Fanfics - Shaman King [HaoYoh]
Been on a HaoYoh binge lately. Really. It's replacing YohRen fast for me, though that pairing still holds some allure. Honestly, Ima no Ren wa suki da. What do you expect me to think when you say that, Yoh?
Anyway! The three HaoYoh fics I wrote in two days. Forgive the bad writing. I was half-dead. Wrote out of boredom. Because who really wants to listen to Tong anyway? I listened to the other teachers. Him I hate on principle and besides, he wasn’t saying anything useful. >F
All three stories lumped together because I think they all have the same feeling to them. Or a similar emotion running through them, anyway.
A Gradual Slowing-Down
No one who was evil could see spirits. That was a lesson that Yoh had learned from his grandfather, and one he held to even in the face of all Hao had done. Even as he cradled the cooling body in his arms, he still couldn’t believe that Hao was evil. The blood on his hands was evidence only of Hao’s misguided principles, not his unfeeling cruelty.
“You still won’t join me, Yoh-kun?” The voice was almost gentle, caring.
“I’d rather not,” Yoh replied quietly. He brushed limp hair away from a too-still face, carved in marble. The body he held so carefully was covered in cuts. The fatal wound, though, was a barely-visible one. A small slit to the neck. And all the blood that came with it.
“Consider it a badge of honour,” came the voice again, amused now. “A mark of worth, that it was I who delivered the killing blow.”
“There’s nothing honourable about death, Hao,” Yoh replied wearily. “Not in dying or in delivering death.”
“Think what you will.”
“As you do.”
Then they were silent, as the sun set behind them and painted the sky a brilliant orange. The only sounds were that of Hao fanning a fire to life somewhere in front of Yoh. Hao didn’t bother to offer the silent boy before him any food. He knew Yoh wouldn’t accept, so he quietly ate the noodles before burning in the cardboard box in flames. The box crumbled slowly, blackening at the edges and steadily burning inwards till it fell to ashes.
Hao looked away from the fire, turning his eyes to Yoh. The sunset had turned red, illuminating Yoh. The younger shaman’s body was shadowed, only the edges picked out brilliantly in gold and red.
Hao wasn’t sure when he had fallen asleep, or when he had woken. He only knew that sometime in the night, Yoh had abandoned the body and come over to him. Lying beside him, curled against his body, dried tear-tracks down his face. There was no one else Yoh could have gone to. Only his evil other half. The source of his heart-break.
Trailing a finger down Yoh’s cheek, brushing away smut from both their bodies, drawing Yoh’s sleeping form closer, Hao allowed himself to smile.
~fin
[Title from Boey Kim Cheng's Another Place]
Word Challenge: noodles, badge, fan, blood, slit, smut
I think the words noodles and smut weren't worked in too well, but they were awkward to begin with. Because this plot grabbed me and wouldn't let go, so I couldn't help but write... =.=
Portrait of Truth
Manta had once talked to Yoh about books. How they had a clear beginning and end. A climax, a resolution. He had wondered how writers knew where a story began and where it ended. Because of course, it never really worked that way. There would never really be an end to this particular story. Even its beginnings were more than ambiguous.
When Yoh had mentioned that to Faust, he’d had a different way of looking at it. The beginning of any story, Faust thought, was unclear. But the end of it was only too obvious. As a doctor, he had seen plenty of endings, most of which he’d rather not have.
Horo Horo had been of the opinion that some beginnings or endings were definite, and others weren’t. Some people were meant to do some things, so they did, and screw anyone who got in their way. But then there were those who didn’t know what they should do, so they just sort of drifted through life. Destroying coltsfoot fields along the way, of course.
Ren hadn’t had any comment.
Chocolove had first made some odd joke about some people being straight as rods, arrowing through life. When Yoh hadn’t laughed, he’d clarified that endings or beginnings all depended on what people chose to make of them. Ryu had agreed in between lunges with his bokuto, adding that people needed to find something to follow. They needed to find a purpose, their Best Place.
