Eris Through the Monitor

um whut

2008-12-23T18:18:46Z

WHO gets SICK in the middle of SUMMER I ASK YOU. No, I don't know either. Except, apparently, I do. Maybe. I feel weird. I think I'm just allergic to hypocritical consumerism and fake love. Haha, my whole family is so Bah Humbug about Christmas but we do the whole presents-and-be-fake-nice-to-your-family thing because the rest of my family is all super into it. I mean, my family is awesome, but my one aunt is über Christian and the other is all New Age Wiccan and such and that's just on my mom's side. You know. And I don't like my gran, because she's judgemental and is overnice in the way that people only are when they're being fake. Luckily we won't be seeing my dad's side this year, because they are okay, I suppose, if very boring and totally distant. I hardly know them at all.

On the bright side: PRESENTS. I can't wait for the HSM3 soundtrack, because I am such an illicit HSM fan, really. Chad and Ryan are my baby boys, what can I say? Also, getting an iTrip and the Iron Man movie and sparkly eyeliner and who knows what else. I'm excited. Kind of. Except I'm also feeling sick and kind of - I don't know. Nervous? Guilty? Not about anything specific, just generally - I just feel wrong. Like this isn't who or what or where I'm supposed to be. Like I've broken some kind of unspoken rule.

But I am going to have such an awesome year in 2009, because I'm a matric and I refuse to let my last year of high school suck. So there. I am so over the teenage angst and loneliness and stuff. You know. Over it! So I am going to be happy and I'm going to stop smothering the few real friends I have and meet new people and make new friends and be all confident and intelligent and stuff. I have decided. Because why go through life being bored and boring? No point.

I LOVE MY GUITAR. I just wish I could actually play it. I am taking it to the Dam over New Years and hopefully I will find someone to teach me how to play. I was getting all excited because I wanted my friend to come this year but we are going for, like, two weeks and my mom said no wai. Because, admittedly, we do get kind of noisy and hyper and FANGIRL SQUEEish around each other. Mostly me. *innocent grin* I get easily excited, what can i say. Anyway, I shall have to once again find randoms who will put up with me or I'll just sit alone and read and listen to music and whatever. The stuff I usually do when I feel lonely and neglected. (Damn, I'm such high maintenance, I'm surprised people don't get annoyed with me more often. I just hate being alone, I get all disconnected.) ANYWAY, my mom says that maybe this one guy that is pretty cute and funny and stuff (his name is Michael, for anyone interested) will be there, which could be awesome. I suppose. If he feels like talking to me. He's cool and I need more male friends - not, as, like, romantic interests, but just as friends. I actually don't have any, which is pretty sad, because guys are awesome and give the best hugs and smell nice. :D

Wow, I've lost track of what I'm talking about again.

I feel weird still, but I'm going to have to get used to it. This happened last year too, I do recall. I think. Maybe it was the year before, my memories never stay in any kind of order, chronological or otherwise.

I was reading over some of my old stuff and HOLY CRAP it is bad. But everyone always just smiles and tells me 'Yeah, it's great!' </fake smile>. I wish people would actually tell me what they actually thought.

Which goes for everything, actually. I'm so over people being annoyed at me and I don't even know what I've done wrong and I'm supposed to read their minds or something. Like my sister, this morning. I came over and kind of hug-tackled her, which I always do, and she yells at me and storms into her room and slams the door. Whut the hell. Turns out, she was totally upset at me for something I'd done last night that I hadn't even known bothered her. I wish I could say that was limited to ten-year-olds. My friends at school do it too, sometimes. Less often, but more explosive, because they keep it bottled up for longer. How am I supposed to know what you're thinking and feeling if you don't tell me? I'm not psychic. Arg. And I know I do that too, sometimes, and I don't tell people what's wrong. But my word is it annoying. I'm going to tell people the instant they bother me from now on or I'm going to get over myself. I'm not going to let it fester and blame the poor oblivious perpetrator. And I'm not going to feel bad when people do it to me: please, for goodness sake, if something about me bothers you, tell me. I'd rather know that it annoys you than have you mad at me for months over silly things.

Wow, this is turning into a major rantfest. :o Why anyone would want to read this whining is beyond me. But it's nice to type it out, and, you know, take from it what you will.

I should do this more often, I think. Ranting feels good.

Although I still have that sick, wrong feeling and I don't know why.

We All Fall Down

2008-12-21T19:29:37Z

title: we all fall down

author: chaotic_cupcake

fandom: Les Misérables (Valjean/Javert)

length: 3071

summary: The times they met and the times they didn't

warnings: Slash, which means man-on-man ~~action~~ love

notes: for aliferlia on her birthday, today, the 22 December - HOLY CRAP YOU'RE 18. :o This is definitely not sufficient birthday presentfulness. Await more lavish gifts. Notes on the story will be at the end (they'll be boring, I would bother if I were you.)

//we all fall down

The light was catching on the silver badge, blinding him over and over again. That’s what Jean Valjean remembers about the day he was brought to this precinct of Hell; that cocky, beautiful young officer with his shiny new badge, so condescending and proud, like some kind of avenging angel. Sometimes Valjean can’t remember his crimes or even his name beyond the five digits branded onto his forearm { 2 - 4 - 6 - 0 - 1 } but he will never forget the cold glare of the silver badge, and the colder steel-blue gaze.

//here we go round – round – round

There is certain monotony to his life: the past twenty years have fallen away with no great achievements to mark the years. Each year a new rank, a hundred sinners justly punished, but nothing to satisfy his burning for justice. Something sits ill within Javert’s chest – something connected to the rough fingers of a man he escorted to jail twenty years ago. Rough fingers lay absolutely still, no nervous fidgeting or tension, no hope.

Javert goes towards the jail now, as he does every month. Another routine: check the security, endure the warden’s attempts at humour, try and avoid the dead gazes of the inmates. His eyes are drawn as ever to Valjean (no not valjean not anymore 2-4-6-0-1 now), his smooth skin wrinkled and aged early, burnt by the sun and sand. His strong hands, rougher than ever, hang limply by his sides, with no hope. And yet – and yet. Something still burns in those eyes, something that makes it hard for Javert to ignore him as he should. Valjean should not be a person any more: he should have dissolved into a sea of sinners, and nothing but his number should remain.

And his number has finished its sentence. His number may now return to society.

//only half way up, they were neither up nor down

“24601.”

Valjean is lost in the mindless rhythm {lift heavy swing heavy hit hard lift} of the quarry work. His back is aching – always aching, can’t stop – and he is hungry and the cold sun burns his skin while the cold air freezes his sweat. No relief, not any time soon, and not even the escape of death.

Every day a priest comes to preach to them, the poor little lost sheep, no hope now. God doesn’t want them, there’s space enough in Hell. Valjean is saving his resentment, but there’s no solid proof that he isn’t in Hell already.

“24601.”

Something connects in his mind. A number is branded onto his skin –

“24601!”

“Yes…?” he replies eventually, but his voice is hoarse with disuse. No one to talk to in Hell: no stories that suffer the telling. “Yes?” he tries again.

“You’re done. Time’s up. Got to take you to that bloody officer with the eyes.”

There’s an irony in there somewhere. Cold blue eyes as he goes in and cold blue eyes when they finally let him leave.

“Your time is up, 24601.” There is a harsh emphasis on the number. Valjean stares blankly at the man. “You know what that means, of course?”

“It means I’m… free?” The word sits strangely in his mouth; he find that he’s forgotten what it means.

“No. It means that you are now on parole, judged fit to rejoin society.” The tone makes it clear that this man was not the judge. Valjean thinks of the priest, “God sent his only son to die on the cross that he may relieve you of sin, but you have chosen the path of the devil.” “You are still a criminal – 24601.”

“My name is Jean Valjean.” There is uncertainty in Valjean’s voice. He’s not sure he said it right, or that it even was his name at all.

“And I’m Javert – do not forget that, 24601. I am your parole officer; I shall ensure that you do not break the law again.”

Valjean stared at him as a peripheral ghost came forward to unlock his chains.

“I stole a loaf of bread and the law locked me up for twenty years,” Valjean managed hoarsely. He was angry; he wanted to shout. He was tired; he wanted to cry.

