Memeage

Mar. 2nd, 2009 08:50 pm
[identity profile] compos-dementis.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] puppy_shinigami
Some memeage, including lovely Tsuzuki stuff. Just sort through for the YnM if you want.



Song: “Funeral In His Heart” by October Project
Fandom: D. Gray-Man


The room is so dark, the imaginary chains gripping his ankles and wrists, refusing to let him go. He looks around – for what? For a flash of bright white hair, kind silvery blue eyes and a voice calling to him, “Lavi-kun!”

But nothing. There’s simply nothing in this terrible dream-world. Not like Road’s, not at all; this one is of his own creation. Taken from the darkness of his heart like some twisted nightmare. This world holds no waters or bodies, but books, mountains and mountains of books whose worn pages all whisper to him like lovers, “Lavi… Deke… Bookman Junior.”

Why can’t he get away? Getting older and older while his world crumbles into nothing but leather and paper and ink. Into documents and records that will surely be forgotten in time. He pulls and struggles and can’t seem to run, not to anywhere, not back to his Allen.

He can’t get away, and he collapses, and the chains rub raw spots into his wrists. But he looks up and his vision is met with a bright light in this dim world, and a hand is outstretched.

And Allen smiles.

“Lavi-kun. It’s time to break free.”


Song: “High” by James Blunt
Fandom: Harry Potter


No matter how many times it happens, Ron still can never come to terms with the euphoria that Harry brings with him. Like something that had been mission for Ron’s entire lift until that single moment, that moment when Harry had taken his face in his cool hands and brought him forward into a kiss that was both awkward and yet the most perfect thing he’d ever experienced.

Harry was perfect. The lines of his body were long and thin as they entwined with Ron’s own, as that smooth cold skin pressed against each and every freckle like it mattered. Like it all mattered. All 8 years of their friendship summed up with a moment.

Sometimes Ron doubts, or worries about Harry finding someone who he really deserves… because Ron doesn’t deserve Harry, doesn’t deserve this brightness and this perfection and the clinging, gasping, pulsing warmth with each orgasm. But Harry refuses to listen. Says he loves him, wants him, wants to care for him and be taken care of by him, wants to sweep him up and take him away so he will never think those thoughts again.

Ron wakes up from his nightmares with Harry by his side. Kisses him in the dark of midnight rain. Peels clothes away under the heat of sheets.

Nothing could have been more perfect than this.


“Till Kingdom Come” by Coldplay
Fandom: Death Note


Don’t ever leave me. Those were the first words that Matt had uttered when he saw Mello packing up. Don’t ever leave me, Mello, don’t abandon me, don’t run away like an idiot and leave me here surrounded by these strangers.

Grubby hands, tired faces, blank expressions in childish eyes. Matt doesn’t want that. He wants Mello. He needs Mello to guide him, to hold his hands and whisper to him in the golden Wammy afternoons that he will never, ever go.

As he grows up, he’s less naïve. Mello left. Mello abandoned him. Then Why did Matt still stand outside of that bedroom door, leaning on it, begging to be let inside?

Because he would do anything for Mello if it came down to it. He would die for Mello, forgive his sins, wipe away his tears… Love him, care for him, kiss him and hold him. He would wait for Mello when the end of the world drew near (which was becoming apparent in this case). He would sacrifice himself if it meant letting Mello go on.

He’d wait if he had to.

“Mello.”

Sunshine on his tongue and arms around him, holding him in this single quiet moment. “Yes?”

“Would you wait for me… if the end of the world came?”

He needed the response. Needed to hear the words. That Mello wouldn’t leave him again, wouldn’t abandon him like he had so long ago, wouldn’t vanish and leave Matt searching like that.

Mello pulls his chin and rests their foreheads together, the most tender thing Matt’s ever experienced.

“Always, Matt. I’d wait.”


“Read My Mind” by the Killers
Fandom: Yami no Matsuei


Bizarrely, it was never unnerving. Whenever anyone else was like this (touching him, tracing him, mouth lingering in his tender joints), Hisoka would fight, would pull away, would refuse any sort of pleasure. Because it was never pleasurable; the sudden swirl of emotions hitting him like bullets was never enjoyable, in any circumstance.

Except when it was Tsuzuki.

Tsuzuki could touch his soul and spirit as well as his body. As if the man was reaching into him something tender. Those three words fell from his lips so easily, then finished with, “always.” Hisoka tried so hard to hate it, but he never could.