Taken as a whole, it seemed everyone had simply expanded on Manta’s original point about ambiguous starts and ends. But somehow Yoh wasn’t satisfied with just that. There was something missing, and if Anna knew what it was, she wasn’t telling.
“You’ll know when you talk to your lover.”
What Anna had meant by that wasn’t something Yoh thought he would ever learn. And there was no one left for him to ask, considering Tamao had been blushing too hard to say a word. No one but this one person he’d always wanted to talk to, but never dreamed he’d be able to.
There are those who are weak. And those who aren’t.
“But how do you decide that? People can change.”
Hao had almost seemed pleased that Yoh was disagreeing with him. “People are like paintings, Yoh-kun. From the instant they are born, their lives have been mapped out on canvas. You can’t change that. That portrait everyone has of themselves will always stay the same.” Neatly jumping off the gigantic hand of his Spirit of Fire, he landed nimbly in front of Yoh, spirit and Opacho vanishing in the same instant.
“You were weak once, Yoh-kun. And look at you now! Because your portrait was painted on the back of mine. I’ve always been able to see everyone’s pictures, but yours I know intimately well. I know what you’re capable of.” Gently, Hao ran a finger down Yoh’s cheeks. It came away red and bloody.
Hao licked at the blood, a thoughtful look on his face. Eventually he looked back at Yoh, smiling.
“You know, none of what your friends said applies to you. Your beginning was one thousand years ago, with me. And you will have new beginnings every half a millennium. Your life is mine, Yoh-kun. And I won’t die.”
There wasn’t, Yoh thought, anything he could really say to that. Hao laughed suddenly, shaking his head in amusement.
I shouldn’t love you this much, Yoh thought, and Hao’s smile flickered for a second, before he shrugged and turned, spirals of flame already arcing around his body.
“Tears might be able to wash the blood off your face, Yoh-kun.”
~fin
Word Challenge: screw, rod, lover, bloody, portrait, doctor
And did she have to give me doctor just when we were talking about Faust in class? The original Faust, I mean. Not the Eliza-obsessed one.
Northern Lights
They all left the house at six sharp, even Anna. Actually, she was probably the reason they were all on time in the first place. In any case, the motley crew of shamans managed to wander over to the grassy verge before the festivities began, without too many distractions along the way. It was a shocking accomplishment, really, though by the time they reached the field, they were all quaking in fear of Anna’s demons.
No one was surprised when Yoh wandered up to the tree near the top of the gentle slope, flopping under it comfortably on the carpet of grass. By unspoken agreement, the rest of the group spread their rugs down the slope, just far enough away for Yoh to retain some semblance of privacy.
He’d become a lot quieter since that last, fateful fight.
When the fireworks started, though, they were as a group, completely distracted. Maybe Anna wished Yoh would snap out of whatever mood he was in and join the group. Maybe Manta missed Yoh a little. But none of them turned to look, so no one noticed the empty spot under the tree. The little black hole where Yoh should have been. Which sucked in the lights of the fireworks and stars.
Yoh hadn’t stayed for the festival. There was something else he had to do.
On the street, moving rapidly away from his friends, he headed into the heart of the city. Where there were few people at the time of night, so he was running through empty streets. The wind in his ears and his eyes, blinding him, tears wrung from them. But he was happy, happy and sad in equal parts because after all, half of him wasn’t there. He’d sacrificed that part of himself. Immolated it. For the freedom of the people he was growing to hate.
Yoh slowed and came to a halt at the park. Devoid of people now, quiet and calm and peaceful. It gave Yoh the time to wonder exactly what had happened to Hao back then. And what had happened to him.
The Spirit of Fire appeared before Yoh, and he vaulted into its open palm, an easy smile on his lips.
