Brittle, thorny stems.

Short drabble. Spoilers as to Friend's identity.

( In the end, of course, they are still lies. )

Fukiko/Rei drabble set for fukiko/Palais. 756 words altogether.

( You hate it. )

Meine Liebe fic idea mentioned to Natalia and briefly discussed with Kat. Yet another example of my doing whatever the fuck I want, damn the fact that I don't know anything about anything!

( Meine Liebe in WWII )

Untitled Kenji/Friend drabble. Was supposed to be porn. Set in an alternate universe that involves copious hang-out times.

( Needless to say, there are spoilers under here. :P )

Title: Enma's Perfume
Part: 2 - ongoing
Spoilers: Excessive.
Summary: It's been ten years since Kyoto and all Hisoka wants is his partner back.


( Two )

Title: Watching a Hole
Words: 1919
Spoilers: Don't bother reading unless you've finished the series. :p
Summary: And caring for him seemed like an exercise in futility.

( It was both thunderous and completely hollow. )

Title: Enma's Perfume
Part: 1 - ongoing
Spoilers: Excessive.
Summary: It's been ten years since Kyoto and all Hisoka wants is his partner back.


( One )

Untitled drabble, a product of afternoon laziness and scrambled ideas that prevented me from giving other things proper attention. Posting it before I have time to think too much about it.

--

Johan is in London when the wall comes down. Excited murmurs are being exchanged within his party, and each time the footage is shown on the screen above their heads, more wine is brought to the table, glasses refilled. Johan toasts the event with a stranger next to him and sips from his glass, unsettled by how Labyrinthine the world suddenly feels, to think that the affairs of home are transpiring without him in the midst. It is pleasant, but different. He moves to leave after about an hour of banal celebration. One of Wolfe's friends offers to get him transportation back to the hotel. He declines, pulls his jacket around his shoulders and shuffles away into the dark.

Johan cannot regard his reflection on glass storefronts, cannot see anything but an obstacle in it. He gets older, recognizes the power in smooth cheeks, his own cherub-like face. He breaks the mirrors in his room. Men front the bill for his destruction, and he goes on killing.

In some distant quarter of Europe, a girl finds flowers on her doorstep, roses from a brother who could not be hers. She doesn't remember frogs, mansions, frost that causes small feet to slip as they stumble, writing paths across the vast frontier. She doesn't remember a brother who cried, too, when one of them was to be taken away. She doesn't remember her name, but neither does he.

Letters arrive daily to make demands at a small French cottage. The resident there throws them away without opening them. "What is my name," they ask from the waste basket, "every human needs a name."

Johan dreams of a Japanese doctor calling him from the cliff side. Beneath him, the tide assails the rocks, and everyone he's ever met is screaming condemnations.

"Johan," Tenma urges him, hands raised helplessly in the whistling wind, "it's not too late to come away. It's never too late."

Johan blinks back the salt that rises with the gusts from the ocean.

"I'm sorry, but I do not know anyone by that name." He replies, and dives into it.

Thanks so much to Brigdh for the code. Intend to use this as a platform for fandom endeavors and speculation, so Livejournal should become a mostly-personal affair from now on.