Sousei no Aquarion (Genisis of Aquarion) challenge fic.
For the littleBastard LittleFeltFangs who in the below challenge gave me...
Sousei no Aquarion: Apollo/Sirius/Gen 1st person union sequence. Of course you coud choose which one's perspective. :D
Possibly the first, or at the very least one of the first and only, Aquarion fanfics on the internet.
Read it and comment, please!
Oh yeah, and spoiler warning for the last two eps.
I am bare-foot in the cockpit of Vector Luna, I am miles away from base. I am standing right where I am supposed to be.
Everything has its place to stand, it’s time to walk and run and fall; this is my place now. It was my place twelve thousand years ago. The question of movement is always as much when and why as how.
They forget many things of which this is the least.
They forget (they do not know) that this was my place once also.
It is good to feel the metal around me and the thrum of memory rejuvenates me. This is my place again.
Sirius and Apollo are astonished but questions are forestalled by simple answers and command. Not my usual way, I’ll admit, (questions are better than answers, for it is the humans ability to question and seek truth that angels fear the most,) but one that is right for the time.
I call for unity, Sirius in Vectar Mars at the head, and they agree, though neither is sure of my reasons. They look to me to lead, but this is not my place or time, though once it was…
Once I sat in the cockpit of that Vector, I was the strong legs that held the others up. My feet touched and ran upon scorched earth once; but that is not my place. Now I sit where Sylvia should be, a replacement for a girl grievously wounded. Nothing more.
These musings are dismissed as we bond and their thoughts flow into min and the scent of nostalgia fills my mind as my ears fill to brimming with their cries.
Apollo is screaming wordlessly, I taste the hot blood of a fresh kill in my mouth, fire and vitality surrounds my body; it’s hotter than I recall and Sirius babbles about it in his euphoria, fearing its delicious burn.
Humans are often afraid that which they love the most, because nothing more potential for destruction than the flame of love misplaced. Sirius has that knowledge placed deep within his soul, all his jealousy and passion is pre-programmed, his rapture betrays him. He is so very like her, and Apollo is so very beautiful.
He never knew how he was loved, I do not think. How the entire world once turned to him like flowers to the sun, but he had only eyes for one, she who once sat in this very seat.
Oh, but I understand how Toma felt. I feel it too, a little. What must have it been like? Bathing in the love of the sun only to have it snatched away by a lesser satellite? No wonder he turned upon himself, darkness eating him from within until he lay in the shade, turned from the suns brilliant light and lamenting its loss. Tugging at dreams and lost loves until sleep overcame it all, driven mad with the silence and the darkness.
Such is the way of the moon when the sun is away.
But how could he hope to compare with the woman who shone brighter, with her own, inner fire and light, than he ever could?
To my shame the passage of time betrays me also and rigour mortis of unexpected ecstasy paralyzes my body briefly, words captured in my mouth.
‘Apolonius! Celiene!’
They either do not hear, or dismiss my words as needless babble. I feel them burning within and without, distinctions blurring into meaninglessness. It’s not like before though, it’s too bitter. There’s no love real love here, no gentle warmth of tenderness. Just the flame of passion and war and courage. Apollo is too ignorant and Sirius too dark. There is no wisdom to this union, no love and kindness. Celene’s light is gone.
Oh but Celiene had such delicious darkness too. She was as much an angel of destruction as her beloved and when they argued their words would make the world tremble. And when they made love the stars wept. They were selfish like that.
The memory is a painful tug on my spirit, pulling me from more important matters.
I concentrate on my place as clarity returns and we begin the good fight.
The Mythical Beast spins towards us. Sirius commands movement and for once Apollo agrees but I know better and command Sirius to keep his section still.
Wait. Wait. Wait.
Movement is all in the timing. True speed is epitomised in knowing when to move.
Apollonius thought fighting was like fire and flight. Passion and destruction and danger, clinging to ones enemy and consuming them and god help you if you flew to close to him…
Celine thought fighting was like love and beauty. The grace of the sword swing, the intimacy of enemies, knowing them so well as to see their final moments and oh, how she hated Toma that he could fight her beloved where she could not. How that jealousy consumed her in ways fire and love could not.
For me fighting is like dancing and I will make no grand statements as to the reasoning of this except that which is self evident.
I pick my moment, and, guiding Sirius, duck the pirouette of the oncoming enemy and place myself behind it with a simple shift in momentum, the earth moving with me. Deep in Sirius I feel is wonder at the beauty of it all, he delight in the simplicity and grace of it.
Apollo is next and he is hot and ready, old memories guide him to slam his fist though the chest of the Mythical Beast from behind. Not destroying it but, rather, pushing it forward, off balance.
Finding that balance, the centre of all, is half the battle. Standing firm when and where and why and how is the most basic of training. This is something I have learned.
I guide Sirius back, we skim across the ground and I play my part, small as it may be now. I grab the sword and thrust it through the Mythical Beast as it turns, it shudders and goes dead.
Sirius delight and Apollo’s pleasure fills my soul, becomes mine also.
