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kh_drabble2008-12-25 01:33 am
crimsoncookie.livejournal.com) wrote in kh_drabble2008-12-25 01:33 am
[2008] Secret Santa Submissions Part Two
From: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kaiyabeck
To:nirvana_falling
Title: Arcadia
Word Count: 401
Rating: PG-13 for light sexual themes
Notes: I made this as fluffy as I could. Hope you enjoy it!
One thing that can be said about Kairi is that she knows what she likes.
Sora is frisky and playful, generous with his kisses and caresses and skilled at making her as breathless with laughter as with pleasure. She feels relaxed and completely at ease in his embrace, for how could anyone be embarrassed or self-conscious with such a merry, light-hearted companion? At times it feels less like lovemaking and more like a free-spirited sort of game, where there are no winners and both of them end up lying side by side, sleepy but blissfully content. When they have finished, he curls up close to her, gazing at her with those deep blue eyes filled with tenderness, and Kairi gets the impression that he is making up for all those times spent apart from her.
She greatly enjoys the time she spends with Sora, but it’s not what she likes the best.
Riku is different. His eyes never leave hers as he moves inside her, always checking to make sure she is all right before continuing on. He is always mindful of her, watching her every reaction carefully; and she never fails to be touched by his attentiveness and consideration for her feelings. He is not as direct with his displays of affection as Sora is, but when she looks at him, she can see the love he has for her written plainly on his face. When he finally parts from her, he watches her with eyes brimming with reverence, caressing her cheek with his hand as if he can’t believe she is here with him. The feeling of his fingers gently touching her face stays with her until she falls asleep, warm and secure in his arms.
She adores being with Riku, but it’s still not the best thing.
There are times when all three of them end up sprawled together in a tangle of limbs, serene and happy and close. Riku’s arm is a pleasant weight across her stomach as he reaches over to gently squeeze Sora’s shoulder; Sora’s warm breath tickles her ear as he mumbles a sleepy “g’night, Riku.” Kairi snuggles closer to both boys--her boys-- and kisses the top of each forehead in turn before joining them in slumber.
Light and dark, yin and yang, with her in the midst of it all-- just as it has always been.
This is what Kairi loves most.
To:de_yaten
From:nirvana_falling
title: the stairs won't end
wordcount: 588
rating: pg13
summary: Xemnas and Zexion on order and mastery.
Xemnas was the Superior, and not without reason would the five of them allow him that. Of course, even in the days before their ascendence, as Xemnas called it (or, as they would have it: the fall, the change, the shift, the goddamn Tuesday afternoon) there was a loose heirarchy, Whether by age, or height, or duration of their apprenticeship, Zexion was number six, but to challenge the order of things was to challenge Xemnas, and Zexion was anything but stupid.
So when Xemnas set himself up as their lord in that dead world, no one said a thing. Of course, none of them had his sick charisma, so Lexaeus shrugged it off and Zexion inwardly fumed and Vexen made something unstable in his lab over the next three days. When he emerged, Xigbar and Xaldin were gone, exploring the stars beyond theirs, and Xemnas was doing god knows what, drawing diagrams and pontificating furiously in imagined debates with Ansem.
In the absence of any direction, it was Vexen who first proposed they study their new home and they made their breakthrough on what Vexen had calculated was a Thursday but Lexaeus insisted was a Monday, and Zexion, for all the science in his bones, was inclined to follow Lexaeus.
So then by Lexaeus’ reckoning, it was the next Tuesday that Xemnas walked in on Zexion having a cup of tea. “Well, Number Six,” the Superior drawled, “I see you’ve settled in quite nicely. Is that Kafka?”
“We’re just numbers now, then?” The turn of a page.
“I think it’s best to establish the correct tone, you know,” he trailed off, not wanting to aggravate Zexion without Lexaeus there to mediate; no use in having an internal dispute so early on. Instead he examined the room, a new one in this strange castle that sprung up around them.
“We have all worked with you for years, of course. But I suppose this is different?” A raised eyebrow. A sip of tea. Another page.
“Of course. This isn’t theoretical muddling. There won’t be any time for this,” the words eluded him, all his options too harsh for the situation. Again Xemnas fixated on the walls, white, but strangely unfixed, without clear lines or corners.
“Idleness? No, even Ansem wouldn’t stand for this state of affairs.” Zexion’s voice was so mild as to jar, and Xemnas noted with abstract fascination that the table before him was definite and fixed, but even the floor seemed to move in soft sinusoidal curves, warping through hues with no clear method or reason.
“Nor will I. Orders will be given out as soon as a find Numbers Two through Five.” No, the walls weren’t moving, he decided, they just weren’t there yet.
“Two and Three,” Zexion sneered, “are elsewhere. Four and Five are downstairs researching.”
“Disrespect,” Xemnas said, soft and slow, “will not be tolerated, either.” Zexion’s one eye flickered to the bit of table Xemnas had laid his hand on.
“I understand, of course, Superior.” He rose in one fluid motion, and the table, too, seemed to lose its substance.
“The bring at least Four and Five here. I’m sure you know your way around this…madhouse better than I.”
“As you wish.” Zexion was at the door. Xemnas, if pressed, could not have described the room, it no longer had four walls, only wavering suggestions. Zexion opened the door, again, the only true, solid thing.
The space constricted around Xemnas, cold and grey-blue and almost sentient.
“Yes, it was Kafka.”
The door shut.
To:lindskaba
From:de_yaten
Title: Hearts
Word Count: 387
Rating: G
Notes: Merry Christmas! I haven't written with these characters much before, so I hope they came out all right. <3
Alice was never sure of anything in Wonderland. What's were Who's and Who's were Where's and When's were Why's and nothing ever, ever quite made sense. But, one must learn to adapt when a simple drink can shrink you smaller than a mouse, and she gradually came to accept the nonsense as common. Cats could disappear into thin air, mad queens shrieked about red roses, and tea parties were not as prim and proper as they ought to be –so when a man in a black cloak suddenly appeared out of thin air, she thought nothing of it. Stranger things had happened.
She curtsied – it was safer to be polite—and he smiled. Smiles were never quite as comforting as they should have been here, and his was no exception.
“What are you doing, miss?”
“Looking for someone.”
“Oh? Who are you looking for?”
“A rabbit, I think… but it seems that every time I manage to find him, he’s very late for something!”
“A… rabbit?” He smiled, looking amused. “Are you sure he was real?”
Alice unconsciously smoothed down the fabric of her skirt. “Oh, I can’t be sure of anything here, really. For all I know, you’re a blade of grass, or an old tree stump.”
He chuckled. “I can assure you I am neither.”
“Of course,” she replied, somewhat vacantly. They all had assured here they were something they weren’t, and it had never really ended in her favor. She shifted her gaze to the sky behind him, and felt an odd twinge in her heart; the colors, once a mishmash of blue and pink and bright apple-green, were slowly being swallowed by a strange inky blackness. Was it night already? Had it ever been night, before? She couldn’t recall… it was odd, but—
“Would you like to play a card game?” His voice startled her out of her thoughts.
She pondered the question… every invitation she had received here so far had led to nothing but trouble. Tea parties and croquet and labeled drinks that she wished she’d never tasted. But he didn’t seem to be too strange. He was certainly more human looking than the other creatures in Wonderland.
Finally, she nodded. What could it hurt, really?
He smiled, and she couldn’t help feel a little uneasy.
“Do you play Hearts, Miss Alice?”
To:tabitha_dornoc
From:lindskaba
Title: Ghost Stories
Word Count: 1187 (HOLY JESUS, this turned out WAY longer than I intended, but since the word count limit for SS is...er...ambiguous, Ihope feel this is ok)
Spoilers: Riku's location and goings-on during KHII.
Notes: Well, Tabby, after two years of writing Secret Santa for me, I finally got to write for you! Poetic justice, I think. I've been trying to write you some nice Riku/Naminé for like years at this point, and I was finally able to do so. This particular piece has been inside of me for awhile, always with you in mind, and after lots of agonizing, here it is. Not technically touching on your prompted themes, but I hope you like it anyway ♥
Riku lives in a house full of ghosts.
The mansion creaks. Wind slips moaning through the walls. When it rains, the ceilings squelch and weep and Riku catches raindrops in beakers that are cracked and leak onto the floor. Twilight filters smokydark through windows caked with time; in here, it always feels like night. The old man haunts the basement below, footsteps echoing up through the floor one two one two under Riku's bed like heartbeats.thumpthump. thumpthump.
He doesn't sleep much anymore.
There's a little ghost in the corner room at the end of the upstairs hall who smells like vanilla and snow. Out of all the ghosts in the house she's the quietest, and Riku likes it that way. When the walls begin to sway and the old man moves below, Riku stands like a shadow in her whitewashed room and listens to her fingers breathe color onto paper—swfft, swfft, swfft, just like that. Like waves.
"Your eyes are like the ocean," she says. Her voice is sweet softcandy.
He smiles vaguely, a habit recalled. "I've been told that before."
"Like...the tide. Just after a storm." Swfft, swfft, swfft. "Right where it touched down and then left again, and the water is clear and hazy at the same time…" Swfft, swfft, swfft; a little pause. "They change color." A shift, and he can feel her gaze on him now—on his face, on the slip of fabric set over his eyes. "What color are they now?"
Part of him likes it better when she doesn't speak at all.
It's when she does, however, that he comes closest to sleep—later, lying in bed with the waves in his ear and her lullaby voice on his tongue. It tastes like sweet sea air.
Then the old man moves below. The beat of an onerous heart. thumpthump.
Riku grips his chest and winces at the echo that it makes.
In his dreams, Riku is not always Riku. Sometimes he's a shadow, a slinking black nothing that stinks of stolen hearts. Sometimes he's a doppelganger, eyes too green, face too tight, smile too crisp and cold. He holds out a blade to a faceless boy who he hates and takes everything from him. Sometimes he bulges large with muscle, the stench of darkness on his skin. That's when the laughter comes. He opens his mouth and his voice is black and he laughs, shaking with joyless pleasure until there's nothing left, nothing left of him—and he wakes screaming at something he half understands, Soul Eater gripped in his shaking fists until reality comes flooding back, slowly. He doesn't sleep again for days.
"What do you see, when you wake up afraid?"
It's one of those times Riku wishes she'd be quiet. "Where did you learn to be so candid?"
"Someplace warm," the little ghost says.
The sweetness in her voice hurts. He stalks from the room before doing something he'll regret.
But when his head is throbbing heavy with the sound of beating blood, Riku somehow finds his way back to the corner room at the end of the hall and the little white ghost who, despite his short tongue, never utters reproach, only sighs and makes soothing sounds with her fingers. Swfft, swfft, swfft.
He dozes. The little chair is not quite big enough to hold him, so he leans, legs sprawling, with his face against the window, and lets the sound of waves wash over him, swfft, swfft, swfft. Wow, Riku, the water sounds great! Come on, let's go for a swim! I'll race ya! Riku!
He wakes with a jolt, gasping for air as if he'd drowned. The wavesounds have stopped. "You should focus on your work," he says, breathing ragged.
He can hear her shifting, sandals brushing the floor. "You look very tired."
The muscles around his mouth twitch, just slightly; he swallows. "You shouldn't worry about me."
"It's him, isn't it."
His stomach drops.
She's quiet. "I see."
