the logic of all my dreams
Heyla and greetings!
For the past three weeks I've been suffering an cataclysmic return to CCS fandom as my Yue obsession swung entirely out-of-control. This has happened in the past, of course, but the last such incident was a good three years ago. And as I've been known to say, a true fangirl never dies, she just gets distracted by other shiny things for a while . . .
I have relentlessly hunted down any Yue-centric fanfic on the web that I could find, and not a few not-Yue-based that had well-written Yue in them, and a few entirely without Yue just because they seemed good. Not that I don't like any other characters in CCS, because of course I do, very much. Yue just happens to be the driving force at the current time.
You can tell the true depth of this problem by the fact that I've written a fanfic. For the first time in . . . again, three years. That's rather frightening, but they've been a severely busy and eventful three years, so I think my lapse is, if not forgivable, then at least understandable. And my deep apologies for its many flaws (including a lack of plot typical to all my writing), but I thought it might be a brief but pleasant diversion for the most excellent company I've wandered into, and so I'm posting it here.
Title: Dream Logic
Canon: either/or?
Characters: Yukito, Yue
Pairings: maybe if you sneeze . . .
Genre: Introspection
Length: short
Rating: G
Summary: ". . . he did not know whether it was Chuang Chou dreaming that he was a butterfly, or whether it was the butterfly dreaming that it was Chuang Chou . . ."
Notes: no plot, just pritty
When Yukito dreams, his dreams are never particularly eventful. He dreams of his house, silent and dark. He dreams of walking around the empty rooms, surefooted despite the lack of light. He dreams of running his hands over the tops of the tables, over the spines of books that he has read and never read at the same time. He dreams of watching the moon, when there is a moon, of watching the clouds when the moon hides its face. He dreams of walking through his garden, never going beyond the high wall that surrounds it.
Sometimes he dreams of flying, high and far, and those are the good dreams because they are the only dreams free of the gripping loneliness that pulls at him as inexorably as gravity. He can leave it behind when he flies, it has no claim on him. Nor does the sadness, so inescapable on the ground. When he flies he is only a feather on the wind's back, completely empty.
His dreams are dreams of longing. For the cheerful, good-natured heat of the sun, resting snug and comfortable against his back, radiating warmth (the sun has a deep and rumbling purr). And for something else, too, which he never gives name to, something precious that left him behind with nothing but his dreams. In Yukito's dreams he is empty, he who has never been other than full.
Every morning he wakes to the dawning light, and dreams anew when darkness comes.
Yue dreams of a life that is not his, of light and surpassing sweetness. He dreams of places he has never been and people he has never met. In his dreams he tastes food he has never eaten and feels a gentle, glowing happiness that he has never known.
He does things in his dreams that he has never done, attends school and plays games, rides a bicycle, ties his shoes. And he has friends in his dreams, rich and alive. A boy with dark eyes and a slow smile whose constant and devoted presence bars any possibility of loneliness. A young girl, all delight and energy, whose pure and radiant joy in him is both obvious and unwavering. Through them he experiences a completeness he has never known, a family like none he ever had. In his dreams he is not a tool, not some thinking object to be used and discarded at will. In his dreams he is a person, whole and entire, with all the rights and privileges it implies. In his dreams he is free, who has never been free, as gentle and kind as he has
never been.
Every night he wakes to darkness, and dreams again when morning comes.
For the past three weeks I've been suffering an cataclysmic return to CCS fandom as my Yue obsession swung entirely out-of-control. This has happened in the past, of course, but the last such incident was a good three years ago. And as I've been known to say, a true fangirl never dies, she just gets distracted by other shiny things for a while . . .
I have relentlessly hunted down any Yue-centric fanfic on the web that I could find, and not a few not-Yue-based that had well-written Yue in them, and a few entirely without Yue just because they seemed good. Not that I don't like any other characters in CCS, because of course I do, very much. Yue just happens to be the driving force at the current time.
You can tell the true depth of this problem by the fact that I've written a fanfic. For the first time in . . . again, three years. That's rather frightening, but they've been a severely busy and eventful three years, so I think my lapse is, if not forgivable, then at least understandable. And my deep apologies for its many flaws (including a lack of plot typical to all my writing), but I thought it might be a brief but pleasant diversion for the most excellent company I've wandered into, and so I'm posting it here.
Title: Dream Logic
Canon: either/or?
Characters: Yukito, Yue
Pairings: maybe if you sneeze . . .
Genre: Introspection
Length: short
Rating: G
Summary: ". . . he did not know whether it was Chuang Chou dreaming that he was a butterfly, or whether it was the butterfly dreaming that it was Chuang Chou . . ."
Notes: no plot, just pritty
When Yukito dreams, his dreams are never particularly eventful. He dreams of his house, silent and dark. He dreams of walking around the empty rooms, surefooted despite the lack of light. He dreams of running his hands over the tops of the tables, over the spines of books that he has read and never read at the same time. He dreams of watching the moon, when there is a moon, of watching the clouds when the moon hides its face. He dreams of walking through his garden, never going beyond the high wall that surrounds it.
Sometimes he dreams of flying, high and far, and those are the good dreams because they are the only dreams free of the gripping loneliness that pulls at him as inexorably as gravity. He can leave it behind when he flies, it has no claim on him. Nor does the sadness, so inescapable on the ground. When he flies he is only a feather on the wind's back, completely empty.
His dreams are dreams of longing. For the cheerful, good-natured heat of the sun, resting snug and comfortable against his back, radiating warmth (the sun has a deep and rumbling purr). And for something else, too, which he never gives name to, something precious that left him behind with nothing but his dreams. In Yukito's dreams he is empty, he who has never been other than full.
Every morning he wakes to the dawning light, and dreams anew when darkness comes.
Yue dreams of a life that is not his, of light and surpassing sweetness. He dreams of places he has never been and people he has never met. In his dreams he tastes food he has never eaten and feels a gentle, glowing happiness that he has never known.
He does things in his dreams that he has never done, attends school and plays games, rides a bicycle, ties his shoes. And he has friends in his dreams, rich and alive. A boy with dark eyes and a slow smile whose constant and devoted presence bars any possibility of loneliness. A young girl, all delight and energy, whose pure and radiant joy in him is both obvious and unwavering. Through them he experiences a completeness he has never known, a family like none he ever had. In his dreams he is not a tool, not some thinking object to be used and discarded at will. In his dreams he is a person, whole and entire, with all the rights and privileges it implies. In his dreams he is free, who has never been free, as gentle and kind as he has
never been.
Every night he wakes to darkness, and dreams again when morning comes.