You are currently browsing the category archive for the 'Fanfiction' category.
The city they returned to had changed, but it had not changed. Buildings had come down and buildings had risen, many people had departed and many had arrived. The fiery landing of a large ship in the middle of the street alarmed some and barely fazed others.
Seven children scrambled from the ship, all fear and boldness. Then the woman, carrying two babes in her arms, and then the man, bearded now but no less daring, with a small pigtailed daughter on his shoulders.
Townsfolk collected around them, intrigued more by the colourful clowder of children than by the steaming spacecraft behind them. The man lifted up his arm, and in a voice that had long been confined in the silence of space, he declaimed:
Greetings to you all!
I am Champion! Slayer of beasts! Guardian of the young! Pisser on the face of false gods! Betcha been wondering where I’ve been all these years, huh?
The man jabbed his index finger to the sky.
UP THERE! Where no man has ever gone before! Yes, I triumphed over the heavens themselves, single-handedly besting the endless void of space!
His small daughter’s hands tugged at his long hair.
I came to this world a stranger, but I’m not a stranger anymore! This planet belongs to me just like it belongs to you! Claim it! Grab it by the balls!
He made an ardent gesture.
Now! Take us to the old man who’s got our house!
But the old man was no more. He had guarded their camp and waited, but when Death came to his door, he had let it in.
And so the Champion clan took back the empty lot where they once had lived, now overgrown with weeds and garbage, and every bottlecap and every plank was a treasure to children weaned on the blackness of space. And with many hands big and small, the Champion clan dug and hammered and stacked and balanced and threaded and painted and grew a house from the ground up and down. And with the help of others they hoisted the ship in which ten of them had been born to the top of the house, bulbous roof on a strong but graceless structure that could hold . And they flew a flag ten hands wide from the top of the ship, the triumphant standard of their army, the herald of their clan.
And the man’s fifth son, who was also called Simon and who was four years old, stuck his head out of the window of the room he shared with two older brothers and called out into the street:
This place is our place now! Okay? Nobody mess with Champion clan! There’s a whole lot of us and we’re all really brave! We’ll peel you like granola bars and have you for breakfast!
And no one messed with them.
END
(Thanks for reading! :D)
(Almost Gurren Lagann fanfiction, but not quite. Almost a worldmyth for the Phoenix, a text-based RP I’m in, but also maybe not quite. Just me having fun. Quite. ^_^)
For seven years the man and his wife traveled into the darkness of space. They met no one in the cosmos but themselves, no beasts to fight, no new worlds to discover. After seven years, they turned back, and for seven more years they traveled home.
The man’s firstborn son, who was named Simon and was fourteen and piloting the ship, was the first to spot the glimmer of a star system heavy with planets on the horizon. He called out, and his siblings came to crowd the window. There were many, for the family that had set out as two was returning as twelve.
The woman as well came to the window, pushing her older children out of the way and clutching her infant twins to her breast. She shivered when she thought she saw a big blue ball called home, a world the children knew of only from stories.
As the passed the moon, they slowed, and fired their weapons carefully in a maneuver they had been planning for years. When the dust cleared, the moon remained unscathed, save for a small corner. There, an artfully-traced blazon of their family crest, the herald of their clan, would remain forever on the face of the glinting orb – a testament for spacefarers to come, that long ago, Champion and his kin had been here.
The family cheered, and the woman wept tears of joy, and they began their descent to a welcoming world.
(Almost Gurren Lagann fanfiction, but not quite. Almost a worldmyth for the Phoenix, a text-based RP I’m in, but also maybe not quite. Just me having fun. Quite. ^_^)
For some time, the man slept. And for the first time in three days, the woman slept also.
Upon waking, he looked at her, and said:
It just keeps going, up there. It’s big and empty and needs exploring.
And he looked at her for a long time, and said:
If you want to go, let’s go together. If you want to stay here, let’s stay here.
It’s up to you this time.
And he said:
There’s nothing too big for us, but there’s nothing too small for us, too.
He held her hand.
And she nodded.
And so it came to pass that when the man was released from hospital, he and his wife gathered food and water and clothes and blankets medical supplies and fuel and spare parts and weapons, and filled their ship with all they would need for a long voyage. And with the help of townsfolk, they expanded their ship to the size of a small house, and everyone helped paint it red and black and gold, but the man alone emblazoned it with the herald of his clan.