There's something in the way she moves—like floating, like a little bird riding the wind. Her footsteps make no sound, but he feels her coming near, the sketchbook gently lain aside. "I can still lock up your heart," she says, a whisper in the air. "It's…okay. I'll take care of you. You can just sleep. And he won't hurt you anymore." She stops just a breath from his face; this close, she smells like something new, like wildflowers and citrus, bright as the sun. It stings his eyes. "He'll sleep, too." He can feel her reaching out; something in him aches. "And you won't see him anymore…" her fingers brush the cloth over his eyes, "when you look—"
"I don't look anymore."
"But don't you want to see So—"
"No." His eyes clench. "No. Not until I can remember him." Eyelids twitch against cloth, against the imprint of her skin, white and cold. Nothing like summer.
He can feel her tremble as she finally withdraws, hands lilting to the hem of her dress, fingering uselessly. "I'm sorry…" she murmurs. "I—"
"Don't be." His head begins to pound. thumpthump. "You should focus on your work." He stands and leaves her there alone, smelling of wilted flowers.
The mansion is quiet that evening. No beating in the floorboards, no groaning in the walls: a rare silence. He could almost sleep. Instead, Riku lies awake in bed listening to the sound of his own heart, thumpthump, thumpthump, heavy, uneven, and dark.
He almost doesn't hear it, the little creak—then she's slipping under the sheets and into his bed, her tiny arms around him, engulfing him in summer scent. "N-Naminé—" is all he can stammer before she's breathing, "Shhhhh," into the back of his neck, like waves.
And then they come, a rush of images behind closed eyes: the beach at noon, so bright it blinds; the tree house, with view of the ocean; the paopu tree, two wooden swords crossed at its base. Then it's her, barefoot in the surf, warm and strong and alive, and everything smells of life, all blooming green life, all sunscreen, surf, and sand and—then a silhouette, backlit by sun—a boy's silhouette, with spiky hair the color of chestnuts and eyes that glint a cloudless blue—and he calls over the ocean, over the roar of the waves: "Hey, Riku! Come on, Ri—"
"Stop it!"
He tears from her grasp and she cries out. "—ku, let's go again, I know I'll beat you this—"
"I said stop it!"
The voice falls silent; the waves recede. At his back, the little ghost breathes, short and hitched. She smells like frost. He shivers.
After a moment, she barely whispers, "I was trying to help you sleep."
"I didn't ask for your help."
She's quiet; he can feel her fingers tangling into the sheets, round and round and round. "Don't you want to remember him?"
It takes a moment for him to answer. "Maybe I don't."
They don't speak. After a moment, the little ghost slips from the room, leaving him alone in the stale dark.
And Riku lies awake, listening to the sound of his heart.
To:crimsoncookie
From:tabitha_dornoc
Rating: R
Word Count: 999
“I wish you’d leave her alone,” Naminé says. Deep breath, swallow everything down. He turns to look at her, eyebrows raised in that non-surprised way he perfected just for her.
“This is the wrong story for genies, precious. Wishes have no magic here,” Marluxia murmurs at her, and curse him, but it still tightens her throat and sets her heart beating faster and faster and not from pleasure.
Looking at her sharply, he makes a pleased noise. “Tsk, tsk, love. You’ve stolen something.” His hands (gloved, even here) are at her shoulders. One remains to grip her tight, the other trails cool fingers down the crease between her breasts. He settles his palm there. Her heart hammers against her ribcage, trying to break through bone and flesh and skin and strike his hand away from her.
“I didn’t steal it,” she says, and her voice wavers.
(“Hey. Hey. You okay?” Sora whispers, reaching out a hand, stroking it down a bare arm.)
“This heart belongs to a different little girl. Pretty little thing, just like my Naminé Bird. Cherry hair and rose flesh. She’s quite delightful.”
“Leave her alone,” hisses Naminé. There. No ‘wish’ involved. More like an order. Where did she get the nerve? Her heart picks up pace, hammering and throbbing and breaking her in two.
“So jealous,“ croons Marluxia, eyes closed, and he’s happy. He’s only ever happy with his hands on her skin and making her frightened. “You are still my favourite.”
His fingers on her face, tracing her mouth with careful gentleness. It’s like he’s carving her lips with a knife.
(“Riku,” Sora hisses, trying to be quiet. “Help me. Something’s wrong. Hey.”)
She parts her lips, as always, because she can’t imagine a world where she wouldn’t. She bites down, pulling at his glove as he slides his hand free. His naked skin on hers, hand sneaking again down her front, underneath her dress.
He starts to chuckle.
“You have a tell-tale heart,” he laughs. “But it’s underneath your bones instead of the floorboards.” His amusement doesn’t stop his hands from pressing and stroking. It doesn’t stop his mouth from moving down her neck, teeth grazing. He bites the collar of her dress, catching skin, and he pulls.
The sound of ripping white fabric drowns the sound of her heart for one long moment. Naminé clenches her teeth and holds her breath. The sound and feel of her heart is the only thing that makes this bearable right now - the only thing that reminds her who Marluxia is and why she’s letting this happen. Again. (And again. Yesterday and tomorrow, too.)
(“Shhh,” Riku whispers, to both of them. Sora leans up on an elbow, squinting at Riku in the dark, covers pushed to his knees by the kicking girl in their bed.
“Is she okay?” He can’t see her face.
“Shh.”)
Marluxia walks her backwards, guiding her to the bed. It’s a sick waltz, but no matter how she tries to let her feet stumble, they know the steps too well.
On the bed, spread and open, breathing harsh and hard. He always could squeeze the breath from her throat. He could look at her, his gaze slicing, and it would cut straight to her lungs and deflate them. This she was used to. Her poor heart, though.
She’d like to place a hand over it and calm down calm down, shh. Everyone can hear you. But his hand is in the way.
“What’s this, precious? No whimpers? No pleas for reprieve? Did you steal courage as well as that heart?”
And he’s right, Naminé knows. Instead of a heartbeat she should be moving to the rhythmic litany of stop stop stop stop.
Her mind is empty. She feels warm. She’s not alone.
“Kairi,” between her teeth and quiet. “Go away.”
“Right sentiment, wrong name,” Marluxia murmurs, but he doesn’t sound angry. His attention is far too focused on down and down and fingers pressing up and in.
(“Kairi. Hush. Shh. We’re here, Kairi.”)
Naminé grabs Marluxia’s wrist and pulls his hand from between her legs. She twists as hard as she can, wrenching at the bone, pushing at him with all her weight. He makes a small surprised noise in his throat before his cool, cutting face is back in place.
“What are you doing?” he purrs.
“Stay the hell away from her,” she says. “You can’t hurt her anymore. You’re dead.”
Marluxia doesn’t know what to say. There’s nothing in Naminé’s memories that allow her to imagine how he would react. So he stares at her, angry (always angry, but calmly so - it’s Marluxia’s default expression in Naminé’s mind).
“Your hands. Away from her. Or I rip them off,” she warns.
“Where is my Naminé?” he asks her. “I don’t want you today, darling. Though thank you for lending us your heart. Such a lovely rhythm it has.” He lunges from the bed, pinning her arms before she can carry out her threat and hurt him. He shoves her to the wall, slamming her shoulders tight and her head cracks against the window.
It startles her, shakes her attention, and she takes a moment before blinking up at Marluxia.
“Sorry,” she chokes. “I’m here. It’s just me. She’s gone,” Naminé whispers to Marluxia. Against the wall, the cold window at her bare back. When she pulls away her shoulder blades will have melted some frost, leaving the impression of wings in the glass.
“Remember the rules,” Marluxia whispers. “You aren’t allowed to leave me. You belong to me. Don’t go anywhere in your pretty little head. You stay here and. You. Feel. Everything.”
“Yes,” says Naminé. Closes her eyes. Lets it happen.
(A warm hand on Kairi’s hip turns her over. Another hand cups behind her neck, thumb stroking, and pulls her towards a solid, real body.
“Is she awake? Kairi, you okay? What happened?”
“Sorry, guys,” Kairi says, throat rough. “Naminé’s dreaming again.”)
To:euphonious_glow
From:crimsoncookie
title: cold this december
rating: pg
wordcount: 674
notes: thank you tosyvia for a small and twinkling idea. ♥
She watches him trudge through the graveyard, a funny little figure all silver and black. She is not sure what he is - not pale enough for a vampire, nor ephemeral enough for a wraith, though there is something of both about his drawn face. Still scary, though. That's good. She swings her legs and waits.
It is cold this December, Halloween now a month past - and how terrifying it was, she thinks, though she cannot recall much beyond that. It worries her. She considers other memories. Moonlight on the Hill. White, fine powder that fell from the sky and made Jack smile; he had a surprise for her, he said. Out in the hinterlands. He would show it to her tomorrow. She doesn't remember when he told her about it. This morning, obviously. She takes out Dr. Finkelstein's bottle, spins it slowly between her fingers, the last few glowing green drops turning over and over in the glass. A potion of true memories.
She thinks it's been cold for a long, long time.
The white that covers the ground makes small crunches as he walks towards her. He is young, like Sora. A little older, maybe. Perhaps he trick-or-treated last year - maybe longer? She is not good with faces. Hers needed a touch-up yesterday. Maybe the day before. There was a loose thread-- he is looking up at her, perched on one of the half-buried crypts, still swinging her heels. His eyes are wide, but he is surprised, not frightened. He must belong here.
"Hello," she says. "I'm Sally. What's your name?"
"Not Riku," he says. His face still bewilders her. She is better with the open honesty of a skull.
"Nottriku," she murmurs, and he smiles. There is something of her loose thread in his smile.
"Just not Riku." His eyes close down, board up for the winter. "If there was something else they called me, I don't remember what it was."
She tilts her head. Her hair flutters in the wind - cold, so cold. "Who are they?"
"Those who created me." His fists clench, voice beginning to unravel. "I don't remember their names, either. Just hers - Naminé--"
There is an almost audible snap like a thread splitting. Or a heart breaking. She wishes she could stitch him back together. She likes to think she knows something of sewing.
"Just Naminé," he repeats, and looks away from her, towards the white-shrouded Hill. "But none of that was real."
She might know what he means. She looks at the potion in her lap, remembers pulling the petals from a wilted daisy, one by one. He loves me, he loves me not. She thinks of long picnics in the graveyard. Holding hands on a moonless night. A thousand other memories that weren't.
"Things that never happened are the hardest to forget," she whispers.
He stares. He is looking at her now, her soft cotton skin, her carefully-stitched joints. Piecing together what she is - and he swallows, and nods.
She tucks the bottle away, holding her hand out to him. "Do you want to stay?"
"There's something I need to do." His gloved fingers tuck tentatively in hers. She hops down, lands to her ankles in the chill blanket of white. "Sally--" He hesitates, looks away, eyes flickering past the graveyard wall as if tracing a door. "I'll remember you."
She smiles, a sad little smile that tugs at her seams. It's been cold for a long, long time. "I'm not real either, am I?"
"You're more real than you know--" His voice cuts off, and he squeezes her hand once before letting go. "I have to leave. I'm sorry."
"Be careful," she says, and he turns away. She lifts her face to the sky. The soft white rain is beginning to fall again, landing on her eyelashes. Tomorrow she will go see Jack's surprise. She will need another layer of quilting, she thinks. She untucks her needle and begins to sew.
It is cold this December.
