[HnG] Things We Leave in the Dark, PG, gen, AU/humor
blind_go Round 9 reveals are up, so I'm free to repost fic. :) This round was free-for-all but shortfic (under 1000 words), so I managed to churn out three. Reposting them in the order which I wrote them. It was a challenge like you wouldn't believe writing for non-kpop fandoms again but fun! I love Hikago. ♥
This is a Supernatural AU/fusion (thus the misleading icon hohoho), idea credit to ch_ar_me. :D It was fun and I kind of want to expand on it but I'm not sure where I would go with it. Originally posted here.
Things We Leave in the Dark
Hikaru no Go, gen (pre-Shindou/Touya), PG, 995 words
Exorcising ghosts is not a pastime for amateurs, but Akira can't figure out if Hikaru's an amateur or not.
NOTES: obake = generic ghost or superantural being. yurei = the spirit of a deceased person. ofuda = Shinto protection talisman. Liberal creative license taken in the following fic as to both canon and lore.
Exorcising ghosts is not a pastime for amateurs. Akira hates the kids with a backpack of salt and paper charms, a book in hand that promises Step-by-Step Directions to Get Rid of that Pesky Spirit FOR GOOD! New and Improved Methods Guaranteed! All they do is get in the way.
The whole idea of amateur ghost-hunters is frankly an insult to the entire profession. And, oh, it is definitely a profession. Touya Akira knows better than most the weight associated with the history of the ghost-hunting profession. His father is, after all, Touya Meijin. Among the small but tight circles of professionals, Touya Meijin is a legend and rightly so. The supernatural things he's faced and conquered comprise a lengthy list that terrifies half the people who read it. The Meijin has killed things even the more seasoned hunters face in their nightmares and Akira is proud of his father for that. He has every intention of following in those footsteps.
Akira banished his first ghost when he was six, an obake attached to his elementary school. He blessed it with an ofuda written in his mother's hand and it vanished with an anguished cry. His father beamed at him, face lined with his pride. His mother, on the hand, looked troubled. She had wanted him to lead a normal life.
But his mother passed away when Akira was eight. He learned to handle his first gun at nine.
Touya Akira knows enough Shinto chants and Buddhist prayers to fill volumes, and on top of that can recite Latin and fire a gun filled with rock-salt. It's the modern era and diversity has seeped into Japan whether or not Japan welcomes it. All sorts of ghosts and spirits and creepy-crawlies have emigrated into the country free of the hassle of bureaucratic red tape and it's Akira who's going to make sure they get taken care of.
And those damned amateurs can stay out of his way before they trip over their own feet and Akira puts a very precise silver bullet between their eyes.
No, that's a lie. It'd be a dreadful waste of a silver bullet, and Akira would never do that.
He will at the very least cross his arms and lean against his silver Nissan and give the newcomer a very skeptical look. "This isn't a game, you know," he says, sounding calm and level-headed. As he should. No Touya ever loses his cool.
The kid - okay, he's probably near Akira's age but he's got bleached bangs and slouchy jeans and Akira is not impressed - just shrugs and grins at him. "I know that. Did you see the way I took care of that yurei? Boom! Gone! Never seen anything disappear so fast, right?"
Akira hates cockiness on principle but he has to admit, reluctantly, at least to himself if never out loud, that he was impressed. The kid's technique was incredibly imprecise (sloppy, Akira thinks uncharitably) but the exorcism happened so fast that Akira hadn't even had a chance to get his own ofuda out. The yurei dissolved into a sickly-sweet mist that lingered in the air even after the substance of the ghost had been banished. Akira wants to accredit it to sheer dumb luck but he's also not stupid. He knows better than to overlook little clues that indicate something bigger.
In this case, maybe there's more to the slouchy and sloppy kid than meets the eye.
Akira grits his teeth and pushes himself off the car. He straightens and nods at the kid, getting his attention. "Nice to meet you," he says, bowing at a correct forty-five degree angle. "I'm...Akira."
The grin gets wider. "Shindou Hikaru," he says cheerfully.
That, Akira determines later, looking back, was the beginning of the end.
***
Hikaru is insane. Certifiable, Akira determines. He's a walking contradiction of lazy smiles and childlike enthusiasm, messy and laidback and everything that gets on Akira's nerves. He tosses holy water like it's spring water, sings the prayers like they're songs, and Akira hates everything about him down to the stupid fan he carries around with him everywhere. He hates most of all how good Hikaru is at his job, at killing supernatural things and banishing ghosts and sealing away spirits that should never be - how good he is despite his attitude and his carefree attitude.
"He doesn't even measure his circles," Akira mutters peevishly. It's not like he's demanding Hikaru use a protractor or anything, but not even a stick and some string! And yet his circles are always unerringly perfect.
Akira doesn't know how to explain why they end up traveling together, but they take his Nissan all over the country in search of the next hunt. Akira thinks about what he's going to tackle next, how to most efficiently exorcise it, going over his notes when he's not driving. Beside him, Hikaru is slumped against the seat listening to his mp3 player, humming along to his music and murmuring to himself.
Akira's flashes a sideways look at Hikaru. "Did you just call your fan 'baby'?" he asks, dumbfounded.
Hikaru flushes but doesn't deny it. He grins instead. "Hey, she's been good to me. Never let me down." He shows off the Shinto blessing painted on her paper mount, the Latin carved into the bamboo slats. "A gift," he says and nothing more.
Hikaru is insane and Akira would think he is too but there's one reason why Akira keeps him around. Hikaru is after the Hand of God too. He won't explain why. There are a lot of things he doesn't explain. It makes Akira curious and his curiosity has always gotten the best of him.
Hikaru's got secrets and Akira wants to know them. It might take a lifetime, it might take endless nights putting up with Hikaru's chatter and grins, but Akira's patient.
