Weird-ass fic again, WHY (now unlocked)
I won't blame alice_and_lain for this, although her glasses post brought it to mind. It's merely that one of my fandoms fits alarmingly well with that prompt. But in a creepy, overly symbolized sort of way rather than a hawtness sort of way as all the NORMAL people posted. :p
Fandom: Utena.
Length: 200 for the first (double drabble); the second ran to 660-ish because WHY ARGH WHY.
Rating: PG-ish.
Set in the NMH flashback for the first one, late in the Black Rose arc for the second. The second has spoilers for same, but really, you wouldn't be reading genfic if you weren't already more fannish than most.
"Clarity"
More than once he felt the need to take his glasses off and pretend to clean them, to blur the edges in this newly familiar parlor, to slow the influx of minutiae that should have been meaningless and were not. The polished floor led him to her shoes, to her hands in her lap; the mirror reflected her inverted self behind glass, left on right, and caught him watching her while she straightened the photographs on the shelves. Everything was too clear and too present and too near, and he felt a constant temptation to allow himself to breathe by washing it all out.
But he rarely escaped that way; he kept everything in strict focus, leaving no room for flawed interpretation. If, when lost in a wash of muted color and shape, he thought he saw her looking at him with a warm little smile, it would be gone when he looked again. That initial leap of hope was what he dreaded most.
When he was alone he allowed himself to take his glasses off and sink into his own chair. In the back of his mind she reached for them, and lying in her fingers they seemed fragile.
---
"Glass"
Mikage never wants to be awake to see night change into dawn. He retires well before that hour, the night's planning running in a murmuring tape loop in his head, repetition lulling him to sleep. Mamiya slips away to tend the roses, and is tending the roses whenever Mikage emerges.
In a dream Tenjou stabs him through the heart, and he wakes into the wrong hour. His breathing sounds like something not his own, something jagged and unpredictable, and he suppresses a shudder as he slips barefooted into the corridor. At the end of the hallway is a high window, shadow-framed against the first lurking light of day. In front of the window is a shadow in the shape of a boy.
Mikage holds his elbows in his hands unconsciously, a gesture he should not make, as he is drawn closer in. He wants to call out to Mamiya, tell him to come back and make his sempai forget his nightmare, to flee before morning comes. But before he does, Mamiya turns slightly, too quickly, and the not-moon not-starlight flashes on wire-rimmed glasses and traces the curves of a face that is not quite his. "Mikage-san. You should go back to sleep."
Mikage touches the bridge of his nose without thinking - he can't see more than the edges lined in light against the shadow, both beautiful and terrifying. He hesitates a step or two away, surrounded by locked doors. "I... I didn't know you wore..."
"Hm?" The boy at the window turns, and his movements are at once too quick and too slow, full of leashed power. Mikage cannot see Mamiya smile, but his head tilts in the way that some people do when they smile. His hands rest too delicately on the windowsill. Mikage is not entirely sure whether asking him back to bed is a good idea, although he can't stop looking, can't stop thinking how his body would bend and quiver with that energy caged inside it, how those hands would look clutched in his sheets. His mouth is dry, and he recognizes this incongruous undercurrent to his desire.
Fear.
Before he can think again he reaches out for the glasses, thinking that perhaps he is asleep and dreaming after all, that if he takes these off, Mamiya will become someone else and all will be put right again. Mamiya's fingers catch his hand with his fingertips only brushing the edge of the frames. He is close enough to feel Mamiya's warm breath against his throat. The light has grown stronger; morning is coming. His fingertips slip a little, unable to move against Mamiya's insistent hold. He wants to break them, fling them aside to snap on the tiles. And then. And then. And then.
Mamiya smiles again - rather, he has not stopped smiling, and his smile shifts. His free hand moves and the glasses are gone, Mamiya's face tilted back to catch the light that does not come from the moon. It is his familiar and beloved face, after all, and his voice is delicately empty. "Mikage-sempai. Were you dreaming?"
"I..." The truth integrates itself into the past. "Yes. Yes, I was dreaming."
Mamiya places something in his hand, wire as fragile as the skeleton of a bird. Glass focuses light. His fingers close around it. Clarity and focus. Mamiya never wore glasses, and neither did he. This is also true. In some fleeting thought in the dark corridors of his mind, he puts them on himself and ceases to be.
He merely lets them fall, an unimportant afterthought, not worth destroying. The sound they make when they land is small. His mouth finds his lover's, and after a moment he turns his back on the window. "Come back with me."
"Yes, sempai." There is no other answer. They escape before the night changes into something else, and Mamiya's hands and movements and quiet cries are the same as they have always been.
When he wakes, Mamiya is tending the roses.
---
I never quite got my head around unaware-of-Mamiya!Anthy. I know that that's the most reasonable explanation, since she remarks to herself that she's tired all the time, but still. Maybe glamour-throwing self-aware even-more-complicated Anthy is just more fun to write.
Disappointingly, these indulge in my two fic crutches: present-tense and the Black Rose arc. I also had to whack a few double adjectives, and they still have my usual whacked sentence structure. I suppose I should be glad that I could get anything done at all; I haven't written anything in a dog's age. I don't feel like posting them to utenadrabble, since they probably wouldn't care for it and I am embarrassed by my one-trick-ponyness. (Hey, I'm fascinated by the whole stuck-in-time concept, okay?)
