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midnightdiddleA series of drabbles I've written.
Boy-Girl for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
meleth78.
After Anko died, Iruka died, too. Not in the real way, with funerals and black flowers and caskets in the snow. No, he died in little ways. He started changing, little things, small things here and there.
He stopped teaching at the school, stopped going to the mission desk. He took more and more missions, and then he was gone for months at a time, reappearing in Konoha every once in a long while, just long enough to pick up a paycheck and another mission scroll.
Kakashi watched him come and go through students eyes. He watched through Naruto's eyes, and through Sakura's. Through Sasuke's unseeing eyes, and through Konohamaru's dead eyes. He watched through kids that grew up without the teacher, who died on their first missions, because things were different, weren't up to par.
One time, Kakashi followed Iruka. The town was large, more a city than anything, and Kakashi could, in a way, see the appeal. Iruka disappeared, a nameless face in a series of other faces, all fading away into gray wisps on the sides of his vision. Kakashi was disorientated, and it was addicting, the way he felt weightless, twisting and turning and falling into something far too big for him to comprehend.
He was falling into Iruka's insanity.
Iruka was insane. That was the only answer. Iruka grew his hair out. Iruka pulled on linen stockings, and slipped on a dress. Iruka painting his lips, his cheeks, his eyes. Paint, rouge, kohl. Iruka was like a distorted doll, with limbs that were melting into something between a woman's and a man's. Iruka was a goddess of a god, beautiful and magnificent and absolutely untouchable.
Kakashi fucked him, once.
Twice.
Thrice.
Ninety-three.
Fifty-seven.
Six.
One thousand four hundred six.
Kakashi lost count.
Started over.
Lost count.
Started over.
Thirteen.
Two hundred sixty-five.
Infinity.
Never.
Never never never never never never never never never never NEVER NEVER NEVER OH GOD NEVER-
Sometimes, when he was screaming at night, and Iruka was staring at the ceiling, rocking back and forth, kohl running, Kakashi wondered if he was going insane.
God god god god god god make it stop god god god god DON'T GOD DON'T STOP STOP STOP ANKO-
He called her Anko. Anko was beautiful, from her scarred face to her heavy dick. Anko was a god of a goddess, and Anko cried at night, kohl streaking and rouge blinding and paint smearing on Kakashi's dick and Kakashi's chest and never, never never never Kakashi's face.
No kissing, 'cause Anko was Iruka's. And Iruka was dead, buried with funerals and black flowers and caskets in snow. Iruka was gone, slipping away in wisps of gray, and no matter how hard Kakashi looked, he couldn't find Iruka, not ever. Not with his eye, not with the Sharingan.
Sometimes, though, when Anko was spreading the rouge on her face with cottonballs, legs crossed demurely, dick flaccid between her thighs, Kakashi would think, for half a second, that maybe, some time before, in a past he couldn't quite remember, that maybe there was someone else.
Liar.
Sorry, Anko, sorry. Sorry, Anko, sorry. Sorry, Anko, sorry...
And then some real 100-word drabbles.
Life's Edge fortechiegoat.
When Sora finally caught up with Riku, it was on the edge of life. The floor jutted out from the wall, and the fall would kill. It was white, from top to bottom, and Sora wondered when eternity had become so blank and staring.
"Why?" he wondered aloud, and Riku was standing at the very edge of life, up on the balls his feet, arms spread out like wings.
Riku tilted his head back, and Sora could almost see his eyes. Riku smiled, or at least, Sora thought he smiled.
And Riku stepped forward.
And Riku fell.
And flew.
What a pretty bird.
Windchimes forakashacatbat.
"Do you ever hear the windchimes?"
Iruka was sitting on the edge of the porch, feet hanging over the floorboards, soles dragging in the dust. His fingernails were digging into the grooves, carving shallow lines.
"They chime, at night."
His fingernail chipped as he tried to carve an uneven box, corners unmatching. He looked at his fingernail, then bit it, ripping it with his teeth. Blood welled, slipped beneath the fingernail.
"Ghosts make them chime."
Kakashi leaned forward, breath over Iruka's cheek, and Iruka touched his bloody fingernail to the kanji in the wood. Protection.
"You make them chime."
