(no subject)
I seem to have fallen in love with the series Under the Glass Moon enough to attempt to write fanfiction for it. My first is as follows. I'm still not too confident that I got the characterizations down correctly, and I really want to kick myself that I wrote this after only having read 2 volumes of the manwha...
But the voices in my head would not leave me alone until I wrote this ._.
Disclaimer: Under the Glass Moon belongs to Ko Ya-Seong. I own nothing here except for the license on this little copy of MS Word that I used to write this thing n_n;
Spoilers for vol. 2 ahead.
Slave
By Anahita (tsuzuki @ sluttyukes.com)
It was a dreadfully cold night. The waif-like man with skin like porcelain and ink-black hair falling like a curtain to cover the whole of his back sat in the darkened hotel room, oblivious to the chill in the room. The heat was shut off and the window was opened just a crack. He sat at the sill, looking out the window at the city below; the colored lights shined gaily and reflecting off of the snow that covered the ground, as well as the rooftops of the buildings. Possibly Christmas, he deduced. He never minded the dates in the human world, for very few of them held any significance to him, but from the lights and the decorated buildings, he was fairly certain that it was sometime around the human's holiday season.
He sighed, unsure exactly why he couldn't tear himself from the scenic view outside. Had he been a few years younger, he would have been waiting for his Master to visit him in the night. But he knew better than to get his hopes up. And yet he waited patiently, unmoving, staring at the tranquil English town outside. The view was relaxing, he needed that. He needed something to focus his mind on, than the chaos that usually followed any thoughts of Master.
He was always thinking of his Master.
The hours passed quietly, the tiny pedestrians that occasionally walked the bejeweled streets became fewer and fewer, and the young sorcerer with Eastern eyes was still alone, sitting at the window sill. No sense in staring mindlessly at the sleeping town, he thought, standing up and stretching the fatigue out of his limbs with the grace of a panther. Sleep was out of the question. He didn't need sleep - and he couldn't even remember the last night he slumbered. Beds were only useful for fucking - nothing more. That was one of the many lessons that his Master had taught him over the years.
He produced a flame at the tip of his index finger and held it against the shriveled blackened wick of the thick pillar candle that sat at the desk, and the room was illuminated with the pale orange light of its flame. He sat down at the chintz chair, and picked up a worn, leather-bound book that lay on top of the desk, next to the candle. His ran his fingers over the gold plated name embossed there, and he was filled with such a profound sense of pain and pleasure that he wanted to scream to relieve him of it, as thoughts of the man who penned that book came flooding into his mind; his Master, his teacher, his Heart Bearer, his Soul Mate...
He opened the book, filled with his Master's memoirs. He had read it so many times in the past that he was sure that he had every handwritten word written there in black ink on paper slightly yellowed with age memorized, and yet he was filled with the urge to see the words written in Master's perfect handwriting once again. It was almost as potent as hearing Master utter those words himself.
He turned to the first page, flickering shadows created by the lone flame of the candle danced with the cold winter gust of wind that blew through the slightly-ajar window and they mingled with the words written there, and swirled about to create a vision upon the enchanted page. A hand resting tenderly on a sleeping child's head, stroking the fine ebony tresses out of his peaceful face, and shielding him from any demons that would dare to sully his dreams that night.
He clenched his eyes shut, and rubbed them with the backs of his hands. He was so exhausted that he was hallucinating, he thought, laughing pathetically. A moment later he opened his eyes and stared at the pages of open book that rested on his lap. He only saw words and the flickering shadow of the candle - nothing more.
Sighing wearily, he turned the page, and watched incredulously as the shadows and the words coupled to create a new vision, a pair of golden eyes - a piercing glare that would bring him to his knees.
Quickly he brought a shaking hand down to the book and he turned the page... This time he saw two lovers sleeping beneath a willow tree, two lovers that he recognized quite well. He could almost feel their limbs entangled hot and damp from their recent coupling, he could almost feel one calloused hand of his lover resting on his hip, and the other one holding onto his own, and their finger's intertwined tenderly, lovingly. His lover's breath blowing hot against his neck. His lover's beard ticking his still sensitive skin, sending jolts of fire through every nerve ending he touched.
