♡ the blade of a plucked flower. (madoka; mami gen)
fandom: madoka magica.
pairings: gen; no pairings.
rating: M, to be on the safe side? for gore.
wordcount: 935.
notes: alright, first off: warning for some gory imagery!! just sayin'. OKAY so this was for xxthorny who requested something with mami! i figured i may as well post it properly because i kinda liked it, and i said a while ago (right after i watched it) that i was going to write madoka fic but never did :x until now, at least.
i.
For the first time in a while, she truly feels alive. Her hands curl around her guns effortlessly, finger hooking into the trigger of another and another, all like interlocking pieces to a puzzle the solution of which she is now bit-by-bit beginning to remember, rediscovering the size and shape of it all-'ah, this is what this is.' The metal of them is clinging and cold against her skin but inside, in the now-hollows of her heart that have been cleared of their burdens, made fresh and empty and new, she is filled with an inexplicable warmth.
Madoka watches her fight with an almost childlike adoration, all lit-up eyes and clasped hands-a girl who is entirely in love with the world. Her words still echo in the parts of Mami that have maybe only just come to life again: 'you are not alone anymore', a sincere prayer.
Mami is finally free.
ii.
(You dream, sometimes, of where your family reach for you, again and again: all bloodied-hands and smiles split into shards, oil pooling around your feet and tongues of smoke spilling into the sky. You dream of what you have lost.
"Mami," her mother says, quiet and toneless, turning her face up to you. Her right cheek has burst-open from her jaw and pieces of her are splattered over the road, long, harsh streaks of red and pink. You can almost see the movements of her tongue. "Help us, Mami."
The stench is nauseating-it's a hot, close day, barely a cloud in the sky. Burnt flesh and drying blood, metal and ash: gunpowder. Your rifle materialises in your hand as always, like clockwork, and you point it down with shaking hands.
"Mami," her mother says again, robotic and lifeless, unsettling with it. The sun bears down on your back, and her face is impossibly dark. You close your eyes and inhale a mouthful of smoke, hook your finger into the trigger-"please, Mami," you barely catch before the shot, before the sudden, violent squelch of her face breaking into countless tiny pieces, splattering over the concrete, and even though your eyes are shut you can still see it perfectly, every bubble of blood and shard of skin, every scarlet splash and streak. You see red, an endless ocean of it swallowing you up, and as the rifle slips away from your hand you find yourself falling with it: falling forever, straight through the earth itself.
You fall, and nobody catches you.)
iii.
Mami blows away a trail of gun-smoke, giddy, weightless. De-materialises her weapons. Smiles.
She falls and lands easily, on her feet and steady. Madoka is at her side in a heartbeat, near-breathless but squealing-and when their hands press into one another's, Mami thinks that no two other things could ever fit together as perfectly.
iv.
(You have lost so much, you think. Hands delicately curled around your tea-cup, tiny trails of smoke fading, the sun barely risen and your tears only just dried-away; you have lost everything. Your Soul Gem burns brightly clipped onto your hair, glitters and gleams, and you dream of tearing it off and shattering it into a million little pieces, taking apart the last thing that you have left-because it would be the only thing left to lose, this selfish piece of you that had been the loss of all else. It would not be poetic or beautiful or anything like that. It would only be ugly, as you are, as all you are.
You sit there with your quickly cooling tea and your trembling hands and think, almost numbly: you must patrol tonight. Tonight and tomorrow, forever and always. It is all you can do. For now-it is simply your burden to shoulder.
You set down your teacup, raising a hand to your hair almost without thinking. You curl your fingers around the Soul Gem, warm and glassy. 'I wish I at least had something left to lose,' you think with startling clarity, as though anyone, here or anywhere, will hear it. As though it could be, could ever be. 'I wish I wasn't alone.')
v.
"Tiro Finale," Mami says, almost laughing, so alive, so alight, and it pierces the air almost in a blur-she is not scared, now. She is not scared of this witch, this little mouse with its world built of candy heart houses and dusted in sugar-snow. She is free and she is unafraid. And Tiro Finale stabs straight through the witch, wraps around and suffocates it, and-when it bursts-open (like her face had, like the streak of what used to be your mother's smile and your mother's eyes, laid out on the concrete to rest), Mami finally lets go, lets everything go.
(You aren't alone, now. You finally have something to lose-)
She almost turns around, nearly yells back at Madoka and Sayaka to run (don't look, please don't look), but when she sees the witch smile, so close to her face and gleaming-all she can think is that this is how it must be, for her, this is how it has to end. From what sounds like incredibly far-away, she just barely hears Madoka crying out something that is maybe her name, and thinks: 'this is all I can do for you.'
(-so lose it.)
