Xmas Drabbles 2010 Part 3
I swear we must be trying to cover every fandom ever here it’s crazy.
For sillk
Fandom: FFX-2
Characters: Gippal/Baralai
Prompt: panty thief
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It was the big question. The question that dominated the gossip in every corner of Spira.
The question: Did Baralai wear boxers, or briefs?
“Gippal,” Baralai said very seriously. “Do you know anything about that small army of machina I found ransacking my quarters and going through my drawers?”
The blond Al Bhed gave him an innocent grin. “Machina? No idea. Must be some rogues!”
The small, white-haired man gave his friend a long, measured look, then waved at the acolytes down the hall. “In that case, can you do something about the scrap? We don’t have any use for that here.”
With a crash, the acolytes dumped the pile of twisted metal on the ground in front of him. A loose rivet bounced off the remains and rolled away.
Gippal’s smile grew strained. “Sure. Always happy to help an old comrade out.”
He managed to hold the grin until Baralai boarded the central elevator and dropped out of sight.
His machina! Burned to a crisp! Electrocuted! Frozen and shattered! “Papa’s sorry,” he whispered.
………
One didn’t rise to being leader of the Machine Faction by giving up, though. Since the machina thing didn’t work out, Gippal had no choice but to go in himself. He had to know!
A few - much cheaper and less complex - machina set running amok on the lower levels lured Baralai safely out the way. Gippal cackled quietly to himself as the young Praetor stalked through the halls towards the chaos, magic crackling on his fingertips.
Getting into New Yevon’s headquarters had been no big deal. He did it all the time! Getting past the creepily devoted acolytes protecting the precious sanctity of their leader’s living space, however, quickly proved more difficult.
“The Praetor isn’t in right now,” the acolyte insisted.
“That’s fine! I can just wait inside!”
“I can’t let you do that,” she said firmly. “The Praetor’s private quarters are sacred. Only the most pure and devout are allowed entrance.”
“Hey, I’m pure!” he protested.
She looked him up and down. The slight crease in her brow spoke volumes.
Okay, so the leader of the Machine Faction - who only a few years ago would have been considered the most extreme of heretics and worthy of being put to death - probably didn’t fit a New Yevon’s acolyte’s notion of purity and cleanliness. “Maybe if I take a shower?” he asked.
In the end, Baralai returned before he even managed to get inside, much less find the underwear drawer.
………
Gippal had tried everything. He’d tried bribing acolytes - acolytes, it turned out, took offence to the very idea - tried inviting the Praetor to Mount Gagazet’s new hot springs; tried staging a pretend fiend attack while he was in the shower; tried spying on him changing through a pair of blitzball goggles. Nothing seemed to work!
There was no other choice. It was time for drastic measures.
“Banzai!” Gippal yelled, and charged.
“Gippal?” Baralai asked in alarm, mere moments before the one-eyed blond tackled him to the ground. “Oof. What are you- Hey!”
With deft fingers, he pushed back the green robes, loosened the cord holding Baralai’s trousers, and tugged them down to his knees. Exposing supple tan flesh, lean, lithe thighs, and…
“Panties!” he declared in victory. “I knew it!”
It made the skull-splitting thwack of the staff on his head entirely worthwhile.
The Prateor shoved the groaning Machinist off him and hastily pulled his trousers back up. “You could have just asked!”
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For inyourfaisgirl
Fandom: Rurouni Kenshin
Characters: HikoxKenshin
Prompt: continuation of Routine (not a tragic Kenshin goes off to the war story please, unless you want to show him coming back to Hiko after the war)
(AN: Oh god why that story is eight years old! It was painful re-reading it to try and remember how it ended. I wasn't even on LJ then.)
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Hiko stared into the shallow dish of sake for what felt like ten years.
His idiot apprentice had come back, after all this time. Hiko had almost given up hoping, fairly certain he was still alive somewhere but with no idea beyond that. He'd sensed his approach, but he simply hadn't expected his student to appear out of the blue, not even with all of the chaos through Kyoto and the neighbouring villages he'd heard of recently.
Nor was he prepared for the onslaught of emotions his student's appearance brought forth.
He fingered the hilt of his sword lightly. It was his idiot apprentice's business to clean up his past mistakes, but all the same, Hiko swore a silent oath that if that bastard Shishio actually killed his pupil, he'd personally hunt the man down and kill him himself. Even if he had to do it from beyond the grave.
Most likely he was worried over nothing. His idiot apprentice was a little rusty, but a couple of days of intense training brought the shine back out of his sword skills, and the Hiten Mitsuryugi Ryu was the ultimate technique. His apprentice was naturally resourceful and difficult to kill, as well. There was no way that a try-hard manslayer such as Shishio could defeat Kenshin, even with the handicap of the reverse-bladed sword. No chance at all.
Still.
The full moon danced in the silvery circle of alcohol.
Should he really be drinking, with his student so close by? He didn't want to lose control, especially not now, of all times.
To hell with it. Despite his misgivings, Kenshin was far too talented a swordsman, even if he had let his skills become somewhat rusty, to fail at the succession technique. Thus, it was his last night alive. Damn if he wasn't going to try and enjoy it.
Hiko threw back his head and let the cold sake slide down his throat.
“Bitter,” he muttered to himself. “My final bottle and it’s bitter.”
The slap of sandals alerted him to his student’s presence even before he sensed his ki. A polite gesture from a former assassin - or maybe the brat remembered the folly of sneaking up on him.