A droplet of moisture fell on the page, dissipating the vision there. He brought two fingers to his cheek and found that they were his own tears. Even tender memories of the man were enough to make him miserable.
He turned the page, and saw his master standing straight and proud, his back turned to him, the wind blowing through his hair, as he was the last time that they had been together in body.
"I'm sorry Fuan." He could hear the vision on the sheets of parchment speak. "Love isn't something that I have in my heart to give." He turned to face him, his handsome face looking at him strong and confident. He didn't have an ounce of uncertainty about him... the wind blew through his long black hair, blew through his unbuttoned silk shirt.
The young man slammed the book shut.
"Goddamnit!" He shouted as he hurled the book against the wall. It hit a mirror with such force that cracks radiated in every direction from the point of impact. Strangely, the sheet of glass remained intact and kept it's place on the wall, hanging there broken beyond repair. Fuan stood up and looked into the remnants of it, seeing hundreds of reflections of him there. His dark eyes were bloodshot; his skin was sickly and pale. And then he gasped. It took a moment for him to understand why, and then it registered that behind his own reflection he saw that of another figure, laying on the unused hotel bed.
"You're still too weak, Fuan." His visitor spoke.
"Master..." He whispered in response, turning around to verify that his mind wasn't playing tricks on him, and he gasped again when he saw golden eyes staring straight into his own, glaring at him so fiercely that his knees threatened to give. "Give me strength..." He whispered, pleading to the man that grabbed him by both of his forearms.
"There's so much more that you need to learn." Master whispered in response, and then leaned in to crush his lips against his own, and he released one of his arms to free up a hand, allowing it to sink into the loose fitting pants that the young man usually wore at night.
A rather strong gust of air whistled past the opened window and extinguished the flame.
Fin.
Notes: I took some liberties with Robin's appearance, since I only have 2 volumes of the manwha to use as reference. So I'm going with Luka's appearance to mirror Robin's, since it appears that Luka takes after him physically. I can always revise it if needs be ^_^;
But the voices in my head would not leave me alone until I wrote this ._.
Disclaimer: Under the Glass Moon belongs to Ko Ya-Seong. I own nothing here except for the license on this little copy of MS Word that I used to write this thing n_n;
Spoilers for vol. 2 ahead.
Slave
By Anahita (tsuzuki @ sluttyukes.com)
It was a dreadfully cold night. The waif-like man with skin like porcelain and ink-black hair falling like a curtain to cover the whole of his back sat in the darkened hotel room, oblivious to the chill in the room. The heat was shut off and the window was opened just a crack. He sat at the sill, looking out the window at the city below; the colored lights shined gaily and reflecting off of the snow that covered the ground, as well as the rooftops of the buildings. Possibly Christmas, he deduced. He never minded the dates in the human world, for very few of them held any significance to him, but from the lights and the decorated buildings, he was fairly certain that it was sometime around the human's holiday season.
He sighed, unsure exactly why he couldn't tear himself from the scenic view outside. Had he been a few years younger, he would have been waiting for his Master to visit him in the night. But he knew better than to get his hopes up. And yet he waited patiently, unmoving, staring at the tranquil English town outside. The view was relaxing, he needed that. He needed something to focus his mind on, than the chaos that usually followed any thoughts of Master.
He was always thinking of his Master.
The hours passed quietly, the tiny pedestrians that occasionally walked the bejeweled streets became fewer and fewer, and the young sorcerer with Eastern eyes was still alone, sitting at the window sill. No sense in staring mindlessly at the sleeping town, he thought, standing up and stretching the fatigue out of his limbs with the grace of a panther. Sleep was out of the question. He didn't need sleep - and he couldn't even remember the last night he slumbered. Beds were only useful for fucking - nothing more. That was one of the many lessons that his Master had taught him over the years.
