[KHR!]: Thought Process.
title: Thought Process.
characters: Xanxus.
rating: PG
wordcount: 190.
challenge/prompt: N/A
disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by its respective author. No money is being made from this fanwork and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
summary: He holds his gun between sturdy fingers, and thinks, with much derision, that he really doesn't give a fuck at all. He is Xanxus, he is Varia, he is Vongola, and that's all he needs to know.
notes: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, metaphand!
He won't admit that sometimes, he looks at his hands wondering if there's a life beyond that of a killer, if he can completely wipe away the dirt of the flame that's consumed his heart, if he can pull himself off the complete misery of dejection, of cacophonous wrath that binds him to his present.
He always scoffs at the idea, however, that he can change. He is, after all, Xanxus. He has made himself into the kind of man that he is, and that much he does not regret.
However, one can't excuse pure curiosity. If he had lived a life completely out of a mafia, if he had become a man by his own terms, in his own world, if he had met his "father" at a much later time. Would he have been consumed by the rage in his heart? Would have he desired the throne that he wanted to be his?
He holds his gun between sturdy fingers, and thinks, with much derision, that he really doesn't give a fuck at all. He is Xanxus, he is Varia, he is Vongola, and that's all he needs to know.
characters: Xanxus.
rating: PG
wordcount: 190.
challenge/prompt: N/A
disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by its respective author. No money is being made from this fanwork and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
summary: He holds his gun between sturdy fingers, and thinks, with much derision, that he really doesn't give a fuck at all. He is Xanxus, he is Varia, he is Vongola, and that's all he needs to know.
notes: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, metaphand!
He won't admit that sometimes, he looks at his hands wondering if there's a life beyond that of a killer, if he can completely wipe away the dirt of the flame that's consumed his heart, if he can pull himself off the complete misery of dejection, of cacophonous wrath that binds him to his present.
He always scoffs at the idea, however, that he can change. He is, after all, Xanxus. He has made himself into the kind of man that he is, and that much he does not regret.
However, one can't excuse pure curiosity. If he had lived a life completely out of a mafia, if he had become a man by his own terms, in his own world, if he had met his "father" at a much later time. Would he have been consumed by the rage in his heart? Would have he desired the throne that he wanted to be his?
He holds his gun between sturdy fingers, and thinks, with much derision, that he really doesn't give a fuck at all. He is Xanxus, he is Varia, he is Vongola, and that's all he needs to know.