“What are you doing here?” he asked gruffly.
The redhead settled himself on the log across from him without a word, fetched himself a spare dish, and poured himself some sake. Not quite traditional, pouring your own sake, but Hiko certainly wasn’t going to pour it for him. “Hey, did I say you could have any?”
Kenshin just smiled at him, and drank the dish dry. “You have more than enough for two, that you have.”
“You’re supposed to be off meditating,” he grumbled. “Let me drink in peace.” The familiar words rolled off his tongue so naturally, despite the passage of time.
Kenshin downed another dish, and promptly refilled it. That was new - he never used to be able to abide the stuff. Though with the gift of hindsight, Hiko couldn’t blame him for occasionally throwing it in the river.
“I’ve spent the past ten years looking for answers,” he said. “This is more important right now, that it is.”
He let out a grunt, and refocused on his sake. When his dish was empty, Kenshin poured him a new one. Regular little housewife.
It wasn’t that bad, really. Hiko didn’t typically want for company - he wilfully chose the lifestyle of a hermit, after all - but sitting here in silence, having his last drinks with his stupid apprentice… he’d looked forward to this, once. Before he discovered the doings of his traitorous subconscious.
Hiko swallowed, then determinedly set his shallow dish of sake aside. Fifteen years wasn’t quite long enough to erase the guilt.
“Finished already?”
“You’re drinking enough for both of us,” he replied.
Kenshin looked strangely disappointed, and poured himself another dish. His cheeks were rosy from the alcohol. “Do you ever regret it?”
Hiko glanced askance at him. “Regret what, stupid apprentice?”
He was not prepared for Kenshin to suddenly set his drink down and walk over to him. His confusion kept him still as the redhead settled himself in his lap as though he were still eight and not nearly thirty. And his Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu-honed reflexes fled altogether when his student pressed their lips together in a sloppy kiss.
If he didn't know better, he'd think that his idiot apprentice was trying to... seduce him?
The realisation shocked his thoughts back into order, and he leaned away. “Stupid apprentice, what do you think you’re doing?”
The redhead flushed crimson and let out a hiccup. “It seemed like a good idea,” he slurred.
The sake already consumed had certainly warmed his body and dulled his mind, but not so much he’d become incapable of thinking clearly. “You’re playing it up. You’re not that drunk. Don’t pull that ‘Oro’ act on me.”
Twenty years ago, Kenshin would have blushed and stared at the ground, embarrassed. Now, he straightened and held his gaze calmly - all signs of drunkenness gone. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t thought it through. It’s been a long time. It makes sense I wouldn’t be to your liking anymore.” His fingers ghosted over his scar, and he moved to stand.
Before he even realised what he was doing, Hiko caught his hand and lowered it from his face. “Stupid apprentice. That’s not it at all.” His student had aged well. He was still a shrimp, true, and still skinny as a rake. Still tied his flame-coloured hair back, mimicking his own style, though not in the earlier topknot. The scar on his face was the largest difference, but Hiko didn’t find it ugly or marring at all. It toughened up his appearance. Made him look more the part of a swordsman.
Just like the name he’d given a small redheaded slave child.
After a long moment, measuring the man still half-perched in his lap with his eyes, he asked, “Why?”
Kenshin gave a small little half shrug. “Justice.”
“That’s not how it works, stupid apprentice,” he berated. The years had apparently made his once woefully simple student utterly incomprehensible. “If you want revenge, you don’t pretend to be drunk and try to seduce your attacker.”
“I forgave you,” Kenshin said simply. “A long time ago. I simply thought turning the tables was the only way someone as proud as you would agree.”
He was annoyingly correct there. If he’d been a little more drunk, Hiko might have very easily convinced himself he should acquiesce to his inebriated student’s wishes, just as his apprentice once did for him.
“I don’t understand you,” he scoffed.
“It’s not about understanding, Shishou,” Kenshin countered. Then, in a quieter voice, “It’s been a long time for this one, that it has.”
A story there, obviously, but Hiko didn’t care to know. He’d expected his naïve apprentice to go out into the world and experience life and fall in love like a moron - what he hadn’t expected was for his student to come back to him.
And yet, faced with prospect, he couldn’t think of any other response.
“I’m Hiko Seijuuro. Thirteenth Master of the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu. I could have any woman I wanted.” Disappointment began to creep onto his apprentice’s face. Letting out a sigh, Hiko finished, “Except I didn’t truly want any of them.”
Those violet eyes - how often he’d admired them, in the private recesses of his mind - seemed to glow at his words. And moments later nimble, calloused fingers were twined in his long black hair and pushing aside his heavy white mantle, and impossibly soft lips were pressed once more against his mouth.
One thing he was grateful for - his apprentice wasn’t so stupid that he needed to have Hiko spell it all out for him.
Maybe it was a little cruel, to succumb to this the night before he passed on the succession technique. But it had been a very long time for Hiko, too.
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For silverharmony
Fandom: Eyeshield21
Characters: HiruSena
Prompt: Skills
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Hiruma rolled over, stretching out a long, bare, sinuous arm. His spidery fingers crept under his pillow, and re-emerged with his infamous black notebook clutched between them. Then, with the lazy confidence of a well-fed cat, he rolled back over and started writing.
Sena lifted his head, and a chill shivered its way down his bare back. He tugged the sheet up to cover his shoulders. Black silk, of course, with red pillowcases. Deimon Devil Bat colours. It was Hiruma, after all. “What are you doing?”
