Chiya (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} striking_sparks) wrote,@ 2006-09-03 17:32:00 |
|
admin + loveless drabbly thing
久しぶりですね。
Hi. I realise that most people who follow this journal are here for the Prince of Tennis fic, so here's the thing. I'm really not so much in the fandom these days - I'm not writing PoT right now, and I have no plans to do so in the foreseeable future. I'm not ruling it out, mind, because I have at least one WIP that I really do want to finish, but right now all my love and writing is going to other fandoms. Those being Kingdom Hearts and Final Fantasy VII.
So. Since there is unlikely to be any PoT fic here for a Long Time, an informal poll of sorts: Do I crosspost the KH & FF7 fic here? As in, are any of you at all interested in reading it?
And, since I never actually posted it here, a Loveless drabble I wrote forkessie:
What Once You Wanted
He's sitting at the desk when Kio wanders in, legs folded into a perfect seiza as the brush moves like a falling star in his fingers. Kio pauses, watching the way a strand of hair is slipping forward out of his ponytail (sliding against the side of his face), and twirls the candy sucker absently in his fingers. It's cherry, and the colour matches the ink Soubi is drawing with, red trails like blood or fire on air and paper.
His eye catches the kanji on the paper, the photograph pinned into the top corner of the drawing board, and Kio scowls, jerking back into motion and jamming the candy into his mouth as he stomps across the room to his own desk, poking through old bottles of ink in search of something he can think of as exciting. Across the room, Soubi is still again, brush poised over paper as smoke curls into the air from the ashtray beside him. Kio feels the weight of eyes on him, heavy as silence and last night, and when he looks up again it is as though Soubi is seeing right through him, seeing everything that he is.
His tongue catches on hard candy, and he can taste blood, bitter and metallic. The memory of kisses is like a rock in his mind, a filthy weight of joking and desperation and the way Soubi had looked, afterwards, as calm as though he had been nothing. As though he had meant nothing. Kio can still feel the crawling sensation of scar tissue beneath his fingertips, cool and ridged and utterly unfeeling.
The sound of the door slamming in his wake is too final, but by that point it's too late.
久しぶりですね。
Hi. I realise that most people who follow this journal are here for the Prince of Tennis fic, so here's the thing. I'm really not so much in the fandom these days - I'm not writing PoT right now, and I have no plans to do so in the foreseeable future. I'm not ruling it out, mind, because I have at least one WIP that I really do want to finish, but right now all my love and writing is going to other fandoms. Those being Kingdom Hearts and Final Fantasy VII.
So. Since there is unlikely to be any PoT fic here for a Long Time, an informal poll of sorts: Do I crosspost the KH & FF7 fic here? As in, are any of you at all interested in reading it?
And, since I never actually posted it here, a Loveless drabble I wrote for
kessie: What Once You Wanted
He's sitting at the desk when Kio wanders in, legs folded into a perfect seiza as the brush moves like a falling star in his fingers. Kio pauses, watching the way a strand of hair is slipping forward out of his ponytail (sliding against the side of his face), and twirls the candy sucker absently in his fingers. It's cherry, and the colour matches the ink Soubi is drawing with, red trails like blood or fire on air and paper.
His eye catches the kanji on the paper, the photograph pinned into the top corner of the drawing board, and Kio scowls, jerking back into motion and jamming the candy into his mouth as he stomps across the room to his own desk, poking through old bottles of ink in search of something he can think of as exciting. Across the room, Soubi is still again, brush poised over paper as smoke curls into the air from the ashtray beside him. Kio feels the weight of eyes on him, heavy as silence and last night, and when he looks up again it is as though Soubi is seeing right through him, seeing everything that he is.
His tongue catches on hard candy, and he can taste blood, bitter and metallic. The memory of kisses is like a rock in his mind, a filthy weight of joking and desperation and the way Soubi had looked, afterwards, as calm as though he had been nothing. As though he had meant nothing. Kio can still feel the crawling sensation of scar tissue beneath his fingertips, cool and ridged and utterly unfeeling.
The sound of the door slamming in his wake is too final, but by that point it's too late.