To:cygna_hime
From:euphonious_glow
Title: Entropy
Characters: Lexaeus, original six
Rating: G
Word Count: 1045
The Organization was a court of fools, and Lexaeus was no better than the rest. He had no motivation to take part in the absurdist play that Xemnas had created, but he was content to watch. In his silence, he learned much about his colleagues. Once, he was known as a silent and dependable biologist under Ansem the Wise's tutelege. Now he worked with soil and stone: shaping these elements to his own purposes. The earth was constant. No matter what battles raged across its surface, no matter how many times it was pounded and ravaged and poisoned, it persevered. It was always there, a silent witness of ages. A scientist's greatest attribute was observation, and Lexaeus found no greater subject of study than the fellow members of the Organization. He felt the discontent throughout the Castle walls, and knew that there could only be so much tension before the forces shifted and chaos remained. The greatest danger to the original six was not the neophytes, but themselves.
Xigbar did not appear to live in anything but the present. He seemed to follow his own path, yet was unshakingly loyal to the Superior. He took pleasure in pushing and shaping the rival forces that were already bubbling under the skin of the Organization, yet his motive in this, Lexaeus did not know. Number II rarely sought him out for conversation, though he was more social than most. Sometimes, however, Xigbar's laugh would fit in perfect harmony with that of Xaldin's, and something in the Second's posture showed that he missed what once was between him and the lancer. Their Others worked best in a pair, and often finished each other's sentences while giving reports to their king. The two men had taken no greater delight than making people laugh, though they wanted even more to amuse each other. They still had their secret jokes, but without the capacity to feel their laughter was false and empty. Xaldin, for his part, seemed to accept this, and the wall that had begun to grow between the two who were once friends could not be torn down too easily.
It was easy for Vexen to get lost in his work. He was obsessive about whatever project currently had his attention, though Lexaeus noticed that when it came to anything else, he was frantic and impatient. The kind of man who was wired with hectic energy. There was a time when his single-minded dedication to science cost him almost everything in his life. After his wife left, Even had become even more determined to uncover the mystery of the darkness. He rarely spoke about the time before, but there were moments when his eyes were distant, and the lines grew deeper around the edges of his face. Something drove Vexen beyond the goal of having a heart again. Perhaps he was looking for whatever shred of humanity was left. His voice could not hide the bitterness, in the rare moments he spoke of their time as apprentices; for this reason he was like ice.
The youngest of the original six was both the most shrouded in his thoughts, and yet Lexaeus believed he understood him the best. He remembered the first day Ienzo joined the staff of Ansem's research team. There were rumors of his brilliance, reports of his position as top of the class at an esteemed university. At first they had doubted what a student of philosophy and neuroscience could add to their group, but they quickly learned that Ienzo had a quick wit and talent for solving puzzles. It was often he who suggested alternative hypotheses for Even's experiments when his tests failed, and they soon learned that he was also a cultured conversationalist and had a sharp sense of humor. Elaeus found himself enjoying the younger man's company, and the two spent many lunch breaks discussing literature and pyschological theories. As the apprentices pushed the boundaries of ethics further and further, it was often Ienzo who urged them to keep going, to bring their work to its inevitable conclusion. Elaeus had been disconcerted by the darkness lurking beyond Ienzo's calculating eyes and knowing smile, but had gone along willingly because he too liked nothing better than success. Now that they had discovered the consequences of pushing the boundaries too far, Lexaeus understood Zexion even better, and knew the man had no regrets. Though they made odd companions, he liked Six's presence, and their language developed beyond the limits of words. And yet Zexion had also lost much. As he had become even more enamored with the shadow world, he became closed off to his closely knit family. As the youngest of eight children, Ienzo had felt pressured by his brothers and sisters, and was shaken into near muteness by the death of his mother and beloved twin sister. His father was not the kind to express love, and Ienzo grew jaded and threw himself into study, learning to see people as puppets who could be manipulated rather than feeling beings of flesh and blood.
It was Ienzo who drove them to the edge, yet they were all a part of what happened. They all had to step off the edge of reason into the darkness. There was no going back now. They had made their choices, and would suffer the torment of living without hearts. Never dying of sickness or old age. Never knowing what it would be like to love or dream or know passion. Their efforts were in vain, as Xemnas was surely aware. Yet still they planned and forged alliances, gaining some small satisfaction from the destruction of others. But watching the dreams of others crash to the ground was worth no real comfort when they were dead inside. Lexaeus knew that the only reason they hadn't broken apart was because they were all too afraid to be alone. At least they could suffer together, and pretend everything would turn out all right in the end.
He could only wait and see, patient as the earth was old. In time, all great cities were overcome by wild things and green roots, and life would begin again. For the Nobodies, trapped between darkness and light, they could only wait for the inevitable triumph of chaos. And then, nothing.
To:ice_kestrel9
From:cygna_hime
Title: Combat Meditation
Characters: Xaldin, Lexaeus.
Rating: G.
Word Count: 340.
Summary: For some, the still moments of the soul and the still moments of the body are different things.
Then, it was an exercise. Now, it is a lifeline.
Xaldin and Lexaeus circle each other slowly, weapons in hand. Eyes closed, they draw their powers deep within their skin, until not a stray breeze or pebble bends at their passing. Their boots crunch on the ground of the training salle. Their breath is slow and even.
Lexaeus moves first, a powerful blow aimed without error at where he knows without looking that Xaldin's shoulder is. Xaldin does not listen, does not look, but within him he senses the shift and snaps his arm up to block. The tomahawk glances off his lance. Lexaeus has, perhaps, the advantage in strength and size to push through Xaldin's block, but that is not the point. He returns to his guard position, weapon at rest, waiting without thought for Xaldin's attack. Xaldin chooses a middle strike, and Lexaeus swings to block, his muscles moving as smoothly as water flows. On they go, strike-block-strike-block, their breaths still as deep and measured after an hour as when they began.
Once, this was a drill that Dilan and Elaeus struggled to master, the art of being so centered that they could feel a blow coming with their very souls. Xaldin and Lexaeus are older now, well blooded in combat, and their weapons truly are extensions of their bodies, will they or no. It is easier now for them to sink into the moving meditation where they expect everything and nothing.
They do it more often than their younger selves ever did. For a little time, together, they can find the place within themselves without need for struggle or grim stoicism. It is a recourse they badly need, as the gray years wind past and nothing changes but for the worse. They are warriors, and their greatest peace is in this war without victims, without bloodshed, with nothing but themselves and each other and the singing of their weapons.
On this floor, for this time, they are as close to whole as they can ever come.
To:misskass
From:ice_kestrel9
Title: Empty
Word Count: 433
Rating: T, to be safe
Characters: Larxene x Vexen/Demyx/Zexion
Side Note: Special thanks tomisskass for the prompt. It was fun to try writing a new genre. Happy holidays! :D
The cavernous halls resonated with every step, the click of her heels against the marble floors echoing in the stillness of the air.
Her lips were pressed hard against his, her arms wrapped around him as she held him close. She could smell the faint odor of chemicals that clung to his coat, a rich intoxicating scent similar to that of the basements in which he spent so much of his time.
He shoved her off and pulled back, bewildered, hands clutching the table behind him as his mind struggled to comprehend her action. "What is the meaning of this, number twelve?"
It was not anger in his emerald eyes, however; there was a sweet taste of desire mingling with the bitter loneliness. Her lips curled back into a smile.
Tension crackled overhead like lightning as she slowly made her way back up the winding corridors to her chambers.
The waves lapped against his legs as he stood facing the horizon. The dazzling light rippled across the waves, the night quiet save for the roll of the ocean, and his sigh as he absently plucked a string on his sitar.
He turned at her touch upon his arm, but said nothing. His eyes, ever so bright and mischievous, held nothing more than a dull glance in her direction.
"What are you doing here?"
She yanked him closer by the front of his coat, her lips locking onto his in a tight kiss, her mind reveling in his agonizing thoughts. "Keeping you company, of course," she whispered.
She settled into her couch, book in hand, a pleased smile plastered upon her face.
He sat in the room oblivious to his surroundings, all attention on the words sprawled across the pages of his book. He sat, book in hand, enthralled by the contents of his latest read. He sat, concealed among piles of books, secluded. Alone.
She entered the room, weaving her way across the disorganized stacks towards him.
"What do you want, Larxene?" he asked, sounding slightly irritated.
She giggled softly as she peered over his shoulder at the open pages, her hand resting gently on his shoulder.
He tensed as he felt her breath run down the back of his neck, and closed his book in resignation.
He could not concentrate any longer.
Larxene idly ran a finger through her hair as she thought over last night's events. They were all so empty; they were oh-so-needing of a little... love. And she was there for them.
She really was... big'hearted', in the end.
Perhaps so, she thought happily to herself as her high-pitched laugh resounded along the walls of her chambers, filling the empty halls of the castle with new tenor.
---------
Title:Perfect
Word Count: 100
Rating: T
Characters: Vexen, Riku
Note: this is...weird awkward... o_O sorry, vexen...
He was perfect. As perfect as one could expect of a... human, he supposed, but nevertheless, perfect.
The way his eyes glowed with determination, his frown stoic upon his face, his will to rescue his dear friend unwavering despite his fears.
How he longed to get his hands on this specimen. Vexen shuddered despite himself, trembling at the thoughts of such wonders he could do. All that was required was just a little more data.
He was so close... to perfection.
Footsteps boomed across the halls, announcing his arrival.
Perfect, Vexen chuckled to himself as he stepped out of the shadows into view.
"Hello, my boy..."
To:oreo_81369_17
From:misskass
Title: The Cetologist and the Vetehinen
Word Count: 972
Rating: M
Spoilers: None~
Notes: So anyway I watched a documentary about whales and the first thing I thought of when David Attenborough explained the whalesong was that Demyx had to be the one playing it. <3
Once upon a time, a long, long while ago, the mating habits of whales were being studied by the humes of the planet, who sailed out in boats to observe the whales and their traditions. It was well-known by the humes that during whale mating season, if a male was unsuccessful in finding a mate, he would join his fellow whales in a song of sorrow, his calls echoing with thousands of others all across the ocean floor.
What the humes could never know, though, was that a musician played the tune for the mourning creatures, a merman who had been swimming beneath the tides seemingly since the beginning of time. His fingers strummed carefully over his sitar as he moved between the whales, looking kindly upon the heartbroken creatures, but never losing count of the beats as he kept an entire ocean full of whales in time.
One night, a young scientist was out on his first voyage, almost indistinguishable from the rest of his boat due to his dark head of hair hiding him from view. He was alone, ordered to bring his fellows back enough money to make them rich. Eventually he would bring something back, but it would be nothing like they expected.
The scientist was resting his chin against the end of the boat, listening to the call of the whales echo across the still ocean, when he saw a flash of green just below the water’s edge. Looking closer, he found that the flash was in fact a creature, the tail of a fish and the body of a man almost glowing in the moonlight. But as soon as a head had appeared above the water, the creature had swum away again, leaving the scientist bewildered and shaking.
For weeks after the encounter, the scientist returned to that very same point, spending night upon night waiting for another glimpse of the halfling, mixing chemicals every moment his eyes weren’t glued to the ocean. It wasn’t until a full moon shone one bright evening that the merman returned for another glimpse of the scientist.
He peered up above the waves, the scientist’s smile as wide as his face as the merman stayed beside his boat, not running away. The scientist extended a hand to the merman, which he inspected, comparing it to his own before gently touching the scientist, a smaller smile appearing on his own face.
With his other hand, the scientist offered a bottle to the merman, which he took, his tail beating powerfully to keep his torso above the water. He inspected it for a moment, as he had done the scientist’s hand, but eventually took a sip from it, the scientist encouraging the merman with whispered words. As the final drops slid down the merman’s throat he convulsed, the scientist holding his hand tightly as the water around him bubbled from his thrashing. But soon it was done, and the merman had become a hume, shiny hair dulled from the transformation, eyes having lost some of their light, but none of that mattered to the scientist, because now he had his merman.
