Mononoke fic/art-athon - fic/art post - CLOSED
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And then she hugs him, a leaping tackle that he never actually said was okay, and the first time she thought they were going to fall over into the dust that she’d forgotten to sweep, and then he held her and he gave a dry little laugh and asked her if she’d seen a rat. And she’d blushed and blushed, and it was so long between then and the next time that she forgot herself the next time and did it again, and he said nothing but he caught her. And so now he just catches her, like he’s so long-suffering (but she knows now that he expects it).
She asks him questions, eager and perched forward as he pulls off his pack and stretches, and he gives her maddening little non-answers like maybe, Kayo-san, maybe not, and oh, is it so late in the year already, and no, I have not heard the name. He tells her nothing, but he gives her little things like a magnificent white feather that looks like it was from a giant crane, or a pretty little piece of shaped wood that smells like the sea. Once it was one of his scales (or rather, half of one) that had taken a blow from something with massive claws, and it wobbled sadly about, webbed with cracks and unable to balance on its point anymore, and she kept it with her most precious things until it finally fell into a hundred glittering pieces.
And she dreams mightily, as only a young maid to this-or-that household can dream. She dreams of burning fingers tracing the line of her cheek, her collarbone, cupping her breast and spreading like a star on her belly. She dreams of hair curtaining over her face and a smell like metal and lightning, of long nails dragging down her shoulder blades and pressing her spine into an arch that bares her neck. And in her dream there is a low laugh, so familiar, and kisses like sparks against her skin and finally like an ember against her lips and a hum of energy and hands--fingers--and she wakes and the dawn is bright and clear.
And there is something usually there, like a tiny folded crane or some glittering stone, tumbled smooth by a river, and she sits for a long time feeling deserted and emptied out as the morning household stirs without her. And later when she has cried a little and dresses, there are always the marks like burns that trace over her body, red and angry on her skin like she has held a hot iron too close to her heart.
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(And yes, I am *unreasonably* fond of the Japanese nickname for MS's other half. :D)
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I LOVE THE JAPANESE FANDOM. God, there is some of the strangest crack...but it's all so funny and oh man. I can spend hours browsing Japanese fanart sites. Last night I found one that had this whole AU-omake thing of OS as a housewife-figure. I laughed so hard.
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This fic leaves a warm fuzzy feeling in mah belly. Especally the part about her keeping half the scales.
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*IS DEAD OF FUNNEH. DEAD, I SAY*
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...that was terrible pun, wasn't it? Shoot me now.
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