[fab five] don't leave me tongue tied. - chapter 2.
Series: Multiple. (Homestuck, Shaman King and Ouran, in that order.)
Word Count: 676.
Characters/Pairings: Canon/Fab Five members.
Notes: Second chunk of drabbles.
Summary: five silly girls stuck in situations beyond their control.
6. speak (dirk/sashi)
He’s a total asshole, blunt and brutal and way too smart. His orange text popped up rapidly, perfectly typed and punctuated, with a vocabulary that not even some thirty year olds had. You stumble over your keyboard, angry but nervous, and try to ignore your typos. He doesn’t comment. You see him in purple pajamas, carrying a bloody head. He is strong, silent for someone so verbose-and so alone. Your heart expands, painful, and you keep yourself from hugging him when you meet, warm and real. You settle instead for volleying insults. His smile is barely noticeable.
7. snow storm (horohoro/ariel)
You like snow, when it’s falling and you can manage to walk without slipping. He lives in snow, breathes cold air like medicine. It’s something to be admired, you think. You’ve never been able to snowboard, but you like to ski. He snorts at you, says, skiing is for old ladies. You throw a piece of tree at his face and he falls into a snow drift. Serves him right. Then, you meet an old bear. You watch him as he shares a drink with it. The old bear is shot by hunters-you watch as your blue haired fool explodes. You don’t stop him. The bear doesn’t make it. Neither of you cry. At night, you sit next to him, and he leans against you. You’re too warm, but too cold at the same time. You sit there in silence until his breathing evens. The moon is bright and the fire slowly runs out. His sleeping form against you makes you feel like sobbing.
8. present (kyouya/shii)
His idea of a gift is doing someone a favor that doesn’t require something in return. Your idea of a gift is something you give because you love someone. He considers an unreadable, distant smile charming, his lavender roses foreign and cool. You laugh loudly and give people hugs, mother people and scold them, your daisies bright and cheerful. He thinks about the future in terms of plans and schedules and school, finances and ambition. You think of the future in terms of supporting your family against being happy, deciding the lesser evils and motivating yourself. Your differences can be seen in something as obvious as your hair-curly and wild and untamable-and his, neat, brushed, never out of place. You say you hate him. He smiles and eggs you on. Maybe, deep down, you envy each other. But it’s easier to argue and compete and ignore.
Word Count: 676.
Characters/Pairings: Canon/Fab Five members.
Notes: Second chunk of drabbles.
Summary: five silly girls stuck in situations beyond their control.
6. speak (dirk/sashi)
He’s a total asshole, blunt and brutal and way too smart. His orange text popped up rapidly, perfectly typed and punctuated, with a vocabulary that not even some thirty year olds had. You stumble over your keyboard, angry but nervous, and try to ignore your typos. He doesn’t comment. You see him in purple pajamas, carrying a bloody head. He is strong, silent for someone so verbose-and so alone. Your heart expands, painful, and you keep yourself from hugging him when you meet, warm and real. You settle instead for volleying insults. His smile is barely noticeable.
7. snow storm (horohoro/ariel)
You like snow, when it’s falling and you can manage to walk without slipping. He lives in snow, breathes cold air like medicine. It’s something to be admired, you think. You’ve never been able to snowboard, but you like to ski. He snorts at you, says, skiing is for old ladies. You throw a piece of tree at his face and he falls into a snow drift. Serves him right. Then, you meet an old bear. You watch him as he shares a drink with it. The old bear is shot by hunters-you watch as your blue haired fool explodes. You don’t stop him. The bear doesn’t make it. Neither of you cry. At night, you sit next to him, and he leans against you. You’re too warm, but too cold at the same time. You sit there in silence until his breathing evens. The moon is bright and the fire slowly runs out. His sleeping form against you makes you feel like sobbing.
8. present (kyouya/shii)
His idea of a gift is doing someone a favor that doesn’t require something in return. Your idea of a gift is something you give because you love someone. He considers an unreadable, distant smile charming, his lavender roses foreign and cool. You laugh loudly and give people hugs, mother people and scold them, your daisies bright and cheerful. He thinks about the future in terms of plans and schedules and school, finances and ambition. You think of the future in terms of supporting your family against being happy, deciding the lesser evils and motivating yourself. Your differences can be seen in something as obvious as your hair-curly and wild and untamable-and his, neat, brushed, never out of place. You say you hate him. He smiles and eggs you on. Maybe, deep down, you envy each other. But it’s easier to argue and compete and ignore.