Akira is going to figure out Shindou Hikaru one day, before the end of the world.
--
Started: 2010.04.23
Finished: 2010.04.27
This is a Supernatural AU/fusion (thus the misleading icon hohoho), idea credit to ch_ar_me. :D It was fun and I kind of want to expand on it but I'm not sure where I would go with it. Originally posted here.
Things We Leave in the Dark
Hikaru no Go, gen (pre-Shindou/Touya), PG, 995 words
Exorcising ghosts is not a pastime for amateurs, but Akira can't figure out if Hikaru's an amateur or not.
NOTES: obake = generic ghost or superantural being. yurei = the spirit of a deceased person. ofuda = Shinto protection talisman. Liberal creative license taken in the following fic as to both canon and lore.
Exorcising ghosts is not a pastime for amateurs. Akira hates the kids with a backpack of salt and paper charms, a book in hand that promises Step-by-Step Directions to Get Rid of that Pesky Spirit FOR GOOD! New and Improved Methods Guaranteed! All they do is get in the way.
The whole idea of amateur ghost-hunters is frankly an insult to the entire profession. And, oh, it is definitely a profession. Touya Akira knows better than most the weight associated with the history of the ghost-hunting profession. His father is, after all, Touya Meijin. Among the small but tight circles of professionals, Touya Meijin is a legend and rightly so. The supernatural things he's faced and conquered comprise a lengthy list that terrifies half the people who read it. The Meijin has killed things even the more seasoned hunters face in their nightmares and Akira is proud of his father for that. He has every intention of following in those footsteps.
Akira banished his first ghost when he was six, an obake attached to his elementary school. He blessed it with an ofuda written in his mother's hand and it vanished with an anguished cry. His father beamed at him, face lined with his pride. His mother, on the hand, looked troubled. She had wanted him to lead a normal life.
But his mother passed away when Akira was eight. He learned to handle his first gun at nine.
Touya Akira knows enough Shinto chants and Buddhist prayers to fill volumes, and on top of that can recite Latin and fire a gun filled with rock-salt. It's the modern era and diversity has seeped into Japan whether or not Japan welcomes it. All sorts of ghosts and spirits and creepy-crawlies have emigrated into the country free of the hassle of bureaucratic red tape and it's Akira who's going to make sure they get taken care of.
And those damned amateurs can stay out of his way before they trip over their own feet and Akira puts a very precise silver bullet between their eyes.
No, that's a lie. It'd be a dreadful waste of a silver bullet, and Akira would never do that.
He will at the very least cross his arms and lean against his silver Nissan and give the newcomer a very skeptical look. "This isn't a game, you know," he says, sounding calm and level-headed. As he should. No Touya ever loses his cool.
The kid - okay, he's probably near Akira's age but he's got bleached bangs and slouchy jeans and Akira is not impressed - just shrugs and grins at him. "I know that. Did you see the way I took care of that yurei? Boom! Gone! Never seen anything disappear so fast, right?"
Akira hates cockiness on principle but he has to admit, reluctantly, at least to himself if never out loud, that he was impressed. The kid's technique was incredibly imprecise (sloppy, Akira thinks uncharitably) but the exorcism happened so fast that Akira hadn't even had a chance to get his own ofuda out. The yurei dissolved into a sickly-sweet mist that lingered in the air even after the substance of the ghost had been banished. Akira wants to accredit it to sheer dumb luck but he's also not stupid. He knows better than to overlook little clues that indicate something bigger.
In this case, maybe there's more to the slouchy and sloppy kid than meets the eye.
Akira grits his teeth and pushes himself off the car. He straightens and nods at the kid, getting his attention. "Nice to meet you," he says, bowing at a correct forty-five degree angle. "I'm...Akira."
The grin gets wider. "Shindou Hikaru," he says cheerfully.
That, Akira determines later, looking back, was the beginning of the end.
***
Hikaru is insane. Certifiable, Akira determines. He's a walking contradiction of lazy smiles and childlike enthusiasm, messy and laidback and everything that gets on Akira's nerves. He tosses holy water like it's spring water, sings the prayers like they're songs, and Akira hates everything about him down to the stupid fan he carries around with him everywhere. He hates most of all how good Hikaru is at his job, at killing supernatural things and banishing ghosts and sealing away spirits that should never be - how good he is despite his attitude and his carefree attitude.
"He doesn't even measure his circles," Akira mutters peevishly. It's not like he's demanding Hikaru use a protractor or anything, but not even a stick and some string! And yet his circles are always unerringly perfect.
Akira doesn't know how to explain why they end up traveling together, but they take his Nissan all over the country in search of the next hunt. Akira thinks about what he's going to tackle next, how to most efficiently exorcise it, going over his notes when he's not driving. Beside him, Hikaru is slumped against the seat listening to his mp3 player, humming along to his music and murmuring to himself.
Akira's flashes a sideways look at Hikaru. "Did you just call your fan 'baby'?" he asks, dumbfounded.
Hikaru flushes but doesn't deny it. He grins instead. "Hey, she's been good to me. Never let me down." He shows off the Shinto blessing painted on her paper mount, the Latin carved into the bamboo slats. "A gift," he says and nothing more.
Hikaru is insane and Akira would think he is too but there's one reason why Akira keeps him around. Hikaru is after the Hand of God too. He won't explain why. There are a lot of things he doesn't explain. It makes Akira curious and his curiosity has always gotten the best of him.
Hikaru's got secrets and Akira wants to know them. It might take a lifetime, it might take endless nights putting up with Hikaru's chatter and grins, but Akira's patient.
Akira is going to figure out Shindou Hikaru one day, before the end of the world.
--
Started: 2010.04.23
Finished: 2010.04.27