multifandom gifts
For efeitokaminari
Series: Kuroshitsuji
Pairing/Characters: Madam Red, Ciel
Rating: G
Prompt: Christmas.
Author's Note: I. Uh. Misremembered "No tragedy, death or whatever that does remind sad things" as "tragedy, death or whatever that does remind sad things is okay". And only noticed it after I had finished. THIS WHOLE FIC IS ABOUT REMIND SAD THINGS. Uh. Uh. OTL OTL. You can give me another prompt and I'll write it.
It was the first Christmas after that incident. She didn't refer to it by name. Or rather, there weren't any words to describe it. Were there? Even though she was a doctor, even though she knew the words for 'shock', for 'incineration', for 'cadaver', for 'remains'.
"I'm sorry, Ciel, but I have to be at the hospital around Christmas. It's a particularly busy time, you understand." She leaned forward to speak to him, to be closer to him. He looked back at her. She turned her eyes down to his blue cravat. Were there words to describe this? "But...I don't want to leave you alone, so would you like to come to the hospital with me? You - don't have to make the rounds with me," she thinks of what he would see, would be reminded of. Even though her hospital didn't receive many burn victims, blood is still blood, wounds are still wounds, death is still death. "You could just wait in the office. Bring, a book?"
He kept looking back at her. "No. I'll come with you. On the rounds."
They passed through the wards. Maternity - Ciel's mother, her sister, Ciel's birth. Pediatric - Ciel growing up from a child. Isolation - Ciel needing to stay in a specifically aired, cleaned and disinfected room after a severe asthma attack. Intensive Care. Like a pet dog he followed her as she walked from bed to bed. She was attentive and precise as she asked her questions, changed their dressings, adjusted their pillows. He was silent and observant. The patients who were well enough to, smile at him, remark on what a nice boy he is, is he Doctor's son - no, he's my nephew.
So this continued as they walked the length of the ward, and she thought to herself that somehow, maybe it's alright. She thought about how they would play chess and maybe have a drink of hot cocoa when they reach home (she had taken it upon herself to stay with him, at least for this little while). As they walked out, he turned to her, and she responded automatically as she would had he been a patient with an enquiry. "What is it? Is there something you need?"
He looked back, just a little. "That last patient there. The one with the scar, the wound near his eye. He isn't going to live long."
As she followed him, she wondered, after the initial impact of his words - did he mean "isn't going to live long" or did he mean "doesn't deserve to live long"?
When they arrived home that night, she didn't try to play chess with him. Chess seemed too ordinary, too commonplace, too reminescent. Instead, she tried to conjure for him images of exorbitant, opulent, fantastical Christmas. Isn't going to, doesn't deserve to.
For hitokiri. Aaargh sorry for the fail aljglkajglkaj really really. akgjlakgjlakjgla ;______;
Series: Di[e]ce
Pairing/Characters: Haruki/Kazuki, Yuki
Rating: G
Prompt: fainting
A/N: Set some time before the events of the manga
"Hurry up, Yuki, Haruki!"
"Aah, coming, coming!"
"Kazuki, you're running too fast for us to keep with with!"
Kazuki running as fast as he could to reach the blue of the water, Yuki following behind, bags flapping, Haruki wiping sunscreen off his glasses. The smell of brine, of molten sugar and melting ice creams. The cries of seabirds and Yuki as he steps on a shell followed by "idiot Yuki!" and "would you like a bandage?" In other words, the annual summer holiday.
Kazuki is standing observing what he is considering as his territory when Yuki and Haruki reach him.
"Do you want to set up here?" Haruki asks, setting down his bag (including a first aid kit now minus one bandage) and helping the hobbling Yuki set down his beside his own.
"Yeah, it looks like a good place, don't you think?" Yuki's already sitting down and stretching, signalling his approval.
"Good enough, good as any. I don't think there's much difference where we are." Haruki answers calmly in the same tone of voice he uses to address the student council. A decision is a decision, logic is logic, even amidst the landscape of sandcastles and umbrellas.