“You tried to escape.” Javert’s voice is scathing, like a whiplash on Valjean’s already-wounded soul. “You wounded a policeman.” Valjean can’t remember, he can’t even remember the taste of bread. Javert might be telling the truth.

He stares blankly forwards as the chains clatter to the floor around him.

//for you may try to sew and sew, you’ll never make anything regal

Valjean stands over the chest, hesitating. He is unsure; it is so long since he has had to make a choice.

There is no reason to reach into the chest: he has a job now, and at least he is out of that Hell. He wrings his chafed wrists to remind himself of the risk he runs, the Hell that tenses, ready to reclaim him. And what of this man, this Reverend who took him in, fed him and gave him shelter? He doesn’t deserve to have his silver stolen.

“You will all burn in Hell,” a smiling face reminds him from the darkness of his memory.

The Church is corrupt and God is merciless.

And he’s damned anyway.

//ran to the end of the sky

Javert glares at the two policemen with unnecessary anger.

“You let him go?” he spits. “You arrested him and then let him go, and now he has disappeared. What, pray tell, made you let him go.”

The Reverend helped him. The Reverend has always given every last penny to charity, his only luxury being his precious silver. Now, Valjean – no, 24601 – has stolen it and the Reverend has given him the candlesticks. Has let him go. Has helped him escape. What did he see in the convict?

Why can’t Javert see it?

~~(Maybe he does.)~~

//and hide his head under his wing, poor thing

The candlesticks are heavy, by far the heaviest things he has ever had to carry, even after twenty years in a quarry. Even after he’s sold them, and built up a new life for himself, after he is well off enough to help people, to give people work.

The candlesticks weigh on his thoughts, constantly, and he tries harder to have deserved them.

//leave them alone and they will come home

Five years pass painfully, grating away at Javert’s mind like a madness. Five years since he last saw Valjean, and he feels something screaming in his soul. Justice, he thinks.

~~(He’s wrong.)~~

Another town, another criminal to chase – not Valjean, they’ve given up.

~~(He hasn’t.)~~

And then he meets the mayor, sees his strength in action as he lifts a cart off of a man. He’s different now, Valjean, his face is genial and gentle and his eyes crinkle up when he smiles – he smiles now – but Javert recognises his rough hands, still rough, doesn’t even need to see the branding on his arm.

So he finds someone poor, someone innocent, someone who looks a very lot like Valjean used to.

“I’ve found this criminal, this Jean Valjean, after five years of searching, Monsieur Madeleine! We will hold him here in your town until we have reinforcements to escort him back to Paris. We can’t risk him escaping again.”

He doesn’t think it will work. Surely, Valjean will not risk his own neck for someone else’s, not after he has somehow swindled his way to the top. And surely he will know that the man’s innocence can easily be proven – simply by checking for a branding or some kind of scar on his arm.

It is not a trap. It is a test. Javert wants to prove to himself that Valjean is selfish and evil.

//when the bough breaks

His house of cards comes crashing down at once.

Fantine, one of his workers, dies, begging him with her dying breath to take care of her child. It is his fault that she died. He wanted to protect the innocent and poor, and she is sweet even after the world has taken everything from her. He sees in her what he wishes he could be, but he is still so bitter at times, so bitter at the world.

Her child is sick, she says, and he remembers his sister.

((Oh, Marie Valjean? Yes, her child died not two months after her brother was taken into prison. Starved, poor thing, nothing to be done. Marie followed not three weeks after, refused any food, said it was too late. Poor thing, poor thing. So sad.))

“None will ever harm Cosette as long as I am living….”

And Javert is in his town.

He has felt the cold gaze on him, judging him and hating him and knowing that he is not worthy of all that he has for the past twenty-five years. He hurt a man, they tell him. He can’t remember much from before that hellhole of a prison, except Marie’s gentle smile and her tears, but he believes them. He doesn’t deserve any of this, especially not the candlesticks.

The last straw is that some innocent, someone like he had once been, like Fantine was, is arrested. Javert is convinced that the man is Valjean, doesn’t recognise the criminal beneath his nose.

Everything is wrong. The injustice of the world buzzes in his brain like rage, only calmer. He doesn’t think at all and his mind is blank. There was once a man who believed that his soul could be saved, believed that there was good in him yet. He won’t let that man down.

But he won’t leave Cosette to die, either.

(And he won’t let Javert be wrong. All Javert has to lean on is his Justice; he is Justice. Valjean knows this. Javert is the angel watching him, his every move, and Javert cannot sin. Valjean won’t let him.)

// I saw a black man upon a black horse

Javert stares. He was wrong. He was right. It doesn’t matter which. Valjean passed the test – he stood up to Javert, refused to let someone else pay for his crime. No! He is still a criminal. He is still evil – but he wants to go and save a child. That is not evil, that is far more righteous than Javert, who never helps and only punishes. No. Punishment is necessary, and Valjean is evil. Evil is darkness and trickery and Valjean only wants to escape.

~~(Then why did he admit to his crimes?)~~

Javert talks over his muddled, racing, painful thoughts. He condemns Valjean, refuses to let him leave.

“You must think me mad! I’ve hunted you for five years, and men like you can never change.”

A man such as you….

Valjean is angry now, and isn’t wrath a sin? He yowls and spits like a cornered cat, like a mother defending her children. Javert struggles to see the evil in him.

“I’m warning you, Javert, there is nothing I won’t do to save this child. When you locked me away, my sister and her child starved to death. If I have to kill you here, I’ll do what must be done. Don’t underestimate my strength: I am damned anyway.”

Valjean attempts to escape. Javert attempts to stop him. The world goes black.

~~(He didn’t kill me. Why didn’t he kill me?)~~

//she shall have music wherever she goes

Ten years have passed. Valjean has not forgotten, exactly, but he tries to forget. He doesn’t think about it actively anymore, thinks instead of Cosette and protecting her. Worries about this Marius who is trying to steal her away – is he pure, can he be trusted, how could a damned man tell the difference anyway?

He worries about Paris, in upheaval. He understands the pain of the people maybe better than any other. Certainly better than this Marius. He is the pain of the people, in a way. He is also their sins, and he can’t forget that. He tries.

He worries about being caught, about Cosette, about the politics of the land.

Every night he can see Javert’s eyes blaming him from the darkness.

//and so betwixt the two of them

Ten years have passed. Javert has not forgotten, never. The years are grating at him like madness, like obsession. He is mad, he is obsessed. He is in Paris, as well, he hardly notices himself getting caught up in fighting the workers, the starving people, but in his moments of lucidity it sits wrong with him. What is wrong about their wishes? Only their methods are harmful.

When he is not lucid, when he is locked in the past, in that last confrontation with Valjean, there is a sentence that sticks in his mind like honey, painfully sweet and the farthest thing from clear.

“That man bears no more guilt than you.”

Valjean did not blame him. Valjean who did rescue an eight-year-old girl from a cruel foster family, Javert discovered, Valjean who ran with her to Paris and disappeared into the masses. Valjean, whom he has been chasing and haunting and blaming, that very same Valjean did not blame him. Javert doesn’t understand why Valjean did not hate him and blame him and kill him.

~~(Why am I alive?)~~

He wants to find him again, to prove to himself that he is still just, that he is still righteous, that he is still right. He needs to find him again. It grates on his mind like madness, like obsession, like doubt.

//it made the children laugh

Valjean stares. Stares at the prisoner these people have caught, these blood-drunk, victory-stupid, vindicated boys with guns. Javert’s lip is split, his eye bruised, there’s a long cut oozing blood down his cheek and neck. He is slumped against a wall, hands bound, eyes and teeth clenched in pain.

“I know him. He put me in prison. He has chased me for fifteen years. Let me decide his fate.”

They laugh. They hand him a knife. He steps forward.

It was never supposed to be like this. For the thirty-five years that he has known – not known, really, never known his motivation or anything about him, but known somehow – Javert, he has never once seen him like this. Seen this despair in his eyes, this hope.

What does he hope for? Death, maybe, or escape. Valjean to kill him and prove him right. Valjean can see that in his eyes, and also the doubt. He raises the knife and Javert flinches.