And Kaksahi faded away.
Simon Says forkilerkki.
Simon says sorry.
Sorry, River, sorry.
His stomach is burning; maybe it's freezing? He's not quite sure, though he knows he should be. He's a trauma surgeon, has been for nearly four years now. Back on Osiris, he treated gunshot wounds in the emergency room, easy and simple. He'd understood it all, could rattle off every possible scenario, all the possibilities of life or death, so easily.
Now, though, his mind is blank. He can't think of anything, except that River looks very, very pale, and very, very scared. He has to apologize.
Simon says sorry.
Sorry, River, sorry.
Whiteout forkeepthefeyth.
He can never remember a time when his mind wasn't running a thousand miles an hour. Everything to him is instantaneous, screaming for his attention. He can almost touch it, in his head, all the thoughts that whirl around him, thick and dark and choking.
Sometimes, he thinks, it sucks to be a genius.
Or maybe more than a genius.
He's not quite sure what he is. He's not sure if he's Ryuusaki, or if he's L, or if he's someone entirely different. So, lost, and stained in the stupid thoughts that won't shut up, he whites himself out.
Fingertips forjoanseta.
Riza doesn't own a mirror. She doesn't see the point of one, not really. They're a risk hazard. Glass shatters, at point blank, or any point, and the glass shards would be a hazard, too.
She is, she likes to say, realistic.
So when she runs into Mustang, and he's crouched over a mirror, fingers tracing red on the pieces, she crouches next to him, and she kicks away the glass.
She pulls up his hands, one by one, and kisses his fingers, one by one, and smiles against them, one by one.
Riza likes to be of use.
Maybe it's love?
Anyways... this is me pretending to be accomplished. Or at least accomplishing stuff, as in writing. Which doesn't really happen. But I pretend. :)
Boy-Girl for
meleth78.After Anko died, Iruka died, too. Not in the real way, with funerals and black flowers and caskets in the snow. No, he died in little ways. He started changing, little things, small things here and there.
He stopped teaching at the school, stopped going to the mission desk. He took more and more missions, and then he was gone for months at a time, reappearing in Konoha every once in a long while, just long enough to pick up a paycheck and another mission scroll.
Kakashi watched him come and go through students eyes. He watched through Naruto's eyes, and through Sakura's. Through Sasuke's unseeing eyes, and through Konohamaru's dead eyes. He watched through kids that grew up without the teacher, who died on their first missions, because things were different, weren't up to par.
One time, Kakashi followed Iruka. The town was large, more a city than anything, and Kakashi could, in a way, see the appeal. Iruka disappeared, a nameless face in a series of other faces, all fading away into gray wisps on the sides of his vision. Kakashi was disorientated, and it was addicting, the way he felt weightless, twisting and turning and falling into something far too big for him to comprehend.
He was falling into Iruka's insanity.
Iruka was insane. That was the only answer. Iruka grew his hair out. Iruka pulled on linen stockings, and slipped on a dress. Iruka painting his lips, his cheeks, his eyes. Paint, rouge, kohl. Iruka was like a distorted doll, with limbs that were melting into something between a woman's and a man's. Iruka was a goddess of a god, beautiful and magnificent and absolutely untouchable.
Kakashi fucked him, once.
Twice.
Thrice.
Ninety-three.
Fifty-seven.
Six.
One thousand four hundred six.
Kakashi lost count.
Started over.
Lost count.
Started over.
Thirteen.
Two hundred sixty-five.
Infinity.
Never.
Never never never never never never never never never never NEVER NEVER NEVER OH GOD NEVER-
Sometimes, when he was screaming at night, and Iruka was staring at the ceiling, rocking back and forth, kohl running, Kakashi wondered if he was going insane.
God god god god god god make it stop god god god god DON'T GOD DON'T STOP STOP STOP ANKO-
He called her Anko. Anko was beautiful, from her scarred face to her heavy dick. Anko was a god of a goddess, and Anko cried at night, kohl streaking and rouge blinding and paint smearing on Kakashi's dick and Kakashi's chest and never, never never never Kakashi's face.