The witch's teeth close down around her, the curtain-drop on the last pitiful act of her life, and Mami falls into a sea of red red red.
pairings: gen; no pairings.
rating: M, to be on the safe side? for gore.
wordcount: 935.
notes: alright, first off: warning for some gory imagery!! just sayin'. OKAY so this was for xxthorny who requested something with mami! i figured i may as well post it properly because i kinda liked it, and i said a while ago (right after i watched it) that i was going to write madoka fic but never did :x until now, at least.
i.
For the first time in a while, she truly feels alive. Her hands curl around her guns effortlessly, finger hooking into the trigger of another and another, all like interlocking pieces to a puzzle the solution of which she is now bit-by-bit beginning to remember, rediscovering the size and shape of it all-'ah, this is what this is.' The metal of them is clinging and cold against her skin but inside, in the now-hollows of her heart that have been cleared of their burdens, made fresh and empty and new, she is filled with an inexplicable warmth.
Madoka watches her fight with an almost childlike adoration, all lit-up eyes and clasped hands-a girl who is entirely in love with the world. Her words still echo in the parts of Mami that have maybe only just come to life again: 'you are not alone anymore', a sincere prayer.
Mami is finally free.
ii.
(You dream, sometimes, of where your family reach for you, again and again: all bloodied-hands and smiles split into shards, oil pooling around your feet and tongues of smoke spilling into the sky. You dream of what you have lost.
"Mami," her mother says, quiet and toneless, turning her face up to you. Her right cheek has burst-open from her jaw and pieces of her are splattered over the road, long, harsh streaks of red and pink. You can almost see the movements of her tongue. "Help us, Mami."
The stench is nauseating-it's a hot, close day, barely a cloud in the sky. Burnt flesh and drying blood, metal and ash: gunpowder. Your rifle materialises in your hand as always, like clockwork, and you point it down with shaking hands.
"Mami," her mother says again, robotic and lifeless, unsettling with it. The sun bears down on your back, and her face is impossibly dark. You close your eyes and inhale a mouthful of smoke, hook your finger into the trigger-"please, Mami," you barely catch before the shot, before the sudden, violent squelch of her face breaking into countless tiny pieces, splattering over the concrete, and even though your eyes are shut you can still see it perfectly, every bubble of blood and shard of skin, every scarlet splash and streak. You see red, an endless ocean of it swallowing you up, and as the rifle slips away from your hand you find yourself falling with it: falling forever, straight through the earth itself.
You fall, and nobody catches you.)
iii.
Mami blows away a trail of gun-smoke, giddy, weightless. De-materialises her weapons. Smiles.
She falls and lands easily, on her feet and steady. Madoka is at her side in a heartbeat, near-breathless but squealing-and when their hands press into one another's, Mami thinks that no two other things could ever fit together as perfectly.
iv.
(You have lost so much, you think. Hands delicately curled around your tea-cup, tiny trails of smoke fading, the sun barely risen and your tears only just dried-away; you have lost everything. Your Soul Gem burns brightly clipped onto your hair, glitters and gleams, and you dream of tearing it off and shattering it into a million little pieces, taking apart the last thing that you have left-because it would be the only thing left to lose, this selfish piece of you that had been the loss of all else. It would not be poetic or beautiful or anything like that. It would only be ugly, as you are, as all you are.
You sit there with your quickly cooling tea and your trembling hands and think, almost numbly: you must patrol tonight. Tonight and tomorrow, forever and always. It is all you can do. For now-it is simply your burden to shoulder.
You set down your teacup, raising a hand to your hair almost without thinking. You curl your fingers around the Soul Gem, warm and glassy. 'I wish I at least had something left to lose,' you think with startling clarity, as though anyone, here or anywhere, will hear it. As though it could be, could ever be. 'I wish I wasn't alone.')
v.
"Tiro Finale," Mami says, almost laughing, so alive, so alight, and it pierces the air almost in a blur-she is not scared, now. She is not scared of this witch, this little mouse with its world built of candy heart houses and dusted in sugar-snow. She is free and she is unafraid. And Tiro Finale stabs straight through the witch, wraps around and suffocates it, and-when it bursts-open (like her face had, like the streak of what used to be your mother's smile and your mother's eyes, laid out on the concrete to rest), Mami finally lets go, lets everything go.
(You aren't alone, now. You finally have something to lose-)
She almost turns around, nearly yells back at Madoka and Sayaka to run (don't look, please don't look), but when she sees the witch smile, so close to her face and gleaming-all she can think is that this is how it must be, for her, this is how it has to end. From what sounds like incredibly far-away, she just barely hears Madoka crying out something that is maybe her name, and thinks: 'this is all I can do for you.'
(-so lose it.)
The witch's teeth close down around her, the curtain-drop on the last pitiful act of her life, and Mami falls into a sea of red red red.