When all was ready, the couple told the old man to keep an eye on their camp, and that it was his until they came back, if he wanted it. If they came back.
And the man and his wife settled into the cockpit, and they looked at each other, and they activated the ship’s ignition sequence.
They crowded together breathlessly when the atmosphere was below them, as the blue world started falling away, swallowed by the ineffable majesty of space. And the woman clung to her husband, eyes open in wonder reflecting a pitch-black, star-strewn sky. And there was the moon, now, bright and round. Tears were in her eyes, and he tried to land the craft to give her the moon like he’d always wanted, but they were moving too fast – and she pulled at him, telling him to forget it, that there were more important things…
He watched the moon dwindle like the planet had, and felt the acceptance of letting go alter him like alcohol or strong spice. Wondering if he was the better for it, wondering if there really was such a thing as ‘better’ or ‘worse’, when it came down to it.
He put both moon and thoughts behind him, and put his feet up on the control panel, and let the ship fly itself.
(Almost Gurren Lagann fanfiction, but not quite. Almost a worldmyth for the Phoenix, a text-based RP I’m in, but also maybe not quite. Just me having fun. Quite. ^_^)
When the man awoke, his eyes opened to an unfamiliar sky. And he thought:
Is this death?
And someone must have heard him, for the sky gave a response:
Hahah, you’re a lucky one, you know that, young man?
And the voice said:
It’s not everybody who survives a forced reentry like you. How do you feel?
And the man said to the white sky:
Okay, I guess.
And the doctor said:
You owe your life to this young lady here, you know that? If she’d powered the emergency landing thrusters just a few minutes later, I bet you’d be a goner.
And the man frowned and looked up into the face of the doctor, and then into the face of his woman, and then into the face of the nurse, and then into the face of his woman again.
And then he closed his eyes, and let out a huff through his nose, grinning.
(Almost Gurren Lagann fanfiction, but not quite. Almost a worldmyth for the Phoenix, a text-based RP I’m in, but also maybe not quite. Just me having fun. Quite. ^_^)
In his unconsciousness, the form of a woman appeared, who was a vast bird, who was also fire, who was also darkness. And the god spoke to him, and said:
your home belongs to you no more than this one does
you belong no less to this world than to yours
everything goes on without you and you
go on without everything
creature
to leave or to stay
does not change who you are
where are you when you are nowhere
creature
love is never forgotten
your accomplishments mean nothing
no bonds ever break and none ever hold
what do you lose when you lose your way
what waits for you inside your surrender
what can you build without any pieces
once you are hollowed out
what grows
you
are never standing still
at most
you run in circles
and then
you will have played
no part in the world
no matter
how hard you try
without
going outside yourself
none
reaching up means nothing without reaching down
striving out means nothing without striving in
death means nothing if you have not lived
going further means nothing without
going closer means nothing
without going deep
going home
means
nothing
without going here
you
sentient thing
some decisions are yours
(Almost Gurren Lagann fanfiction, but not quite. Almost a worldmyth for the Phoenix, a text-based RP I’m in, but also maybe not quite. Just me having fun. Quite. ^_^)
Time passed, and with time the mound of unfamiliar metal became familiar under the hands of the woman and her man. They learned how the ship worked, and repaired what didn’t work, and found others to give them a hand when things didn’t work even after they’d repaired them.
They painted the ship red and adorned it with the herald of their clan.
Very early one morning, still quite long ago, the man climbed into the cockpit of his ship, crowing to the paling sky like a rooster, daring the god to a challenge. You’ll see! he said. Champion is coming, to smash your big dumb face in! Never doubt Champion, and his manly team!
His woman and the old man who had owned the ship before stood nearby.
And then the man strapped himself into his ship, and did what needed to be done. The ground burned and the sky burned and the ship climbed the air, leaving behind it a thick ladder of smoke. Leaving behind it the old man and the young woman.
And the ship climbed the air, so fast, so fast, that the man grit his teeth as hard as he could not to lose consciousness. He saw blackness closing in, and thought, I’ve got to fight harder, but the blackness just got deeper, and darker, and broader -
- and then he saw that the blackness was not in his head, but out there, all around him, all around his ship, punctuated only by the brightest, most perfect stars. More stars than he had ever imagined. He turned off his engines.
He gazed at the heavens dry-mouthed for a long time.