The quarterback popped a stick of gum and started chewing. “What’s it look like, fucking shorty?”
It took an embarrassingly long moment for him to put the pieces together. Sena blamed that on the fact that his brain still felt like scrambled eggs and his bones like gooey caramel. “You’re writing this down as blackmail?” he squawked. “Why?” He’d agreed to play football for Hiruma. He was too scared of being shot to ever rat out any of his illegal dealings to anyone. And he’d just slept with him. What could be left that he’d possibly need to be blackmailed into?
“So you’ll keep sleeping with me, fucking shorty.” Hiruma gave him a shark-like grin, and blew a bubble. “This is to make sure you don’t get any crazy ideas and use these skills on anyone else.”
Sena had, apparently, still managed to underestimate Hiruma’s possessiveness. One would think he would have learned after the quarterback monopolized his running skills for the football team.
He groaned, and buried his head in the pillow.
At least this time, he didn’t have to run around wearing an Eyeshield and hiding his identity.
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For iluxia
Fandom: Full Metal Alchemist
Characters: RoyEd
Prompt: You are nobody until somebody loves you~
You're nobody till somebody cares~
Now you may be king, you may possess the world and it's gold,
but gold will never buy your happiness when you're growing old~
a.k.a. THIS SONG desu aosdfaksdfj CAN YOU FEEL THE SAPPY ROY ATMOSPHERE YET
*cue slylysmirking!Ed here mocking Roy's old man age desu*
(AN: Thank you Kia for the lovely birthday and Christmas card - you penmanship impresses the heck out of me as always. I’ve gone kinda AU with this, hope you don’t mind. It was either that, or tragedy)
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He’s done it. He’s reached the top. His ambitions are in his grasp.
It feels strangely empty.
Certainly to begin with, it had been glorious. At last, the power to change the military, the power to change this broken country, the power to prevent atrocities like the war rests in his hands. Everything determined by his moral compass. Roy would be beholden to nobody ever again.
The parties followed, where he could bask in the well-earned adoration and praise and envy of his former peers. Look into the eyes of his smiling enemies and see the cold fear of retribution lurking in their souls.
It tasted sweeter than the finest wine.
However, when standing in this eerily quiet office, looking out over the busiest hub of Amestris, the victory feels so very hollow.
Until the silence shatters under the crash of his office door, and a small blond and red tornado throws itself into his sanctuary.
“You bastard!”
“It’s Fuhrer now, FullMetal.”
“Fuhrer Bastard!” he amends without missing a beat. “What the hell was up with sending me on that stupid, infantile, moronic waste of time?!”
Roy ignores the question. “Rude as always. You should at least knock before entering the Fuhrer’s office.”
“I don’t give courtesies to jerks, no matter their rank.” The words are fiery, as always, but no longer carry malice. “What were you thinking? A charity dinner?”
“It’s considered an honour. As one of the youngest and most accomplished alchemists in the military, public relations are part of your job too.”
Predictably, Edward dissolves into grumbling that Roy diplomatically ignores for the time being. The notion is perplexing, but it’s somewhat comforting to have some subordinates who won’t treat him any different now he’s at the top.
Maybe the change has been a little too sudden after all. He’s still finding his feet.
In his extended silence, FullMetal wears himself out of complaints and turns to watching him with analytical amber eyes. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing is the matter.” Something in his tone must give him away, because Edward rolls his eyes.
“Bored of being Fuhrer already? Selfish egotistical bastard.”
“I was merely contemplating what comes next,” he retorts with his usual air of casual superiority, and earns a snort for his performance.
“Is there a rank above Fuhrer? Would God be good enough for you?” FullMetal lounges back in his chair - the legs creak in warning, but hold steady.
The odd mood that has been haunting him on and off since his final promotion prompts him to a level of honesty he rarely allows. “Have you ever wondered, FullMetal, whether this was what you really wanted? If the sacrifices were worth it?”
The gravity of the statement, of course, bounces off the alchemist’s red coat like pebbles against a boulder. Edward has, if anything, always been secure in his goals. “Having a mid-life crisis?” he mocks.
Roy raises an eyebrow, but rather than rise to the taunt about his age, smoothly replies, “I suppose it’s not a fair to ask such a question of someone who has spent such a… short time on this earth.”
“WHO ARE YOU CALLING A TINY PEA-SIZED SPECK OF DUST TOO SMALL TO SEE WITH A MAGNIFYING GLASS?!”
The shouts and ranting fill the corners of the enormous office, bringing it alive. The loneliness flees in the face of it like shadows before the sun.
The slightest of smirks twitch on his lips.
Maybe what Roy really needed has been within his grasp all along.
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For aventria
Fandom: Hikaru no Go
Characters: Hikaru and Sai
Prompt: "That which lingers beyond mirrors"
(AN: Thank you for the lovely card! And, um, sorry about this, but when I hear 'mirrors' this is what I think about. -__- I need more practice at this genre.)
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Sometimes, in the mirror, Hikaru still sees him. Standing there, tall purple hat, long white flowing robes, skin so pale to appear nearly translucent.
Staring. Judging.
The first few times, he whirls around, the blind joy surging in his heart shattering under the realisation that space behind him remains empty. Always, always empty.
Then he starts avoiding shiny surfaces - keeping his eyes down in the bathroom, turning his head from windows, even growing so careful as to avoid looking in pools of water.
He begins to wonder if he is going mad.
Until eventually, his hunger to look on his closest friend - the spirit he’d spent every moment of the past few years with - wins out.