Yuki repositions himself, obviously preparing to darken his skin by a few shades, remarking casually, lazily in a tone already languid. "This is great. It just feels different, doesn't it? Being near the sea. The sunlight feels different. Warmer, somehow." At this, Haruki flashes a quick look at Kazuki and then at the sun and their umbrella, but Kazuki doesn't seem to notice.
It is two hours later, the sandcastle beside them has turrets now and Yuki seems to have fallen asleep. Haruki and Kazuki are together side by side, legs and knees covered with a dusting of sand, just sitting, just looking.
"Mm, Haruki..." Kazuki's voice is heavy.
"What is it?" No answer. "Kazuki?" No answer save for the weight of Kazuki's head falling onto his shoulder. He quickly looks at the sun - it's hot, but is it that hot, how hot is it, what's the temperature - feels Kazuki's forehead. "Kazuki, Kazuki!" One arm around Kazuki's shoulder to stop Kazuki from falling over onto his side into the sand, scrabbling for water, ice and a cloth with his other hand.
"Mm, Haruki...that's nice."
"I was worried. A little panicked too."
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay. Don't move."
"I won't."
Sun and half-closed eyes and more than that, the sense of closeness, so near that they seem to melt into each other like the cloth-wrapped ice that Haruki is holding. Moments of half-consciousness when time seems to move as slowly as the cool droplets sliding down Kazuki's cheek. More than the gaudiness of the beach holiday, this is how they'll remember summer.
For electricfizz
Series: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!
Pairing/Characters: Mukuro/Hibari
Rating: PG-13 to R
Prompt: Something holiday-related, maybe having to do with memories?
The sky is ablaze, the city is aflame. Carnevale Di Venezia. The streets are golden, faces are glittering.
Draped with raiment, visaged with metal and maché, diademed with wreaths of marzipan they move like the fire-eaters performing in the streets, the beribboned dancers in the courtyard, the stilt walkers. All move with the swaying weightless grace of Carnevale.
They move past a copse of trees, a pride of lions, a crowd of harlequins. He touches the feathers on the side of the other's head and receives in response a slight brush of taloned gloves against his own fingers bound in blue and silver. He doesn't remember where or how they had met on this night, only remembers seeing a vision as if an illusion of a white bird, night hunter, and then when did he realise that the bird was a man and the man was a bird. When did he allow himself to be led, when did he allow himself to become prey; herbivore.
A mass of masquers surges against them and he feels the warmth of skin against his wrist instead of the coolness of talon and his thought is misted.
The sound of revelry - più vino! - envelops them and then moves on as they themselves stay in the small passageway between the thoroughfare and the orchard grove. The following is inevitable. Noise is replaced by the scent of pomegranate trees from the grove and the constantly flickering lamplight of the canal barges. He reaches up to remove the mask of feathers but he is stopped, his wrist encircled.
"No, isn't it more exciting this way?" Soft laughter. Only the mouthpiece is adjusted - his own mask is only a half mask instead of a full mask. Another thought that is again quickly turned to a wisp - was this, how much of this was planned? "Do you dare?"
His own reply more guttural, almost a snarl. But after all, his mask, his jacketed shoulders are embedded with the sharpness of spikes rather than the softness of feathers. "I'll bite you to death."
Again the soft laughter - does it sound famili- "Why don't you try then?"
He doesn't have to reach far to twist the fabric of the other's cloak or to feel the tension of beneath it, or to feel the talons and gloves pressing, digging into his back, the small of his back, or to taste a mouth that is sweet with the taste of pre-Lenten wine. It hasn't changed much in eight years, this distance between them. And who draws first blood, the colour of pomegranate juice? Blood and wine and blood and claw, as old as reincarnation. He leans forward, further, closer, breaks off the contact that fills him with the headiness of intoxication, inebriation to speak into that ear whitened by small filaments of feathers, bites down on the lobe. He meets no resistance until his head is pulled back by the fingers in his hair - fingers now, as he had tugged off a glove when he was denied the mask - and breath in his own ear.