Then he flicked on the speaker system he had attached to the outside of the ship, and pulled on his headset, and said:
All right! Listen, whatever you are! Champion is here! The mighty Champion has scaled the air itself and pierced the sky, as promised! You thought I wasn’t going to come and poke you in the eye? Hah! I kept up my side of the bargain, now you keep yours! Show yourself, you cosmic coward!
The man received no response. The endless heavens, black and strewn with light, remained mute.
The man said:
I see how this is going to be. You’re gonna challenge me with silence, are you? The mighty Champion doesn’t fight quietly! Manly spirit courses through these veins! The spirit to conquer the heavens and bring you down to earth, godmonster. Make you send the people home who want it, and stay out of everyone else’s hair. Nobody gets to play around with people’s lives with Champion is there to champion them! Nobody brings Champion somewhere against his will and can expect to live it down! Defend yourself, you silent bastard!
And the man released the safeties on the firing handles, and pulled down on them hard, releasing a vicious slicing fury of firepower into the blackness of space.
For three dayless days and three nightless nights the sky was filled with fire.
And then, the light that had been flashing a red warning in the cockpit stopped, and the guns stopped, and the lighting stopped, and the power stopped, and the ship stopped.
With a frown, the man pulled harder on the firing handles.
He gave the side of the cockpit a smack.
He pushed all the buttons.
He pulled the handles so hard that they broke, and then he sat.
He looked out into space.
All right, he said. Just because you’re big you think you get to set the terms. Fine. I can meet you face to face on any challenge, name your weapon. If it’s silence that you fight with, bring it on. The mighty Champion can beat you whichever way you choose.
And he sat, and he said nothing more.
But silence was not the heavens’ only weapon. Its arsenal also contained time, and time made the cockpit of the drained spaceship very hot, and very muggy, and time made the air grow thinner and thinner with the man’s every breath.
And as he slowly began to die, the man thought of his father, and of the brother he had left behind, and of the village and the world he had deserted. He thought of the woman back on the gleaming blue planet below. All these people he would never see again.
A man faces death with a smile before accepting the subjugation of fate, he said to himself. And closing his eyes, he smiled.
(Almost Gurren Lagann fanfiction, but not quite. Almost a worldmyth for the Phoenix, a text-based RP I’m in, but also maybe not quite. Just me having fun. Quite. ^_^)
Time passed, and the man sought a vessel for his greatness. So it was that he came across a ship, and he knew it would be his, as if it called to him. And the elderly owner of the ship said:
This came with me from my world, long ago, but it never will return, for the god has doomed us to live here until we live no more.
And the young man said:
I seek to challenge this god; I am the mightiest warrior of my people, unvanquished in battle, and no god can stand up to the mighty Champion. Give me your ship, old man, and I will take it up to the heavens and slam it like a fist into the face of destiny.
And the old man said:
It hasn’t flown in years. I don’t know if it even works anymore.
And the young man said:
I have people who can fix it. We’ll return it to its former greatness, old man! And we’ll give this so-called god a talking to! Are you with me!
And the old man said:
I suppose it’s just gathering dust here. But you’ll have to pay for the repairs yourself, I’m not made of money, you know.
And so it was that the man put the ship on a cart with wheels, and dragged it back to the empty lot where he and his woman had built a permanent encampment. And she said:
What the hell is that.
And he said:
This is our future. In this, we will pierce the heavens and show the so-called god of this place who’s boss!
And she said:
It looks like a heap of trash.
And he said:
Well, it needs repairs. You’re handy with tools, right?
And she gazed at the unfamiliar mound of dented metal, and said:
You have got to be kidding me.
(Almost Gurren Lagann fanfiction, but not quite. Almost a worldmyth for the Phoenix, a text-based RP I’m in, but also maybe not quite. Just me having fun. Quite. ^_^)
Once upon a time, very long ago, fifty years even maybe, a man came here, like all the others. He came with his woman, and like all the others, neither woman nor man was in this world by choice.
The folk of this world, tired or exalted, told the man of a god, a creature, a beast that had summoned every one of them, even the little children, even the old. Some spoke in reverence, others in anger, and yet others in fear. Many were indifferent, and it was this indifference that most infuriated the man. A man, said the man, did not sit idly by while others ruled his life. A man would face death with a smile before accepting the subjugation of fate. A man would face this beast, this god, and challenge it, and a man would win, or die trying.