He spends half the evening in the bathroom, trying to talk to a mirror.
All Sai does is stare.
It’s not always. Seems to happen the most in the bathrooms in the Go Parlour, after playing against Akira. Lakes and fountains, too - especially the one in the park right across from the Institute. It makes sense - Sai drowned himself, after all, and was obsessed with Go until the very end.
There’s a mirror in the Go Institute foyer, too. It’s ornate, with gilded edges, and the name of someone he’s never heard of before engraved down the bottom. Probably a trinket in memory of some lesser-known Go pro. The Institute is littered with ugly paintings and antiques commemorating the pros of the past.
Hikaru’s supposed to be meeting his friends in a few minutes, so he avoids looking at it, just in case.
It doesn’t work, of course. Sai’s visage taunts him from the corner of his eyes, and he’s drawn to the mirror, staring into the dark eyes of his former mentor, trying to understand.
“You’ve become vain, Hikaru!” Akari teases.
“Huh?” His attention is torn away, and when he glances back, the mirror reflects the faces of him and his friends and nothing else. When did they arrive? How much time has passed? “Oh. I was looking at something else.” Even as the words leave his mouth, he knows it sounds weird.
“You see something in the mirror?” Akari asks with a giggle. “You ever hear that legend? Where if you chant a ghost’s name three times in front of a mirror alone in the dark, they’ll pull you through and kill you!”
“That’s from Candyman!” Waya laughs.
“It’s much older than that! Candyman ripped it off!” Akari protests. “Mirrors were often considered portals between worlds. That’s why psychics are always using them as mediums.” She shrugs and smiles. “It scared me silly as a girl when I first heard it! I used to refuse to even enter the bathroom without the light on!”
“That would make it hard to take a piss at night,” Waya comments, then winces from the slap on the back of his head. “Ouch!”
“That was rude!” Nase comes up behind them, hands on hips.
Hikaru barely notices - head off in the clouds. He’s heard the ghost story before, of course - he did a fair bit of reading on ghosts when Sai first possessed him, mostly looking for ways to get exorcised. Bloody Mary, or something. But this isn’t the same at all. Sai wasn’t like that. Sai was a good ghost.
So why is he appearing in mirrors?
“I heard the same story, but it was the Lady In White,” Nase’s saying - they’re still comparing ghost stories. “She would summon someone who was dead for you. For closure.”
Is that what it is? Sai trying to communicate from the world beyond? But why? He’d had that dream - he thought Sai finally found peace!
Is he doing something wrong? Is he trying to tell him something?
Is his Go lacking? Ever since he came back, he’s been working hard. Harder than ever before, harder than even when he first started chasing Akira.
But is it enough? To make Sai live on through his Go?
“Hikaru. Hikaru!” Akari shouts, earning a reproving glance from the secretary minding the front desk. She blushes and ducks her head before collaring him and dragging him outside. “Pay attention! We’re leaving.”
Later, he sits with his friends and laughs and eats and acts normal, but Hikaru’s heart really isn’t it. He’s haunted, now. Wondering why Sai is appearing in mirrors - if it is Sai, and not merely a product of his tormented imagination. More than once he’d heard a voice or seen a shadow and leapt to conclusions. It’s normal when people died, he’d heard, for your grief to play tricks on you.
Sai had already been dead, but that’s beside the point.
Things only become worse from there.
He starts trying to avoid reflective surfaces again, but it only takes a glimpse, and he’s hooked. It becomes an obsession. He’s beset by insecurity. Whatever fragile peace he’d grasped starts slipping through his fingers like sand.
And then, he loses a match.
It’s against a five-dan, and realistically way above his level, but Hikaru’s been taking out four-dans easily for a while now, and it comes as a horrible shock. It’s his first serious loss since he started playing Touya again.
He concludes with a bow and discusses the match mechanically. It’s dark by the time he stumbles out - they started mid afternoon, but the match had gone into byo-omi towards the end - and the Institute is half-deserted. He’s grateful for it.
He’s lost a match. Horribly. His concentration had been shot. He hasn’t been sleeping at night - too busy worrying about what the images in the mirror meant. And hours he might have once spent studying were wasted staring into ponds and windows and bathroom mirrors.
If he wasn’t already mad, this very well might send him over the brink.
He runs across the road - a taxi beeps him before rumbling on - into the quiet little park near the Institute. It’s empty, thankfully, all the salarymen who retreat there for a cigarette already on their way home - so nobody is there to see him lurch towards the fountain and gaze into the black pool. The gushing water roars in his ears, drowning out the traffic, burying the world in a haze of white noise.
Sai stares back him.
“Why?” he mutters. “Why now? Why not before, when I was looking for you?”
For the first time, the apparition’s lips move, and a whisper seems to dance on the wind.
Hikaru leans down until his nose is almost touching the wavering reflection. He can’t hear. Maybe he imagined it. Maybe he’s imagining all of this.
The lamps nearby stutter, and wink out, plunging the small park into darkness. The image in the pond, however, only seems to grow clearer.
“What is it you want?” he begs hoarsely, tears beginning to pool in his eyes. “What am I doing wrong? Answer me, Sai! Sai! Sai!”
The image reaches out a hand.
And then Hikaru feels it press against the back his head. His eyes widen.
He doesn’t even have the time to take a breath before he’s pushed underwater.
Several minutes later, the lamps flicker back to life. And the image in the fountain ripples and scatters.
