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tarigwaemirDeWolfe Apts., on the Feast of St. Alphonsus Liguori
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31_days is turning out loads of great fic. If you haven't gone and taken a look yet, why not? People have written for all sorts of series, including The Silmarillion and Sherlock Holmes, when I checked my friends list just now. 'Tis a beautiful, beautiful world.
My submission...well, I gave into the inevitable and wrote Hana Yori Dango, as per![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
aetherangelette's suggestion. Er, HYD is probably not the best series to write for when you're in the middle of an infatuation, which is why i was initially reluctant. But somewhere along the way, I think I managed to actually write about the characters. (Or so I hope, anyway. While the accuracy of the following with regard to the original series is dubious, I can say without hesitation that it is honest in terms of how I remember the manga.) I dashed it off rather quickly after having stewed in writer's block for a while, so comments and suggestions are always welcome.
Observation
Dedicated topornkings, who once asked to see my take on Tsukushi and Doumyoji
She sits on the bus with her ankles crossed over her ill-fitting shoes and watches people hanging from the straps overhead, swaying like thin, fragile bamboo leaves around her. Her back straight, her arms limp yet heavy as stone. She observes their motion with open, curious eyes; she meets their half-turned, half-covered gazes.
He catches glimpses of her resolute face, her absolute solidity, in the spaces between the bodies that separate them. He fidgets uncomfortably in the stiff plastic seat, his too-long legs sprawling, his knees poking into someone's groceries. He slouches back further and tries to get a better view of her, /her/ with her unwavering chin, her steady shoulders. He does not see the passengers milling and shifting around him; she though studies every one but him.
The bus stops, and the people between them disappear, the air between them empties. He holds his breath, he straightens in his seat, he looks straight at her and into her. She looks back. Her eyelids tremble, as if to blink, but hold firm.
More passengers board the bus and crowd into the aisle, with their bookbags and briefcases, their sharp-creased trousers and worn-out jeans. But he does not shift. To the last stop, after the last passenger leaves, they are still looking.
END
Yours &c.
31_days is turning out loads of great fic. If you haven't gone and taken a look yet, why not? People have written for all sorts of series, including The Silmarillion and Sherlock Holmes, when I checked my friends list just now. 'Tis a beautiful, beautiful world.My submission...well, I gave into the inevitable and wrote Hana Yori Dango, as per
aetherangelette's suggestion. Er, HYD is probably not the best series to write for when you're in the middle of an infatuation, which is why i was initially reluctant. But somewhere along the way, I think I managed to actually write about the characters. (Or so I hope, anyway. While the accuracy of the following with regard to the original series is dubious, I can say without hesitation that it is honest in terms of how I remember the manga.) I dashed it off rather quickly after having stewed in writer's block for a while, so comments and suggestions are always welcome.Observation
Dedicated to
pornkings, who once asked to see my take on Tsukushi and DoumyojiShe sits on the bus with her ankles crossed over her ill-fitting shoes and watches people hanging from the straps overhead, swaying like thin, fragile bamboo leaves around her. Her back straight, her arms limp yet heavy as stone. She observes their motion with open, curious eyes; she meets their half-turned, half-covered gazes.
He catches glimpses of her resolute face, her absolute solidity, in the spaces between the bodies that separate them. He fidgets uncomfortably in the stiff plastic seat, his too-long legs sprawling, his knees poking into someone's groceries. He slouches back further and tries to get a better view of her, /her/ with her unwavering chin, her steady shoulders. He does not see the passengers milling and shifting around him; she though studies every one but him.
The bus stops, and the people between them disappear, the air between them empties. He holds his breath, he straightens in his seat, he looks straight at her and into her. She looks back. Her eyelids tremble, as if to blink, but hold firm.
More passengers board the bus and crowd into the aisle, with their bookbags and briefcases, their sharp-creased trousers and worn-out jeans. But he does not shift. To the last stop, after the last passenger leaves, they are still looking.
END
Yours &c.
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(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-02 03:25 am (UTC)anyway, lovely little scene you've set here...
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-03 02:51 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-02 04:02 am (UTC)It's sweet, and it does imply a lot. Tari turd should write a crazy scene one day~
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-03 02:52 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-02 05:25 am (UTC)If this were a movie, the entire train would go into silent slow motion the instant the car clears between them.
And, guh, that first line. ankles crossed over her ill-fitting shoes.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-02 11:31 am (UTC)I really, really, really liked this. Wow.
And thanks so much for dedicating it to me!!!! *____*
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-03 02:59 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-03 02:57 am (UTC)