I will fight this god, he said. If the rest of you are too weak, too bad. I am the mighty Champion, and I stand undefeated!
And so the man climbed to the very top of the highest tower in the whole city, and stood on its tippiest tip, and put his hands on his hips and called out into the sky:
Listen, you dumb god thing! I don’t know who you’ve been dealing with so far but that time’s come and gone! You’re dealing with Champion now! That’s right! There’s no use hiding your big ugly face from me, be you beast or man or god I’ll wipe the floor with you!
The man received no response. The sky, gently overcast, remained mute and pale.
For three days and three nights the man taunted the god of this world, pointing fingers and slamming fists into the sky, spewing insults, recounting the mighty and innumerable exploits he had triumphantly undertaken before coming here.
For three days and three nights the sky remained silent.
On the morning of the fourth day, the man toppled exhausted off the tower, and the woman caught him. The gods had given no reply.
(Almost Gurren Lagann fanfiction, but not quite. Almost a worldmyth for the Phoenix, a text-based RP I’m in, but also maybe not quite. Just me having fun. Quite. ^_^)
The nearly-silent whisper of a knife being unsheathed woke me. I smacked my fist hard in the direction of the sound before opening my eyes, then leapt to my feet, swinging a kick towards the dark shape. Both fist and foot connected. The figure went down. I rolled, swiped up the bright glinting knife, and brought it down without hesitation. A curdled screech came from the thing, a sound barely human. I pulled out the knife, kicked the creature so it lay face-up, and yanked off its hood. A graveyard stench wafted from a repulsive visage. I dragged its own knife across its throat, and it cried out, and then it was still.
I was panting hard through my nostrils. I still could see nearly nothing in the darkness; I still felt a little tangled in sleep.
I stood, stretching myself out. The knife in my hand was a cruel barbed thing, but gleamed pure white. I could see the brackish blood recede from its blade, vanishing into dust.
I looked down to the figure of my assailant, but it too was receding into nothingness as I watched. Soon, all that remained was a tattered black cloak.
I sighed and rubbed my eyes with a hand. So alleys weren’t safe. At least, not in this part of town. I would know better from now on.
(Taken from an RP. I liked it enough to put it up here on its own. In Krisrix’s words, “Richard is badass”!)
(Warning: the following contains mature subject matter, i.e. two men in love. Don’t read it if that bugs you.)
(Warning #2: it’s also pretty much entirely made out of spoilers for Ellen Kushner’s Riverside books. Don’t read it if that bugs you, either.)
Richard stretched awkwardly, tired limbs tangled with bedsheets and Alec. The breeze brought in the brisk unfamiliar scents of sea-salt and thyme, and cooled the sweat on their skin. Sunlight turned the curtains a scalding white, but inside their airy room the shadows were cool and soothing.
“Well.”
Alec, who was occupied prodding his lover’s ribs with a finger, fascinated at watching the flesh gently move, looked up. “Hm?”
“So Kyros exists.”
“Of course it exists,” Alec said. “You thought I’d be taking both of us to our death on the seas?”
“I entertained the possibility.”
“You’re an idiot.” Alec huffed. Richard reached for his hand, but he pulled it away. “Anyway, where would your honey come from, then, if Kyros didn’t exist?”
“I don’t know about yours, but my honey comes from my bees,” Richard determinedly sought Alec’s hand, and when he found it he pressed it to the bed, curling over him with a smile. “From the hives I have at Highcombe.”
“Hm. Well not anymore.” Alec yawned. His whole body reminded him of honey right now, all slow and heavy and liquid. He tried to squirm from Richard’s grasp, but found he couldn’t really be bothered. “I suppose those would be Katherine’s bees, now.”
This thought made Richard relax his grip, and slide back to the warm space he’d occupied a moment ago.
“Do you think your niece will take well to being the Duchess Tremontaine?”
“She’s always been sensible. She’ll get the hang of it soon enough.”
“Sensible, certainly. But when she realizes that she can’t be a sworsdman forever, that she must marry some suitable fool and produce little Tremontaines and host parties and sit in endless dull Council meetings? When the full weight of adulthood sets upon her, what do you think she’ll do then?”
Alec draped himself against Richard, just because he could.
“I think she may like the parties. She can ignore the Council, it’s a family tradition,” he dismissed. “And I have the ghastly premonition that she may one day marry dear Marcus.”
Richard laughed. “Oh, Alec. You’d like that, wouldn’t you.”