For months afterwards the scientist studied the hume, noting that he didn’t speak, though it didn’t take him long to learn to use his legs. He didn’t run away, but his gaze was drawn towards the ocean as though his heart was hidden behind his eyes. One night, the scientist sat the hume down, speaking softly and explaining that what he was about to do was all for science. He would take no pleasure from the actions he would perform, and use the results for knowledge, only.
The hume didn’t respond, as the scientist had expected, but didn’t fight back when his trousers were removed, and his shirt. The scientist trailed his fingers over the nude body, the hume twitching every time it was expected of him, his fingers grasping the blankets beneath him as the ministrations were continued. The scientist tried so hard to keep the experiment clinical, but the writhing creature below him was breaking his resolve, and he thrust one of his hands into his own trousers, stroking his erection until he came with a gasp. The hume only watched, unmoving except for the slight shifting of his hips, his mouth falling open as he came shortly after, but still he was silent.
A week after that night, black wraiths crept through the floorboards, taking the hume in his sleep. The scientist awoke, but seeing the creature feasting upon the glowing heart of his companion had frozen his body, and he too was taken by the jerking creature. His last vision was of the hume lying peacefully, as though nothing was wrong at all.
When he arrived at the door of the great white castle he was welcomed, fellow scientists explaining to him what had happened, and how they were going to take back their hearts from the shadows. When the hume appeared, the scientist attempted to explain what had happened, but the hume only stared at him quizzically. Shortly after, the hume was pulled away by another, a head of black dreadlocks taking the scientist’s only memory of home.
One night, long after their arrival in The World That Never Was, Demyx crashed through the door and the scientist snapped his fingers, the merman on his island, singing the song of the whales, disappearing from his sight. Demyx cocked his head at Zexion, but received only a cold stare until he left the room, his sitar knocking against the doorframe as he exited. Zexion was the most rational of all the Nobodies, the most heavily scientific, and knew with all his not-soul that none of them had hearts… but science couldn’t explain to him why tightness in his chest haunted him like a feeling long since drowned.
To:suddenchangeofh
From:oreo_81369_17
Title: Merry Christmas
Word Count: 242
Rating: ...umm haha E ^^'''
Notes: oh man original title is awesome ahha Merry Christmas~! ♥♥
"Have I ever mentioned how much I hate Christmas town?"
Axel cackled as the blond twitched his nose against the cold, burying his face further into the cold leather of his jacket.
The two had been sent to the snowy town for a mission, much to Roxas' dislike. Sure Axel was fine, what with all that inner heat and such.
Said redhead was chuckling, stretching his arms toward the sky. "Cheer up Rox~! Only a couple more days."
Roxas sneered as a snowflake drifted near his face. Axel laughed again...
~+3 days later+~
Roxas sneezed and sniffed, burrowing further into his blanket. He was holed up in the library in front of one of the many fireplaces, trying to "sweat out" his newly acquired cold. "Damn Christmas town."
A chuckle from behind him caused him to jump. "Sorry Rox." The familiar redhead set his chin on Roxas' shoulder. "How are you feeling?"
Roxas snorted and sniffed again. "Like crap. No hearts, but we get sick. Of course."
Axel laughed and kneeled in front of the sick blond. Before Roxas could question him, he whipped out a brightly wrapped box.
Roxas blinked as the box was set in his lap. "Go on." A warm smile urged him to open it.
Inside, there was a bright blue scarf and hat, and a bottle of 'Nyquil.' Roxas laughed as happily as possible as Axel grinned and kissed his forehead.
"Merry Christmas Rox."
To:wanderinghiatus
From:suddenchangeofh
Title: The Monsters Who Did Not Bark In The Night
Word count: 950 – and I tried really hard to make it shorter L
Rating: er… PG-13 perhaps? Drunkenness, debauchery, crimes of onanism, torture, the crushing of innocent good-natured trust in the human spirit, that sort of thing.
Note: spoilers only if you don't know anything about KH at all, and it's supposed to be AU, and funny (honestly!).
"Whoa, there! Whoa!" Jack Skellington brought the sleigh to a clattering halt, sack full of danger and wriggling leggy things on one shoulder. "Have we been good boys and girls this year?" he chuckled gleefully, straightening the beard dangling beneath his chin.
He was finally getting the hang of Christmas. After the first disaster and Sandy Claws' injunction that he stick to Hallowe'en, Jack had adopted a surreptitious approach. Dr Finklestein had been an unexpected ally and ingenious creator of unusual gifts, and he had suggested they reward the good boys and girls of Organization XIII. Jack wasn't sure who they were - a scout troop, perhaps, or a glee club? The thought of happy shining faces and glad little voices raised in festive song filled him with a warm glow. "Here, Zero! C'mon boy!" he called, pushing his way through the gates.
It was nearly midnight. By now the inhabitants of the castle would be sleeping in their beds, dreaming of the morning's surprises. Quietly opening the heavy door, Jack tiptoed through deserted corridors. The place was a labyrinth, and dark, and very soon he was lost. "They must be tucked up tight, Zero!" he whispered, shushing the dog with an elaborate gesture as they came to a door marked XII. "I wonder who lives here, boy?" Jack pushed the door open, just a crack. The dog slipped through the gap and suddenly reappeared, ghostly tail between insubstantial legs. "What is it boy?" Jack pushed the door a little further.
The glare of an unshaded bulb made the scene anatomically brutal. A young woman lay spreadeagled on a table, whisky bottle in one hand, glass in the other, both spilling their contents into a reeking pool. She was barely conscious, and had clearly been crying, mascara and lipstick smeared across her cheeks. As the skeleton king stepped backwards away from the wreckage she began to struggle and moan. "agzl at yu," she mumbled, "basd'd." As he hurriedly pulled the door shut, Jack heard the glass shatter against it.
A puzzled look crossed his face, and for a flicker of an instant his smile faded. Who could that horrible woman have been? Not the kind of good little girl that deserved toys at Christmas!
Across the corridor, a gale of laughter came from behind a door marked X. Jack turned towards it with a grin. Good humour! And song! This, surely, was where the boys and girls were playing.
Four were seated at a table, cards spread before them, three in various states of undress. A fifth opposite them, naked, and pleading for mercy.
"The maelstrom of avarice is once again your undoing, Demyx," the only fully clothed member chuckled.
"But… I've nothing left to take off!" the boy cried. "What can I do?"
"I can think of something," a shirtless dreadlocked man flexed broad shoulders and glowered at the boy. His companions – one with electric blue hair, the other an eyepatch – sniggered. Hurriedly, Jack closed the door.
This wasn't at all what he had expected. Hurrying through the corridors, Jack stopped by door VIII, but the room was dark, cold and empty, a litter of snuffed candles and the cold ashes in the grate the only signs of fire. XIV was boarded shut, and from behind XIII came the sound of sobbing and something hard hitting something soft.
"Do they know it's Christmas time at all, Zero?" Jack wondered, sadly. The dog gambolled around his legs; danced up against door XI. "Here? You think this one?" The dog barked silently.
The room was filled with golden light and flowers' scent. By the bed, a very nice looking boy knelt, head tipped back towards the ceiling, an expression of concentrated rapture on his graceful face, hands folded in his lap. He was speaking quietly, but Jack couldn't hear what he was saying, other than the occasional muttered 'God'.
"Look, Zero, the good little boy is saying his bedtime prayers. What do you think he'd like for Christm…"
"Oh, God!" the nice little boy shouted suddenly, collapsing forwards into a shuddering heap, and Jack realised that his hands hadn't been folded in his lap at all, and that he certainly wasn't praying.
"Come on, Zero," Jack said sadly. "If we want to see that we can visit Lock, Shock and Barrel."
A faint light illuminated the head of a stair descending into darkness. In a small room at its foot, a giant was asleep on a sofa, a much smaller figure beneath a mound of blue hair slumped amongst dishes at the table. Beyond, an archway opened into darkness, and someone, very faintly, was singing.
Jack turned to Zero, eyes glinting with joy. "Carols, boy! We've found them!" Jack pushed open a final door.
Not even in his nightmares of Oogie Boogie had he imagined this. A blond blindfolded boy was strapped spreadeagled against the wall, and it was a much older blond man who was singing to him. Jack didn't want to hear the words because he could see what the man was doing, but the crooning cut through his revulsion. "I think you know," the man was intoning. "I think you can show me. I think you can take this pain. How encouraging." And he would twist with one horrible implement, or sear with another, before turning away to heat something or sharpen something, crooning all the time under his breath "I think you know…"
[-]
Jack never found the door marked I. Behind it, curled up in his bed, thumb jammed in his mouth, the only good little boy in the whole castle dreamed quietly of Christmas, and of what Santa might have left for him when he woke up.
To:taistoi
From:wanderinghiatus
Title: Joseph
Author: wanderinghiatus
Word Count: 497
Rating: G
"I mean, I can see five-year-olds doing this, but for high school? That's insane!" Riku growled.
The seemingly unfazed teacher was hard at work scribbling a list of classic manger scene characters on the chalkboard, her back to the students.
"It'll be a team effort." She said. "And you all must participate." Almost everyone groaned and slumped further down in their seats. She stopped writing and turned to face the class. "Look, I know you're not very happy about this, but that's what our class got for the school-wide Christmas presentation, so that's what we'll have to work with. Anyone got a pet sheep?" She muttered distractedly. A couple of people snickered.
"You know there are no real farms around here." Riku sighed.
"That's okay! I can make cardboard animals!" Kairi chirped, already doodling a baby and a donkey with some crayons. Riku leaned over to see, then turned to look at Sora, who was half-asleep in a chair dangerously close to tipping over.
"We need a donkey, too? Why not use him?" He prodded Sora's stomach.
"Hey!" Sora yelped, then overbalanced and fell off his seat with a loud thump. "Oww..."
"Quiet please!" The teacher called in frustration from the front of the room. "We need to take advantage of the planning time we've got!" She passed out slips of paper to every desk. "Vote for the cast I've listed then return your ballots to me."
Kairi was chosen unanimously as Mary, while Sora and Riku tied for Joseph. There was then a debate as to which of the two would play a better father figure.
"But Sora's so sweet, he would be great as the dad!"
"No, Riku's more manly, and a leader. The role fits him perfectly!"
"Why not let them decide?" All eyes turned to the two boys bickering with one another in the corner. They realized that everyone else had fallen silent and were waiting for them to respond. Sora blushed with embarrassment.
"Um, say that again?" He said, rubbing the back of his head.
Kairi put down her crayon and looked up. "Which of you actually wants the part?"
"I do!" Sora and Riku cried simultaneously. Kairi laughed, and Riku suggested a race. The teacher quickly dispelled that idea, much to the disappointment of the other students, and began passing out new slips of paper.
"Okay, then... we'll have another vote. The only other part left available is a wise man. Chose who you think would best play that role, then turn in your ballots again." Once tallied, the winner by a large margin was Riku.
And in the end, no one was really unhappy with their part. Especially not Sora or Kairi. In fact...
... this was how they came to be beside to one another on Christmas Eve, before a dusty wooden bed of hay in front of the entire school, sharing their first pure, innocent kiss, leaving others to wonder whether or not this was in the script.
time for little mods to go to bed and wait for santa...
kaiyabeckTo:
nirvana_fallingTitle: Arcadia
Word Count: 401
Rating: PG-13 for light sexual themes
Notes: I made this as fluffy as I could. Hope you enjoy it!