So many different people out there. Drama queens in their torn prom dresses, pretty girls with too much makeup like bruising around their eyes, strong men with overexcited personalities and overactive imaginations. Out of them all, Tsuzuki stood out like a light, a lamp that was guiding him through.

But those hands…

It wasn’t fair. Hisoka could feel every touch and every stray thought that fell from that labyrinthian mind; every single pain of that past, every memory of doing this with others, but having it received; and every single “I love you” that had been left unsaid.

In return, Tsuzuki only looked at him with those gorgeous violet eyes and was unseeing of all the monstrosity Hisoka held; he saw a shy boy with cornsilk hair and bright eyes waiting to be met. He saw a soul. Couldn’t Tsuzuki see that Hisoka loved him so much that it strangled him in nightmares sometimes? Couldn’t the man witness the pure devotion Hisoka held?

Why couldn’t Tsuzuki read him as well as he could touch him with those gentle hands?


“Outside” by Staind
Fandom: D. Gray-Man


None of it made any sense, in the long run.

Why Allen cared so much as to save him, back then, to embrace him in gentle arms and whisper kindness into his ear. All the while Lavi beating him like a misbehaved dog, that purple tattoo under his eye a symbol of his loss of control.

Lavi still has nightmares about it. Being trapped on the outside of himself, watching this misinterpretation of Deke beating down on Allen and watching Allen take every hit for fear of hurting him.

Looks at himself in the mirror in the mornings and wonders, “Am I really worth saving?”

Bookman. Alone, neutral, isolated from the world to observe. Not even just the Bookmen in general bothered him; it was Lavi himself. When he looks at his reflection he sees not something worth rescuing, not someone that deserves Allen’s love and affection. He sees into himself and thinks, “I’m ugly. I’m ugly and I don’t deserve it. My soul is damaged beyond repair.”

Still. Allen followed him to the ends of the earth, to the end of time, to save him from his own tortured soul.

Lavi, Deke, Bookman… whatever he may be, Allen loved him. Allen loved him for his smile and his laugh and not for that demented, twisted darker personality that resides within.

Lavi realizes that it’s because Allen is, in reality, as ugly as himself.


“Tango de Roxanne” from Moulin Rouge
Fandom: Harry Potter


“You’re trembling.”

Ron chokes slightly and shakes his head, forcing a smile. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. Please.” Harry runs a hand through the soft red hair, the hair he’d touched a million times before; it had smelled like the apple shampoo the first time he had at the age of thirteen. Ron isn’t looking at him, instead fixated upon the ground like he’ll find the answers there. Harry tries to keep a steady hand as he bandages the gazes along Ron’s thin arms and legs, tenderly wrapping the raw spots on his wrists in fabric.

This couldn’t possibly be happening. Harry swallows and doesn’t pressure. It had been a long war, and although it was nearly over, of course there would be aftermath to it all. Of course people would be damaged. This was proof enough.

Chained, beated, broken down in spirit and body. Ron had seen it all in these past few months in servitude to the Death Eaters. Had overcome the fear and submitted when told without question or complaint… to save Harry. Harry feels sick even thinking about it.

Ron looks up finally, and whispers, “Harry. I’m okay.”

Harry shakes and collapses into Ron, crying into his hair, which now smells no longer of apple shampoo, but of grimy hands and scarred faces.

“Don’t ever do that again.”


“We Were Made For Each Other/You Can Breathe” by Jack’s Mannequin
Fandom: Death Note


Matt wanted so badly to believe on days like these that it was meant to be. In reality, he didn’t believe in all that Fate crap, no Destiny; God hadn’t decided to pair them up like this. It was all coincidence.

But how? How could it possibly be coincidence when it was just too perfect for words?

True, they had their flaws. Mello got abusive every now and then, but it wasn’t really ‘abuse’ because Matt took pride in every bruise Mello gave him, wanted to frame them and wished they would never fade from his pale skin. And Matt was lazy, and that made Mello angry, and sometimes they would do nothing but scream each other down on the days when one would come home dripping in the blood of a police officer.

But it was perfection. Matt loved Mello, there was no doubt about it. Mello allowed Matt something resembling love (on the good days when Mello would simply hold him and kiss him and whisper into his crayola red hair), Mello painted him in purple and green like a cavas, Mello gave Matt the oxygen he needed to survive in this city.

He let Matt breathe, if only for a moment.

Matt couldn’t ever imagine life without the other. Lonely, overrun with shadows and the deep blue glow of computer monitors. Nothing worthwhile. Nothing that Matt would want to keep.