Fandom: Utena.
Length: 200 for the first (double drabble); the second ran to 660-ish because WHY ARGH WHY.
Rating: PG-ish.
Set in the NMH flashback for the first one, late in the Black Rose arc for the second. The second has spoilers for same, but really, you wouldn't be reading genfic if you weren't already more fannish than most.
"Clarity"
More than once he felt the need to take his glasses off and pretend to clean them, to blur the edges in this newly familiar parlor, to slow the influx of minutiae that should have been meaningless and were not. The polished floor led him to her shoes, to her hands in her lap; the mirror reflected her inverted self behind glass, left on right, and caught him watching her while she straightened the photographs on the shelves. Everything was too clear and too present and too near, and he felt a constant temptation to allow himself to breathe by washing it all out.
But he rarely escaped that way; he kept everything in strict focus, leaving no room for flawed interpretation. If, when lost in a wash of muted color and shape, he thought he saw her looking at him with a warm little smile, it would be gone when he looked again. That initial leap of hope was what he dreaded most.
When he was alone he allowed himself to take his glasses off and sink into his own chair. In the back of his mind she reached for them, and lying in her fingers they seemed fragile.
---
"Glass"
Mikage never wants to be awake to see night change into dawn. He retires well before that hour, the night's planning running in a murmuring tape loop in his head, repetition lulling him to sleep. Mamiya slips away to tend the roses, and is tending the roses whenever Mikage emerges.
In a dream Tenjou stabs him through the heart, and he wakes into the wrong hour. His breathing sounds like something not his own, something jagged and unpredictable, and he suppresses a shudder as he slips barefooted into the corridor. At the end of the hallway is a high window, shadow-framed against the first lurking light of day. In front of the window is a shadow in the shape of a boy.
Mikage holds his elbows in his hands unconsciously, a gesture he should not make, as he is drawn closer in. He wants to call out to Mamiya, tell him to come back and make his sempai forget his nightmare, to flee before morning comes. But before he does, Mamiya turns slightly, too quickly, and the not-moon not-starlight flashes on wire-rimmed glasses and traces the curves of a face that is not quite his. "Mikage-san. You should go back to sleep."
Mikage touches the bridge of his nose without thinking - he can't see more than the edges lined in light against the shadow, both beautiful and terrifying. He hesitates a step or two away, surrounded by locked doors. "I... I didn't know you wore..."
"Hm?" The boy at the window turns, and his movements are at once too quick and too slow, full of leashed power. Mikage cannot see Mamiya smile, but his head tilts in the way that some people do when they smile. His hands rest too delicately on the windowsill. Mikage is not entirely sure whether asking him back to bed is a good idea, although he can't stop looking, can't stop thinking how his body would bend and quiver with that energy caged inside it, how those hands would look clutched in his sheets. His mouth is dry, and he recognizes this incongruous undercurrent to his desire.
Fear.
Before he can think again he reaches out for the glasses, thinking that perhaps he is asleep and dreaming after all, that if he takes these off, Mamiya will become someone else and all will be put right again. Mamiya's fingers catch his hand with his fingertips only brushing the edge of the frames. He is close enough to feel Mamiya's warm breath against his throat. The light has grown stronger; morning is coming. His fingertips slip a little, unable to move against Mamiya's insistent hold. He wants to break them, fling them aside to snap on the tiles. And then. And then. And then.
Mamiya smiles again - rather, he has not stopped smiling, and his smile shifts. His free hand moves and the glasses are gone, Mamiya's face tilted back to catch the light that does not come from the moon. It is his familiar and beloved face, after all, and his voice is delicately empty. "Mikage-sempai. Were you dreaming?"
"I..." The truth integrates itself into the past. "Yes. Yes, I was dreaming."
Mamiya places something in his hand, wire as fragile as the skeleton of a bird. Glass focuses light. His fingers close around it. Clarity and focus. Mamiya never wore glasses, and neither did he. This is also true. In some fleeting thought in the dark corridors of his mind, he puts them on himself and ceases to be.
He merely lets them fall, an unimportant afterthought, not worth destroying. The sound they make when they land is small. His mouth finds his lover's, and after a moment he turns his back on the window. "Come back with me."
"Yes, sempai." There is no other answer. They escape before the night changes into something else, and Mamiya's hands and movements and quiet cries are the same as they have always been.
When he wakes, Mamiya is tending the roses.
---
I never quite got my head around unaware-of-Mamiya!Anthy. I know that that's the most reasonable explanation, since she remarks to herself that she's tired all the time, but still. Maybe glamour-throwing self-aware even-more-complicated Anthy is just more fun to write.
Disappointingly, these indulge in my two fic crutches: present-tense and the Black Rose arc. I also had to whack a few double adjectives, and they still have my usual whacked sentence structure. I suppose I should be glad that I could get anything done at all; I haven't written anything in a dog's age. I don't feel like posting them to utenadrabble, since they probably wouldn't care for it and I am embarrassed by my one-trick-ponyness. (Hey, I'm fascinated by the whole stuck-in-time concept, okay?)