"We're both kinds of birds, aren't we?" He doesn't bother to give a reply, taking it as some kind meaningless parley. If he was one to appreciate beauty such as that of classical gods and goddesses, he would have admired the curve of the owl-fringed neck, but he wasn't eight years ago and he isn't now and what he does instead is to push themselves further, closer.
The other, his partner in this consummation, however, is knowledgeable of ancient art, living through it as he has. But Byzantines and Sabines, he is fascinated as he has not before remembered, by this heated, living art of blooded paint and muscle sculpture.
In this festival of festivals, they celebrate.
For vicious_lullaby
Series: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!
Pairing/Characters: Tsuna/Gokudera/Yamamoto
Rating: PG
Prompt: First kiss, "What the hell are you doing?"
"What the hell are you doing, baseball freak" - this was said as more of an exclamation as a question. Unfortunately, there was not enough room for Gokudera to punctuate his exclamation with a stick of dynamite. There wasn't room for him to turn around and check on how his precious Tenth was doing or to glare at Yamamoto. In fact, there wasn't room to do...anything.
As it was, their current situation - with 'their' referring to Yamamoto, Gokudera and Tsuna - was that they were all, somehow, fitted inside a square cube that could fit a maximum of two people - if it had been designed for people-holding at all.
"I wonder if Reborn wants to train us to be contortionists, ahahahahaha!" Laughter apparently did not require any space. "...Where's Tsun-"
"TENTH, TENTH, WHERE ARE YOU? I CAN'T SEE YOU, ARE YOU OKAY? TENTH?"
For an answer there was a faint groan of "eeernngh..." and then "I'm behind you. Behind both of you."
As it was, their current situation - with 'their' referring to Yamamoto, Gokudera and Tsuna - was that they were all fitted inside a square cube: Yamamoto was curled up in the front bottom left corner with his feet pushing up against the front top right corner and hands at his sides, Gokudera behind him with one foot directly above himself and the other against the front top left corner while his elbow was pressed into the cube wall above Yamamoto's stomach and the other hand on the ceiling, and finally Tsuna crouched at the back with his two feet in the two bottom corners. This was established in a series of similar yelps and groans.
"Aargh, how did we end up here again?" Tsuna managed to ask as he was the one whose lungs and vocal cords were in the least constricted position.
"Well." This was from Gokudera, who had to struggle with balancing himself and talking at the same time. While he didn't particularly mind accidentally elbowing Yamamoto in the stomach, he was afraid of accidentally kicking the Tenth. "Reborn said something like 'this is a test, if you don't get out of there before the oxygen runs out, you'll die."
"Ahahaha, I see-"
"We have to get out of here!" The volume by which this was able to be uttered meant that it come from Tsuna. "He isn't joking! Is there some kind of key or latch?" This time, yelps, groans and scrabbling on the floor, walls and ceiling. "I think I feel something!"
"Here as well, Tsuna!"
"They're buttons," Gokudera responded. "I think we need to press all of them if we want this to open up."
And it was somehow in the repositioning to reach all of these buttons at the same time, that they found their faces repositioned next to each other.
As it was, their current situation - with 'their' referring to Yamamoto, Gokudera and Tsuna - was that they were all fitted inside a square cube. However this didn't seem to matter that much anymore. Yamamoto's mouth was at Gokudera's ear - Gokudera could hear each breath Yamamoto took, and more than that, he could feel himself shiver involuntarily as each breath Yamamoto took travelled into his ear. Gokudera's own lips were on Tsuna's forehead, almost like a benediction. None of them moved, they didn't know how to. They didn't speak either, didn't know what to say.
How much time passed. A second, a minute, more than that. Somehow they had become reconciled to this strange position of theirs, and they didn't want to move anymore.
Beep beep beep beep.
"What's that?"
"I'm feeling a bit lightheaded."
"I think we should get out."
Reborn was there to greet them when the cube unfolded.
"How was it?" he asked. They each responded in their own way, but one thing was common. None of them mentioned the incident or that time that had passed before the opening of the cube.
