He turned around in surprise from the unexpected gesture and she quickly leaned in to brush her lips across his cheekbone lightly. Pulling back, she smiled with a glow as soft as a candle's luminesence. "Thank you, Fakir."
He crossed his arms and shifted away from her. "Don't thank me for pointless things."
She caught the telltale redness to his face that betrayed his words and grinned, crossing the room to pick up the drawing once more.
"You are smiling," she repeated quietly to herself, passing a finger over the glass on his sketched face. "I can't see it, but I know I felt it."
---------------------------------
Author:
serika_san
Pairing: Fakir/Ahiru
Fandom: Princess Tutu
Theme: #1, Starlight
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I don't own Fakir and/or Ahiru, or anything in Princess Tutu.
Title: Cleaning - (drabble + Art)
Author:
serika_san
Pairing: Fakir/Ahiru
Fandom: Princess Tutu
Theme: #5, Strawberry Jam
Rating: PG-13 (to be safe)
Disclaimer: I don't own Fakir and/or Ahiru, or anything in Princess Tutu.
Title: Distraction - (fic)
Author:
serika_san
Pairing: Fakir/Ahiru
Fandom: Princess Tutu
Theme: #12, Impossible; stubborn
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own Fakir and/or Ahiru, or anything in Princess Tutu.
Title: Portrait - (fic)
Author:
serika_san
Pairing: Fakir/Ahiru
Fandom: Princess Tutu
Theme: #15, Photograph
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own Fakir and/or Ahiru, or anything in Princess Tutu.
(Notes for theme #1: Takes place after the anime ends. Ahiru has regained girl form and the two of them are shacked up in Fakir's cottage, outside of Kinkan Town. References made to Acts 6 and 8 in the anime.)
(Theme #1 - Starlight)
Guiding Lights
She had a habit of "disappearing" when his back was turned, even for a moment. It was like she couldn't stand still. (Or perhaps, he mused, merely had the attention span of a four year old.) The duck-like girl was always moving, with only the light of curiosity to guide her wandering feet. It was no wonder she got herself into trouble so often. Whether it were getting lost, unknowingly immersing herself into things she shouldn't have, or pulling one of her clumsy stunts, that girl would manage to do it every single time.
It was one of Ahiru's...special talents.
Therefore, he should have expected that the second he gave his attention to the woodstove and lit the dying embers within, something would grab her attention in that short time span and effectively lead her out of his view.
Instead, when he whirled about to check on her, he found himself mildly surprised that the redhead was missing and the cottage door left slightly ajar. It was a frigid December night, afterall. Was she trying to catch a cold or something?
"Idiot," he mumbled in an agitated fashion, brushing a dark lock of hair from his face as he rose from his kneeling position and headed toward the open entrance.
Right before he pulled the wooden door fully open, her voice rang clear from just beyond his standing point.
"Fakir!" she called, tone loud enough to mirror that she believed him to still be inside the house. "Will you come outside for a minute?"
"What is it?" he questioned casually, the door creaking as he pushed it aside. "It's freezing out here," he noted with a shiver and immediately frowned at her lack of proper apparel for such conditions. "Couldn't you have at least grabbed a coat or something? You're so careless."
She ignored his commentary, pointing upward with undisguised delight. "Look, look!"
He gazed upward, not impressed in the least. "I don't see anything worth getting riled up about," he remarked, turning back around. "You'd better get back inside before you catch something."
His leave was halted, in the form of one pale hand catching his own.
"You didn't even look," she accused with a frown of her own, pulling his taller form closer to hers.
He sighed, unable to resist her, and obediantly turned his emerald eyes skyward again. "They're just stars," he said after a moment.
"We don't get to see them very often, since the sky is usually too clouded," she argued. "And they're not just stars, Fakir."
He raised one eyebrow, green orbs focusing on her. "Oh? What are they supposed to be then?"
Ahiru lifted her head higher, and for a moment, he was stunned by how pretty she looked when the moonlight kissed her skin.
"I think they're special lights," she mused with a smile. "They're like the gems Edel-san used to carry." She raised her free hand and pointed toward a very bright star in far north. "You see that one? That's Hope." Her finger trailed over the sky, picking each out one by one. "Over there is Courage, the red and white stars right next to each other. And Dream is the soft blue-ish one over here..."
