senri
in
bedlam_mix
(Kingdom Hearts - Silk, A Web of Elaborate Lies) (BOTI - Sunrise)
Genre: Gen
Warnings: K
Characters: Namine
Notes: mah.
Namine cannot open dark portals on her own. This, among every other thing, singles her out; this, among every other thing, marks her as a different sort of Nobody. Not exactly a defective, but something new and interesting, that Vexen spends a great deal of time poring over.
If she moves through darkness, the alleyways between the worlds, she does it shivering in her petal-thin white dress and sticking close to whatever more senior Nobody is taking her. She is so out of place, so different, with her pallor and her white dress, and the darkness clings to her like toffee, cold as liquid nitrogen, smooth as silk.
She's always relieved to move back into daylight again, even with a proprietary black-gloved hand resting on her shoulder or head, guiding her on her way.
Genre: Gen
Warnings: K
Characters: Namine, Marluxia
Notes: bah.
Marluxia's fingers are warm on her face even though the room is cold as anything; warm like rotting things, the decomposition of molecules and Brownian motion creating what little heat there is, nothing aware, but something intrinsic, raw, uncanny. He takes her chin in his hand and makes her tilt her head and Namine thinks of the way she's seen him inspect ripe tomatoes, of the way he stakes up plants, training them in the direction he wants them to grow.
"You'll do good work for us, my dear," he promises, and Namine worries at her lip, and her wax crayons warm and slip with the sweat slicking her palms.
Genre: Gen
Warnings: K
Characters: Rin, Anotsu
Notes: buh.
Doesn't matter what he says or does, Rin thinks; he's gonna be a dead man someday, and worms with the best and worst of them. Dissolve, that zeal, that kamikaze cynicism, the willing to do anything to achieve his goals. He meant to forge a sharp new blade, heating the steel with the fire from destroyed sword-schools, dousing the hot metal in women's tears.
It won't work. The center will not hold. To extremist, too much of an anachronism. Inevitably, he'll fall.
Until then, she'll follow, squinting against the corona of sunbeams that washes over his lean muscled shoulders.
Warnings: K
Characters: Namine
Notes: mah.
Namine cannot open dark portals on her own. This, among every other thing, singles her out; this, among every other thing, marks her as a different sort of Nobody. Not exactly a defective, but something new and interesting, that Vexen spends a great deal of time poring over.
If she moves through darkness, the alleyways between the worlds, she does it shivering in her petal-thin white dress and sticking close to whatever more senior Nobody is taking her. She is so out of place, so different, with her pallor and her white dress, and the darkness clings to her like toffee, cold as liquid nitrogen, smooth as silk.
She's always relieved to move back into daylight again, even with a proprietary black-gloved hand resting on her shoulder or head, guiding her on her way.
Genre: Gen
Warnings: K
Characters: Namine, Marluxia
Notes: bah.
Marluxia's fingers are warm on her face even though the room is cold as anything; warm like rotting things, the decomposition of molecules and Brownian motion creating what little heat there is, nothing aware, but something intrinsic, raw, uncanny. He takes her chin in his hand and makes her tilt her head and Namine thinks of the way she's seen him inspect ripe tomatoes, of the way he stakes up plants, training them in the direction he wants them to grow.
"You'll do good work for us, my dear," he promises, and Namine worries at her lip, and her wax crayons warm and slip with the sweat slicking her palms.
Genre: Gen
Warnings: K
Characters: Rin, Anotsu
Notes: buh.
Doesn't matter what he says or does, Rin thinks; he's gonna be a dead man someday, and worms with the best and worst of them. Dissolve, that zeal, that kamikaze cynicism, the willing to do anything to achieve his goals. He meant to forge a sharp new blade, heating the steel with the fire from destroyed sword-schools, dousing the hot metal in women's tears.
It won't work. The center will not hold. To extremist, too much of an anachronism. Inevitably, he'll fall.
Until then, she'll follow, squinting against the corona of sunbeams that washes over his lean muscled shoulders.