He slices away the rope and Javert’s hands fall to hang limply at his sides. Javert’s cold blue eyes are blank with shock.

Valjean leads the others away. He doesn’t look back.

//fell down and broke

All along, he was wrong. All along, the justice that he lived by, lived for, was wrong. No, it was right, it was always right, that’s what it was – he was wrong. He was nothing more than a self-righteous, proud pawn of a broken system.

~~(Pride is a sin, too. Worse than wrath.)~~

Valjean should have killed him. Valjean had every right, every reason. But Valjean was pure and in his forgiveness was condemnation.

He has been chasing a good man for fifteen years.

He stares at the stars through the smoke of his burning city and feels the numb shock dissolve into certainty. No more doubt, not any more. His feet stop on the bridge. He hadn’t noticed that he was walking. He doesn’t take note of which bridge. He pulls himself, feeling and appreciating the ache in his body, onto the balustrade. This is right. This is fair. He smiles, under the cold gaze of the stars, and knows that punishment awaits him. That Justice awaits him.

//and oh but it was laden with pretty things

Valjean pulls him back.

Javert doesn’t understand. He says so. He doesn’t care that he’s crying.

(so confused so lost he is a good man he is what i should have been)

Valjean doesn’t let go, hold his shoulders roughly, tells him that Justice can’t die. Tells him that he couldn’t live knowing that Javert had killed himself. Tells him that he is too perfect and innocent and blameless to go to hell.

~~(Suicide is a sin too. That’s in the Bible; thou shalt not kill, including thyself.)~~

Javert still doesn’t understand. He says so again. How can Valjean, who was blameless all along and whom he had chased all along, how could Valjean not blame him?

Valjean wipes his tears away. His fingers are rough and worn, never quite healed after twenty years of rough stone. He doesn’t really care what the hellfire preachers say about this kind of love, knows that God will not condemn Javert for this (for how could God condemn an angel and isn’t God all-loving anyway?) and he’s going to hell anyway. He presses a gentle kind-of kiss to the corner of Javert’s mouth, wraps his arms around him.

Javert is surprised. He doesn’t understand, but is beginning to suspect that he never will. He doesn’t really care about the state of his soul at this point and he has been obsessed with Valjean for too long not to love him. Valjean has been on his mind for thirty-five years now and he just kissed him. An almost-kiss, anyway. And suddenly, wrapped in Valjean’s arms, Javert does not want to die. He murmurs as much.

Valjean is surprised, too. He pulls back slightly, looks at Javert, and sees a ghost of a smile on his lips. He’s never seen him smile before. Something very much like love and forgiveness washes over him for the first time in thirty-five years.

Javert kisses him, properly, passionately. He tangles his fingers into now-grey, ash-stained hair, pulls himself closer despite the protests of his battered body.

Valjean is hurt too (very bruised and aching and is that blood?), so their kiss is brief. They stumble, together, back to Valjean’s house, back home (where Cosette is looking after a wounded Marius and doesn’t even know that her best friend is dead, not yet, doesn’t care, not yet) and neither die. They both think that, at fifty-five, it is about time they had some happiness.

Maybe they’ll go to hell, maybe they won’t.

But they’ll go together.

//this is the way the world ends

_____

notes

um. not so happy with the ending (meh, it's too happy, I need to go write that Sesshy/Rin one and refill on angst). also - i struggle writing long things, i don't have the attention span. so this is too short. but i finished it!

also, for anyone interested, the funny bold lines came from assorted nursery rhymes. here's a list.

List of Nursery Rhymes used (in chronological order): Ring-a-rosie, Here We Go ‘Round the Mulberry Bush, Grand Old Duke of York, Pop Goes the Weasel, A Little Boy Ran to the End of the Sky, The North Wind Doth Blow, Little Bo Peep, Rock-a-by Baby, As I Was Going to Charing Cross, Ride a cock-horse to Banbury Cross (variation of the previous), Jack Sprat Could Eat No Fat, Mary Had a Little Lamb, Jack and Jill Climbed Up a Hill, I Saw a Ship A-sailing, and the last line was shamelessly filched from the Hollow Men by T. S. Elliot.

Love you, Ali-chan. (^__^)b (btw, when I said I'd be at your house at 12.30 I may have meant that I'll leave home then, by the way things are looking.) See you soon!

!!!

2008-12-04T17:40:06Z

http://cupcake-of-chaos.deviantart.com/journal/

Go here if you wish. :D

sick

2008-11-22T21:27:39Z

blegh i'm sick

wrote 3 hours of ad maths today and FAILED tragically i'm sure probably because i'm sick

you know i'm sick when i fail to use punctuation as punctuation and i are madly in love but see i am all despondent and neglectful of her

in other news, jet/zuko (or 'jetko' lol) from avatar is SO CUTE. jet rocks.

tired. sick. eeeurgh. *slump*

cupcake is stupid

2008-11-21T10:27:16Z

aaaarg there is this massively huge scary moth thing in my room and i have this stupid almost-phobia for moths and this is so STUPID because i know it's not going to hurt me or anything but i'm all freaked out ANYWAY. gah. that's pathetic, right? *headdesk*

ANYWAY. Look, a journal entry! Rare, rare thing that. But what the hell.

EXAMS. EAT. MY. BRAIN. Almost over, luckily... just... three... left.... Must... hold... on.... *collapses*

I CAN'T DO MATHS. Actually I can, I am damn good at Maths, I rock at Maths. I can't do Ad Maths, which is basically super-advanced college-level Maths that is REALLY DIFFICULT. EXAM TOMORROW. I'M STUDYING. Or, okay, I'm not, but I will be. Soon. I need to motivate myself, I don't study very well.

BLEGH.

If I survive, I will rant about how cute Avatar is. Because it really is. (SOKKA. TY LEE. ZUKO. AANG. MOMO. APPA. SUCH LOVE.)

Now I'm going to my DOOM. Goodbye.

Meme - Confession

2008-11-09T19:45:01Z

Stolen from joasakura !
1. Put your iPod on shuffle (or whatever mp3 player).
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS!

(Just as a warning, this is completely random and I haven’t even heard about half of the songs on my iPod. I take no responsibility for that Cher song, srsly. Also, to reiterate what joasakura said; I have, liek, loads of songs on my iPod and loads of artists but the random shuffle likes to repeat artists and such. (^__^))</lj></lj>

IF SOMEONE SAYS "IS THIS OKAY" YOU SAY?
I’m Going Slightly Mad - Queen

WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?"
Let Me Fall – Josh Groban

WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
Good Enough - Evanescence

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE'S PURPOSE?
Oops I Did It Again – Britney Spears

WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
Broken – Amy Lee/Sether

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
Strong Enough – Cher (I… am actually worried that I have this song)

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
I Fell In Love With A Girl – White Stripes

WHAT IS 2+2?
Lawdy, Miss Clawdy – Elvis Presley

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
Dream On - Aerosmith

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Tears From the Moon – Conjure One

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
Dango Daikazoku - Chata

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
Full Circle – Loreena McKennit

WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Crazy in Love – Beyoncé/Jay-Z (LOL APPROPRIATE)

WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
Still in Love with You – Jonas Brothers (I blame Tammy, my 10-year-old sister)

WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
Blue Suede Shoes – Elvis Presley

WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
Don’t Fear The Reaper – Blue Oyster Cult (THAT IS ACTUALLY SCARY)

WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
Call Me When You’re Sober - Evanescence

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
Super Trouper - ABBA

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
Jesus of Suburbia - Greenday

WHAT'S THE WORST THING THAT COULD HAPPEN?
Everything Changes - Staind

HOW WILL YOU DIE?
Smoke on the Water – Deep Purple

WHAT IS THE ONE THING YOU REGRET?
I Want It All - Queen

WHAT MAKES YOU LAUGH?
Sometimes You Can’t Make It On Your Own – U2

WHAT MAKES YOU CRY?
SOS – Good Charlotte

WILL YOU EVER GET MARRIED?
Rock Show – Blink 182

WHAT SCARES YOU THE MOST?
Fat Bottomed Girls - Queen

DOES ANYONE LIKE YOU?
Hey There Delilah – Plain White Ts

IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN TIME, WHAT WOULD YOU CHANGE?
Bonny Swans – Loreena McKennit

WHAT HURTS RIGHT NOW?
Going Under - Evanescence

WHAT WILL YOU POST THIS AS?
Confession – Josh Groban

Meme!