One thing that can be said about Kairi is that she knows what she likes.
Sora is frisky and playful, generous with his kisses and caresses and skilled at making her as breathless with laughter as with pleasure. She feels relaxed and completely at ease in his embrace, for how could anyone be embarrassed or self-conscious with such a merry, light-hearted companion? At times it feels less like lovemaking and more like a free-spirited sort of game, where there are no winners and both of them end up lying side by side, sleepy but blissfully content. When they have finished, he curls up close to her, gazing at her with those deep blue eyes filled with tenderness, and Kairi gets the impression that he is making up for all those times spent apart from her.
She greatly enjoys the time she spends with Sora, but it’s not what she likes the best.
Riku is different. His eyes never leave hers as he moves inside her, always checking to make sure she is all right before continuing on. He is always mindful of her, watching her every reaction carefully; and she never fails to be touched by his attentiveness and consideration for her feelings. He is not as direct with his displays of affection as Sora is, but when she looks at him, she can see the love he has for her written plainly on his face. When he finally parts from her, he watches her with eyes brimming with reverence, caressing her cheek with his hand as if he can’t believe she is here with him. The feeling of his fingers gently touching her face stays with her until she falls asleep, warm and secure in his arms.
She adores being with Riku, but it’s still not the best thing.
There are times when all three of them end up sprawled together in a tangle of limbs, serene and happy and close. Riku’s arm is a pleasant weight across her stomach as he reaches over to gently squeeze Sora’s shoulder; Sora’s warm breath tickles her ear as he mumbles a sleepy “g’night, Riku.” Kairi snuggles closer to both boys--her boys-- and kisses the top of each forehead in turn before joining them in slumber.
Light and dark, yin and yang, with her in the midst of it all-- just as it has always been.
This is what Kairi loves most.
To:
de_yatenFrom:
nirvana_fallingtitle: the stairs won't end
wordcount: 588
rating: pg13
summary: Xemnas and Zexion on order and mastery.
Xemnas was the Superior, and not without reason would the five of them allow him that. Of course, even in the days before their ascendence, as Xemnas called it (or, as they would have it: the fall, the change, the shift, the goddamn Tuesday afternoon) there was a loose heirarchy, Whether by age, or height, or duration of their apprenticeship, Zexion was number six, but to challenge the order of things was to challenge Xemnas, and Zexion was anything but stupid.
So when Xemnas set himself up as their lord in that dead world, no one said a thing. Of course, none of them had his sick charisma, so Lexaeus shrugged it off and Zexion inwardly fumed and Vexen made something unstable in his lab over the next three days. When he emerged, Xigbar and Xaldin were gone, exploring the stars beyond theirs, and Xemnas was doing god knows what, drawing diagrams and pontificating furiously in imagined debates with Ansem.
In the absence of any direction, it was Vexen who first proposed they study their new home and they made their breakthrough on what Vexen had calculated was a Thursday but Lexaeus insisted was a Monday, and Zexion, for all the science in his bones, was inclined to follow Lexaeus.
So then by Lexaeus’ reckoning, it was the next Tuesday that Xemnas walked in on Zexion having a cup of tea. “Well, Number Six,” the Superior drawled, “I see you’ve settled in quite nicely. Is that Kafka?”
“We’re just numbers now, then?” The turn of a page.
“I think it’s best to establish the correct tone, you know,” he trailed off, not wanting to aggravate Zexion without Lexaeus there to mediate; no use in having an internal dispute so early on. Instead he examined the room, a new one in this strange castle that sprung up around them.
“We have all worked with you for years, of course. But I suppose this is different?” A raised eyebrow. A sip of tea. Another page.
“Of course. This isn’t theoretical muddling. There won’t be any time for this,” the words eluded him, all his options too harsh for the situation. Again Xemnas fixated on the walls, white, but strangely unfixed, without clear lines or corners.
“Idleness? No, even Ansem wouldn’t stand for this state of affairs.” Zexion’s voice was so mild as to jar, and Xemnas noted with abstract fascination that the table before him was definite and fixed, but even the floor seemed to move in soft sinusoidal curves, warping through hues with no clear method or reason.
“Nor will I. Orders will be given out as soon as a find Numbers Two through Five.” No, the walls weren’t moving, he decided, they just weren’t there yet.
“Two and Three,” Zexion sneered, “are elsewhere. Four and Five are downstairs researching.”
“Disrespect,” Xemnas said, soft and slow, “will not be tolerated, either.” Zexion’s one eye flickered to the bit of table Xemnas had laid his hand on.
“I understand, of course, Superior.” He rose in one fluid motion, and the table, too, seemed to lose its substance.
“The bring at least Four and Five here. I’m sure you know your way around this…madhouse better than I.”
“As you wish.” Zexion was at the door. Xemnas, if pressed, could not have described the room, it no longer had four walls, only wavering suggestions. Zexion opened the door, again, the only true, solid thing.
The space constricted around Xemnas, cold and grey-blue and almost sentient.
“Yes, it was Kafka.”
The door shut.
To:
lindskabaFrom:
de_yatenTitle: Hearts
Word Count: 387
Rating: G
Notes: Merry Christmas! I haven't written with these characters much before, so I hope they came out all right. <3
Alice was never sure of anything in Wonderland. What's were Who's and Who's were Where's and When's were Why's and nothing ever, ever quite made sense. But, one must learn to adapt when a simple drink can shrink you smaller than a mouse, and she gradually came to accept the nonsense as common. Cats could disappear into thin air, mad queens shrieked about red roses, and tea parties were not as prim and proper as they ought to be –so when a man in a black cloak suddenly appeared out of thin air, she thought nothing of it. Stranger things had happened.
She curtsied – it was safer to be polite—and he smiled. Smiles were never quite as comforting as they should have been here, and his was no exception.
“What are you doing, miss?”
“Looking for someone.”
“Oh? Who are you looking for?”
“A rabbit, I think… but it seems that every time I manage to find him, he’s very late for something!”
“A… rabbit?” He smiled, looking amused. “Are you sure he was real?”
Alice unconsciously smoothed down the fabric of her skirt. “Oh, I can’t be sure of anything here, really. For all I know, you’re a blade of grass, or an old tree stump.”
He chuckled. “I can assure you I am neither.”
“Of course,” she replied, somewhat vacantly. They all had assured here they were something they weren’t, and it had never really ended in her favor. She shifted her gaze to the sky behind him, and felt an odd twinge in her heart; the colors, once a mishmash of blue and pink and bright apple-green, were slowly being swallowed by a strange inky blackness. Was it night already? Had it ever been night, before? She couldn’t recall… it was odd, but—
“Would you like to play a card game?” His voice startled her out of her thoughts.
She pondered the question… every invitation she had received here so far had led to nothing but trouble. Tea parties and croquet and labeled drinks that she wished she’d never tasted. But he didn’t seem to be too strange. He was certainly more human looking than the other creatures in Wonderland.
Finally, she nodded. What could it hurt, really?
He smiled, and she couldn’t help feel a little uneasy.
“Do you play Hearts, Miss Alice?”
To:
tabitha_dornocFrom:
lindskabaTitle: Ghost Stories
Word Count: 1187 (HOLY JESUS, this turned out WAY longer than I intended, but since the word count limit for SS is...er...ambiguous, I
Spoilers: Riku's location and goings-on during KHII.
Notes: Well, Tabby, after two years of writing Secret Santa for me, I finally got to write for you! Poetic justice, I think. I've been trying to write you some nice Riku/Naminé for like years at this point, and I was finally able to do so. This particular piece has been inside of me for awhile, always with you in mind, and after lots of agonizing, here it is. Not technically touching on your prompted themes, but I hope you like it anyway ♥
Riku lives in a house full of ghosts.
The mansion creaks. Wind slips moaning through the walls. When it rains, the ceilings squelch and weep and Riku catches raindrops in beakers that are cracked and leak onto the floor. Twilight filters smokydark through windows caked with time; in here, it always feels like night. The old man haunts the basement below, footsteps echoing up through the floor one two one two under Riku's bed like heartbeats.thumpthump. thumpthump.
He doesn't sleep much anymore.
There's a little ghost in the corner room at the end of the upstairs hall who smells like vanilla and snow. Out of all the ghosts in the house she's the quietest, and Riku likes it that way. When the walls begin to sway and the old man moves below, Riku stands like a shadow in her whitewashed room and listens to her fingers breathe color onto paper—swfft, swfft, swfft, just like that. Like waves.
"Your eyes are like the ocean," she says. Her voice is sweet softcandy.
He smiles vaguely, a habit recalled. "I've been told that before."
"Like...the tide. Just after a storm." Swfft, swfft, swfft. "Right where it touched down and then left again, and the water is clear and hazy at the same time…" Swfft, swfft, swfft; a little pause. "They change color." A shift, and he can feel her gaze on him now—on his face, on the slip of fabric set over his eyes. "What color are they now?"
Part of him likes it better when she doesn't speak at all.
It's when she does, however, that he comes closest to sleep—later, lying in bed with the waves in his ear and her lullaby voice on his tongue. It tastes like sweet sea air.
Then the old man moves below. The beat of an onerous heart. thumpthump.
Riku grips his chest and winces at the echo that it makes.
In his dreams, Riku is not always Riku. Sometimes he's a shadow, a slinking black nothing that stinks of stolen hearts. Sometimes he's a doppelganger, eyes too green, face too tight, smile too crisp and cold. He holds out a blade to a faceless boy who he hates and takes everything from him. Sometimes he bulges large with muscle, the stench of darkness on his skin. That's when the laughter comes. He opens his mouth and his voice is black and he laughs, shaking with joyless pleasure until there's nothing left, nothing left of him—and he wakes screaming at something he half understands, Soul Eater gripped in his shaking fists until reality comes flooding back, slowly. He doesn't sleep again for days.
"What do you see, when you wake up afraid?"
It's one of those times Riku wishes she'd be quiet. "Where did you learn to be so candid?"
"Someplace warm," the little ghost says.
The sweetness in her voice hurts. He stalks from the room before doing something he'll regret.
But when his head is throbbing heavy with the sound of beating blood, Riku somehow finds his way back to the corner room at the end of the hall and the little white ghost who, despite his short tongue, never utters reproach, only sighs and makes soothing sounds with her fingers. Swfft, swfft, swfft.
He dozes. The little chair is not quite big enough to hold him, so he leans, legs sprawling, with his face against the window, and lets the sound of waves wash over him, swfft, swfft, swfft. Wow, Riku, the water sounds great! Come on, let's go for a swim! I'll race ya! Riku!
He wakes with a jolt, gasping for air as if he'd drowned. The wavesounds have stopped. "You should focus on your work," he says, breathing ragged.
He can hear her shifting, sandals brushing the floor. "You look very tired."
The muscles around his mouth twitch, just slightly; he swallows. "You shouldn't worry about me."
"It's him, isn't it."
His stomach drops.
She's quiet. "I see."
There's something in the way she moves—like floating, like a little bird riding the wind. Her footsteps make no sound, but he feels her coming near, the sketchbook gently lain aside. "I can still lock up your heart," she says, a whisper in the air. "It's…okay. I'll take care of you. You can just sleep. And he won't hurt you anymore." She stops just a breath from his face; this close, she smells like something new, like wildflowers and citrus, bright as the sun. It stings his eyes. "He'll sleep, too." He can feel her reaching out; something in him aches. "And you won't see him anymore…" her fingers brush the cloth over his eyes, "when you look—"
"I don't look anymore."