Revealing for just one moment the ghostly face of Shuusaku Honinbou. And then that too, fades away.
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For sillk
Fandom: FFX-2
Characters: Gippal/Baralai
Prompt: panty thief
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It was the big question. The question that dominated the gossip in every corner of Spira.
The question: Did Baralai wear boxers, or briefs?
“Gippal,” Baralai said very seriously. “Do you know anything about that small army of machina I found ransacking my quarters and going through my drawers?”
The blond Al Bhed gave him an innocent grin. “Machina? No idea. Must be some rogues!”
The small, white-haired man gave his friend a long, measured look, then waved at the acolytes down the hall. “In that case, can you do something about the scrap? We don’t have any use for that here.”
With a crash, the acolytes dumped the pile of twisted metal on the ground in front of him. A loose rivet bounced off the remains and rolled away.
Gippal’s smile grew strained. “Sure. Always happy to help an old comrade out.”
He managed to hold the grin until Baralai boarded the central elevator and dropped out of sight.
His machina! Burned to a crisp! Electrocuted! Frozen and shattered! “Papa’s sorry,” he whispered.
………
One didn’t rise to being leader of the Machine Faction by giving up, though. Since the machina thing didn’t work out, Gippal had no choice but to go in himself. He had to know!
A few - much cheaper and less complex - machina set running amok on the lower levels lured Baralai safely out the way. Gippal cackled quietly to himself as the young Praetor stalked through the halls towards the chaos, magic crackling on his fingertips.
Getting into New Yevon’s headquarters had been no big deal. He did it all the time! Getting past the creepily devoted acolytes protecting the precious sanctity of their leader’s living space, however, quickly proved more difficult.
“The Praetor isn’t in right now,” the acolyte insisted.
“That’s fine! I can just wait inside!”
“I can’t let you do that,” she said firmly. “The Praetor’s private quarters are sacred. Only the most pure and devout are allowed entrance.”
“Hey, I’m pure!” he protested.
She looked him up and down. The slight crease in her brow spoke volumes.
Okay, so the leader of the Machine Faction - who only a few years ago would have been considered the most extreme of heretics and worthy of being put to death - probably didn’t fit a New Yevon’s acolyte’s notion of purity and cleanliness. “Maybe if I take a shower?” he asked.
In the end, Baralai returned before he even managed to get inside, much less find the underwear drawer.
………
Gippal had tried everything. He’d tried bribing acolytes - acolytes, it turned out, took offence to the very idea - tried inviting the Praetor to Mount Gagazet’s new hot springs; tried staging a pretend fiend attack while he was in the shower; tried spying on him changing through a pair of blitzball goggles. Nothing seemed to work!
There was no other choice. It was time for drastic measures.
“Banzai!” Gippal yelled, and charged.
“Gippal?” Baralai asked in alarm, mere moments before the one-eyed blond tackled him to the ground. “Oof. What are you- Hey!”
With deft fingers, he pushed back the green robes, loosened the cord holding Baralai’s trousers, and tugged them down to his knees. Exposing supple tan flesh, lean, lithe thighs, and…
“Panties!” he declared in victory. “I knew it!”
It made the skull-splitting thwack of the staff on his head entirely worthwhile.
The Prateor shoved the groaning Machinist off him and hastily pulled his trousers back up. “You could have just asked!”
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For inyourfaisgirl
Fandom: Rurouni Kenshin
Characters: HikoxKenshin
Prompt: continuation of Routine (not a tragic Kenshin goes off to the war story please, unless you want to show him coming back to Hiko after the war)
(AN: Oh god why that story is eight years old! It was painful re-reading it to try and remember how it ended. I wasn't even on LJ then.)
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Hiko stared into the shallow dish of sake for what felt like ten years.
His idiot apprentice had come back, after all this time. Hiko had almost given up hoping, fairly certain he was still alive somewhere but with no idea beyond that. He'd sensed his approach, but he simply hadn't expected his student to appear out of the blue, not even with all of the chaos through Kyoto and the neighbouring villages he'd heard of recently.
Nor was he prepared for the onslaught of emotions his student's appearance brought forth.
He fingered the hilt of his sword lightly. It was his idiot apprentice's business to clean up his past mistakes, but all the same, Hiko swore a silent oath that if that bastard Shishio actually killed his pupil, he'd personally hunt the man down and kill him himself. Even if he had to do it from beyond the grave.
Most likely he was worried over nothing. His idiot apprentice was a little rusty, but a couple of days of intense training brought the shine back out of his sword skills, and the Hiten Mitsuryugi Ryu was the ultimate technique. His apprentice was naturally resourceful and difficult to kill, as well. There was no way that a try-hard manslayer such as Shishio could defeat Kenshin, even with the handicap of the reverse-bladed sword. No chance at all.
Still.
The full moon danced in the silvery circle of alcohol.
Should he really be drinking, with his student so close by? He didn't want to lose control, especially not now, of all times.
To hell with it. Despite his misgivings, Kenshin was far too talented a swordsman, even if he had let his skills become somewhat rusty, to fail at the succession technique. Thus, it was his last night alive. Damn if he wasn't going to try and enjoy it.
Hiko threw back his head and let the cold sake slide down his throat.
“Bitter,” he muttered to himself. “My final bottle and it’s bitter.”
The slap of sandals alerted him to his student’s presence even before he sensed his ki. A polite gesture from a former assassin - or maybe the brat remembered the folly of sneaking up on him.
“What are you doing here?” he asked gruffly.