2008-07-14T19:40:01Z

ianthe_aveira, yay! (^__^)

1. What are your reasons for having a LJ?

Um, to post fanfiction, I guess, but because I’m mostly a lurker who absorbs other people’s genius, also to have somewhere concrete to comment from. :)

2. What do you do before bedtime?

Hmm, sneak into my little sister’s room and kiss her goodnight, because she’s a lot cuter when she’s sleeping and I love her so. (o////o) Ok, that was soppy, but yeah.

3. What will your dream wedding be like?

Erm, I dunno. Not sure if I want to get married. I might do it just to have a cross-dressing wedding. >:]

4. What is the city of your dreams and why?

Cape Town! But that’s just because I live here, and therefore sleep here. No, seriously, it’s so pretty and I live right by the beach, and I love it. But otherwise, I’d really like to go to London and Tokyo and all those famous places that I’ve seen on TV or read about.

5. Are you an introvert or extrovert?

Extrovert! Actually, I’m strangely shyer on the internet than in real life. But I’m a really tactile person and I tend to be hugging/holding hands with/sleeping on my friends pretty much constantly.

6. Which is more blessed, loving someone or being loved by someone?

Um, well, I haven’t really had much experience with either, but I think loving is better. Because I wouldn’t want someone to love me if I didn’t love them – that would be unfair and I’d feel terrible about, whereas I can and have been perfectly content for someone to not like me back as much as I like them. Although that possibly wasn’t/isn’t quite love and doesn’t count.

7. Do you trust easily?

Yes. Well, ok, I wouldn’t say too easily, but I have been told so. I think people deserve my trust until they break it. Kind of like, innocent until proven guilty. But I’m young, I’ll learn.

8. If the person you secretly like is already attached, what would you do?

Cheer them on! Be extremely happy that they’re happy. I wouldn’t have thought that would have been my reaction, but it was, seriously – I was surprisingly not bitter at all. I’m weird, I think.

9. Is there anything that has made you unhappy these days?

Um, not really. What kind of teenager am I? (O__o)

10. What are your best qualities?

I’m compassionate, I’m not judgemental, I’m incredibly immature, I can make really yummy scrambled eggs.

11. Is being tagged fun?

Yes! I feel all special and loved, yay!

12. How do you see yourself?

A paradox

13. Who are currently the most important people to you?

Ooh, let’s see: My parents, my little sister, my closest friends, and all the fictional characters that have taken over my head and my heart (not like I was really using either).

14. What kind of person do you think the person who tagged you is?

Fun and awesome and an amazing writer. (I'm such a suck-up, srsly.)

15. Would you rather be single and rich or married but poor?

Single and rich.

16. How many children do you want to have, if any?

Erm, at least one, definitely not more than 3.

17. What's better, to give or to receive?

Erm, an equal exchange? Because otherwise one person ends up feeling guilty or hurt. ?. Or I could say something Yuuko-like about balances and hitsuzen.

18. If you fall in love with two people simultaneously, who would you pick?

(And now my weirdness really shows, I guess): I don’t see why I should have to pick – why can’t I just love them both just as much, why do I have to hurt all of us in choosing? Myself by being torn in half, obviously, the one who wasn’t chosen, just as obviously, and the person I chose, because they’d keep second-guessing and feeling as if they could just as easily not have been chosen. So I really do think monogamy is a little overrated. How can you be expected to only love one person out of the how-ever-scary-many there are?

19. Would you have 100% safe sex with a stranger for $10,000,000?

Um, hell yes.

20. What were your parents going to name you if you'd been born the opposite sex?

Ok, well, to divest my deepestest, darkestest secret to the internet, I’m a girl and my name is Brett. I don’t think they would have bothered. (>__>) I don't think they DID.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaand I'm not going to tag anyone, because I don't have a particularly long flist and I don't want to bother people. :) But feel free to do it!!

FANGIRL SQUEE MODE: on

2008-07-01T17:55:20Z

I am officially (finally) the proud owner of Seasons 1&2 of Supernatural!!!

One of my best friends, Camilla-chan, got me into this show, which was being aired on SABC3 on Friday nights at like 10. The first episode I watched was the Bloody Mary one [Ep. 5] and I had absolutely no idea what was going on, so I only watched half of it. It freaked me out, although that could be because I'm paranoid.I I wasn't really hooked. Then, a couple of [read lots of] weeks later, I decide to read the Shipper's Manifesto for Sam/Dean [the only incest I will ever ship, because damn, on aesthetic value alone...] and with Milla-chan's enthusiasm I quickly became infected. And watched another episode. [The one with the psychic kid who kills his father. Ep. 14] And I was hooked. BUT. There was soccer or something and because we're hosting the 2010 World Cup, SABC3's normal showing times were screwed up. ((And I have totally scanned their site and I think they're not showing it anymore. TT_TT LUCKILY I HAVE IT. HA. Screw sucky South African TV. Seriously: they show everything, lyk, years later and only the really annoying mainstream stuff. I want them to show more anime. (x___x)))

THEN. My sister wanted this silly Build-a-Bear thing, which ended up costing about R500 (please don't ask me to convert that) but since EVERYONE in her class had one [not an exaggeration] she HAD to get it. So. I was like, "Mommy..... (innocent grin :D) Can I get a Build-a-Bear?" "...Sure." Because, you know, you can't let one kid get it and not the other. Even if Tammy is 9 and I'm 16. "So, can I not get a Build-a-Bear and use the money for something else?" "........Fine."

AND THUS. The first two seasons arrived at the Post Office today~! I am sooooo hyper it isn't even funny.

And my mom totally didn't tell me it was here until we'd walked into the PO and I'd figured it out for myself. x____x

So~ The rest of these winter hols is going to be dedicated to Supernatural! Yay~!

And for some random TB/X comments: I was playing Hearts, and I decided to name my opponents Sei-chan, Subaru and Hokuto. Now, I'm generally pretty good at Hearts (I once was still on 0 when one of the other players hit 100!! I'm very proud of that score, ok. x____x) but the first time I played with the TB/X cast, I came third. Subaru was last (no surprises) but what DID surprise me was the Sei-chan was second, and Hokuto won with about a fifty point lead. (O___o) It's kind of symbolic.

And at one point, Subaru almost shot the moon (for anyone reading this who doesn't know what that means, it's when you get every single point card, and you don't gain any points but every other player gets 26 points) except that Sei-chan stole a heart, leaving Subaru with 25 points. THAT is certainly symbolic. I think Sei-chan would like to play Hearts. XD

chaotic_cupcake @ 2008-07-01T13:57:00

2008-07-01T12:01:40Z

Taken from ianthe_aveira

The Big Read reckons that the average adult has only read 6 of the top 100 books they've printed. Well let's see.

1) Look at the list and bold those you have read.
2) Italicize those you intend to read.
3) Underline the books you LOVE.
4) Reprint this list in your own LJ so we can try and track down these people who've read 6 and force books upon them ;-)

1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling
5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
6 The Bible
7 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
8 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell
9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott
12 Tess of the D'Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
13 Catch 22 - Joseph Heller – BEST BOOK EVAR
14 Complete Works of Shakespeare
15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks
18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger
19 The Time Traveller's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
20 Middlemarch - George Eliot
21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald
23 Bleak House - Charles Dickens
24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
25 The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
26 Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
29 Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis – PETER/CASPIAN!!!
34 Emma - Jane Austen
35 Persuasion - Jane Austen
36 The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis
37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
38 Captain Corelli's Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
40 Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne
41 Animal Farm - George Orwell
42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44 A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving
45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery – I know I read it, but I can’t remember anything about it. (O__o)
47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48 The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding
50 Atonement - Ian McEwan – I watched the movie, but apparently the book is better
51 Life of Pi - Yann Martel
52 Dune - Frank Herbert
53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac
67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68 Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
69 Midnight's Children - Salman Rushdie
70 Moby Dick - Herman Melville
71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72 Dracula - Bram Stoker
73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75 Ulysses - James Joyce
76 The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78 Germinal - Emile Zola
79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80 Possession - AS Byatt
81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87 Charlotte's Web - EB White
88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Alborn
89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle – apparently he never actually says “Elementary, my dear Watson.”
90 The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94 Watership Down - Richard Adams
95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare
99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl
100 Les Misérables - Victor Hugo – but I might skim because it’s a thick book. I want to do research and maybe do a Ship Manifesto for Valjean/Javert. I <3 the musical.

chaotic_cupcake @ 2008-06-19T22:36:00

2008-06-19T20:51:49Z

title: unexpected reunion

author: chaotic_cupcake

fandom: Tokyo Babylon/X

length: 305

summary: a spanner in the works of subaru's hard-earned angst

warnings: um, one swear word? m/m implications? ~~crossdressing~~

notes: this was written for this challenge: make subaru shut up. i took it as getting his angsting to stop. thought this might work?