Series: Kuroshitsuji
Pairing/Characters: Madam Red, Ciel
Rating: G
Prompt: Christmas.
Author's Note: I. Uh. Misremembered "No tragedy, death or whatever that does remind sad things" as "tragedy, death or whatever that does remind sad things is okay". And only noticed it after I had finished. THIS WHOLE FIC IS ABOUT REMIND SAD THINGS. Uh. Uh. OTL OTL. You can give me another prompt and I'll write it.
It was the first Christmas after that incident. She didn't refer to it by name. Or rather, there weren't any words to describe it. Were there? Even though she was a doctor, even though she knew the words for 'shock', for 'incineration', for 'cadaver', for 'remains'.
"I'm sorry, Ciel, but I have to be at the hospital around Christmas. It's a particularly busy time, you understand." She leaned forward to speak to him, to be closer to him. He looked back at her. She turned her eyes down to his blue cravat. Were there words to describe this? "But...I don't want to leave you alone, so would you like to come to the hospital with me? You - don't have to make the rounds with me," she thinks of what he would see, would be reminded of. Even though her hospital didn't receive many burn victims, blood is still blood, wounds are still wounds, death is still death. "You could just wait in the office. Bring, a book?"
He kept looking back at her. "No. I'll come with you. On the rounds."
They passed through the wards. Maternity - Ciel's mother, her sister, Ciel's birth. Pediatric - Ciel growing up from a child. Isolation - Ciel needing to stay in a specifically aired, cleaned and disinfected room after a severe asthma attack. Intensive Care. Like a pet dog he followed her as she walked from bed to bed. She was attentive and precise as she asked her questions, changed their dressings, adjusted their pillows. He was silent and observant. The patients who were well enough to, smile at him, remark on what a nice boy he is, is he Doctor's son - no, he's my nephew.
So this continued as they walked the length of the ward, and she thought to herself that somehow, maybe it's alright. She thought about how they would play chess and maybe have a drink of hot cocoa when they reach home (she had taken it upon herself to stay with him, at least for this little while). As they walked out, he turned to her, and she responded automatically as she would had he been a patient with an enquiry. "What is it? Is there something you need?"
He looked back, just a little. "That last patient there. The one with the scar, the wound near his eye. He isn't going to live long."
As she followed him, she wondered, after the initial impact of his words - did he mean "isn't going to live long" or did he mean "doesn't deserve to live long"?
When they arrived home that night, she didn't try to play chess with him. Chess seemed too ordinary, too commonplace, too reminescent. Instead, she tried to conjure for him images of exorbitant, opulent, fantastical Christmas. Isn't going to, doesn't deserve to.
For hitokiri. Aaargh sorry for the fail aljglkajglkaj really really. akgjlakgjlakjgla ;______;
Series: Di[e]ce
Pairing/Characters: Haruki/Kazuki, Yuki
Rating: G
Prompt: fainting
A/N: Set some time before the events of the manga
"Hurry up, Yuki, Haruki!"
"Aah, coming, coming!"
"Kazuki, you're running too fast for us to keep with with!"
Kazuki running as fast as he could to reach the blue of the water, Yuki following behind, bags flapping, Haruki wiping sunscreen off his glasses. The smell of brine, of molten sugar and melting ice creams. The cries of seabirds and Yuki as he steps on a shell followed by "idiot Yuki!" and "would you like a bandage?" In other words, the annual summer holiday.
Kazuki is standing observing what he is considering as his territory when Yuki and Haruki reach him.
"Do you want to set up here?" Haruki asks, setting down his bag (including a first aid kit now minus one bandage) and helping the hobbling Yuki set down his beside his own.
"Yeah, it looks like a good place, don't you think?" Yuki's already sitting down and stretching, signalling his approval.
"Good enough, good as any. I don't think there's much difference where we are." Haruki answers calmly in the same tone of voice he uses to address the student council. A decision is a decision, logic is logic, even amidst the landscape of sandcastles and umbrellas.