He produced a flame at the tip of his index finger and held it against the shriveled blackened wick of the thick pillar candle that sat at the desk, and the room was illuminated with the pale orange light of its flame. He sat down at the chintz chair, and picked up a worn, leather-bound book that lay on top of the desk, next to the candle. His ran his fingers over the gold plated name embossed there, and he was filled with such a profound sense of pain and pleasure that he wanted to scream to relieve him of it, as thoughts of the man who penned that book came flooding into his mind; his Master, his teacher, his Heart Bearer, his Soul Mate...
He opened the book, filled with his Master's memoirs. He had read it so many times in the past that he was sure that he had every handwritten word written there in black ink on paper slightly yellowed with age memorized, and yet he was filled with the urge to see the words written in Master's perfect handwriting once again. It was almost as potent as hearing Master utter those words himself.
He turned to the first page, flickering shadows created by the lone flame of the candle danced with the cold winter gust of wind that blew through the slightly-ajar window and they mingled with the words written there, and swirled about to create a vision upon the enchanted page. A hand resting tenderly on a sleeping child's head, stroking the fine ebony tresses out of his peaceful face, and shielding him from any demons that would dare to sully his dreams that night.
He clenched his eyes shut, and rubbed them with the backs of his hands. He was so exhausted that he was hallucinating, he thought, laughing pathetically. A moment later he opened his eyes and stared at the pages of open book that rested on his lap. He only saw words and the flickering shadow of the candle - nothing more.
Sighing wearily, he turned the page, and watched incredulously as the shadows and the words coupled to create a new vision, a pair of golden eyes - a piercing glare that would bring him to his knees.
Quickly he brought a shaking hand down to the book and he turned the page... This time he saw two lovers sleeping beneath a willow tree, two lovers that he recognized quite well. He could almost feel their limbs entangled hot and damp from their recent coupling, he could almost feel one calloused hand of his lover resting on his hip, and the other one holding onto his own, and their finger's intertwined tenderly, lovingly. His lover's breath blowing hot against his neck. His lover's beard ticking his still sensitive skin, sending jolts of fire through every nerve ending he touched.
A droplet of moisture fell on the page, dissipating the vision there. He brought two fingers to his cheek and found that they were his own tears. Even tender memories of the man were enough to make him miserable.
He turned the page, and saw his master standing straight and proud, his back turned to him, the wind blowing through his hair, as he was the last time that they had been together in body.
"I'm sorry Fuan." He could hear the vision on the sheets of parchment speak. "Love isn't something that I have in my heart to give." He turned to face him, his handsome face looking at him strong and confident. He didn't have an ounce of uncertainty about him... the wind blew through his long black hair, blew through his unbuttoned silk shirt.
The young man slammed the book shut.
"Goddamnit!" He shouted as he hurled the book against the wall. It hit a mirror with such force that cracks radiated in every direction from the point of impact. Strangely, the sheet of glass remained intact and kept it's place on the wall, hanging there broken beyond repair. Fuan stood up and looked into the remnants of it, seeing hundreds of reflections of him there. His dark eyes were bloodshot; his skin was sickly and pale. And then he gasped. It took a moment for him to understand why, and then it registered that behind his own reflection he saw that of another figure, laying on the unused hotel bed.
"You're still too weak, Fuan." His visitor spoke.
"Master..." He whispered in response, turning around to verify that his mind wasn't playing tricks on him, and he gasped again when he saw golden eyes staring straight into his own, glaring at him so fiercely that his knees threatened to give. "Give me strength..." He whispered, pleading to the man that grabbed him by both of his forearms.
"There's so much more that you need to learn." Master whispered in response, and then leaned in to crush his lips against his own, and he released one of his arms to free up a hand, allowing it to sink into the loose fitting pants that the young man usually wore at night.
A rather strong gust of air whistled past the opened window and extinguished the flame.
Fin.
Notes: I took some liberties with Robin's appearance, since I only have 2 volumes of the manwha to use as reference. So I'm going with Luka's appearance to mirror Robin's, since it appears that Luka takes after him physically. I can always revise it if needs be ^_^;