“Wouldn’t you?” Alec shifted. “It would be charming or something.”
“It would be absurd. The Duchess Tremontaine, wed to a Riverside servant? The city would never shut up about it. Someone would bring it up in Council. It would be havoc.”
“He’s not a Riverside servant, you know that.”
“You want them to get married. You want her to be as utterly outrageous as you.”
“Oh nonsense. No one can be as outrageous as me,” Alec gave a bitter smirk.
Richard raised an eyebrow, waiting.
“I suppose I’d give them my blessing, not that they need it,” he admitted with an idle gesture. “Send them a card or something, congratulating them on being so exquisitely inconsiderate of the conventions of society.”
“Hah,” Richard grinned. “I thought so.”
Alec shrugged, too tired and grumpy and happy to give a damn about society right now. He nestled in the crook of Richard’s neck, and tried to believe that everything was over and done, that the life he knew was half a world away, that Richard and he could finally rest without needing to think about anything but each other. It wasn’t easy.
His pale hands clawed at Richard’s skin reflexively, anxiously.
The swordsman stroked his hair for a long time, saying nothing, and in time Alec’s jitters subsided.
Richard’s nearly unseeing eyes were open to the ceiling, taking in ghostly hints of white and blue and gold. The deep faraway light from the window was strangely comforting, but he closed his eyes to it anyway. Alec’s weight on him was better.
“You have to admit it was a gamble, though,” he smiled.
“Mm? What, making her Duchess, or inviting her to stay in the first place?”
“Both,” Richard said.
Alec shrugged.
“Of course it was. I’m mad, after all.”
This got a chuckle out of the swordsman. Alec nudged him.
“And Riverside?” Richard continued, thoughtfully. “Will she tend to that as well?”
“She will or she won’t. It’s not my problem now.”
Richard shook his head with bemusement. “Oh, Alec.” He smiled. “Come here.”
“I am ‘here’. Can’t get much closer,” Alec shifted churlishly.
“Yes, you can.”
~
“She impressed me, you know,” Richard said, later, when the cedars cast long shadows through their open window.
“What?” Alec had been dozing, lulled by the chorus of the bees outside.
“Your niece. She never refused my teaching. “
“Well, why would she? You’re Richard St Vier.”
Richard smiled. “She didn’t know that. And there was nothing keeping her. Nothing obliging her to learn the sword.”
“I was obliging her, did you forget that bit?”
“No,” Richard ran his fingers up Alec’s arm, “you were obliging her to wear trousers and live in my house. She could have disobeyed you, you know. Not unheard of for adolescent girls. She could have pouted or cried or screamed or sat in a corner resolutely practicing needlework instead of swordwork. Yes, I told her to train, but I never forced her to. She picked up the sword day after day of her own will.”
“If that had been her temperament, I never would have sent her to you, Richard. You’d have gutted me alive, saddling you with a watery little chit.” Alec stretched, and inspected his long fingers against the orange light of the setting sun. “I had Venturus make sure of that. The girl didn’t have talent, but I’ll grant that she had spirit.”
“Hm,” Richard let his fingers slowly feel along his lover’s neck, jaw, ear. Going where his eyes had gone, when they could still see. “She has more talent than some, I’d wager,” he said vaguely.
Alec arched into it, eyes closing. Richard’s touch, that he’d hungered for so desperately for a decade, was slowly making itself known as a constant in his life again. It was impossible to think that it was really here to stay. That it wouldn’t be months before the next time they saw each other. That he could go to sleep, and wake up, and go to sleep again, and wake up again, and that always Richard would be there beside him. It was still like a dream.
Richard’s fingers closed tightly on his long hair, and he found himself kissed, with a desperation that reassuringly echoed his own.
“You leave me again, Richard St Vier, and I’ll definitely have you killed this time,” Alec breathed, once they parted.
“By whom, Lady Katherine?”
Alec grinned. “Absolutely. Wouldn’t that be a fitting end? She’s never lost a duel yet, you know.”
“I should hope not. I’ve never taught before, and I doubt I will again. What a sad legacy I’d leave if she was hopeless. Alec,” Richard huffed, “let’s not talk of her anymore.”
“All right,” Alec purred, and pulled Richard close.
(With gratitude, respect and apology to Ellen Kushner, whose books Swordspoint and The Privilege of the Sword are so wonderful they compelled me to it, really.)