The redhead settled himself on the log across from him without a word, fetched himself a spare dish, and poured himself some sake. Not quite traditional, pouring your own sake, but Hiko certainly wasn’t going to pour it for him. “Hey, did I say you could have any?”
Kenshin just smiled at him, and drank the dish dry. “You have more than enough for two, that you have.”
“You’re supposed to be off meditating,” he grumbled. “Let me drink in peace.” The familiar words rolled off his tongue so naturally, despite the passage of time.
Kenshin downed another dish, and promptly refilled it. That was new - he never used to be able to abide the stuff. Though with the gift of hindsight, Hiko couldn’t blame him for occasionally throwing it in the river.
“I’ve spent the past ten years looking for answers,” he said. “This is more important right now, that it is.”
He let out a grunt, and refocused on his sake. When his dish was empty, Kenshin poured him a new one. Regular little housewife.
It wasn’t that bad, really. Hiko didn’t typically want for company - he wilfully chose the lifestyle of a hermit, after all - but sitting here in silence, having his last drinks with his stupid apprentice… he’d looked forward to this, once. Before he discovered the doings of his traitorous subconscious.
Hiko swallowed, then determinedly set his shallow dish of sake aside. Fifteen years wasn’t quite long enough to erase the guilt.
“Finished already?”
“You’re drinking enough for both of us,” he replied.
Kenshin looked strangely disappointed, and poured himself another dish. His cheeks were rosy from the alcohol. “Do you ever regret it?”
Hiko glanced askance at him. “Regret what, stupid apprentice?”
He was not prepared for Kenshin to suddenly set his drink down and walk over to him. His confusion kept him still as the redhead settled himself in his lap as though he were still eight and not nearly thirty. And his Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu-honed reflexes fled altogether when his student pressed their lips together in a sloppy kiss.
If he didn't know better, he'd think that his idiot apprentice was trying to... seduce him?
The realisation shocked his thoughts back into order, and he leaned away. “Stupid apprentice, what do you think you’re doing?”
The redhead flushed crimson and let out a hiccup. “It seemed like a good idea,” he slurred.
The sake already consumed had certainly warmed his body and dulled his mind, but not so much he’d become incapable of thinking clearly. “You’re playing it up. You’re not that drunk. Don’t pull that ‘Oro’ act on me.”
Twenty years ago, Kenshin would have blushed and stared at the ground, embarrassed. Now, he straightened and held his gaze calmly - all signs of drunkenness gone. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t thought it through. It’s been a long time. It makes sense I wouldn’t be to your liking anymore.” His fingers ghosted over his scar, and he moved to stand.
Before he even realised what he was doing, Hiko caught his hand and lowered it from his face. “Stupid apprentice. That’s not it at all.” His student had aged well. He was still a shrimp, true, and still skinny as a rake. Still tied his flame-coloured hair back, mimicking his own style, though not in the earlier topknot. The scar on his face was the largest difference, but Hiko didn’t find it ugly or marring at all. It toughened up his appearance. Made him look more the part of a swordsman.
Just like the name he’d given a small redheaded slave child.
After a long moment, measuring the man still half-perched in his lap with his eyes, he asked, “Why?”
Kenshin gave a small little half shrug. “Justice.”
“That’s not how it works, stupid apprentice,” he berated. The years had apparently made his once woefully simple student utterly incomprehensible. “If you want revenge, you don’t pretend to be drunk and try to seduce your attacker.”
“I forgave you,” Kenshin said simply. “A long time ago. I simply thought turning the tables was the only way someone as proud as you would agree.”
He was annoyingly correct there. If he’d been a little more drunk, Hiko might have very easily convinced himself he should acquiesce to his inebriated student’s wishes, just as his apprentice once did for him.
“I don’t understand you,” he scoffed.
“It’s not about understanding, Shishou,” Kenshin countered. Then, in a quieter voice, “It’s been a long time for this one, that it has.”
A story there, obviously, but Hiko didn’t care to know. He’d expected his naïve apprentice to go out into the world and experience life and fall in love like a moron - what he hadn’t expected was for his student to come back to him.
And yet, faced with prospect, he couldn’t think of any other response.
“I’m Hiko Seijuuro. Thirteenth Master of the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu. I could have any woman I wanted.” Disappointment began to creep onto his apprentice’s face. Letting out a sigh, Hiko finished, “Except I didn’t truly want any of them.”
Those violet eyes - how often he’d admired them, in the private recesses of his mind - seemed to glow at his words. And moments later nimble, calloused fingers were twined in his long black hair and pushing aside his heavy white mantle, and impossibly soft lips were pressed once more against his mouth.
One thing he was grateful for - his apprentice wasn’t so stupid that he needed to have Hiko spell it all out for him.
Maybe it was a little cruel, to succumb to this the night before he passed on the succession technique. But it had been a very long time for Hiko, too.
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For silverharmony
Fandom: Eyeshield21
Characters: HiruSena
Prompt: Skills
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Hiruma rolled over, stretching out a long, bare, sinuous arm. His spidery fingers crept under his pillow, and re-emerged with his infamous black notebook clutched between them. Then, with the lazy confidence of a well-fed cat, he rolled back over and started writing.
Sena lifted his head, and a chill shivered its way down his bare back. He tugged the sheet up to cover his shoulders. Black silk, of course, with red pillowcases. Deimon Devil Bat colours. It was Hiruma, after all. “What are you doing?”
The quarterback popped a stick of gum and started chewing. “What’s it look like, fucking shorty?”