He felt himself smile a little as she named them, one by one.
"You can't see them all the time," she continued, eyes reflecting the sparkling constellations, "but I know they'll always be up there somewhere. And I feel a little happier knowing that."
She fell silent then, and he tugged lightly on the hand still grasping his own. "Alright, Ahiru. That's enough stargazing for one night. You should get indoors and warm up by the fire."
"Okay, okay," she agreed finally, allowing him to usher her small figure beyond the threshold and into the waiting warmth.
Fakir cast "Hope" a final glance before closing the door soundly behind them.
Maybe they weren't just stars, afterall.
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(Notes for Theme #5: Originally started as a simple sketch, but I actually put some time into coloring it. Still a bit messy, but gets the point across, I think. :P)
(Theme #5 - Strawberry Jam)
Cleaning
The gentle brush of her fingertips kissed the skin right below his neck as she leaned toward his face and carefully darted her small pink tongue out, proceeding to lick the area of red fruit from just below his cheekbone.
Her close proximity and bold, unexpected gesture made rapid heat rise like wildfire across his face as he stammered, "W-What the hell are you doing, Ahiru?"
"Cleaning," she said simply, further removing the remaining red stains in the same manner. "Didn't you notice you had strawberry goo stuck to the side of your face?"
"That's your fault!" he retorted immediately, still heavily flushed as she continued. "Y-You were trying to force food on me while I was busy writing!"
"Then I'm fixing my mistake," she amended with an innocent smile, giving one final lick right dangerously close to his parted lips before she pulled away.
Sometimes Fakir wondered just how innocent she really was.
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(Notes for Theme #12: This one is set well after the anime, by a few years. Again, Ahiru has her human form back and has been staying with Fakir. I tried to keep Fakir especially in character, while giving him and older feel at the same time. And this is rated PG-13 for a good reason. Pretty lengthy piece, as well. I'll leave it at that.)
(Theme #12 - Impossible; stubborn)
Distraction
SNAP
The tip of the quill came clean off, broken from the pressure exerted upon it by a less-than-pleased dark-haired writer.
"Dammit," Fakir growled, whirling around in his chair to send an irritated glare to the one responsible for his now-busted quill. Ahiru was sitting innocently on the floor about ten paces behind him, legs spread and arms bent over her left leg. "Go make noise somewhere else!"
She frowned back, a small pout on her lips. "You have to be the only person alive who could find the sound of stretching so disturbing."
"Why are you even in here? Can't you see I'm trying to write?"
Her reddish-colored braid fell to one side as she tilted her head to smile in his direction. "I thought I would keep you company while I warmed up."
"I don't want company," he grumbled, fidgeting with another quill tip to replace his "accident". "You're ruining my concentration."
"What are you writing?"
"A story."
"About what?"
"Stop asking questions."
She challenged his glare, sticking her tongue out in retaliaton, like a child might.
Fakir blinked. He sometimes mused she still was like a child in many ways. Ahiru was as petite as a young woman could get, still had those large and ever-curious sky blue eyes, still held mannerisms such as turning from a sobbing mess to being bright and energetic again at the drop of a hat, and vice versa. Even now, she was mimicking his expression in a very exaggerated way.
The ex-knight sighed. "You're not going to leave, are you?"
She immediately detected victory by the sound of that defeated breath and smiled. "You won't even know I'm here."
He gave her a very skeptical look and turned his attention back to the abandoned writing.
Ahiru paused before continuing her body warm-ups, her gaze finding the young man's back. The tail of his forest green hair was resting against his white shirt, the latter of which was a little wrinkled due to being scrunched against the back of the wooden chair. She felt her cheeks heat a little.
Somehow he looked remarkably attractive, even from what little she could actually see of him from her viewpoint below.
Realizing she was staring, the duck-girl muffled a "quack" behind her hand and immediately averted her gaze to the floor, hastily continuing her forgotten exercises. She kept in mind to go through the formations as quietly as possible, so as not to disturb the easily-annoyed Fakir.