For one moment I am not alone and, for one moment, I can hardly believe twelve thousand years have passed at all.
Sousei no Aquarion: Apollo/Sirius/Gen 1st person union sequence. Of course you coud choose which one's perspective. :D
Possibly the first, or at the very least one of the first and only, Aquarion fanfics on the internet.
Read it and comment, please!
Oh yeah, and spoiler warning for the last two eps.
I am bare-foot in the cockpit of Vector Luna, I am miles away from base. I am standing right where I am supposed to be.
Everything has its place to stand, it’s time to walk and run and fall; this is my place now. It was my place twelve thousand years ago. The question of movement is always as much when and why as how.
They forget many things of which this is the least.
They forget (they do not know) that this was my place once also.
It is good to feel the metal around me and the thrum of memory rejuvenates me. This is my place again.
Sirius and Apollo are astonished but questions are forestalled by simple answers and command. Not my usual way, I’ll admit, (questions are better than answers, for it is the humans ability to question and seek truth that angels fear the most,) but one that is right for the time.
I call for unity, Sirius in Vectar Mars at the head, and they agree, though neither is sure of my reasons. They look to me to lead, but this is not my place or time, though once it was…
Once I sat in the cockpit of that Vector, I was the strong legs that held the others up. My feet touched and ran upon scorched earth once; but that is not my place. Now I sit where Sylvia should be, a replacement for a girl grievously wounded. Nothing more.
These musings are dismissed as we bond and their thoughts flow into min and the scent of nostalgia fills my mind as my ears fill to brimming with their cries.
Apollo is screaming wordlessly, I taste the hot blood of a fresh kill in my mouth, fire and vitality surrounds my body; it’s hotter than I recall and Sirius babbles about it in his euphoria, fearing its delicious burn.
Humans are often afraid that which they love the most, because nothing more potential for destruction than the flame of love misplaced. Sirius has that knowledge placed deep within his soul, all his jealousy and passion is pre-programmed, his rapture betrays him. He is so very like her, and Apollo is so very beautiful.
He never knew how he was loved, I do not think. How the entire world once turned to him like flowers to the sun, but he had only eyes for one, she who once sat in this very seat.
Oh, but I understand how Toma felt. I feel it too, a little. What must have it been like? Bathing in the love of the sun only to have it snatched away by a lesser satellite? No wonder he turned upon himself, darkness eating him from within until he lay in the shade, turned from the suns brilliant light and lamenting its loss. Tugging at dreams and lost loves until sleep overcame it all, driven mad with the silence and the darkness.
Such is the way of the moon when the sun is away.
But how could he hope to compare with the woman who shone brighter, with her own, inner fire and light, than he ever could?
To my shame the passage of time betrays me also and rigour mortis of unexpected ecstasy paralyzes my body briefly, words captured in my mouth.
‘Apolonius! Celiene!’
They either do not hear, or dismiss my words as needless babble. I feel them burning within and without, distinctions blurring into meaninglessness. It’s not like before though, it’s too bitter. There’s no love real love here, no gentle warmth of tenderness. Just the flame of passion and war and courage. Apollo is too ignorant and Sirius too dark. There is no wisdom to this union, no love and kindness. Celene’s light is gone.
Oh but Celiene had such delicious darkness too. She was as much an angel of destruction as her beloved and when they argued their words would make the world tremble. And when they made love the stars wept. They were selfish like that.
The memory is a painful tug on my spirit, pulling me from more important matters.
I concentrate on my place as clarity returns and we begin the good fight.
The Mythical Beast spins towards us. Sirius commands movement and for once Apollo agrees but I know better and command Sirius to keep his section still.
Wait. Wait. Wait.
Movement is all in the timing. True speed is epitomised in knowing when to move.
Apollonius thought fighting was like fire and flight. Passion and destruction and danger, clinging to ones enemy and consuming them and god help you if you flew to close to him…
Celine thought fighting was like love and beauty. The grace of the sword swing, the intimacy of enemies, knowing them so well as to see their final moments and oh, how she hated Toma that he could fight her beloved where she could not. How that jealousy consumed her in ways fire and love could not.
For me fighting is like dancing and I will make no grand statements as to the reasoning of this except that which is self evident.
I pick my moment, and, guiding Sirius, duck the pirouette of the oncoming enemy and place myself behind it with a simple shift in momentum, the earth moving with me. Deep in Sirius I feel is wonder at the beauty of it all, he delight in the simplicity and grace of it.
Apollo is next and he is hot and ready, old memories guide him to slam his fist though the chest of the Mythical Beast from behind. Not destroying it but, rather, pushing it forward, off balance.
Finding that balance, the centre of all, is half the battle. Standing firm when and where and why and how is the most basic of training. This is something I have learned.
I guide Sirius back, we skim across the ground and I play my part, small as it may be now. I grab the sword and thrust it through the Mythical Beast as it turns, it shudders and goes dead.
Sirius delight and Apollo’s pleasure fills my soul, becomes mine also.
For one moment I am not alone and, for one moment, I can hardly believe twelve thousand years have passed at all.