Subaru felt the wind whip his pale trench coat in a suitably dramatic fashion, although it didn’t disperse the smoke that curled artistically around him. He lifted his cigarette to his mouth, feeling the undeniable urge to choke himself on toxic smoke. He wasn’t sure if it was passive suicide or his last reminder of Seishirou.

As the sun drifted behind large, heavy clouds, there was a sudden pain in his hands. An all to familiar dull ache that dragged several other, sharper pains with it. He gasped, and ended up sucking in too much smoke, and coughing like a smoker (which he was). He hadn’t seen Seishirou for nine years, but the mere thought of him (which tended to linger in Subaru’s head almost constantly) was enough to make his arm and heart throb (with that muted, pleasant kind of pain), and to raise the hairs on the back of his neck.

He desperately searched his surroundings for some clue, any sign, of which direction Seishirou was - so that he could run in the opposite direction, of course. He couldn’t see the Sakurazukamori anywhere. In fact, the only other person in sight was a tall woman walking towards him on dangerous-looking heels.

Subaru found himself inexplicably staring at her: he couldn’t help watching the way her legs seemed to just keep going; the way the material of her short, tight-fitting black dress slid against her skin; her ample chest bulging out of a plunging neckline (and Subaru had previously thought he was gay – or Sei-sexual); the way a few tendrils of her long, black hair had escaped the elaborate styling and were blowing in an, again, suitably dramatic fashion; the way her lips pulled up into a very familiar smirk and her eyes were hidden by very familiar sunglasses.

Wait.

What the fuck?

the upsides of a destroyed kitchen

2008-05-25T19:44:52Z

title: the upsides of a destroyed kitchen

author: chaotic_cupcake

fandom: xxxHolic (104)

length: 702 words

summary: doumeki. cake. confessions of a kind.

warnings: none. (except doumeki destruction ~~and perhaps a little over-use of strikethrough~~)

notes: this is inspired by my successes with baking. the cake looks nice. the kitchen doesn’t. not very original, i suppose. -sleep-

Watanuki was tired. He had spent all day running around after a frantic woman for Yuuko, only to find out that she was actually dead. And he was almost eaten – a normal day at work, all in all. But somewhat more tiring than usual. He wasn’t sure if it was physical exhaustion or unhappiness ~~(poor woman, looking for her fiancée, she’d been dead three years, he’d moved on)~~, but he was entirely worn out. He slipped off his shoes and headed straight for the kitchen, not glancing even glancing at the living room, where a whole lot of paperwork was waiting – bills and such. He should do it, but all he had on his mind was a quick meal of leftovers – because somehow Doumeki always knew if he hadn’t been eating properly – and then sleep.

He knew something was wrong with his first step into the kitchen. Sugar crunched under his feet, an eerie sound in the silence. Icing sugar and flour and cocoa were smeared across the smooth black of his counter, and the oven was hanging open. He felt a bundle of dread build in his gut. The Someone had at least washed up; a haphazard pile of bowls and utensils was precariously balanced on the drying rack, and soapy water formed a little lake around the sink. It was as if a whirlwind had swept through, and left the spatula on top of the microwave. ~~(How the hell-?)~~ Watanuki’s brain hurt trying to repress the sheer improbability of the state his kitchen was in; it would take him forever to clean this up and he was so tired and why were the oven gloves in the fruit bowl? Then there was a small noise from behind him: sufficient distraction. Watanuki gave a tired sigh, before turning.

Doumeki held up a surprisingly perfect-looking cake, with thick chocolate icing and colourful sprinkles and birthday candles. Watanuki’s headache grew comparing the cake to his kitchen. Doumeki was not quite as immaculate: a long streak of chocolate icing was smeared carelessly across his cheek; his hair was matted with flour; his smile was decidedly guilty, but he also looked decidedly pleased with himself. He didn’t look like a block of granite for once. ~~He wasn’t as immaculate as the cake, but he was still perfe~~

“Happy Birthday,” he said quietly. Watanuki just stared at him, a small smile growing.

“I wanted to make something for you,” Doumeki added.

“I had to phone Kunogi every five minutes or so,” he admitted.

“I’m not very good at baking,” he sighed, looking slightly disappointed at Watanuki’s silence. He silently put the cake down on the (~~horrendously dirty~~) counter. He was supposed to be the silent one. He didn’t see the small smile growing on Watanuki’s face (~~I don’t feel quite so tired anymore~~).

“It’s not my birthday for another THREE MONTHS, you idiot, and you have utterly ruined my kitchen and it’s going to take me forever to clean up and don’t you dare expect me to make you lunch on top of that!”

“Sorry,” Doumeki murmured, his kicked-puppy expression melting into the much more common stoic look. He still didn’t look up.

“Why? Why did you feel the need to make me a cake?” Watanuki demanded, running short of words. Well, that would have to suffice as his cutting rant. He was grinning widely now, but Doumeki still didn’t look up.

“I wanted to make sure that when I got you one for your birthday, you’d like it.”

He was planning what he was going to get Watanuki for his birthday. Three months in advance.

“And you’ve been unhappy. I thought….”

Watanuki’s face froze, realising that this was the moment he had been dreading and anticipating. He knew Doumeki’s feelings (he wasn’t a complete idiot) but he hadn’t known how he felt. ~~(And if he likes me so much, he can say so first.)~~ Warm fuzzy feelings reigned supreme, so he made a decision.

He stepped forward, face blank.

Doumeki looked up.

He wiped the icing off Doumeki’s cheek with a pale finger, and looked at it for a moment, before licking it off. He met Doumeki’s eyes ~~(why does he get to be so much taller, damnit)~~.

“Thank you.”

And smiled.

Wow, when I get in the mood

2008-03-16T15:54:32Z

title: momentum

author: chaotic_cupcake

fandom: xxxHolic (104)

length: 100 words

summary: Look, it's 100 words, why try to SUMMARISE something that short? Yuuko appears to know at least something about physics.

warnings: none. at all. in any way.

“It’s simple physics, really,” Yuuko said once to Doumeki, when they were sitting in the park, watching Watanuki run around like a mad thing, chased by a swarm of butterfly spirits.

Doumeki didn’t reply, just continued to watch the antics.

“He’s been running all his life you see. Momentum. He can’t stop now, doesn’t know how to decelerate.”

"Momentum,” Doumeki commented without really commenting at all.

“You know, there’s one way to stop momentum for sure.”

If Doumeki’s look could be translated into words, it would be something like “o rly?” Yuuko’s gaze was unwavering.

“A good, hard brick wall.”

title: in which watanuki swims

author: chaotic_cupcake

fandom: xxxHolic (104)

length: 750 words

summary: OMG Watanuki actually does know people at school, try not to fall over from shock. A rather inappropriate time to be getting all philosophical - although, really, what other time is there? Salt water is involved.

warnings: Um, a kiss? But if you're reading Doumeki/Watanuki, that's not a warning so much as an incentive... right?

This was just rich. After everything that had happened to him, everything he’d been through, this was how it was going to happen. It wasn’t Yuuko’s fault or Doumeki’s fault or even connected to that stupid spirit world at all, and yet here he was with his life about to end.