And he still hadn't written a single word, even though the new tip was resting securely on the quill, which was leaning against the paper's surface. However, the off-white paper was already stained in two different places, puddles of half-dried black ink blotching out the tan color.
Fakir dipped the writing utensil into the ink well for a third time, poising it over another clean area. The hand readied to write and then stilled in midair, just centimeters above the parchment surface.
He could hear her quickened breathing pattern from behind him, clear enough that it was as though she were close enough to be breathing right into his ear. And the image of her performing such an action came unbidden to his mind, teasing him before he could prevent it.
Ink fell from the quill, soundless drops landing and slowly spreading their dark color into the grains.
Another soft noise. An unidentifiable sound, like a cross between a whine and moan. Not at all uncommon during stretching and taxing your muscles.The ex-knight could imagine how she looked just then, arms bent in a long arc, expression taught with determination and focus, strands of red hair falling loose from their bond and clinging to her ivory neck. He swallowed.
Drip, drip, drip.
Fakir dropped the quill down to the desk and rolled up his sleeves, suddenly finding it a lot warmer than it had been a few minutes beforehand.
She froze, startled by the abrupt and sharp movement, but when he made no move to reprimand her, Ahiru diligently continued her stretching. Her blue eyes glanced up at him every few moments, perhaps unconciously. She thought he seemed a little over-stressed for just some simple writing.
Further unbuttoning the top two clasps on his shirt in attempt to cool himself down, Fakir reached for the fallen feather-quill and repositioned it to the waiting blank area on the paper.
He paused, and his ears caught wind of a particularly sharp intake of breath from Ahiru. As if triggered by the soft sound, the quilltip hit the paper and streaked one large, jagged black line across the page.
"Damn it!"
The yell, accompanied by the crash of Fakir's chair as it clattered to the floorboards, abruptly startled the unsuspecting Ahiru out of her practices, causing her to fall backward in surprise. She caught herself with her arms against the wood behind her just before she could hit the floor and sent a baffled stare to Fakir's back.
As far as she could tell, she'd been quiet as a mouse. What had set him off?
Fakir was still facing away from her, gripping the edges of his desk with both hands. "Are you incapable of being silent?"
His words were calm and barely spoken above a whisper, but she felt an underlying lack of patience in them and swallowed.
"You're impossible," he continued, fingers curling and gripping the wooden desk's unsanded edge. "I can't get a moment's peace when you're in the same room."
"I was making as little noise as possible," she offered meekly.
The redhead nearly jumped when he turned sharply to face her, as though provoked to action by her words. And for a moment, he just stared at her in silence. Then his brows knit together, expression growing dark and becoming further shadowed by his long bangs as he took a step toward her leotard-clad figure.
"Do you have any idea just how distracting you are?"
The speech was soft and even, but she somehow felt like he had just issued a threat instead of a question.
"Fakir, don't get angy," she blinked her broad azure eyes up at him in growing remorse. "I didn't really think you were serious about my presence messing up your writing."
He didn't reply, but instead took another couple of paces closer, dark green eyes still focused upon her face. She rose to her feet. "I thought you were just being your usual grumpy and irritable self. You know, like when you call me an idiot daily, and..."
The ex-knight's approach hadn't ceased during her talk and Ahiru was forced to start backing up to keep the distance. "-And when you insult my cooking and lack of grace, you, you know you're...you..." she trailed off, getting lost in his intense emerald gaze.
Her retreat was cut short when her back hit the wall and she bit the edge of her lip nervously, feeling as though she were being sucked into the depths of his dark eyes. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Fakir raised a hand to her face and tilted her small chin up to meet his gaze more directly. "It's your fault for distracting me," he replied huskily.
And without warning, his free hand slipped around Ahiru's waist and hoisted her lithe form into the air, cradling her body up against him as his mouth claimed hers, swallowing her gasp of surprise before it could even leave her lips. His kiss was strong and wet, leaving her no room to catch her breath or retaliate against his demand. She felt herself give in, drowning in his touch and responding slowly with inexperience.
It was rare for him to show such an emotion or behave in this manner. Already they'd been living together in his small lakeside cabin for a couple years. He was usually quiet and withdrawn, faithfully writing the Kinkan villagefolk's stories as he said he'd do. He had written a story for her too, of course. She hadn't forgotten that.
