FIC: What Doesn't Kill You (PG) for zeph317toho
Author: inksheddings
Recipient: zeph317toho
Title: What Doesn't Kill You
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing(s): Genfic: Fujimiya Ran (Aya), Tsukiyono Omi, Hidaka Ken, Kudou Yohji
Summary: Ken has a case of stage fright,Yohji is thrilled to add to his already spiffy wardrobe, Aya wants to get it over with, and Omi? He just wants to know where Manx hid his pants.
Warnings/Content: Hooker boots?
Word Count: 787
Author's Notes: So much crack. So SO SO MUCH CRACK. Fic based on the image below the story. zeph317toho, I hope you enjoy this story, short and sweet as it is. It was terribly fun to write-maybe too much fun-and I appreciated the opportunity greatly. Thanks to red_squared and midnitemaraud_r for making sure this didn't suck.
What Doesn't Kill You
"I don't know if I can do this," Ken said, holding up the pale blue shirt, his expression some combination of confusion and horror.
The four members of Weiss were in their assigned dressing room at Tokyo's Club Lacuna and could hear the loud sounds of music being performed onstage. They still had about half an hour before it would be their turn, before their mission started in earnest. They'd be competing in a talent show aimed at the young, beautiful, and extraordinarily naive.
"What are you talking about?" Yohji asked, lighting up a cigarette. He was fully dressed and ready to make an impression in the suit Manx had given him for this particular mission. It fit perfectly and he was already planning on permanently adding it to his personal wardrobe. The green shirt made his eyes pop spectacularly. "You used to play soccer in front of larger crowds than this."
"That's not what I'm worried about," Ken said. "It's . . . it's all the frills." He crinkled the offending frills in his hand, wondering if he could rip off the worst of them that trailed down over the chest.
"Hey! Stop that." Yohji slapped at Ken's hands. "You'll wrinkle it."
"How could anyone tell?"
"Ken has a point there," Omi said, suspiciously eyeing his own outfit for the evening still hanging in its garment bag. "Um, I don't think all of my clothes are here. Where are my pants?"
"Enough," Aya said, eager to get this show on the road. Like Yohji, he was already dressed. In fact, his suit was quite similar to Yohji's - well-fitting slacks, long-sleeved jacket, and a short-sleeved shirt underneath. Unlike Yohji, Aya didn't give a crap about the clothes he'd been assigned to wear. He cared about the mission.
Talented young girls and boys came to this club from all over Japan with dreams of winning a shot at a record deal, fame, and fortune. Too many of the contestants had never made it home to their families, likely victims of human trafficking. When Omi discovered that the club was owned by a shell corporation that appeared to be a front for the Takatori family it had been an easy decision for Aya to accept this mission.
"No, really, where are my pants?" Omi asked again. He pulled out a pair of shiny and extremely short . . . well, shorts. "These are not pants!"
"The sleeves are puffy, too!" Ken cried out. "I am not wearing this. Someone give me a pair of scissors!"
"I'll trade shirts with you if you'll let me have your pants."
"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Yohji stubbed out his cigarette and stormed over to the overnight bag he'd brought with him for just this sort of emergency situation. He pulled out a teal and black vest and flung it at Ken. "Here, put this on over the shirt and call it done, will you please?" Then he pulled out a pair of thigh-high boots. "Omi, wear these."
Omi's eyes widened and he actually took a fright-filled step backward. "Those still aren't pants!"
"Put on the boots, Omi," Aya ordered, not caring in the least that, technically, Omi outranked him. "And all of you - get your minds where they belong. On the mission."
Ken was already buttoning the vest but Omi looked like he was ready to argue. "Do you need me to help you pull those boots on, Omi?" Aya asked.
"I'll need another cigarette for that action," Yohji purred, but put his hands up in surrender when Aya turned his gaze Yohji's way and glared.
By the time they were given their five-minute warning, Weiss was ready.
As they walked out onstage to the sound of cheers and catcalls, Ken puffed out his chest, hoping to distract from the puff of his sleeves, still slightly visible underneath the vest.
As the bright lights warmed the exposed skin not covered by questionable footwear or shorts, Omi wondered how Yohji came to have a pair of boots like this in his overnight bag. Glancing at Yohji's feet, it occurred to him that the boots also happened to be in Omi's much-smaller size, but he shook his head and focused on the mission, resolute that he'd never ask.
As they took hold of their microphones, Yohji leaned over and whispered in Aya's ear, "Hey, are you planning on keeping your suit when this is all over? 'Cos I don't think gray's really your color, but it's definitely mine."
As for Aya, he took a deep breath as the music began, determined to follow the creed of the wise songstress whose lyrics they were performing: what doesn't kill you does, indeed, make you stronger.
end
A/N Part II: Okay, yes, I realize that Omi is not wearing hooker boots in this pic but you see I have a dream . . .