"But don't you want to see So—"
"No." His eyes clench. "No. Not until I can remember him." Eyelids twitch against cloth, against the imprint of her skin, white and cold. Nothing like summer.
He can feel her tremble as she finally withdraws, hands lilting to the hem of her dress, fingering uselessly. "I'm sorry…" she murmurs. "I—"
"Don't be." His head begins to pound. thumpthump. "You should focus on your work." He stands and leaves her there alone, smelling of wilted flowers.
The mansion is quiet that evening. No beating in the floorboards, no groaning in the walls: a rare silence. He could almost sleep. Instead, Riku lies awake in bed listening to the sound of his own heart, thumpthump, thumpthump, heavy, uneven, and dark.
He almost doesn't hear it, the little creak—then she's slipping under the sheets and into his bed, her tiny arms around him, engulfing him in summer scent. "N-Naminé—" is all he can stammer before she's breathing, "Shhhhh," into the back of his neck, like waves.
And then they come, a rush of images behind closed eyes: the beach at noon, so bright it blinds; the tree house, with view of the ocean; the paopu tree, two wooden swords crossed at its base. Then it's her, barefoot in the surf, warm and strong and alive, and everything smells of life, all blooming green life, all sunscreen, surf, and sand and—then a silhouette, backlit by sun—a boy's silhouette, with spiky hair the color of chestnuts and eyes that glint a cloudless blue—and he calls over the ocean, over the roar of the waves: "Hey, Riku! Come on, Ri—"
"Stop it!"
He tears from her grasp and she cries out. "—ku, let's go again, I know I'll beat you this—"
"I said stop it!"
The voice falls silent; the waves recede. At his back, the little ghost breathes, short and hitched. She smells like frost. He shivers.
After a moment, she barely whispers, "I was trying to help you sleep."
"I didn't ask for your help."
She's quiet; he can feel her fingers tangling into the sheets, round and round and round. "Don't you want to remember him?"
It takes a moment for him to answer. "Maybe I don't."
They don't speak. After a moment, the little ghost slips from the room, leaving him alone in the stale dark.
And Riku lies awake, listening to the sound of his heart.
To:
crimsoncookieFrom:
tabitha_dornocRating: R
Word Count: 999
“I wish you’d leave her alone,” Naminé says. Deep breath, swallow everything down. He turns to look at her, eyebrows raised in that non-surprised way he perfected just for her.
“This is the wrong story for genies, precious. Wishes have no magic here,” Marluxia murmurs at her, and curse him, but it still tightens her throat and sets her heart beating faster and faster and not from pleasure.
Looking at her sharply, he makes a pleased noise. “Tsk, tsk, love. You’ve stolen something.” His hands (gloved, even here) are at her shoulders. One remains to grip her tight, the other trails cool fingers down the crease between her breasts. He settles his palm there. Her heart hammers against her ribcage, trying to break through bone and flesh and skin and strike his hand away from her.
“I didn’t steal it,” she says, and her voice wavers.
(“Hey. Hey. You okay?” Sora whispers, reaching out a hand, stroking it down a bare arm.)
“This heart belongs to a different little girl. Pretty little thing, just like my Naminé Bird. Cherry hair and rose flesh. She’s quite delightful.”
“Leave her alone,” hisses Naminé. There. No ‘wish’ involved. More like an order. Where did she get the nerve? Her heart picks up pace, hammering and throbbing and breaking her in two.
“So jealous,“ croons Marluxia, eyes closed, and he’s happy. He’s only ever happy with his hands on her skin and making her frightened. “You are still my favourite.”
His fingers on her face, tracing her mouth with careful gentleness. It’s like he’s carving her lips with a knife.
(“Riku,” Sora hisses, trying to be quiet. “Help me. Something’s wrong. Hey.”)
She parts her lips, as always, because she can’t imagine a world where she wouldn’t. She bites down, pulling at his glove as he slides his hand free. His naked skin on hers, hand sneaking again down her front, underneath her dress.
He starts to chuckle.
“You have a tell-tale heart,” he laughs. “But it’s underneath your bones instead of the floorboards.” His amusement doesn’t stop his hands from pressing and stroking. It doesn’t stop his mouth from moving down her neck, teeth grazing. He bites the collar of her dress, catching skin, and he pulls.
The sound of ripping white fabric drowns the sound of her heart for one long moment. Naminé clenches her teeth and holds her breath. The sound and feel of her heart is the only thing that makes this bearable right now - the only thing that reminds her who Marluxia is and why she’s letting this happen. Again. (And again. Yesterday and tomorrow, too.)
(“Shhh,” Riku whispers, to both of them. Sora leans up on an elbow, squinting at Riku in the dark, covers pushed to his knees by the kicking girl in their bed.
“Is she okay?” He can’t see her face.
“Shh.”)
Marluxia walks her backwards, guiding her to the bed. It’s a sick waltz, but no matter how she tries to let her feet stumble, they know the steps too well.
On the bed, spread and open, breathing harsh and hard. He always could squeeze the breath from her throat. He could look at her, his gaze slicing, and it would cut straight to her lungs and deflate them. This she was used to. Her poor heart, though.
She’d like to place a hand over it and calm down calm down, shh. Everyone can hear you. But his hand is in the way.
“What’s this, precious? No whimpers? No pleas for reprieve? Did you steal courage as well as that heart?”
And he’s right, Naminé knows. Instead of a heartbeat she should be moving to the rhythmic litany of stop stop stop stop.
Her mind is empty. She feels warm. She’s not alone.
“Kairi,” between her teeth and quiet. “Go away.”
“Right sentiment, wrong name,” Marluxia murmurs, but he doesn’t sound angry. His attention is far too focused on down and down and fingers pressing up and in.
(“Kairi. Hush. Shh. We’re here, Kairi.”)
Naminé grabs Marluxia’s wrist and pulls his hand from between her legs. She twists as hard as she can, wrenching at the bone, pushing at him with all her weight. He makes a small surprised noise in his throat before his cool, cutting face is back in place.
“What are you doing?” he purrs.
“Stay the hell away from her,” she says. “You can’t hurt her anymore. You’re dead.”
Marluxia doesn’t know what to say. There’s nothing in Naminé’s memories that allow her to imagine how he would react. So he stares at her, angry (always angry, but calmly so - it’s Marluxia’s default expression in Naminé’s mind).
“Your hands. Away from her. Or I rip them off,” she warns.
“Where is my Naminé?” he asks her. “I don’t want you today, darling. Though thank you for lending us your heart. Such a lovely rhythm it has.” He lunges from the bed, pinning her arms before she can carry out her threat and hurt him. He shoves her to the wall, slamming her shoulders tight and her head cracks against the window.
It startles her, shakes her attention, and she takes a moment before blinking up at Marluxia.
“Sorry,” she chokes. “I’m here. It’s just me. She’s gone,” Naminé whispers to Marluxia. Against the wall, the cold window at her bare back. When she pulls away her shoulder blades will have melted some frost, leaving the impression of wings in the glass.
“Remember the rules,” Marluxia whispers. “You aren’t allowed to leave me. You belong to me. Don’t go anywhere in your pretty little head. You stay here and. You. Feel. Everything.”
“Yes,” says Naminé. Closes her eyes. Lets it happen.
(A warm hand on Kairi’s hip turns her over. Another hand cups behind her neck, thumb stroking, and pulls her towards a solid, real body.
“Is she awake? Kairi, you okay? What happened?”
“Sorry, guys,” Kairi says, throat rough. “Naminé’s dreaming again.”)
To:
euphonious_glowFrom:
crimsoncookietitle: cold this december
rating: pg
wordcount: 674
notes: thank you to
syvia for a small and twinkling idea. ♥She watches him trudge through the graveyard, a funny little figure all silver and black. She is not sure what he is - not pale enough for a vampire, nor ephemeral enough for a wraith, though there is something of both about his drawn face. Still scary, though. That's good. She swings her legs and waits.
It is cold this December, Halloween now a month past - and how terrifying it was, she thinks, though she cannot recall much beyond that. It worries her. She considers other memories. Moonlight on the Hill. White, fine powder that fell from the sky and made Jack smile; he had a surprise for her, he said. Out in the hinterlands. He would show it to her tomorrow. She doesn't remember when he told her about it. This morning, obviously. She takes out Dr. Finkelstein's bottle, spins it slowly between her fingers, the last few glowing green drops turning over and over in the glass. A potion of true memories.
She thinks it's been cold for a long, long time.
The white that covers the ground makes small crunches as he walks towards her. He is young, like Sora. A little older, maybe. Perhaps he trick-or-treated last year - maybe longer? She is not good with faces. Hers needed a touch-up yesterday. Maybe the day before. There was a loose thread-- he is looking up at her, perched on one of the half-buried crypts, still swinging her heels. His eyes are wide, but he is surprised, not frightened. He must belong here.
"Hello," she says. "I'm Sally. What's your name?"
"Not Riku," he says. His face still bewilders her. She is better with the open honesty of a skull.
"Nottriku," she murmurs, and he smiles. There is something of her loose thread in his smile.
"Just not Riku." His eyes close down, board up for the winter. "If there was something else they called me, I don't remember what it was."
She tilts her head. Her hair flutters in the wind - cold, so cold. "Who are they?"
"Those who created me." His fists clench, voice beginning to unravel. "I don't remember their names, either. Just hers - Naminé--"
There is an almost audible snap like a thread splitting. Or a heart breaking. She wishes she could stitch him back together. She likes to think she knows something of sewing.
"Just Naminé," he repeats, and looks away from her, towards the white-shrouded Hill. "But none of that was real."
She might know what he means. She looks at the potion in her lap, remembers pulling the petals from a wilted daisy, one by one. He loves me, he loves me not. She thinks of long picnics in the graveyard. Holding hands on a moonless night. A thousand other memories that weren't.
"Things that never happened are the hardest to forget," she whispers.
He stares. He is looking at her now, her soft cotton skin, her carefully-stitched joints. Piecing together what she is - and he swallows, and nods.
She tucks the bottle away, holding her hand out to him. "Do you want to stay?"
"There's something I need to do." His gloved fingers tuck tentatively in hers. She hops down, lands to her ankles in the chill blanket of white. "Sally--" He hesitates, looks away, eyes flickering past the graveyard wall as if tracing a door. "I'll remember you."
She smiles, a sad little smile that tugs at her seams. It's been cold for a long, long time. "I'm not real either, am I?"
"You're more real than you know--" His voice cuts off, and he squeezes her hand once before letting go. "I have to leave. I'm sorry."
"Be careful," she says, and he turns away. She lifts her face to the sky. The soft white rain is beginning to fall again, landing on her eyelashes. Tomorrow she will go see Jack's surprise. She will need another layer of quilting, she thinks. She untucks her needle and begins to sew.
It is cold this December.
To:
cygna_himeFrom:
euphonious_glowTitle: Entropy
Characters: Lexaeus, original six
Rating: G
Word Count: 1045
The Organization was a court of fools, and Lexaeus was no better than the rest. He had no motivation to take part in the absurdist play that Xemnas had created, but he was content to watch. In his silence, he learned much about his colleagues. Once, he was known as a silent and dependable biologist under Ansem the Wise's tutelege. Now he worked with soil and stone: shaping these elements to his own purposes. The earth was constant. No matter what battles raged across its surface, no matter how many times it was pounded and ravaged and poisoned, it persevered. It was always there, a silent witness of ages. A scientist's greatest attribute was observation, and Lexaeus found no greater subject of study than the fellow members of the Organization. He felt the discontent throughout the Castle walls, and knew that there could only be so much tension before the forces shifted and chaos remained. The greatest danger to the original six was not the neophytes, but themselves.
