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crack_van2004-07-18 10:32 pm
boniblithe.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2004-07-18 10:32 pm
Entry tags:
Little Things (R) by SleepsWithCoyotes
Fandom: YAMI NO MATSUEI
Pairing: Tsuzuki/Hisoka, Muraki/Hisoka implied
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ciceqi
Author Website: http://ciceqi.slashcity.com
Why this must be read:
This may be, hands down, one of the best Hisoka character studies in the all of fandom. Winding its way through the series, from Nagasaki to Kyoto, we live inside Hisoka's head and see/hear/feel Tsuzuki's growing influence on the young empath's reactions and actions. The story flows nicely from start to finish, with a perfect buildup of tension all the way to the emotionally charged payoff. If you're new to the YnM fandom, you should definitely look at all of SleepsWithCoyotes' fanfic, and if you're in love with Tsuzuki/Hisoka, this is not one to miss.
It was little things that killed him. Little things that would have killed him even if he'd stayed dreaming in his bed until the red moon set. Nights spent sleepless because his empathy was growing faster than he was, endless hours in the dark while people passed in and out of his head, avoiding the cellar and his body but not his mind. It was like being ripped open and gutted, the servants' fear and his family's disgust like booted feet trampling defenseless flesh, and they had no idea.
***
White blossoms falling in the moonlight, a drifting shower of snow that kissed his cheeks without melting and tangled in his hair and clothes. Beautiful, like the silhouette of lovers in the moonlight, just far enough from him that he couldn't sense their love, their embarrassing passions. He could only see the man's broad back turned to him, the woman clinging close, her head tipped back as long hair spilled over the man's arm into darkness. A stranger, he thought, because the man's hair was as shimmering white as the cherry blossoms, blending in with his pale skin and clothes until he looked like an angel, something impossible and dreamlike.
And then the woman's emotions spiked until Hisoka couldn't help but feel them, a choking wave of terror sharp as glass, sharp as the knife lifting in the moonlight and trailing a smear of white fire down its curved edge. Frozen in place, he could only stare in fascinated horror as the knife came down, again and again, the woman swooning in her attacker's arms in a parody of love. But it was love that reached him where he stood, something like love, or at least passion--an obsessive, hungering need that drove the blade onward, slashing, gouging, wanting to get closer, closer, closer--
***
He got used to the touches after a while. It wasn't like he really had a choice. Tsuzuki was a carelessly physical person, always in everyone's personal space, always allowing everyone into his. It didn't seem to faze him whether it was Watari grabbing him to drag him off--under protest--to help with an experiment or Tatsumi-san looming over him looking threatening--for Tsuzuki's own good, more often than not. When they were away on missions, children were cuddled, dogs were scratched behind the ears, and cats never lacked for a lap, no matter what the fur did to Tsuzuki's excessively black wardrobe. The man needed contact the same way he needed sweets, and when it came to Tsuzuki, that was saying something.
***
"Did I...say anything just now?"
He had to ask. The nightmares were bad enough, visions of Muraki pulling him down again, carving the curse in his flesh, the first glimmers of a pain that had stayed with him for three interminable years--but if he'd been screaming for Tsuzuki like a child howling for its mother....
Tsuzuki just looked at him for a moment, fading surprise in his eyes that might -- might -- account for his hesitation, but not the instant cheerfulness that snapped onto his face like a mask. "No, nothing...."
Lie. That was a lie.
Little Things
Pairing: Tsuzuki/Hisoka, Muraki/Hisoka implied
Author on LJ:
ciceqiAuthor Website: http://ciceqi.slashcity.com
Why this must be read:
This may be, hands down, one of the best Hisoka character studies in the all of fandom. Winding its way through the series, from Nagasaki to Kyoto, we live inside Hisoka's head and see/hear/feel Tsuzuki's growing influence on the young empath's reactions and actions. The story flows nicely from start to finish, with a perfect buildup of tension all the way to the emotionally charged payoff. If you're new to the YnM fandom, you should definitely look at all of SleepsWithCoyotes' fanfic, and if you're in love with Tsuzuki/Hisoka, this is not one to miss.
It was little things that killed him. Little things that would have killed him even if he'd stayed dreaming in his bed until the red moon set. Nights spent sleepless because his empathy was growing faster than he was, endless hours in the dark while people passed in and out of his head, avoiding the cellar and his body but not his mind. It was like being ripped open and gutted, the servants' fear and his family's disgust like booted feet trampling defenseless flesh, and they had no idea.
***
White blossoms falling in the moonlight, a drifting shower of snow that kissed his cheeks without melting and tangled in his hair and clothes. Beautiful, like the silhouette of lovers in the moonlight, just far enough from him that he couldn't sense their love, their embarrassing passions. He could only see the man's broad back turned to him, the woman clinging close, her head tipped back as long hair spilled over the man's arm into darkness. A stranger, he thought, because the man's hair was as shimmering white as the cherry blossoms, blending in with his pale skin and clothes until he looked like an angel, something impossible and dreamlike.
And then the woman's emotions spiked until Hisoka couldn't help but feel them, a choking wave of terror sharp as glass, sharp as the knife lifting in the moonlight and trailing a smear of white fire down its curved edge. Frozen in place, he could only stare in fascinated horror as the knife came down, again and again, the woman swooning in her attacker's arms in a parody of love. But it was love that reached him where he stood, something like love, or at least passion--an obsessive, hungering need that drove the blade onward, slashing, gouging, wanting to get closer, closer, closer--
***
He got used to the touches after a while. It wasn't like he really had a choice. Tsuzuki was a carelessly physical person, always in everyone's personal space, always allowing everyone into his. It didn't seem to faze him whether it was Watari grabbing him to drag him off--under protest--to help with an experiment or Tatsumi-san looming over him looking threatening--for Tsuzuki's own good, more often than not. When they were away on missions, children were cuddled, dogs were scratched behind the ears, and cats never lacked for a lap, no matter what the fur did to Tsuzuki's excessively black wardrobe. The man needed contact the same way he needed sweets, and when it came to Tsuzuki, that was saying something.
***
"Did I...say anything just now?"
He had to ask. The nightmares were bad enough, visions of Muraki pulling him down again, carving the curse in his flesh, the first glimmers of a pain that had stayed with him for three interminable years--but if he'd been screaming for Tsuzuki like a child howling for its mother....
Tsuzuki just looked at him for a moment, fading surprise in his eyes that might -- might -- account for his hesitation, but not the instant cheerfulness that snapped onto his face like a mask. "No, nothing...."
Lie. That was a lie.
Little Things