But the way he was kissing her now, the hand held tight against her waist, and the other pressed against her cheek, seemed to speak of some hidden desire or longing he'd been holding back. There was unspoken desperation in his touch.
When had he felt something like this for her? Ahiru was puzzled. Even now as her own hands rose, one wrapping around his neck, the other brushing gentle fingertips against the fabric covering his chest, she could not recall any indications of him feeling more than friendship toward her.
Any interactions between them had either consisted of petty fights and bantering, or the calming silence of just enjoying one another's presence by a crackling fire on a cold night. Even when she had insisted on talking with him, or giving his shoulders a good rub after a particularly long period of writing, he never responded in any way beyond the "Fakir" way. Nothing like...
Nothing like this.
This was sheer insanity.
All she'd been doing beforehand were some simple warm-ups before she practiced ballet. Making as little noise as she could. Not even touching him.
True, she'd been adamant on not leaving the room when he'd asked, but this method of retaliation didn't fit the Fakir she knew.
The train of her rapid thoughts was shattered when he suddenly parted his lips to release hers. Ahiru's voice longed to speak the questions of her mind, but the loss of contact lasted for no more than a second, just enough time to take a much-needed breath, before he dove in again, searching, tasting, and burning the very surface of her swollen lips. His significantly taller figure had also managed to effectively imprison her between himself the barrier behind her.
Ahiru couldn't see it before, but she could feel it now, to the very tips of her airborne toes. Fakir felt strongly for her. What his words would never say was being spoken by his body instead.
How could she have been so blind?
The quiet, intense stares, the abrupt and often rude retractions from her laying her hands on him in any manner...
It made sense now. He was refusing to acknowledge, even to himself, that he felt anything for her. He had pushed her away and become a slave to his writing to avoid having to face it.
The invisible hand clamping over her heart loosened its grip. He'd really been shrugging off her affections and kind words due to his own stubborness, and not because he disliked her.
It filled Ahiru with a joy she couldn't express in words. Not that words mattered anymore. Smiling against his lips, she pushed back to meet him, the hand behind his head curling up into his dark locks of hair.
Her actions would speak for her as well, she decided. She wasn't afraid anymore.
Fakir pulled away from her returned pressure, breaking the contact. Not realizing she'd closed her eyes, the blue orbs reopened. His cheeks were flushed from exertion as he stared down upon her, a mixture of conflicting emotions whirling in the depths of his eyes.
She blinked back at him, innocently bewildered.
Fakir's expression immediately twisted to one of severe annoyance, but his grip upon her did not slacken. On the contrary, his fingers found a more secure hold around her tiny waist.
"Well, are you going to leave me to my business now or do you want further persuasion?"
Her pale skin regained its red hue from the implications of the question, mixed with the breathy masculinity of his tone. Now that the time came for words, she found herself flustered. "E-Eh? Well, I... If you want," she stammered awkwardly, wriggling her feet in midair. "Just let me down and I'll go ahead and-"
"On second thought, I think you deserve a little more punishment," he interrupted fluidly.
The redhead could only squeak in surprise as he swiftly carried her small form to the bedside and deposited her on top, crawling over her and quirking one eyebrow in a suggestive manner. The ghost of a smile rested on his lips as he bent down to her face again, long darkgreen strands of hair tickling her skin. "Now be a good girl and accept your punishment, Ahiru."
And she did, relishing in the returned feeling of his warm mouth enveloping hers completely.
If Fakir's idea of punishment had changed from locking people in storage rooms to this, then perhaps she would make it a habit to annoy him more often.
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(Notes for Theme #15: I took into account that in the timeframe and era Princess Tutu seems to be set in, there was no such thing as cameras. So that proposed an interesting idea into how to handle this theme...and I went with it.)
(Theme #15 - Photograph)
Portrait
He was certainly used to her asking strange things of him, ranging from performing a pas de duex through the kitchen one night while she was cooking, to reading poetry for her when she had trouble sleeping.
But this...
"Come on, Fakir!" she tugged his arm and the delight shining through her blue eyes was impossible to miss. "We don't want to be late for our portrait!"