Xigbar did not appear to live in anything but the present. He seemed to follow his own path, yet was unshakingly loyal to the Superior. He took pleasure in pushing and shaping the rival forces that were already bubbling under the skin of the Organization, yet his motive in this, Lexaeus did not know. Number II rarely sought him out for conversation, though he was more social than most. Sometimes, however, Xigbar's laugh would fit in perfect harmony with that of Xaldin's, and something in the Second's posture showed that he missed what once was between him and the lancer. Their Others worked best in a pair, and often finished each other's sentences while giving reports to their king. The two men had taken no greater delight than making people laugh, though they wanted even more to amuse each other. They still had their secret jokes, but without the capacity to feel their laughter was false and empty. Xaldin, for his part, seemed to accept this, and the wall that had begun to grow between the two who were once friends could not be torn down too easily.
It was easy for Vexen to get lost in his work. He was obsessive about whatever project currently had his attention, though Lexaeus noticed that when it came to anything else, he was frantic and impatient. The kind of man who was wired with hectic energy. There was a time when his single-minded dedication to science cost him almost everything in his life. After his wife left, Even had become even more determined to uncover the mystery of the darkness. He rarely spoke about the time before, but there were moments when his eyes were distant, and the lines grew deeper around the edges of his face. Something drove Vexen beyond the goal of having a heart again. Perhaps he was looking for whatever shred of humanity was left. His voice could not hide the bitterness, in the rare moments he spoke of their time as apprentices; for this reason he was like ice.
The youngest of the original six was both the most shrouded in his thoughts, and yet Lexaeus believed he understood him the best. He remembered the first day Ienzo joined the staff of Ansem's research team. There were rumors of his brilliance, reports of his position as top of the class at an esteemed university. At first they had doubted what a student of philosophy and neuroscience could add to their group, but they quickly learned that Ienzo had a quick wit and talent for solving puzzles. It was often he who suggested alternative hypotheses for Even's experiments when his tests failed, and they soon learned that he was also a cultured conversationalist and had a sharp sense of humor. Elaeus found himself enjoying the younger man's company, and the two spent many lunch breaks discussing literature and pyschological theories. As the apprentices pushed the boundaries of ethics further and further, it was often Ienzo who urged them to keep going, to bring their work to its inevitable conclusion. Elaeus had been disconcerted by the darkness lurking beyond Ienzo's calculating eyes and knowing smile, but had gone along willingly because he too liked nothing better than success. Now that they had discovered the consequences of pushing the boundaries too far, Lexaeus understood Zexion even better, and knew the man had no regrets. Though they made odd companions, he liked Six's presence, and their language developed beyond the limits of words. And yet Zexion had also lost much. As he had become even more enamored with the shadow world, he became closed off to his closely knit family. As the youngest of eight children, Ienzo had felt pressured by his brothers and sisters, and was shaken into near muteness by the death of his mother and beloved twin sister. His father was not the kind to express love, and Ienzo grew jaded and threw himself into study, learning to see people as puppets who could be manipulated rather than feeling beings of flesh and blood.
It was Ienzo who drove them to the edge, yet they were all a part of what happened. They all had to step off the edge of reason into the darkness. There was no going back now. They had made their choices, and would suffer the torment of living without hearts. Never dying of sickness or old age. Never knowing what it would be like to love or dream or know passion. Their efforts were in vain, as Xemnas was surely aware. Yet still they planned and forged alliances, gaining some small satisfaction from the destruction of others. But watching the dreams of others crash to the ground was worth no real comfort when they were dead inside. Lexaeus knew that the only reason they hadn't broken apart was because they were all too afraid to be alone. At least they could suffer together, and pretend everything would turn out all right in the end.
He could only wait and see, patient as the earth was old. In time, all great cities were overcome by wild things and green roots, and life would begin again. For the Nobodies, trapped between darkness and light, they could only wait for the inevitable triumph of chaos. And then, nothing.
To:
ice_kestrel9From:
cygna_himeTitle: Combat Meditation
Characters: Xaldin, Lexaeus.
Rating: G.
Word Count: 340.
Summary: For some, the still moments of the soul and the still moments of the body are different things.
Then, it was an exercise. Now, it is a lifeline.
Xaldin and Lexaeus circle each other slowly, weapons in hand. Eyes closed, they draw their powers deep within their skin, until not a stray breeze or pebble bends at their passing. Their boots crunch on the ground of the training salle. Their breath is slow and even.
Lexaeus moves first, a powerful blow aimed without error at where he knows without looking that Xaldin's shoulder is. Xaldin does not listen, does not look, but within him he senses the shift and snaps his arm up to block. The tomahawk glances off his lance. Lexaeus has, perhaps, the advantage in strength and size to push through Xaldin's block, but that is not the point. He returns to his guard position, weapon at rest, waiting without thought for Xaldin's attack. Xaldin chooses a middle strike, and Lexaeus swings to block, his muscles moving as smoothly as water flows. On they go, strike-block-strike-block, their breaths still as deep and measured after an hour as when they began.
Once, this was a drill that Dilan and Elaeus struggled to master, the art of being so centered that they could feel a blow coming with their very souls. Xaldin and Lexaeus are older now, well blooded in combat, and their weapons truly are extensions of their bodies, will they or no. It is easier now for them to sink into the moving meditation where they expect everything and nothing.
They do it more often than their younger selves ever did. For a little time, together, they can find the place within themselves without need for struggle or grim stoicism. It is a recourse they badly need, as the gray years wind past and nothing changes but for the worse. They are warriors, and their greatest peace is in this war without victims, without bloodshed, with nothing but themselves and each other and the singing of their weapons.
On this floor, for this time, they are as close to whole as they can ever come.
To:
misskassFrom:
ice_kestrel9Title: Empty
Word Count: 433
Rating: T, to be safe
Characters: Larxene x Vexen/Demyx/Zexion
Side Note: Special thanks to
misskass for the prompt. It was fun to try writing a new genre. Happy holidays! :DThe cavernous halls resonated with every step, the click of her heels against the marble floors echoing in the stillness of the air.
Her lips were pressed hard against his, her arms wrapped around him as she held him close. She could smell the faint odor of chemicals that clung to his coat, a rich intoxicating scent similar to that of the basements in which he spent so much of his time.
He shoved her off and pulled back, bewildered, hands clutching the table behind him as his mind struggled to comprehend her action. "What is the meaning of this, number twelve?"
It was not anger in his emerald eyes, however; there was a sweet taste of desire mingling with the bitter loneliness. Her lips curled back into a smile.
Tension crackled overhead like lightning as she slowly made her way back up the winding corridors to her chambers.
The waves lapped against his legs as he stood facing the horizon. The dazzling light rippled across the waves, the night quiet save for the roll of the ocean, and his sigh as he absently plucked a string on his sitar.
He turned at her touch upon his arm, but said nothing. His eyes, ever so bright and mischievous, held nothing more than a dull glance in her direction.
"What are you doing here?"
She yanked him closer by the front of his coat, her lips locking onto his in a tight kiss, her mind reveling in his agonizing thoughts. "Keeping you company, of course," she whispered.
She settled into her couch, book in hand, a pleased smile plastered upon her face.
He sat in the room oblivious to his surroundings, all attention on the words sprawled across the pages of his book. He sat, book in hand, enthralled by the contents of his latest read. He sat, concealed among piles of books, secluded. Alone.
She entered the room, weaving her way across the disorganized stacks towards him.
"What do you want, Larxene?" he asked, sounding slightly irritated.
She giggled softly as she peered over his shoulder at the open pages, her hand resting gently on his shoulder.
He tensed as he felt her breath run down the back of his neck, and closed his book in resignation.
He could not concentrate any longer.
Larxene idly ran a finger through her hair as she thought over last night's events. They were all so empty; they were oh-so-needing of a little... love. And she was there for them.
She really was... big'hearted', in the end.
Perhaps so, she thought happily to herself as her high-pitched laugh resounded along the walls of her chambers, filling the empty halls of the castle with new tenor.
---------
Title:Perfect
Word Count: 100
Rating: T
Characters: Vexen, Riku
Note: this is...
He was perfect. As perfect as one could expect of a... human, he supposed, but nevertheless, perfect.
The way his eyes glowed with determination, his frown stoic upon his face, his will to rescue his dear friend unwavering despite his fears.
How he longed to get his hands on this specimen. Vexen shuddered despite himself, trembling at the thoughts of such wonders he could do. All that was required was just a little more data.
He was so close... to perfection.
Footsteps boomed across the halls, announcing his arrival.
Perfect, Vexen chuckled to himself as he stepped out of the shadows into view.
"Hello, my boy..."
To:
oreo_81369_17From:
misskassTitle: The Cetologist and the Vetehinen
Word Count: 972
Rating: M
Spoilers: None~
Notes: So anyway I watched a documentary about whales and the first thing I thought of when David Attenborough explained the whalesong was that Demyx had to be the one playing it. <3
Once upon a time, a long, long while ago, the mating habits of whales were being studied by the humes of the planet, who sailed out in boats to observe the whales and their traditions. It was well-known by the humes that during whale mating season, if a male was unsuccessful in finding a mate, he would join his fellow whales in a song of sorrow, his calls echoing with thousands of others all across the ocean floor.
What the humes could never know, though, was that a musician played the tune for the mourning creatures, a merman who had been swimming beneath the tides seemingly since the beginning of time. His fingers strummed carefully over his sitar as he moved between the whales, looking kindly upon the heartbroken creatures, but never losing count of the beats as he kept an entire ocean full of whales in time.
One night, a young scientist was out on his first voyage, almost indistinguishable from the rest of his boat due to his dark head of hair hiding him from view. He was alone, ordered to bring his fellows back enough money to make them rich. Eventually he would bring something back, but it would be nothing like they expected.
The scientist was resting his chin against the end of the boat, listening to the call of the whales echo across the still ocean, when he saw a flash of green just below the water’s edge. Looking closer, he found that the flash was in fact a creature, the tail of a fish and the body of a man almost glowing in the moonlight. But as soon as a head had appeared above the water, the creature had swum away again, leaving the scientist bewildered and shaking.
For weeks after the encounter, the scientist returned to that very same point, spending night upon night waiting for another glimpse of the halfling, mixing chemicals every moment his eyes weren’t glued to the ocean. It wasn’t until a full moon shone one bright evening that the merman returned for another glimpse of the scientist.
He peered up above the waves, the scientist’s smile as wide as his face as the merman stayed beside his boat, not running away. The scientist extended a hand to the merman, which he inspected, comparing it to his own before gently touching the scientist, a smaller smile appearing on his own face.
With his other hand, the scientist offered a bottle to the merman, which he took, his tail beating powerfully to keep his torso above the water. He inspected it for a moment, as he had done the scientist’s hand, but eventually took a sip from it, the scientist encouraging the merman with whispered words. As the final drops slid down the merman’s throat he convulsed, the scientist holding his hand tightly as the water around him bubbled from his thrashing. But soon it was done, and the merman had become a hume, shiny hair dulled from the transformation, eyes having lost some of their light, but none of that mattered to the scientist, because now he had his merman.
For months afterwards the scientist studied the hume, noting that he didn’t speak, though it didn’t take him long to learn to use his legs. He didn’t run away, but his gaze was drawn towards the ocean as though his heart was hidden behind his eyes. One night, the scientist sat the hume down, speaking softly and explaining that what he was about to do was all for science. He would take no pleasure from the actions he would perform, and use the results for knowledge, only.
