Brief pause for breath
Wow, I've been running around like crazy for at least a week now and I'm still not sure where all the time has gone. I certainly haven't accomplished much despite all the buzzing about. But I have been earning some extra bucks on an editing job, which is waaaay cool. Cash in the bank and another notch on the CV. Who can ask for anything more?? And I went on a really good dive last weekend. Practiced my buoyancy at my leisure and managed to maneuver pretty well around the cheezy sunken boat with camera in hand. It was really nice having a shallow, stress-free setting just to practice. Usually I just have to go straight into work mode and hope I don't screw up.
So I'm supposed to be going at my thesis with both barrels these days. Which means any time spent writing should be NOT be spent on writing smut. Sigh. Stupid real life. :P (I bite my thumb at you!) We'll see how long I can hold out!
Speaking of fic, I've barely had time to shower let alone write anything lately. Fortunately since everyone at GW500 was at Yaoicon last week, the challenge was to haul something out of your odds and ends basket for posting. And there is this one story that I'm pretty sure I never posted anywhere. I wrote it a while back - about 2 years, I think - but I was never entirely happy with it. I think it's a little too standard and not particularly insightful. (Not that my other stuff IS, mind you.) But I figured I'd post it there anyway, with a copy here so I can at least make an attempt to have all my fic in one place. (On that front, other happy news - someone left feedback on a couple of superold stories over the weekend and I was completely surprised but mega happy. It's so cool to know people are coming across these and enjoying them! *warm glow of sharing my perversion with the world*)
Title: Bad Dream
Author: Lukoni
Characters: Heero + Trowa
Word Count: 620
Summary: Heero has a dream that is hard to shake.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Tad of violence; possible cliche!Heero
Notes: Set just before Heero’s duel with Zechs in Antarctica. (I'm crap at episode numbers!)
Bad Dream
The sun was shining down so hard it distorted the very air that surrounded him. Had it been like this before? The sweat that dripped down his spine felt familiar, but everything seemed to hum… to vibrate with the force of life itself. Colors were brighter. Sounds louder. It just didn’t seem right. His own voice didn’t seem to belong to him as he explained to Sylvia Noventa that it was her right to kill him in exchange for her grandfather’s life. He handed her the gun. She took it and looked at him angrily. Had she done that before? His mind was too cloudy. He couldn’t remember.
“Shooting’s too good for you,” she spat. Holding the pistol casually, as if she’d grown up with one as her favorite toy, she moved her arm slightly to the left and fired. Braced for impact, it took a moment to realize that no bullet had hit him. Heero stared in puzzlement then followed her spiteful gaze to a spot just behind him. Trowa lay on the ground. Dead. Soft green eyes as placid as ever stared sightlessly at the shimmering blue sky, not at all perturbed by the dark hole just above them. The whine of cicadas was almost deafening. Heero felt as if someone had just dropped a mountain on his insides. A pain greater than any he’d ever known welled in his heart and he screamed in agony as her implacable voice drifted to his ears. “I’d rather take away the things you love.”
Heero lurched upright with a gasp. His pulse was racing, he was drenched in sweat and panting. He struggled to sort dream from reality. Had he actually screamed out loud? A glance across at his companion’s bunk seemed to indicate that he hadn’t. Trowa lay peacefully sleeping, head tucked into the crook of his arm, spanner still in his hand and several small oil stains decorating the only visible corner of his face. Heero looked away, shuddering at the thoughts swirling in his head. Sylvia’s voice still echoed there. The things you love. He didn’t love Trowa. That was ridiculous. They worked well together, that was all. They were comfortable with each other’s silence. Heero supposed he felt some gratitude toward the pilot that had saved his life after the disaster at New Edwards. But that wasn’t love. He didn’t really know what love was, but he was sure that wasn’t it. There was no place for love in this war. And he was pretty sure he wasn’t programmed for it. Doctor J would have seen to that. But he couldn’t shake the feeling of utter devastation that had chased him out of his dream. It was true what he’d told Trowa - dying did hurt like hell. But he’d do it a dozen more times rather than relive what he’d felt moments ago. What he was still feeling.
He surged to his feet and silently left the room. He needed to DO something to get this off his mind. Heading toward the bay to check on Heavyarms, he noticed that people were already up and at their tasks. It was nearly time for his battle with Zechs Merquise. He scowled as he realized that this dream might distract him from performing his best. Then he grunted in disgust at his own weakness. There was no excuse for failure. So he shoved all thoughts of love and pain and Trowa into a dark corner of his mind as he kicked open the bay doors. He climbed up to the cockpit of his borrowed Gundam and began a systems check, scrupulously ignoring the faint masculine scent that wasn’t his own which attempted to penetrate his senses.