He should never have agreed to this. Although, he mused, it was quite nice that the boy he sat next to in Maths had invited him along to the beach. And, really, he’d been having a wonderful, normal day so far with everyone, building sandcastles and losing horribly at volleyball and swimming and now drowning. There was just a nice sense of irony that after all the life threatening situations he’d faced, he was going to die in such a boring and normal fashion.

He reflected that at least, while his lungs burned and his eyes stung from trying to see through the salt water and he had no idea which way was up and it was probably too late now anyway, at least he had time to appreciate the irony. The boy had told him that he could invite Doumeki if he wanted. He’d said no. Yuuko had asked if Doumeki was going with. He’d told her that he didn’t need that idiot all the time. Now, he found himself wishing quite fervently that Doumeki was here.

There was some terrible double-standard or hypocrisy or something in the way he only wanted Doumeki around when he was about to die. It wasn’t fair to push the archer away with every word, every gesture and then get annoyed when the boy got the hint and left. And really, living in denial was such a waste of a perfectly good life. Love is really not worth much when you only admit it in life-threatening situations.

Except that – his thoughts were getting a bit fuzzy now, but he was so close to understanding, so he pressed on – except that that was actually the point, wasn’t it? Love and – and making mistakes and learning and regretting and moving on and relationships and jellyfish! They just floated and floated and stung people and that’s not really very nice at all and damn he really needed to breathe except he’s not in air but his lungs are desperate now, they’re automatically pulling in whatever only that whatever is not air it’s water-----------

There is a sharp pain in his chest as something slams down onto it again and again and then warmth near what he thinks might be his face and then pain again only now he reflects that there’s actually waterlogged pain everywhere, bruises from the rocks he was no doubt thrashed against and water in his – no, wait, he just very elegantly half coughed up and half threw up water, not so much water in his lungs anymore, now there was – air. Yay. And someone hovering above him. CPR. Yes. Okay. That meant that he was alive now and his chest really hurt but he would rather have a couple of broken ribs from CPR than be dead. Because now he had actually and properly realised that – Doumeki. Was hovering. Over him. He looked worried. Idiot.

A few basic facts began to register.

1) He had just been given CPR

2) CPR involved mouth-to-mouth

3) Doumeki was kneeling next to him so

4) Doumeki had given him CPR therefore

5) Doumeki’s mouth had just been right against his and

6) He really wanted it back there

Their eyes met and without saying anything, ignoring his aching ribs and aching everything and the fact that it probably wasn’t very healthy, he grabbed the back of Doumeki’s head and pulled him down to kiss him clumsily and briefly and hard. Then he collapsed back down and glared at his saviour and the boy he loved stupidly.

“Well?” he asked, his voice hoarse and pathetic.

“You taste salty,” Doumeki said. Watanuki was vaguely aware of cheering and fangirlish squees and clapping and such. They didn’t say anything but they didn’t need to.

Watanuki took Doumeki’s outstretched hand, curling his fingers around the solid warmth. Why are you here, anyway?

Doumeki pulls him up so swiftly that he stumbles and falls against the taller boys chest. He wants to scream pervert but doesn’t, instead shivering into the warmth. I’ve always been here, might have been the reply. Actually, it was probably; What, you think I’d give up the chance to see you in a swimsuit?

So, I just hope I haven't out-written myself because tomorrow I have to do my English and Afrikaans Writing exams. ~~Although maybe it's good that I've gotten some slash out of my system.~~

Original Story of Angst (suprised? no? thought not)

2008-03-16T12:21:26Z

title: the Prince and a pauper

author: chaotic_cupcake

fandom: original (wow - i know, amazing)

length: 3 005 words

summary: this is her world - brown black grey no colour - and this is his - Colour, lies and pretension. then their worlds collide, by chance, and they may not survive.

warnings: character death, depressing, angsty, interspecies-love (mothxbutterfly fairies lol)

~~~

Look, see, there she sits. She is alone, and that is not common for her kind. Her powdery brown wings are open, flat as she tries to soak in the sunrise. She should go now, hide now, sleep now. She is not allowed in the day, she is a night-thing, a dark thing, a secret thing. She is not a pretty-thing, not a day-thing, not a happy-thing. Her wings flutter restlessly – hide now, sleep now, stay just a little longer, now can wait, she can just glimpse that sliver of bright white blinding happiness-

She is grabbed, long fingers around her wrist, not for you, never for you, you are a night-thing, too powdery brown dark for the day. Go now, hide now, sleep now. You are slave. You wouldn’t want the brightness to see your tears, wouldn’t want the happiness to cry for you. It would cry if it saw you, all sad powder brown. Let the pretty ones, the bright ones with colour and variety and individuality and happiness, let Them see the brightness, let them dance on the flowers and with each other and enjoy the midsummer ball which you should have helped prepare, should have, should. Should know your place. Not to see the brightness – not to be seen. And anyway, couldn’t have the prince, never the prince, see or pity or love a night-thing, slave, moth.

She flees to her hiding place, her sleeping place, her home. It is small, nothing there, just a hole and darkness and silence. One day, one day she’ll sneak out, but for now the darkness pulls her, darkness weaves her into sleep where there is the brightness and the colour she only ever sees in dreams. Her muted world is forgotten and there are no greys, no blacks, no ugly useless boring browns in her mind.

~~~

The prince looks around with a great degree of boredom. The court Ladies have put great effort into making their wings sparkle and glitter for him, each trying to outdo the others with colour and decoration and he wonders how some of them don’t just fall over backwards. Everything is so formal, so fake, so colourful and misleading. There nothing but insincerity and formality and no emotion how could there be no everything was so pride and envy and hate. He takes a deep breath and calms his mind. He is expected to choose a bride soon, and the closer the deadline draws, the more extravagant the Fae court becomes. He slips away without being noticed, his black-and-electric-blue wings making it slightly easier to hide in the shadows.

He is tired of everyone being so shallow and materialistic. He is sick of propriety and long words and duties and society. He wants to be someone other than The Prince. He wants to have greater value than a title he did not even earn. He does not want to marry some random Butterfly Lady who will not love him, not know him, not understand him. He wants, he wants, he does not even know what he wants except to get away. But now that he is away from the society and propriety and whatever other ‘-iety’ he may have forgotten, he is unsure. And he is still being formal and civilised and hadn’t he wanted to be more spontaneous and emotional and – Oh Gods, the sun is setting and the colour has already begun to bleach from the sky in the east.