~fin
[Title from the Shaman King opening song Northern Lights, by Hayashibara Megumi]
Word Challenge: hole, fireworks, carpet, immolate, freedom
Please review! *puppy eyes*
Anyway! The three HaoYoh fics I wrote in two days. Forgive the bad writing. I was half-dead. Wrote out of boredom. Because who really wants to listen to Tong anyway? I listened to the other teachers. Him I hate on principle and besides, he wasn’t saying anything useful. >F
All three stories lumped together because I think they all have the same feeling to them. Or a similar emotion running through them, anyway.
A Gradual Slowing-Down
No one who was evil could see spirits. That was a lesson that Yoh had learned from his grandfather, and one he held to even in the face of all Hao had done. Even as he cradled the cooling body in his arms, he still couldn’t believe that Hao was evil. The blood on his hands was evidence only of Hao’s misguided principles, not his unfeeling cruelty.
“You still won’t join me, Yoh-kun?” The voice was almost gentle, caring.
“I’d rather not,” Yoh replied quietly. He brushed limp hair away from a too-still face, carved in marble. The body he held so carefully was covered in cuts. The fatal wound, though, was a barely-visible one. A small slit to the neck. And all the blood that came with it.
“Consider it a badge of honour,” came the voice again, amused now. “A mark of worth, that it was I who delivered the killing blow.”
“There’s nothing honourable about death, Hao,” Yoh replied wearily. “Not in dying or in delivering death.”
“Think what you will.”
“As you do.”
Then they were silent, as the sun set behind them and painted the sky a brilliant orange. The only sounds were that of Hao fanning a fire to life somewhere in front of Yoh. Hao didn’t bother to offer the silent boy before him any food. He knew Yoh wouldn’t accept, so he quietly ate the noodles before burning in the cardboard box in flames. The box crumbled slowly, blackening at the edges and steadily burning inwards till it fell to ashes.
Hao looked away from the fire, turning his eyes to Yoh. The sunset had turned red, illuminating Yoh. The younger shaman’s body was shadowed, only the edges picked out brilliantly in gold and red.
Hao wasn’t sure when he had fallen asleep, or when he had woken. He only knew that sometime in the night, Yoh had abandoned the body and come over to him. Lying beside him, curled against his body, dried tear-tracks down his face. There was no one else Yoh could have gone to. Only his evil other half. The source of his heart-break.
Trailing a finger down Yoh’s cheek, brushing away smut from both their bodies, drawing Yoh’s sleeping form closer, Hao allowed himself to smile.
~fin
[Title from Boey Kim Cheng's Another Place]
Word Challenge: noodles, badge, fan, blood, slit, smut
I think the words noodles and smut weren't worked in too well, but they were awkward to begin with. Because this plot grabbed me and wouldn't let go, so I couldn't help but write... =.=
Portrait of Truth
Manta had once talked to Yoh about books. How they had a clear beginning and end. A climax, a resolution. He had wondered how writers knew where a story began and where it ended. Because of course, it never really worked that way. There would never really be an end to this particular story. Even its beginnings were more than ambiguous.
When Yoh had mentioned that to Faust, he’d had a different way of looking at it. The beginning of any story, Faust thought, was unclear. But the end of it was only too obvious. As a doctor, he had seen plenty of endings, most of which he’d rather not have.
Horo Horo had been of the opinion that some beginnings or endings were definite, and others weren’t. Some people were meant to do some things, so they did, and screw anyone who got in their way. But then there were those who didn’t know what they should do, so they just sort of drifted through life. Destroying coltsfoot fields along the way, of course.
Ren hadn’t had any comment.
Chocolove had first made some odd joke about some people being straight as rods, arrowing through life. When Yoh hadn’t laughed, he’d clarified that endings or beginnings all depended on what people chose to make of them. Ryu had agreed in between lunges with his bokuto, adding that people needed to find something to follow. They needed to find a purpose, their Best Place.