So I'm supposed to be going at my thesis with both barrels these days. Which means any time spent writing should be NOT be spent on writing smut. Sigh. Stupid real life. :P (I bite my thumb at you!) We'll see how long I can hold out!
Speaking of fic, I've barely had time to shower let alone write anything lately. Fortunately since everyone at GW500 was at Yaoicon last week, the challenge was to haul something out of your odds and ends basket for posting. And there is this one story that I'm pretty sure I never posted anywhere. I wrote it a while back - about 2 years, I think - but I was never entirely happy with it. I think it's a little too standard and not particularly insightful. (Not that my other stuff IS, mind you.) But I figured I'd post it there anyway, with a copy here so I can at least make an attempt to have all my fic in one place. (On that front, other happy news - someone left feedback on a couple of superold stories over the weekend and I was completely surprised but mega happy. It's so cool to know people are coming across these and enjoying them! *warm glow of sharing my perversion with the world*)
Title: Bad Dream
Author: Lukoni
Characters: Heero + Trowa
Word Count: 620
Summary: Heero has a dream that is hard to shake.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Tad of violence; possible cliche!Heero
Notes: Set just before Heero’s duel with Zechs in Antarctica. (I'm crap at episode numbers!)
Bad Dream
The sun was shining down so hard it distorted the very air that surrounded him. Had it been like this before? The sweat that dripped down his spine felt familiar, but everything seemed to hum… to vibrate with the force of life itself. Colors were brighter. Sounds louder. It just didn’t seem right. His own voice didn’t seem to belong to him as he explained to Sylvia Noventa that it was her right to kill him in exchange for her grandfather’s life. He handed her the gun. She took it and looked at him angrily. Had she done that before? His mind was too cloudy. He couldn’t remember.
“Shooting’s too good for you,” she spat. Holding the pistol casually, as if she’d grown up with one as her favorite toy, she moved her arm slightly to the left and fired. Braced for impact, it took a moment to realize that no bullet had hit him. Heero stared in puzzlement then followed her spiteful gaze to a spot just behind him. Trowa lay on the ground. Dead. Soft green eyes as placid as ever stared sightlessly at the shimmering blue sky, not at all perturbed by the dark hole just above them. The whine of cicadas was almost deafening. Heero felt as if someone had just dropped a mountain on his insides. A pain greater than any he’d ever known welled in his heart and he screamed in agony as her implacable voice drifted to his ears. “I’d rather take away the things you love.”
Heero lurched upright with a gasp. His pulse was racing, he was drenched in sweat and panting. He struggled to sort dream from reality. Had he actually screamed out loud? A glance across at his companion’s bunk seemed to indicate that he hadn’t. Trowa lay peacefully sleeping, head tucked into the crook of his arm, spanner still in his hand and several small oil stains decorating the only visible corner of his face. Heero looked away, shuddering at the thoughts swirling in his head. Sylvia’s voice still echoed there. The things you love. He didn’t love Trowa. That was ridiculous. They worked well together, that was all. They were comfortable with each other’s silence. Heero supposed he felt some gratitude toward the pilot that had saved his life after the disaster at New Edwards. But that wasn’t love. He didn’t really know what love was, but he was sure that wasn’t it. There was no place for love in this war. And he was pretty sure he wasn’t programmed for it. Doctor J would have seen to that. But he couldn’t shake the feeling of utter devastation that had chased him out of his dream. It was true what he’d told Trowa - dying did hurt like hell. But he’d do it a dozen more times rather than relive what he’d felt moments ago. What he was still feeling.
He surged to his feet and silently left the room. He needed to DO something to get this off his mind. Heading toward the bay to check on Heavyarms, he noticed that people were already up and at their tasks. It was nearly time for his battle with Zechs Merquise. He scowled as he realized that this dream might distract him from performing his best. Then he grunted in disgust at his own weakness. There was no excuse for failure. So he shoved all thoughts of love and pain and Trowa into a dark corner of his mind as he kicked open the bay doors. He climbed up to the cockpit of his borrowed Gundam and began a systems check, scrupulously ignoring the faint masculine scent that wasn’t his own which attempted to penetrate his senses.