He shrinks back against the tree trunk, huge and imposing all of a sudden where it had been freedom before. He wants to go back, but he wants to be free, but it’s dark now and surely they were looking for him?

~~~

Look, see, there she flies. She should be cleaning, should be, should. But she is still alone, always alone – that is uncommon. Stick together, have to stay together. She has no friends they don’t understand she doesn’t care for the false lights, the muted bleached fake lights, the night-brightness or the big-people-lights. She is safe from those, no flame will eat her ensnare her but she wants the brightness wants the – colour. There. She sees it so suddenly, quick-stop-turn. Darting forwards she tries to, but now it hides, scared. She moved too fast too fast.

“Wait!”

She has not spoken in so long not aloud not to others. She is silent, they think she can’t think she doesn’t understand. She understands too well too well too deeply. Her voice is soft too soft but pretty she likes it it breaks the ever-silence.

“You are a Butterfly.” She knows they are real of course they are real, who else would eat the food they make or gather pollen for them? But she has never seen no one has ever seen and now here in front of her – “You are a day-thing. You don’t belong here.” I don’t belong here she doesn’t say can’t say – day-thing will cry, she is too ugly powdery brown sad.

“And you are a moth,” he says, with apparently equal awe. The silent, secret servants he’s never before seen. She is beautiful, simple, elegant brown and her wings are slightly dusted with a matt powder. She fits with this dark, colourless world so seamlessly that she could disappear and nothing would change at all. That unimportance is intriguing – she has no obligation, no rules, no formalities. There are no games or lies in her world; everything is grey and simple. Then he feels a tentative warm hand on his wings. Can’t do that in his world, can’t touch wings – sensitive and emotional and intimate and she just touches without even asking. No one has ever – he decides he likes it so warm. And she can’t know better.

“It is better, far better than I dreamed,” she murmurs softly, her voice hoarse and unused and unwanted and breaking silence that has become beautiful because it is in His presence. She has met a day-thing, touched a day-thing. His wings are bright and pretty and colour and she wants to stare until her eyes water because it is so different to anything she has ever – bright bright blue.

“What is?” he asks, bewildered. She stares at his wings, and he stares at her. There are not many tales about moths in the Court – far better rumours and anyway, they’re only servants, only slaves, not important. He’d never considered them once, never thought that they were just like Butterflies, just the same, could be beautiful. She was beautiful. Even ignoring colour entirely she was beautiful, any Butterfly Lady would be jealous. And her colour! Such pale, pale skin and such sad brown wings.

“The colour,” she says. “I never see colour, there is no colour in the night-world. That is why you do not belong here, but you can come with me and I can hide you.” She is honest, always honest, doesn’t know the colour of lies. She does not speak again, simply takes his hand and flies, innocent like a child, but silent and sad like no child.

“Why,” he asks as they draw to a different tree, her tree, maybe. “Why can’t you come to the day-world to see colour?”

“Not allowed,” she answers, softly softly. In here, in here, you’ll be safe, no one will try to destroy your colour. “It is dangerous for colour in the night-world, but not for not-colour in the day-world. It is the brightness, you see, the day-brightness. We are too sad powder brown for the light.”

The prince looked around the empty room, dark room, secret hiding place. And then he looked at her, still clearly visible in the silver colourless night-brightness. “But colour is not so great anyway,” he told her after deciphering her words. She spoke in a round-about, simplistic way, as if she were trying to make herself understood with a limited vocabulary. She had a very simple, child-logic way of stating things. “Colour is lies and false and not what it seems. Colour is forcing someone to do something they don’t want to.”

“You are the prince,” she says after a moment. Although she seems simple, she is very clever, very sharp and she had heard of the blue blue prince. “They are forcing you to marry.”

“Yes.”

“That is not nice.”

“No. No, it’s not.”

“You said that colour is forcing you to do something? Not-colour is not so different then. Not colour is preventing you to do something.”

From doing something, he thinks, mildly irritated. And then he realises that those are more rules, silly rules, he understands her anyway. She has lots of emotion, he sees. More than those empty, silly Butterfly girls at court. Silly things, so ditzy and shallow. She is not – she is regret and desire and compassion and a kind of trusting blind love and, above all else, sadness. He thinks he might love her simply because she has depth and emotion and no posture at all, look at her holding her wings out flat and not even ashamed of it. He holds his together, up, from force of habit but he wishes he could see her pale, white skin and soft brown eyes and warm brown hair and gentle brown wings held out flat every moment of his life from now on. But she is moth and he is Butterfly and anyway, she can’t come into the light and he can’t stay in the darkness. But maybe for one day, she could come, as payment for his one night.

“You could come with me into the day, just for tomorrow,” he says, trying to think where he can take her, what he can show her, the colours that he ignores that she will delight in. “I can show you the day, because you protected me.”

She looks frightened for a moment, and he loves that she doesn’t try to hide it.

“It will be secret?” she asks, her murmur nothing more than the softest whisper now. He loves that her voice is gentle and low, not high and shrill.

“Yes.” He loves that he does not need to say any more, that she understands, that she is not shy to take his hand.

“Then, while we are in the night, I can show you the far-lights.”

The prince doesn’t allow his confusion to show, and loves that she can see it anyway. She pulls him out of her Spartan home and begins to drag him upwards enthusiastically, towards the highest leaves, where he doesn’t often go for fear of birds. She doesn’t seem afraid – and she doesn’t hide her emotions – so he sees no reason to fear. As they weave through the dark, vaguely green shadows of the canopy, a great stretch of black begins to draw closer. As they break free, he forgets to breath. Above him, around him, is a dome of darkness, speckled with bright speckles of light that sparkle better than any pixie dust ever would.

“I thought you’d love it,” she says. She is watching him, remembering. He’ll leave her soon although he said he’d show her so she’d finally get to see but then he’d go. He had to. He is the Prince and she is a moth and although he seems desperate afraid trapped she is not the one to free him. She can see that colour for him is a cage chains not stopping him from but forcing him to. His skin is golden colour and his eyes the same blue as his wings and that hair, a bright yellow so similar to the day-brightness that she wishes she could keep just a strand as a reminder. But she can’t no never. So she watches him to remember, watches his awe and amazement. He is a burst of colour in her world life and she doesn’t know how she will live go on back in the darkness when he has left her.

They marvel in each other and the sky and the world until the colour begins to creep into the east. Neither is tired although neither has slept.

“I know just what I want to show you first!” the Prince tells her as the day-brightness finally clears the horizon. He turns to her but she is staring, not breathing, staring at the colour around her. She turns to him, wordlessly, and then gestures around in amazement. He takes a moment to follow her eyes, not seeing anything particularly amazing. He wants to show her the waterfalls, where rainbows dance through the air. He was to show her the flower fields, where millions of colours dance brightly in the wind. He wants to show her, wants to, but she can’t move yet. She must see something he doesn’t. And then he looks again. The sky is a pure, piercing blue that stretches on unhindered, fading to a slight grey in the west. Splotches and stretches of purest white are scattered across it moving slowly, flying higher than any fairy could go. From the treetop they can see the forest canopy, a thousand shades of green stretching away from them. She’s never seen colour, not the blue sky nor the green leaves nor even something as simple and overlooked as white. He lets her sit for a few more moments before pulling her hand, pulling her under. Birds are out in full force today, and he’ll have to protect her. “Come.”

She follows in awe, trailing behind as he shows her fruits and flowers and animals and things she never dreamed could be so pretty during the day. The world is so bright that her eyes strain but keep looking keep looking, soon it will be over. The day-world is filled with her soft gasps and exclamations at each new thing she is shown, the world holds no end of wonder for her. And he is holding her hand and they fly and the world is wonderful colour warmth light. It is too good too perfect too fragile to be true, and look, look, the grey not-colour is beginning to seep in the east, even as the west is filled with glorious reds and oranges and purples that break her heart. She stares, stares, stares and he holds her as her world returns to shadow.

~~~

He is gone now, lost now, sleeping now and she should sleep too but he is gone and she is here and now she can’t see. The brightness, the colour of the world has blinded her and she stared to long and she should have stayed, should have, should. Even her glimpses before were too much, but now she stayed for too long, defiled the light with her sad powder brown darkness and as punishment she can’t see. Not even the half-world, the shadows, the greys browns blacks remain. Her tears run down her cheeks and her eyes burn with them and with memories but her vision isn’t blurred not blurred no vision left. She curls up now, cold now, alone now again. She slips into sleep and dreams in vivid colour in vivid love of the prince and the colours, and the flowers, and the waterfall-rainbows, and the paradise she was given for one day, one day, now lost forever. No colour, no not-colour, no light at all. She’s been banished from light, sent away forever, bad girl, stupid silly girl, worthless ugly girl, pathetic brown moth. She hides in her dreams doesn’t need to wake doesn’t need to eat or drink needs nothing now but the colour in her dreams. Why do they become enchanted by the night-brightness by the light who needs light anyway? To fake and false and lies they are spellbound. But she doesn’t want light never light the darkness is fine because she has seen colour now, colour always, but never again to see.

~~~

When he finds her again it is too late. He had intended, had intended to defy the court and the law and his parents and marry her, marry his beautiful moth girl but now it is too late. He pulls her from her dreams – why is she sleeping she should be awake should be should – but she runs her fingers across his wings his face and smiles and it is too late. She is blinded blinded blind and it is all his fault but even so it is too late. She has slept too long, not eaten in too long and she is fading away. The worst part and best part is that no one will notice it doesn’t matter. She can disappear and no one will care – no one should care – this is what she meant. The day-world should not notice her passing, she should be nameless faceless forgotten, only Butterflies should be mourned, fake in death as they were in life. But now he has noticed and now a day-thing, pretty-thing, fake-thing will notice and cry and be changed by her. Not supposed to. Not intended.