It took an embarrassingly long moment for him to put the pieces together. Sena blamed that on the fact that his brain still felt like scrambled eggs and his bones like gooey caramel. “You’re writing this down as blackmail?” he squawked. “Why?” He’d agreed to play football for Hiruma. He was too scared of being shot to ever rat out any of his illegal dealings to anyone. And he’d just slept with him. What could be left that he’d possibly need to be blackmailed into?
“So you’ll keep sleeping with me, fucking shorty.” Hiruma gave him a shark-like grin, and blew a bubble. “This is to make sure you don’t get any crazy ideas and use these skills on anyone else.”
Sena had, apparently, still managed to underestimate Hiruma’s possessiveness. One would think he would have learned after the quarterback monopolized his running skills for the football team.
He groaned, and buried his head in the pillow.
At least this time, he didn’t have to run around wearing an Eyeshield and hiding his identity.
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For iluxia
Fandom: Full Metal Alchemist
Characters: RoyEd
Prompt: You are nobody until somebody loves you~
You're nobody till somebody cares~
Now you may be king, you may possess the world and it's gold,
but gold will never buy your happiness when you're growing old~
a.k.a. THIS SONG desu aosdfaksdfj CAN YOU FEEL THE SAPPY ROY ATMOSPHERE YET
*cue slylysmirking!Ed here mocking Roy's old man age desu*
(AN: Thank you Kia for the lovely birthday and Christmas card - you penmanship impresses the heck out of me as always. I’ve gone kinda AU with this, hope you don’t mind. It was either that, or tragedy)
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He’s done it. He’s reached the top. His ambitions are in his grasp.
It feels strangely empty.
Certainly to begin with, it had been glorious. At last, the power to change the military, the power to change this broken country, the power to prevent atrocities like the war rests in his hands. Everything determined by his moral compass. Roy would be beholden to nobody ever again.
The parties followed, where he could bask in the well-earned adoration and praise and envy of his former peers. Look into the eyes of his smiling enemies and see the cold fear of retribution lurking in their souls.
It tasted sweeter than the finest wine.
However, when standing in this eerily quiet office, looking out over the busiest hub of Amestris, the victory feels so very hollow.
Until the silence shatters under the crash of his office door, and a small blond and red tornado throws itself into his sanctuary.
“You bastard!”
“It’s Fuhrer now, FullMetal.”
“Fuhrer Bastard!” he amends without missing a beat. “What the hell was up with sending me on that stupid, infantile, moronic waste of time?!”
Roy ignores the question. “Rude as always. You should at least knock before entering the Fuhrer’s office.”
“I don’t give courtesies to jerks, no matter their rank.” The words are fiery, as always, but no longer carry malice. “What were you thinking? A charity dinner?”
“It’s considered an honour. As one of the youngest and most accomplished alchemists in the military, public relations are part of your job too.”
Predictably, Edward dissolves into grumbling that Roy diplomatically ignores for the time being. The notion is perplexing, but it’s somewhat comforting to have some subordinates who won’t treat him any different now he’s at the top.
Maybe the change has been a little too sudden after all. He’s still finding his feet.
In his extended silence, FullMetal wears himself out of complaints and turns to watching him with analytical amber eyes. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing is the matter.” Something in his tone must give him away, because Edward rolls his eyes.
“Bored of being Fuhrer already? Selfish egotistical bastard.”
“I was merely contemplating what comes next,” he retorts with his usual air of casual superiority, and earns a snort for his performance.
“Is there a rank above Fuhrer? Would God be good enough for you?” FullMetal lounges back in his chair - the legs creak in warning, but hold steady.
The odd mood that has been haunting him on and off since his final promotion prompts him to a level of honesty he rarely allows. “Have you ever wondered, FullMetal, whether this was what you really wanted? If the sacrifices were worth it?”
The gravity of the statement, of course, bounces off the alchemist’s red coat like pebbles against a boulder. Edward has, if anything, always been secure in his goals. “Having a mid-life crisis?” he mocks.
Roy raises an eyebrow, but rather than rise to the taunt about his age, smoothly replies, “I suppose it’s not a fair to ask such a question of someone who has spent such a… short time on this earth.”
“WHO ARE YOU CALLING A TINY PEA-SIZED SPECK OF DUST TOO SMALL TO SEE WITH A MAGNIFYING GLASS?!”
The shouts and ranting fill the corners of the enormous office, bringing it alive. The loneliness flees in the face of it like shadows before the sun.
The slightest of smirks twitch on his lips.
Maybe what Roy really needed has been within his grasp all along.
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For aventria
Fandom: Hikaru no Go
Characters: Hikaru and Sai
Prompt: "That which lingers beyond mirrors"
(AN: Thank you for the lovely card! And, um, sorry about this, but when I hear 'mirrors' this is what I think about. -__- I need more practice at this genre.)
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Sometimes, in the mirror, Hikaru still sees him. Standing there, tall purple hat, long white flowing robes, skin so pale to appear nearly translucent.
Staring. Judging.
The first few times, he whirls around, the blind joy surging in his heart shattering under the realisation that space behind him remains empty. Always, always empty.
Then he starts avoiding shiny surfaces - keeping his eyes down in the bathroom, turning his head from windows, even growing so careful as to avoid looking in pools of water.
He begins to wonder if he is going mad.
Until eventually, his hunger to look on his closest friend - the spirit he’d spent every moment of the past few years with - wins out.