...was bizzare.
They stood outside a quaint and rather weathered-down building. There were frames hanging in the front windows, each containing a very detailed sketch portrait of various families, couples, and single people.
He glanced distastefully at his own attire. Puffed out sleeves of blue and black, accented with gold lining that formed intricate patterns down the sleeves and front of the long coat, ruffled white neck piece trailing out from under the jacket's collar, and matching dark pants with cuffs of gold hanging over the simple black shoes.
...Why had he agreed to this?
Once glance upon her was all it took to remember. She was dressed in soft blues, creams, and white that accented the salmon-pink hue of her long hair (which was flowing freely without the binds of a braid for once), looking every bit like a princess from fairytales, complete with the tiny silver hairpiece on the crown of her head. And the radiant smile she graced him with spoke volumes of her appreciation.
Fakir knew that deep down, he could not say "no" to that face.
Thus, here they were.
And just as the ex-knight reached for the handle, the wooden door opened from within, revealing a middle-aged man who was grinning broadly, looking from boy to girl and back again. "Mr. Fakir and Miss Ahiru, I presume?"
Fakir gave a curt nod in the affirmative, Ahiru siddling up next to him to get a better look at the man.
"My name is Pagin," he introduced with a short bow, and ushered them inside. "Please follow me to my little studio and we can get started."
The inside of the shop had the same "old" feeling to it that the outer appearance did. The walls were worn, the floor was dusty, and aside from portraits hanging almost everywhere, there were also a few antiques strategically placed about.
However, once entering the artist's studio, there was quite a bit of improvement, appearance-wise. Various chairs and seats were placed throughout the room, each with curtains of various colors and textures hanging in the background. And the room was very clean, unlike the rest of the shop.
"Now then," the elderly man started, taking a seat before his canvas. "What kind of portrait did you have in mind?"
Fakir raised an inquiring eyebrow toward Ahiru, who looked up at him sheepishly and shrugged. He frowned. "You didn't even give this any thought?"
"I did," she amended quickly. "But I thought it would be better to discuss it with you."
He rolled his dark eyes. "Fine time you chose to discuss this."
Pagin cleared his throat. "You don't have to mind me, you know. I draw couples a lot. Just do whatever you feel comfortable with and pretend I'm not even here."
Fakir and Ahiru's faces flushed in unison. "I-It's not like that," the ex-knight cleared hastily. "We're just friends."
Unseen to the dark-haired writer, Ahiru's expression dulled slightly, but she said nothing.
The elderly artist raised an eyebrow at the pair, running a hand through his graying hair. "Really now? Usually my eyes are never wrong in that sense, but if you're sure..." He trailed off, then sighed. "Well, have you decided on your positions yet?"
"Um, do you have an suggestions?" the petite blue-eyed girl asked Pagin timidly.
He placed a hand beneath his chin in thought, studying the two. "Well, you have a pretty significant height difference between you," he deduced. "And I've heard you two are from the Kinkan Ballet Academy." Ahiru nodded and he continued, "I could take a stab and guess you've done a pas de deux or two. Perhaps you could find a pose in something like that?"
The redhead girl poked her fingers together nervously, casting a glance to her stoic companion, who was expressionless. "Well, what do you think of that, Fakir?"
"I don't care," he said simply. "Let's just get this over with."
"You're such a grouch," she muttered.
Emerald eyes narrowed. "What?"
"Nothing," she forced a smile quickly. "So what should we do?"
He ran a hand through his dark-green bangs, expression growing more irritated. "You can't decide anything, can you?"
Ahiru's eyebrows drew together. "I can too!" she challenged. "I just thought it would be-"
"Forget it," he cut her off, taking her by surprise when he pulled her in front of him, and laid his hands down on her shoulders. "Will this do?"
Cheeks tinted pink from the feeling of his warm hands on her shoulders, she raised one of her own hands to cover his, turning toward him slightly in the process and leaning back against his chest to look up at him.
"Oh, that's a very nice pose!" Pagin praised from his viewpoint. "If you can just hold that for a few minutes..."
The middle-aged portrait-sketcher started drawing immediately, the scritch-scractch of his utensils echoing through the small enclosure.