He realizes this now, as he reaches up to touch his own chest, looking down with shocked eyes at the blood coating his palm. For Mello. He sees the faint blur of the cops lowering their guns, the screech of tires as they speed away. The cigarette falls from his lips and leave ash on his vest.

For Mello.

He did it for Mello. Never again would he feel those bruises. Never again would he hear the rise of irritated voices.

His vision does a 180 and he tips his head back. Maybe not. Maybe he wouldn’t make it out this time. But when he thought of how much he was lucky to obtain from Mello, his Mello, how much time he’d been allowed to have, how much of Mello’s air he’d been gifted to breathe…

When he thought of that…

Wasn’t it worth it?


“Orestes” by A Perfect Circle
Fandom: Yami no Matsuei


Someone talks about it. An officer. He’s dressed in a perfect combination of colors to show his authority, but Asato takes in none of it. The blood is bitter and metallic in his mouth, dripping from his hair and chin and his oddly steady hands. His demonically violet eyes are filmed over as if in a trance.

He’d done it. He’d really done it.

No more of Luka’s disappointment. No more of her poor tired eyes, no more waiting for her to look at him and see just her little brother, just her family, not a demon, not the monster the other boys said he was—

He’d killed them all too. The gardening shears had felt so good in his hands. It should have frightened him to see the other boys all mangled and torn among the roses, their blood dripping from pure white petals… Luka’s voice calling out to him to stop, to come to his senses, to realize…

To realize…

No. The right thing. He’d done the right thing. He had to make them all see that he wasn’t a monster, had to destroy the people who refused to believe him. The humans that refused to believe him.

“I’m human.”

The officer gives him a strange look and shakes his head, whispering something that makes the other officer shudder. Asato holds the pruning shears and a bit of Luka’s hair in his hands. Curls in on himself and closes his eyes and sinks into his own guilt.

“I’m human…”


“Got a Suitcase, Got Regrets” by Tom McRae
Fandom: D. Gray-Man


He supposed it had to happen sometime.

Exorcists and Bookmen were never meant to mix. Meant to stay neutral. But now, as Lavi scans the damage done, he isn’t surprised by what he sees, by what he should (but doesn’t) feel.

The entirety of his stomach has been blasted open by the akuma bullet. He can feel the sick black stars spreading along his face and neck and arms like Allen’s fingers on warm summer nights. He’s not ready. He’d fought and fought this, hadn’t he? Trained to avoid something as simple as being shot through.

And… he’s not ready. Not in the slightest. There’s still so much he needs to do, needs to say, needs to celebrate and mourn. Needs to embrace Allen and thank him for all he’d ever done. Needs to kiss him. Needs to make up for all of those stupid missed chances that Lavi can’t help but remember now.

The bitter words of his documents float behind his eyelids, and he feels like he’s floating, drunk like at one of Komui’s Christmas parties. Feels the tickling sensation of feathers… or paper. Like cards. Cards that he’d let Allen cheat it, cards that are thrown in his face when he wins, cards that so closely resemble Tyki Mikk’s and that makes him uneasy.

He hadn’t played a good enough hand.

He hears the voices floating over him, and he closes his eyes and in his mind, he imagines them all together, welcoming him home after a long mission. Allen with his smile, Lenalee with an embrace, Komui, Reever, Yuu…

They fade, and he feels his world crumble into the dust fragments he leaves behind. Lavi dies alone and cold in a biting December snow.


“Broken” by Lifehouse
Fandom: Harry Potter


It had never been meant to be.

Ron had been saved, like so many times before, for Hermione. Her hands are gentle in his hair and her tongue feels like warmth in his mouth. But it’s not right.

He feels himself cracking with each day that passes. Looks to Harry and remembers – God, remembers – how good it had felt to just lay together in the heat of the bed. To make love beneath the Burrow’s tree. To kiss that mouth and those eyelids and to be blessed with afterglow.

It had never been meant to be.

He clings to Harry and kisses him heatedly and wonders exactly how it’s possible to be alive still, living without Harry in this gloomy and dark world, with Hermione in his arms. Harry’s arms go around his waist like a bad habit that refuses to breath. Screw marriage, he wants to say. We belong together. I belong to you, and nobody else, and I love you, I love you, I love…

He can’t. No matter how many times he loses his way, he finds his way back into Hermione’s bed, where he belongs. It makes her happy to see him like this, curled close to her. So he bears all of this wrongness and pain and shoulders the responsibility of her smile. He suffers the burden of her love…

To remember how it had felt to love in return.
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