Also, my apologies to Kelly Clarkson, but it had to be done.
Recipient: zeph317toho
Title: What Doesn't Kill You
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing(s): Genfic: Fujimiya Ran (Aya), Tsukiyono Omi, Hidaka Ken, Kudou Yohji
Summary: Ken has a case of stage fright,Yohji is thrilled to add to his already spiffy wardrobe, Aya wants to get it over with, and Omi? He just wants to know where Manx hid his pants.
Warnings/Content: Hooker boots?
Word Count: 787
Author's Notes: So much crack. So SO SO MUCH CRACK. Fic based on the image below the story. zeph317toho, I hope you enjoy this story, short and sweet as it is. It was terribly fun to write-maybe too much fun-and I appreciated the opportunity greatly. Thanks to red_squared and midnitemaraud_r for making sure this didn't suck.
What Doesn't Kill You
"I don't know if I can do this," Ken said, holding up the pale blue shirt, his expression some combination of confusion and horror.
The four members of Weiss were in their assigned dressing room at Tokyo's Club Lacuna and could hear the loud sounds of music being performed onstage. They still had about half an hour before it would be their turn, before their mission started in earnest. They'd be competing in a talent show aimed at the young, beautiful, and extraordinarily naive.
"What are you talking about?" Yohji asked, lighting up a cigarette. He was fully dressed and ready to make an impression in the suit Manx had given him for this particular mission. It fit perfectly and he was already planning on permanently adding it to his personal wardrobe. The green shirt made his eyes pop spectacularly. "You used to play soccer in front of larger crowds than this."
"That's not what I'm worried about," Ken said. "It's . . . it's all the frills." He crinkled the offending frills in his hand, wondering if he could rip off the worst of them that trailed down over the chest.
"Hey! Stop that." Yohji slapped at Ken's hands. "You'll wrinkle it."
"How could anyone tell?"
"Ken has a point there," Omi said, suspiciously eyeing his own outfit for the evening still hanging in its garment bag. "Um, I don't think all of my clothes are here. Where are my pants?"
"Enough," Aya said, eager to get this show on the road. Like Yohji, he was already dressed. In fact, his suit was quite similar to Yohji's - well-fitting slacks, long-sleeved jacket, and a short-sleeved shirt underneath. Unlike Yohji, Aya didn't give a crap about the clothes he'd been assigned to wear. He cared about the mission.
Talented young girls and boys came to this club from all over Japan with dreams of winning a shot at a record deal, fame, and fortune. Too many of the contestants had never made it home to their families, likely victims of human trafficking. When Omi discovered that the club was owned by a shell corporation that appeared to be a front for the Takatori family it had been an easy decision for Aya to accept this mission.
"No, really, where are my pants?" Omi asked again. He pulled out a pair of shiny and extremely short . . . well, shorts. "These are not pants!"
"The sleeves are puffy, too!" Ken cried out. "I am not wearing this. Someone give me a pair of scissors!"
"I'll trade shirts with you if you'll let me have your pants."
"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Yohji stubbed out his cigarette and stormed over to the overnight bag he'd brought with him for just this sort of emergency situation. He pulled out a teal and black vest and flung it at Ken. "Here, put this on over the shirt and call it done, will you please?" Then he pulled out a pair of thigh-high boots. "Omi, wear these."
Omi's eyes widened and he actually took a fright-filled step backward. "Those still aren't pants!"
"Put on the boots, Omi," Aya ordered, not caring in the least that, technically, Omi outranked him. "And all of you - get your minds where they belong. On the mission."
Ken was already buttoning the vest but Omi looked like he was ready to argue. "Do you need me to help you pull those boots on, Omi?" Aya asked.
"I'll need another cigarette for that action," Yohji purred, but put his hands up in surrender when Aya turned his gaze Yohji's way and glared.
By the time they were given their five-minute warning, Weiss was ready.
As they walked out onstage to the sound of cheers and catcalls, Ken puffed out his chest, hoping to distract from the puff of his sleeves, still slightly visible underneath the vest.
As the bright lights warmed the exposed skin not covered by questionable footwear or shorts, Omi wondered how Yohji came to have a pair of boots like this in his overnight bag. Glancing at Yohji's feet, it occurred to him that the boots also happened to be in Omi's much-smaller size, but he shook his head and focused on the mission, resolute that he'd never ask.
As they took hold of their microphones, Yohji leaned over and whispered in Aya's ear, "Hey, are you planning on keeping your suit when this is all over? 'Cos I don't think gray's really your color, but it's definitely mine."
As for Aya, he took a deep breath as the music began, determined to follow the creed of the wise songstress whose lyrics they were performing: what doesn't kill you does, indeed, make you stronger.
end
A/N Part II: Okay, yes, I realize that Omi is not wearing hooker boots in this pic but you see I have a dream . . .
Also, my apologies to Kelly Clarkson, but it had to be done.