no, I am most definitely working on NaNo AND Code Blue.
So I discovered today that making Dead Poets Society icons is really really fun and also a bit addictive. Then I found a new mood theme - check it out! Is it not amazing?
If you're asking "what the bloody hell is so iconable about dead poets?" then you need to see the movie Dead Poets Society NOW. Go rent it or buy it or find it on tv-links.co.uk before you do anything else. Except read this fic. ;D
Anyway, I also wrote songfic for
urania_chan as I had promised months ago.
Title: Burn Down the Final Wall
Fandom: xxxHOLiC
Wordcount: 556
A/N: Written to Vienna Teng's "Momentum". I originally had it in Watanuki's POV, but when I wrote it down it switched. Let me know if you'd like to see the other side of it.
I come to you in friendship
and hold my breath against the snow
what are you thinking as I gaze into you
forgive me the confusion,
forgive me as I realize my thoughts betrayed
you are the answer
cry and smile the same
overcome me..
-------------------------
You weren’t surprised to find him curled in on himself on the floor near the window, after all that had happened that day. Anyone would be in a turmoil after what had befallen him today, and the fact that he denied that he felt any kind of emotional pain is as empty as the fact that he yelled at you this morning. He denies everything, after all. And now you’re going to deny him the denial.
It says something for progress that when you place your hands on his shoulders, he does not immediately overreact. He instead laughs bitterly. It would have to be you, he says.
You don’t reply in words, but pull him to you so that you can wrap both arms around him and provide a better headrest than his own knees. The position is awkward, though, and so you shift so that you’re leaning against the wall and he’s practically sitting on you, face pressed firmly to your chest and for once not by your doing. You and he sit like this for a while, unwilling at least on your part to end the moment too soon.
I’m not crying, he tells you unconvincingly. But it was raining outside, so you have no proof that the dampness of your shirt is recent.
I know, you reply.
I’m just making sure you know. He doesn’t make to push away. So you can let me go now.
All right, you say. Unsurprisingly, neither of you moves. You have a feeling - no, you told the truth, you know that this exchange was spoken in code, that what was actually said was something he’s too afraid to actually say and you’re too used to him to expect any different. It means that you don’t do as he suggests. It means - you hope - that he is the slightest bit grateful, even if he never says it.
Nothing is said for a long time, or maybe it’s no time at all. You listen to his breathing; in, out, growing less ragged and then more so, and you don’t move. You simply hold him to you until his breathing steadies and the cycle does not begin. Then you relax your grip so you can look down at him, make sure he’s really feeling better.
What? he asks, but lacking malice and instead possessing - and it nearly breaks your resolve of being here for his sake and not yours - an undertone of fondness. Not you’ve helped me again gratitude, but I’m glad you did. You’re not sure how to answer because it’s not a concept you can really explain in words. You’ve never been much good with words. But he’s looking at you in genuine interest and you find you need something to tell him more than you’ve ever needed to say something before.
But you can’t think of a thing to say.
It is this which finally kills that resolve for good, and you smile wryly to yourself - and him - as you lean down to brush his lips with yours in the only explanation that you really know how to give. And you think he understands, for he doesn’t pull away for as long as it lasts, and when you do, he’s adopted your smile. It turns slightly bitter on him, but it’s instantly recognisable.
Why ask? you say.
If you're asking "what the bloody hell is so iconable about dead poets?" then you need to see the movie Dead Poets Society NOW. Go rent it or buy it or find it on tv-links.co.uk before you do anything else. Except read this fic. ;D
Anyway, I also wrote songfic for
urania_chan as I had promised months ago.
Title: Burn Down the Final Wall
Fandom: xxxHOLiC
Wordcount: 556
A/N: Written to Vienna Teng's "Momentum". I originally had it in Watanuki's POV, but when I wrote it down it switched. Let me know if you'd like to see the other side of it.
I come to you in friendship
and hold my breath against the snow
what are you thinking as I gaze into you
forgive me the confusion,
forgive me as I realize my thoughts betrayed
you are the answer
cry and smile the same
overcome me..
-------------------------
You weren’t surprised to find him curled in on himself on the floor near the window, after all that had happened that day. Anyone would be in a turmoil after what had befallen him today, and the fact that he denied that he felt any kind of emotional pain is as empty as the fact that he yelled at you this morning. He denies everything, after all. And now you’re going to deny him the denial.
It says something for progress that when you place your hands on his shoulders, he does not immediately overreact. He instead laughs bitterly. It would have to be you, he says.
You don’t reply in words, but pull him to you so that you can wrap both arms around him and provide a better headrest than his own knees. The position is awkward, though, and so you shift so that you’re leaning against the wall and he’s practically sitting on you, face pressed firmly to your chest and for once not by your doing. You and he sit like this for a while, unwilling at least on your part to end the moment too soon.
I’m not crying, he tells you unconvincingly. But it was raining outside, so you have no proof that the dampness of your shirt is recent.
I know, you reply.
I’m just making sure you know. He doesn’t make to push away. So you can let me go now.
All right, you say. Unsurprisingly, neither of you moves. You have a feeling - no, you told the truth, you know that this exchange was spoken in code, that what was actually said was something he’s too afraid to actually say and you’re too used to him to expect any different. It means that you don’t do as he suggests. It means - you hope - that he is the slightest bit grateful, even if he never says it.
Nothing is said for a long time, or maybe it’s no time at all. You listen to his breathing; in, out, growing less ragged and then more so, and you don’t move. You simply hold him to you until his breathing steadies and the cycle does not begin. Then you relax your grip so you can look down at him, make sure he’s really feeling better.
What? he asks, but lacking malice and instead possessing - and it nearly breaks your resolve of being here for his sake and not yours - an undertone of fondness. Not you’ve helped me again gratitude, but I’m glad you did. You’re not sure how to answer because it’s not a concept you can really explain in words. You’ve never been much good with words. But he’s looking at you in genuine interest and you find you need something to tell him more than you’ve ever needed to say something before.
But you can’t think of a thing to say.
It is this which finally kills that resolve for good, and you smile wryly to yourself - and him - as you lean down to brush his lips with yours in the only explanation that you really know how to give. And you think he understands, for he doesn’t pull away for as long as it lasts, and when you do, he’s adopted your smile. It turns slightly bitter on him, but it’s instantly recognisable.
Why ask? you say.