Ahiru found herself unable to tear her gaze from Fakir's dark orbs, which seemed to be alight with a more gentle luster than usual, despite his lack of facial expression. She felt a tingling sensation upon her shoulders as his fingertips moved ever-so-slightly to brush across the open skin beneath. Her cheeks grew warm, eyelids just barely falling over the top of her azure pools.
"Excuse me," There was a light cough from the other side of the room, but neither had taken notice of it, completely lost in their own world.
Pagin cleared his throat loudly. "Pardon my interruption, but the portrait is finished."
Fakir's hands dropped like they were filled with lead, freeing Ahiru's shoulders, and found their way across his chest as he averted his gaze.
Further flushed from embarrassment, the redhead gave an apoligetic smile to the elderly artist. "Sorry about that," she said awkwardly.
Pagin smiled warmly, his knowing gaze travelling between the two of them. "No harm done, so think nothing of it," he assured. "But I must say, you both complement each other so very well. I enjoyed drawing the two of you together."
Ahiru chuckled, tucking one arm behind her head. "Well, I don't know about that, but thanks for taking the time to do a portrait."
The middle-aged artist rose from his seat and took the picture off the canvas, making his way toward the exit. "I'll just frame this for you and you can be on your way."
The freckled redhead nodded and then quickly turned toward the window, finding it hard to face Fakir at the moment. However, the silence weighing in the air between them was getting too heavy for her to stand. "So...that wasn't so bad, huh?" she ventured, rubbing the toe of her shoe on the floor.
"It was hell," he clarified, causing her to whirl around in shock. "Having to look at your face for ten minutes straight. I thought my eyes were going to burn out of their sockets."
She growled, itching to walk over and stomp on his foot. "How can you say such nasty thi-"
"And here you go," Pagin interreupted, striding back into the room. He held the portrait out toward her, and Ahiru, anger forgotten, eagerly came forward to take it.
That is, until Fakir blocked her path and accepted it instead. "Better let me handle this," he said, taking the large framed picture into his hands. "That walking disaster will probably drop it," he added, casting a glance toward Ahiru. She glared back, feeling the re-ignited urge to do him bodily harm.
"Thanks for stopping by and accepting my services," Pagin bowed. "I would be delighted to do another for the two of you in the future."
Fakir gave one short nod in thanks and headed straight for the door, feet moving very quickly toward the exit. Ahiru paused to give the elderly sketch artist another bow of thanks before sprinting to catch up to her irritable companion.
And to her displeasure, throughout the entire promenade back, Fakir was refusing to let her even look at the picture.
"You can see it when we get back," he stated in a no-nonsense manner. "And not before then."
She puffed her cheeks out and stalked after him, making various mocking faces at his back the whole way.
Once they'd finally returned, she immediately bounced up to his side, fingers groping for the picture frame. "Let me seeee," she whined.
"Fine," he agreed, laying the frame gingerly into her waiting hands. "Just don't break it."
Too excited to see the picture, she spared him a retort and brought the frame into her vision. Blue eyes went wide with amazement as they travelled across the glass-covered canvas. "Whoa," she near-whispered. "The likeness is incredible. And you're actually smiling!"
The statement caught Fakir offguard. "Smiling? What?" He came to her side, glancing down at the picture from over her shoulder. His eyebrows drew together in confusion. "There's no smile. You're seeing things."
"Your eyes are smiling," she challenged, gazing at the picture fondly.
"Hmph. That's the artist's doing, not mine," he stated simply, lowering into one of the wooden chairs.
She ignored his retort and propped the picture frame up on the end table. Coming up behind him, she placed one small hand to rest on his shoulder. He turned around in surprise from the unexpected gesture and she quickly leaned in to brush her lips across his cheekbone lightly. Pulling back, she smiled with a glow as soft as a candle's luminesence. "Thank you, Fakir."
He crossed his arms and shifted away from her. "Don't thank me for pointless things."
She caught the telltale redness to his face that betrayed his words and grinned, crossing the room to pick up the drawing once more.
"You are smiling," she repeated quietly to herself, passing a finger over the glass on his sketched face. "I can't see it, but I know I felt it."
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