~~~

When he returns the next night she is gone, he knew she would be, gone, lost, dead. Nothing remains but powder brown dust that she collapsed into at the end and three long strands of powder brown hair. He plaits them together keeps them together and winds the thin insubstantial rope around his wrist. Then he leaves, not crying can’t cry she wouldn’t want him to he’s not supposed to and now, touching the brown string around his wrist, he chooses a Butterfly Lady who seems a little kinder a little more sincere a little more emotional than the rest. It is not her wings that catch his eye, all pretty white and pink but her eyes, honey brown. Not like hers, not soft, too golden, too much colour but still brown and ugly they all whisper but he thinks beautiful. He is the king now, they perform the ceremony and as the sun sets it begins to rain.

Not even powder remains of her now.

~~~

My very first kuroxfai

2008-02-26T18:35:56Z

title: one less thing to hate

author: chaotic_cupcake

fandom: TRC (KuroxFai)

length: 510 words

summary: the classic kiss that everyone writes at least once. Set kind of at the beginning of the journey.

warnings: Mediocre writing, and rather OOC Kurogane.

If I was forced to name just one thing I hate about the mage, it wouldn’t be Fai’s secrets or false smiles, as riling as they are. It wouldn’t be his frustrating habit of hiding behind lies, or inane amounts of alcohol, or just simply hiding away. No, if I had to pinpoint the one thing I hate above all else, it would be the way Fai ‘accidentally’ brushes his fingers along my arm, as if he is desperate to have contact with even just that small part of me but is too scared or too careful or too worried of hurting me to do it outright. I hate the way he can flirt lightly and touch me because I won’t do anything about it, because it’s another way of lying to me but the instant I show any sign of trying to help him, of caring – well, if I were to touch him, I’d get frostbite.

He’s doing it now, walking past and letting his fingers trail along the armrest of my chair, gently touching me but only just. I can see it comforts him; I’m here, I’m real, I’m still alive.

“Don’t,” I mutter darkly, grabbing his hand.

He looks frightened, for a second – trapped – before a teasing expression takes hold. I doubt anyone else would have caught that terror, but I’ve learnt to take what I can get, and quickly, where it comes to Fai’s emotions.

“What do you mean, Kuro-pyuu?” he asks lightly, trying vainly to slip his slim wrist out of my rough hand. It comforts me as well, to feel him; he’s here, he’s real, he’s still alive. “Why won’t Kuro-daddy let me go?”

“You’ll run again, hide again. Stupid mage.” I’m angry again, all of a sudden, but this is a different kind of anger and I know exactly what it wants me to do –wall-lips-FAI-now-do-you-see?- but I also know that it’ll chase Fai away, make him hide. And I can’t risk that.

Fai can obviously see the temptation in my eyes, because his struggling is increasing.

“Let me go!”

“Never,” I reply just as swiftly. “And don’t make up silly excuses to touch me, Fai.” I grab his other hand, place it on my chest. “If you want to do something, do it. Don’t half-maybe-not do it.”

“I’ll hurt you,” he says, the playful tone of his voice more than slightly strained now.

“Not as much as you’re hurting me right now.” It was emotionless, I know it was, but Fai obviously heard the swell of invisible emotion behind it. Emotion that, until I said those words, I didn’t realize I had.

His eyes widen and the hand on my chest grips the t-shirt that is common in this world. I don’t know when exactly I realize what is happening, but it is far too late to stop it. His slim arms are strong enough to pull me down and he’s on his toes and his lips have crashed against mine and all I can think is, one less thing to hate.

Angst

2008-02-26T18:26:55Z

title: drowning in a sea of white

author: chaotic_cupcake

fandom: xxxHolic (104)

length: 883 words

summary: Obliviousness. Angst. Death. Depression.

warnings: CHARACTER DEATH, DEPRESSING, and also kind of weird writing style, I apologise and blame sleep deprivation (although in retrospect I think it's quite out of character and disjointed... oh well - might edit it later)

Doumeki

Watanuki hasn’t noticed yet, I’m certain of it. I almost shook this morning, trying to suppress those stupid coughs but if he hasn’t noticed, I’m alright. He’s sitting there, unawares of the weeks-long deadline on my life, as Himawari chokes on her tears. He is a remarkably unobservant child. I’m the only one who has realised he doesn’t know and everyone is being too tactful to rub it in his face. I can’t say that I’m not afraid to die, but I’ve had months to get used to the idea…. Leaving Watanuki though, alone and unprotected, that is slightly worrying. If there was one wish… but I have nothing left to give. Watanuki is fawning over that girl, and as usual not noticing the pity written across her face in permanent marker.

“You and Doumeki are such good friends!” she proclaims, her voice almost breaking.

“WHAT?! Me and that idiot? No way!” Watanuki denies vehemently, missing the heartbroken smile on her face as she makes some feeble excuse to get away, to cry. I need to tell him but can’t – how do you say that you’re going to die?

I just wish I didn’t have to be the one to break him.

Watanuki

There is something different, suddenly. I can see it in the way everyone is looking at me. Even Yuuko has been strange, demanding obscure tasks that I’m sure are invented just to distract me from something. The only person who hasn’t changed is Doumeki; he is still as expressive as a rock.

“Watanuki, Watanuki!” Himawari calls. I spin to her with a wide smile on my face. “It’s horrible – Doumeki’s worse than they thought and he’s in the hospital right now and he might die right now!” Tears are pouring down her face and all I can think is that it’s awfully rude of Doumeki to make her cry. Awfully unfair. Awful—

A motion-blur later, all I can see is Doumeki, drowning in a sea of white, strangled by pipes and fading to the rhythm of his own heartbeat played back. Words are spinning in my head, understanding instant but realization slow. He’s been sick for forever everyone knew they’d announced it at school everyone knew how could I not have known Doumeki was going to DIE.

“Oi,” he says finally, his voice a bit muffled by the oppressive machinery and such.

“You idiot,” I manage angrily, shoving the words through my teeth. “You bloody idiot. Not one word. Not – I have to find out like this.”

“I thought you knew,” Doumeki says simply, still no emotion on his face. Why isn’t he guilty, or sad, or something he’s going to DIE. “And then I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“How much longer?”

“Days, at most.”

“Yuuko?”

“Too late. Too expensive.”

I am silent for a moment, angry, angry at the world. NOT FAIR – WHY DO I HAVE TO BE ALONE AGAIN? Why did he have to make me feel safe again like my parents everyone leaves he’s going to DIE. He’s looking at me and it might be the first time I’ve seen real emotion on his face; concern. For me. He’s lying there, he’s going to DIE and he’s still worried about me, the idiot…

Doumeki

He’s breaking, he’s breaking and it is all my fault. I should never have let him get this close, should never have been his protection; he deserves someone who can live for him. Someone stronger than me.

He was angry, moments ago, furious, but now he’s kneeling next to my bed and crying into the mattress and there’re pipes and blankets and who knows what else and I’m heavy and I can’t move, and I can’t comfort him and I’m not strong enough.

“Kimihiro…” I murmur cautiously, and his head snaps up. “Don’t,” but then I begin coughing. I didn’t want him to see me like this, see me weak and pathetic and I can’t stop coughing and suddenly I can feel his arms around me, a hand massaging my back carefully, and tears trickling down my scalp.

“How can you be so calm,” he chokes out. “How can you….” But I hear what he doesn’t say. How can you leave me here alone?

“I’m – I’m sorry,” I manage to choke out, slowly regaining my composure and leaning back into his embrace. I can be weak and pathetic now, now that it’s too late.

“You idiot,” he seethes again, hugging me closer. “Don’t be sorry. You’re Doumeki Shizuka, you have to die without regrets. You can’t – you can’t -”

“Kimihiro?” I murmur again, letting my true emotions seep through for once. I can feel him tense, feel the flow of tears onto my shoulder redouble. “I’m afraid to die.”

Watanuki

I don’t know how long I held him or when exactly I realised that I loved him and that he loved me and that it was so wasted and you could probably double the oceans with the tears we cried. I need to go to Yuuko’s shop soon, because I need my wish more than ever now that he can’t protect me any more.

I just need to finish these lunches for tomorrow, because that idiot always loves the most complicated food and he'll --- oh God, he's gone.

AN: I'M SORRY! It was just this random idea (my best ideas are always cute [read: tragic and horribly depressing]).