No kissing, 'cause Anko was Iruka's. And Iruka was dead, buried with funerals and black flowers and caskets in snow. Iruka was gone, slipping away in wisps of gray, and no matter how hard Kakashi looked, he couldn't find Iruka, not ever. Not with his eye, not with the Sharingan.
Sometimes, though, when Anko was spreading the rouge on her face with cottonballs, legs crossed demurely, dick flaccid between her thighs, Kakashi would think, for half a second, that maybe, some time before, in a past he couldn't quite remember, that maybe there was someone else.
Liar.
Sorry, Anko, sorry. Sorry, Anko, sorry. Sorry, Anko, sorry...
And then some real 100-word drabbles.
Life's Edge for
techiegoat.When Sora finally caught up with Riku, it was on the edge of life. The floor jutted out from the wall, and the fall would kill. It was white, from top to bottom, and Sora wondered when eternity had become so blank and staring.
"Why?" he wondered aloud, and Riku was standing at the very edge of life, up on the balls his feet, arms spread out like wings.
Riku tilted his head back, and Sora could almost see his eyes. Riku smiled, or at least, Sora thought he smiled.
And Riku stepped forward.
And Riku fell.
And flew.
What a pretty bird.
Windchimes for
akashacatbat."Do you ever hear the windchimes?"
Iruka was sitting on the edge of the porch, feet hanging over the floorboards, soles dragging in the dust. His fingernails were digging into the grooves, carving shallow lines.
"They chime, at night."
His fingernail chipped as he tried to carve an uneven box, corners unmatching. He looked at his fingernail, then bit it, ripping it with his teeth. Blood welled, slipped beneath the fingernail.
"Ghosts make them chime."
Kakashi leaned forward, breath over Iruka's cheek, and Iruka touched his bloody fingernail to the kanji in the wood. Protection.
"You make them chime."
And Kaksahi faded away.
Simon Says for
kilerkki.Simon says sorry.
Sorry, River, sorry.
His stomach is burning; maybe it's freezing? He's not quite sure, though he knows he should be. He's a trauma surgeon, has been for nearly four years now. Back on Osiris, he treated gunshot wounds in the emergency room, easy and simple. He'd understood it all, could rattle off every possible scenario, all the possibilities of life or death, so easily.
Now, though, his mind is blank. He can't think of anything, except that River looks very, very pale, and very, very scared. He has to apologize.
Simon says sorry.
Sorry, River, sorry.
Whiteout for
keepthefeyth.He can never remember a time when his mind wasn't running a thousand miles an hour. Everything to him is instantaneous, screaming for his attention. He can almost touch it, in his head, all the thoughts that whirl around him, thick and dark and choking.
Sometimes, he thinks, it sucks to be a genius.
Or maybe more than a genius.
He's not quite sure what he is. He's not sure if he's Ryuusaki, or if he's L, or if he's someone entirely different. So, lost, and stained in the stupid thoughts that won't shut up, he whites himself out.
Fingertips for
joanseta.Riza doesn't own a mirror. She doesn't see the point of one, not really. They're a risk hazard. Glass shatters, at point blank, or any point, and the glass shards would be a hazard, too.
She is, she likes to say, realistic.
So when she runs into Mustang, and he's crouched over a mirror, fingers tracing red on the pieces, she crouches next to him, and she kicks away the glass.
She pulls up his hands, one by one, and kisses his fingers, one by one, and smiles against them, one by one.
Riza likes to be of use.
Maybe it's love?
Anyways... this is me pretending to be accomplished. Or at least accomplishing stuff, as in writing. Which doesn't really happen. But I pretend. :)
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no subject
Date: 2006-04-24 07:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-29 02:20 am (UTC)Two things...
Date: 2006-04-25 02:43 am (UTC)2. I started to read Boy-Girl in a computer lab on campus. Had to stop when I got to the part about Iruka in a dress, 'cause I was SO afraid I was going to start giggling out loud, and then have to explain to the person sitting next to me why I was laughing.
Re: Two things...
Date: 2006-04-29 02:19 am (UTC)...did you start laughing? :)
Re: Two things...
Date: 2006-04-29 06:38 am (UTC)Re: Two things...
Date: 2006-04-29 06:56 am (UTC)Re: Two things...
Date: 2006-04-29 07:34 am (UTC)