Yuki repositions himself, obviously preparing to darken his skin by a few shades, remarking casually, lazily in a tone already languid. "This is great. It just feels different, doesn't it? Being near the sea. The sunlight feels different. Warmer, somehow." At this, Haruki flashes a quick look at Kazuki and then at the sun and their umbrella, but Kazuki doesn't seem to notice.
It is two hours later, the sandcastle beside them has turrets now and Yuki seems to have fallen asleep. Haruki and Kazuki are together side by side, legs and knees covered with a dusting of sand, just sitting, just looking.
"Mm, Haruki..." Kazuki's voice is heavy.
"What is it?" No answer. "Kazuki?" No answer save for the weight of Kazuki's head falling onto his shoulder. He quickly looks at the sun - it's hot, but is it that hot, how hot is it, what's the temperature - feels Kazuki's forehead. "Kazuki, Kazuki!" One arm around Kazuki's shoulder to stop Kazuki from falling over onto his side into the sand, scrabbling for water, ice and a cloth with his other hand.
"Mm, Haruki...that's nice."
"I was worried. A little panicked too."
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay. Don't move."
"I won't."
Sun and half-closed eyes and more than that, the sense of closeness, so near that they seem to melt into each other like the cloth-wrapped ice that Haruki is holding. Moments of half-consciousness when time seems to move as slowly as the cool droplets sliding down Kazuki's cheek. More than the gaudiness of the beach holiday, this is how they'll remember summer.
For electricfizz
Series: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!
Pairing/Characters: Mukuro/Hibari
Rating: PG-13 to R
Prompt: Something holiday-related, maybe having to do with memories?
The sky is ablaze, the city is aflame. Carnevale Di Venezia. The streets are golden, faces are glittering.
Draped with raiment, visaged with metal and maché, diademed with wreaths of marzipan they move like the fire-eaters performing in the streets, the beribboned dancers in the courtyard, the stilt walkers. All move with the swaying weightless grace of Carnevale.
They move past a copse of trees, a pride of lions, a crowd of harlequins. He touches the feathers on the side of the other's head and receives in response a slight brush of taloned gloves against his own fingers bound in blue and silver. He doesn't remember where or how they had met on this night, only remembers seeing a vision as if an illusion of a white bird, night hunter, and then when did he realise that the bird was a man and the man was a bird. When did he allow himself to be led, when did he allow himself to become prey; herbivore.
A mass of masquers surges against them and he feels the warmth of skin against his wrist instead of the coolness of talon and his thought is misted.
The sound of revelry - più vino! - envelops them and then moves on as they themselves stay in the small passageway between the thoroughfare and the orchard grove. The following is inevitable. Noise is replaced by the scent of pomegranate trees from the grove and the constantly flickering lamplight of the canal barges. He reaches up to remove the mask of feathers but he is stopped, his wrist encircled.
"No, isn't it more exciting this way?" Soft laughter. Only the mouthpiece is adjusted - his own mask is only a half mask instead of a full mask. Another thought that is again quickly turned to a wisp - was this, how much of this was planned? "Do you dare?"
His own reply more guttural, almost a snarl. But after all, his mask, his jacketed shoulders are embedded with the sharpness of spikes rather than the softness of feathers. "I'll bite you to death."
Again the soft laughter - does it sound famili- "Why don't you try then?"
He doesn't have to reach far to twist the fabric of the other's cloak or to feel the tension of beneath it, or to feel the talons and gloves pressing, digging into his back, the small of his back, or to taste a mouth that is sweet with the taste of pre-Lenten wine. It hasn't changed much in eight years, this distance between them. And who draws first blood, the colour of pomegranate juice? Blood and wine and blood and claw, as old as reincarnation. He leans forward, further, closer, breaks off the contact that fills him with the headiness of intoxication, inebriation to speak into that ear whitened by small filaments of feathers, bites down on the lobe. He meets no resistance until his head is pulled back by the fingers in his hair - fingers now, as he had tugged off a glove when he was denied the mask - and breath in his own ear.