Taken as a whole, it seemed everyone had simply expanded on Manta’s original point about ambiguous starts and ends. But somehow Yoh wasn’t satisfied with just that. There was something missing, and if Anna knew what it was, she wasn’t telling.
“You’ll know when you talk to your lover.”
What Anna had meant by that wasn’t something Yoh thought he would ever learn. And there was no one left for him to ask, considering Tamao had been blushing too hard to say a word. No one but this one person he’d always wanted to talk to, but never dreamed he’d be able to.
There are those who are weak. And those who aren’t.
“But how do you decide that? People can change.”
Hao had almost seemed pleased that Yoh was disagreeing with him. “People are like paintings, Yoh-kun. From the instant they are born, their lives have been mapped out on canvas. You can’t change that. That portrait everyone has of themselves will always stay the same.” Neatly jumping off the gigantic hand of his Spirit of Fire, he landed nimbly in front of Yoh, spirit and Opacho vanishing in the same instant.
“You were weak once, Yoh-kun. And look at you now! Because your portrait was painted on the back of mine. I’ve always been able to see everyone’s pictures, but yours I know intimately well. I know what you’re capable of.” Gently, Hao ran a finger down Yoh’s cheeks. It came away red and bloody.
Hao licked at the blood, a thoughtful look on his face. Eventually he looked back at Yoh, smiling.
“You know, none of what your friends said applies to you. Your beginning was one thousand years ago, with me. And you will have new beginnings every half a millennium. Your life is mine, Yoh-kun. And I won’t die.”
There wasn’t, Yoh thought, anything he could really say to that. Hao laughed suddenly, shaking his head in amusement.
I shouldn’t love you this much, Yoh thought, and Hao’s smile flickered for a second, before he shrugged and turned, spirals of flame already arcing around his body.
“Tears might be able to wash the blood off your face, Yoh-kun.”
~fin
Word Challenge: screw, rod, lover, bloody, portrait, doctor
And did she have to give me doctor just when we were talking about Faust in class? The original Faust, I mean. Not the Eliza-obsessed one.
Northern Lights
They all left the house at six sharp, even Anna. Actually, she was probably the reason they were all on time in the first place. In any case, the motley crew of shamans managed to wander over to the grassy verge before the festivities began, without too many distractions along the way. It was a shocking accomplishment, really, though by the time they reached the field, they were all quaking in fear of Anna’s demons.
No one was surprised when Yoh wandered up to the tree near the top of the gentle slope, flopping under it comfortably on the carpet of grass. By unspoken agreement, the rest of the group spread their rugs down the slope, just far enough away for Yoh to retain some semblance of privacy.
He’d become a lot quieter since that last, fateful fight.
When the fireworks started, though, they were as a group, completely distracted. Maybe Anna wished Yoh would snap out of whatever mood he was in and join the group. Maybe Manta missed Yoh a little. But none of them turned to look, so no one noticed the empty spot under the tree. The little black hole where Yoh should have been. Which sucked in the lights of the fireworks and stars.
Yoh hadn’t stayed for the festival. There was something else he had to do.
On the street, moving rapidly away from his friends, he headed into the heart of the city. Where there were few people at the time of night, so he was running through empty streets. The wind in his ears and his eyes, blinding him, tears wrung from them. But he was happy, happy and sad in equal parts because after all, half of him wasn’t there. He’d sacrificed that part of himself. Immolated it. For the freedom of the people he was growing to hate.
Yoh slowed and came to a halt at the park. Devoid of people now, quiet and calm and peaceful. It gave Yoh the time to wonder exactly what had happened to Hao back then. And what had happened to him.
The Spirit of Fire appeared before Yoh, and he vaulted into its open palm, an easy smile on his lips.
~fin
[Title from the Shaman King opening song Northern Lights, by Hayashibara Megumi]
Word Challenge: hole, fireworks, carpet, immolate, freedom
Please review! *puppy eyes*