The hume didn’t respond, as the scientist had expected, but didn’t fight back when his trousers were removed, and his shirt. The scientist trailed his fingers over the nude body, the hume twitching every time it was expected of him, his fingers grasping the blankets beneath him as the ministrations were continued. The scientist tried so hard to keep the experiment clinical, but the writhing creature below him was breaking his resolve, and he thrust one of his hands into his own trousers, stroking his erection until he came with a gasp. The hume only watched, unmoving except for the slight shifting of his hips, his mouth falling open as he came shortly after, but still he was silent.
A week after that night, black wraiths crept through the floorboards, taking the hume in his sleep. The scientist awoke, but seeing the creature feasting upon the glowing heart of his companion had frozen his body, and he too was taken by the jerking creature. His last vision was of the hume lying peacefully, as though nothing was wrong at all.
When he arrived at the door of the great white castle he was welcomed, fellow scientists explaining to him what had happened, and how they were going to take back their hearts from the shadows. When the hume appeared, the scientist attempted to explain what had happened, but the hume only stared at him quizzically. Shortly after, the hume was pulled away by another, a head of black dreadlocks taking the scientist’s only memory of home.
One night, long after their arrival in The World That Never Was, Demyx crashed through the door and the scientist snapped his fingers, the merman on his island, singing the song of the whales, disappearing from his sight. Demyx cocked his head at Zexion, but received only a cold stare until he left the room, his sitar knocking against the doorframe as he exited. Zexion was the most rational of all the Nobodies, the most heavily scientific, and knew with all his not-soul that none of them had hearts… but science couldn’t explain to him why tightness in his chest haunted him like a feeling long since drowned.
To:
suddenchangeofhFrom:
oreo_81369_17Title: Merry Christmas
Word Count: 242
Rating: ...umm haha E ^^'''
Notes: oh man original title is awesome ahha Merry Christmas~! ♥♥
"Have I ever mentioned how much I hate Christmas town?"
Axel cackled as the blond twitched his nose against the cold, burying his face further into the cold leather of his jacket.
The two had been sent to the snowy town for a mission, much to Roxas' dislike. Sure Axel was fine, what with all that inner heat and such.
Said redhead was chuckling, stretching his arms toward the sky. "Cheer up Rox~! Only a couple more days."
Roxas sneered as a snowflake drifted near his face. Axel laughed again...
~+3 days later+~
Roxas sneezed and sniffed, burrowing further into his blanket. He was holed up in the library in front of one of the many fireplaces, trying to "sweat out" his newly acquired cold. "Damn Christmas town."
A chuckle from behind him caused him to jump. "Sorry Rox." The familiar redhead set his chin on Roxas' shoulder. "How are you feeling?"
Roxas snorted and sniffed again. "Like crap. No hearts, but we get sick. Of course."
Axel laughed and kneeled in front of the sick blond. Before Roxas could question him, he whipped out a brightly wrapped box.
Roxas blinked as the box was set in his lap. "Go on." A warm smile urged him to open it.
Inside, there was a bright blue scarf and hat, and a bottle of 'Nyquil.' Roxas laughed as happily as possible as Axel grinned and kissed his forehead.
"Merry Christmas Rox."
To:
wanderinghiatusFrom:
suddenchangeofhTitle: The Monsters Who Did Not Bark In The Night
Word count: 950 – and I tried really hard to make it shorter L
Rating: er… PG-13 perhaps? Drunkenness, debauchery, crimes of onanism, torture, the crushing of innocent good-natured trust in the human spirit, that sort of thing.
Note: spoilers only if you don't know anything about KH at all, and it's supposed to be AU, and funny (honestly!).
"Whoa, there! Whoa!" Jack Skellington brought the sleigh to a clattering halt, sack full of danger and wriggling leggy things on one shoulder. "Have we been good boys and girls this year?" he chuckled gleefully, straightening the beard dangling beneath his chin.
He was finally getting the hang of Christmas. After the first disaster and Sandy Claws' injunction that he stick to Hallowe'en, Jack had adopted a surreptitious approach. Dr Finklestein had been an unexpected ally and ingenious creator of unusual gifts, and he had suggested they reward the good boys and girls of Organization XIII. Jack wasn't sure who they were - a scout troop, perhaps, or a glee club? The thought of happy shining faces and glad little voices raised in festive song filled him with a warm glow. "Here, Zero! C'mon boy!" he called, pushing his way through the gates.
It was nearly midnight. By now the inhabitants of the castle would be sleeping in their beds, dreaming of the morning's surprises. Quietly opening the heavy door, Jack tiptoed through deserted corridors. The place was a labyrinth, and dark, and very soon he was lost. "They must be tucked up tight, Zero!" he whispered, shushing the dog with an elaborate gesture as they came to a door marked XII. "I wonder who lives here, boy?" Jack pushed the door open, just a crack. The dog slipped through the gap and suddenly reappeared, ghostly tail between insubstantial legs. "What is it boy?" Jack pushed the door a little further.
The glare of an unshaded bulb made the scene anatomically brutal. A young woman lay spreadeagled on a table, whisky bottle in one hand, glass in the other, both spilling their contents into a reeking pool. She was barely conscious, and had clearly been crying, mascara and lipstick smeared across her cheeks. As the skeleton king stepped backwards away from the wreckage she began to struggle and moan. "agzl at yu," she mumbled, "basd'd." As he hurriedly pulled the door shut, Jack heard the glass shatter against it.
A puzzled look crossed his face, and for a flicker of an instant his smile faded. Who could that horrible woman have been? Not the kind of good little girl that deserved toys at Christmas!
Across the corridor, a gale of laughter came from behind a door marked X. Jack turned towards it with a grin. Good humour! And song! This, surely, was where the boys and girls were playing.
Four were seated at a table, cards spread before them, three in various states of undress. A fifth opposite them, naked, and pleading for mercy.
"The maelstrom of avarice is once again your undoing, Demyx," the only fully clothed member chuckled.
"But… I've nothing left to take off!" the boy cried. "What can I do?"
"I can think of something," a shirtless dreadlocked man flexed broad shoulders and glowered at the boy. His companions – one with electric blue hair, the other an eyepatch – sniggered. Hurriedly, Jack closed the door.
This wasn't at all what he had expected. Hurrying through the corridors, Jack stopped by door VIII, but the room was dark, cold and empty, a litter of snuffed candles and the cold ashes in the grate the only signs of fire. XIV was boarded shut, and from behind XIII came the sound of sobbing and something hard hitting something soft.
"Do they know it's Christmas time at all, Zero?" Jack wondered, sadly. The dog gambolled around his legs; danced up against door XI. "Here? You think this one?" The dog barked silently.
The room was filled with golden light and flowers' scent. By the bed, a very nice looking boy knelt, head tipped back towards the ceiling, an expression of concentrated rapture on his graceful face, hands folded in his lap. He was speaking quietly, but Jack couldn't hear what he was saying, other than the occasional muttered 'God'.
"Look, Zero, the good little boy is saying his bedtime prayers. What do you think he'd like for Christm…"
"Oh, God!" the nice little boy shouted suddenly, collapsing forwards into a shuddering heap, and Jack realised that his hands hadn't been folded in his lap at all, and that he certainly wasn't praying.
"Come on, Zero," Jack said sadly. "If we want to see that we can visit Lock, Shock and Barrel."
A faint light illuminated the head of a stair descending into darkness. In a small room at its foot, a giant was asleep on a sofa, a much smaller figure beneath a mound of blue hair slumped amongst dishes at the table. Beyond, an archway opened into darkness, and someone, very faintly, was singing.
Jack turned to Zero, eyes glinting with joy. "Carols, boy! We've found them!" Jack pushed open a final door.
Not even in his nightmares of Oogie Boogie had he imagined this. A blond blindfolded boy was strapped spreadeagled against the wall, and it was a much older blond man who was singing to him. Jack didn't want to hear the words because he could see what the man was doing, but the crooning cut through his revulsion. "I think you know," the man was intoning. "I think you can show me. I think you can take this pain. How encouraging." And he would twist with one horrible implement, or sear with another, before turning away to heat something or sharpen something, crooning all the time under his breath "I think you know…"
[-]
Jack never found the door marked I. Behind it, curled up in his bed, thumb jammed in his mouth, the only good little boy in the whole castle dreamed quietly of Christmas, and of what Santa might have left for him when he woke up.
To:
taistoiFrom:
wanderinghiatusTitle: Joseph
Author: wanderinghiatus
Word Count: 497
Rating: G
"I mean, I can see five-year-olds doing this, but for high school? That's insane!" Riku growled.
The seemingly unfazed teacher was hard at work scribbling a list of classic manger scene characters on the chalkboard, her back to the students.
"It'll be a team effort." She said. "And you all must participate." Almost everyone groaned and slumped further down in their seats. She stopped writing and turned to face the class. "Look, I know you're not very happy about this, but that's what our class got for the school-wide Christmas presentation, so that's what we'll have to work with. Anyone got a pet sheep?" She muttered distractedly. A couple of people snickered.
"You know there are no real farms around here." Riku sighed.
"That's okay! I can make cardboard animals!" Kairi chirped, already doodling a baby and a donkey with some crayons. Riku leaned over to see, then turned to look at Sora, who was half-asleep in a chair dangerously close to tipping over.
"We need a donkey, too? Why not use him?" He prodded Sora's stomach.
"Hey!" Sora yelped, then overbalanced and fell off his seat with a loud thump. "Oww..."
"Quiet please!" The teacher called in frustration from the front of the room. "We need to take advantage of the planning time we've got!" She passed out slips of paper to every desk. "Vote for the cast I've listed then return your ballots to me."
Kairi was chosen unanimously as Mary, while Sora and Riku tied for Joseph. There was then a debate as to which of the two would play a better father figure.
"But Sora's so sweet, he would be great as the dad!"
"No, Riku's more manly, and a leader. The role fits him perfectly!"
"Why not let them decide?" All eyes turned to the two boys bickering with one another in the corner. They realized that everyone else had fallen silent and were waiting for them to respond. Sora blushed with embarrassment.
"Um, say that again?" He said, rubbing the back of his head.
Kairi put down her crayon and looked up. "Which of you actually wants the part?"
"I do!" Sora and Riku cried simultaneously. Kairi laughed, and Riku suggested a race. The teacher quickly dispelled that idea, much to the disappointment of the other students, and began passing out new slips of paper.
"Okay, then... we'll have another vote. The only other part left available is a wise man. Chose who you think would best play that role, then turn in your ballots again." Once tallied, the winner by a large margin was Riku.
And in the end, no one was really unhappy with their part. Especially not Sora or Kairi. In fact...
... this was how they came to be beside to one another on Christmas Eve, before a dusty wooden bed of hay in front of the entire school, sharing their first pure, innocent kiss, leaving others to wonder whether or not this was in the script.
time for little mods to go to bed and wait for santa...
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Eeee, thank you
*makes another eeeeeeeee sound* xDD I can't thank you enough for brightening up my evening despite my epic head and stomach aches from too much family and food, haha.
I DON'T HAVE AN ICON THAT IS LOVE ENOUGH.Happy holidays to you too, and everyone else who participated in the meme.
for tabitha ♥
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*dances in happiness*
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Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou
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Thank you so much for the lovely drabble! You say you've not written these characters before, but you capture both of them so well here. I love Alice's thought process, and Luxord's calm responses. And the endline is so perfect. Lovely!
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THANK YOU
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I absolutely love it. It's great! THANKS SO MUCH <3 <3
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