He spends half the evening in the bathroom, trying to talk to a mirror.
All Sai does is stare.
It’s not always. Seems to happen the most in the bathrooms in the Go Parlour, after playing against Akira. Lakes and fountains, too - especially the one in the park right across from the Institute. It makes sense - Sai drowned himself, after all, and was obsessed with Go until the very end.
There’s a mirror in the Go Institute foyer, too. It’s ornate, with gilded edges, and the name of someone he’s never heard of before engraved down the bottom. Probably a trinket in memory of some lesser-known Go pro. The Institute is littered with ugly paintings and antiques commemorating the pros of the past.
Hikaru’s supposed to be meeting his friends in a few minutes, so he avoids looking at it, just in case.
It doesn’t work, of course. Sai’s visage taunts him from the corner of his eyes, and he’s drawn to the mirror, staring into the dark eyes of his former mentor, trying to understand.
“You’ve become vain, Hikaru!” Akari teases.
“Huh?” His attention is torn away, and when he glances back, the mirror reflects the faces of him and his friends and nothing else. When did they arrive? How much time has passed? “Oh. I was looking at something else.” Even as the words leave his mouth, he knows it sounds weird.
“You see something in the mirror?” Akari asks with a giggle. “You ever hear that legend? Where if you chant a ghost’s name three times in front of a mirror alone in the dark, they’ll pull you through and kill you!”
“That’s from Candyman!” Waya laughs.
“It’s much older than that! Candyman ripped it off!” Akari protests. “Mirrors were often considered portals between worlds. That’s why psychics are always using them as mediums.” She shrugs and smiles. “It scared me silly as a girl when I first heard it! I used to refuse to even enter the bathroom without the light on!”
“That would make it hard to take a piss at night,” Waya comments, then winces from the slap on the back of his head. “Ouch!”
“That was rude!” Nase comes up behind them, hands on hips.
Hikaru barely notices - head off in the clouds. He’s heard the ghost story before, of course - he did a fair bit of reading on ghosts when Sai first possessed him, mostly looking for ways to get exorcised. Bloody Mary, or something. But this isn’t the same at all. Sai wasn’t like that. Sai was a good ghost.
So why is he appearing in mirrors?
“I heard the same story, but it was the Lady In White,” Nase’s saying - they’re still comparing ghost stories. “She would summon someone who was dead for you. For closure.”
Is that what it is? Sai trying to communicate from the world beyond? But why? He’d had that dream - he thought Sai finally found peace!
Is he doing something wrong? Is he trying to tell him something?
Is his Go lacking? Ever since he came back, he’s been working hard. Harder than ever before, harder than even when he first started chasing Akira.
But is it enough? To make Sai live on through his Go?
“Hikaru. Hikaru!” Akari shouts, earning a reproving glance from the secretary minding the front desk. She blushes and ducks her head before collaring him and dragging him outside. “Pay attention! We’re leaving.”
Later, he sits with his friends and laughs and eats and acts normal, but Hikaru’s heart really isn’t it. He’s haunted, now. Wondering why Sai is appearing in mirrors - if it is Sai, and not merely a product of his tormented imagination. More than once he’d heard a voice or seen a shadow and leapt to conclusions. It’s normal when people died, he’d heard, for your grief to play tricks on you.
Sai had already been dead, but that’s beside the point.
Things only become worse from there.
He starts trying to avoid reflective surfaces again, but it only takes a glimpse, and he’s hooked. It becomes an obsession. He’s beset by insecurity. Whatever fragile peace he’d grasped starts slipping through his fingers like sand.
And then, he loses a match.
It’s against a five-dan, and realistically way above his level, but Hikaru’s been taking out four-dans easily for a while now, and it comes as a horrible shock. It’s his first serious loss since he started playing Touya again.
He concludes with a bow and discusses the match mechanically. It’s dark by the time he stumbles out - they started mid afternoon, but the match had gone into byo-omi towards the end - and the Institute is half-deserted. He’s grateful for it.
He’s lost a match. Horribly. His concentration had been shot. He hasn’t been sleeping at night - too busy worrying about what the images in the mirror meant. And hours he might have once spent studying were wasted staring into ponds and windows and bathroom mirrors.
If he wasn’t already mad, this very well might send him over the brink.
He runs across the road - a taxi beeps him before rumbling on - into the quiet little park near the Institute. It’s empty, thankfully, all the salarymen who retreat there for a cigarette already on their way home - so nobody is there to see him lurch towards the fountain and gaze into the black pool. The gushing water roars in his ears, drowning out the traffic, burying the world in a haze of white noise.
Sai stares back him.
“Why?” he mutters. “Why now? Why not before, when I was looking for you?”
For the first time, the apparition’s lips move, and a whisper seems to dance on the wind.
Hikaru leans down until his nose is almost touching the wavering reflection. He can’t hear. Maybe he imagined it. Maybe he’s imagining all of this.
The lamps nearby stutter, and wink out, plunging the small park into darkness. The image in the pond, however, only seems to grow clearer.
“What is it you want?” he begs hoarsely, tears beginning to pool in his eyes. “What am I doing wrong? Answer me, Sai! Sai! Sai!”
The image reaches out a hand.
And then Hikaru feels it press against the back his head. His eyes widen.
He doesn’t even have the time to take a breath before he’s pushed underwater.
Several minutes later, the lamps flicker back to life. And the image in the fountain ripples and scatters.
Revealing for just one moment the ghostly face of Shuusaku Honinbou. And then that too, fades away.
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