"We're both kinds of birds, aren't we?" He doesn't bother to give a reply, taking it as some kind meaningless parley. If he was one to appreciate beauty such as that of classical gods and goddesses, he would have admired the curve of the owl-fringed neck, but he wasn't eight years ago and he isn't now and what he does instead is to push themselves further, closer.
The other, his partner in this consummation, however, is knowledgeable of ancient art, living through it as he has. But Byzantines and Sabines, he is fascinated as he has not before remembered, by this heated, living art of blooded paint and muscle sculpture.
In this festival of festivals, they celebrate.
For vicious_lullaby
Series: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!
Pairing/Characters: Tsuna/Gokudera/Yamamoto
Rating: PG
Prompt: First kiss, "What the hell are you doing?"
"What the hell are you doing, baseball freak" - this was said as more of an exclamation as a question. Unfortunately, there was not enough room for Gokudera to punctuate his exclamation with a stick of dynamite. There wasn't room for him to turn around and check on how his precious Tenth was doing or to glare at Yamamoto. In fact, there wasn't room to do...anything.
As it was, their current situation - with 'their' referring to Yamamoto, Gokudera and Tsuna - was that they were all, somehow, fitted inside a square cube that could fit a maximum of two people - if it had been designed for people-holding at all.
"I wonder if Reborn wants to train us to be contortionists, ahahahahaha!" Laughter apparently did not require any space. "...Where's Tsun-"
"TENTH, TENTH, WHERE ARE YOU? I CAN'T SEE YOU, ARE YOU OKAY? TENTH?"
For an answer there was a faint groan of "eeernngh..." and then "I'm behind you. Behind both of you."
As it was, their current situation - with 'their' referring to Yamamoto, Gokudera and Tsuna - was that they were all fitted inside a square cube: Yamamoto was curled up in the front bottom left corner with his feet pushing up against the front top right corner and hands at his sides, Gokudera behind him with one foot directly above himself and the other against the front top left corner while his elbow was pressed into the cube wall above Yamamoto's stomach and the other hand on the ceiling, and finally Tsuna crouched at the back with his two feet in the two bottom corners. This was established in a series of similar yelps and groans.
"Aargh, how did we end up here again?" Tsuna managed to ask as he was the one whose lungs and vocal cords were in the least constricted position.
"Well." This was from Gokudera, who had to struggle with balancing himself and talking at the same time. While he didn't particularly mind accidentally elbowing Yamamoto in the stomach, he was afraid of accidentally kicking the Tenth. "Reborn said something like 'this is a test, if you don't get out of there before the oxygen runs out, you'll die."
"Ahahaha, I see-"
"We have to get out of here!" The volume by which this was able to be uttered meant that it come from Tsuna. "He isn't joking! Is there some kind of key or latch?" This time, yelps, groans and scrabbling on the floor, walls and ceiling. "I think I feel something!"
"Here as well, Tsuna!"
"They're buttons," Gokudera responded. "I think we need to press all of them if we want this to open up."
And it was somehow in the repositioning to reach all of these buttons at the same time, that they found their faces repositioned next to each other.
As it was, their current situation - with 'their' referring to Yamamoto, Gokudera and Tsuna - was that they were all fitted inside a square cube. However this didn't seem to matter that much anymore. Yamamoto's mouth was at Gokudera's ear - Gokudera could hear each breath Yamamoto took, and more than that, he could feel himself shiver involuntarily as each breath Yamamoto took travelled into his ear. Gokudera's own lips were on Tsuna's forehead, almost like a benediction. None of them moved, they didn't know how to. They didn't speak either, didn't know what to say.
How much time passed. A second, a minute, more than that. Somehow they had become reconciled to this strange position of theirs, and they didn't want to move anymore.
Beep beep beep beep.
"What's that?"
"I'm feeling a bit lightheaded."
"I think we should get out."
Reborn was there to greet them when the cube unfolded.
"How was it?" he asked. They each responded in their own way, but one thing was common. None of them mentioned the incident or that time that had passed before the opening of the cube.