fontech: (ed - sheepish blush)
fontech ([personal profile] fontech) wrote2010-10-18 10:42 pm
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Going back to the previous meme! The Halloween meme entries (Kukki and Emily's challenges, namely) will be happening after midterms, aka after Friday, when I have time to make them good and lulzy. :|b Still adding the rest of the crack to my comments, of course.

Day 01 - Introduce yourself
Day 02 – Your first love
Day 03 – Your parents
Day 04 – What you ate today
Day 05 – Your definition of love
Day 06 – Your day
Day 07 – Your best friend
Day 08 – A moment
Day 09 – Your beliefs
Day 10 – What you wore today
Day 11 – Your siblings
Day 12 – What’s in your bag
Day 13 – This week
Day 14 – What you wore today
Day 15 – Your dreams
Day 16 – Your first kiss
Day 17 – Your favorite memory
Day 18 – Your favorite birthday
Day 19 – Something you regret
Day 20 – This month
Day 21 – Another moment
Day 22 – Something that upsets you
Day 23 – Something that makes you feel better
Day 24 – Something that makes you cry
Day 25 – A first
Day 26 – Your fears
Day 27 – Your favorite place
Day 28 – Something that you miss
Day 29 – Your aspirations
Day 30 – One last moment

Day 04 – What you ate today

NOT NEARLY ENOUGH. I had to skip breakfast because I woke up late, so my food intake was limited to a quick ham sammich I tossed together and an apple. ...And some no-name cola. After classes I had chili and buns for dinner, then dessert (a lemon danish pastry).


Day 01 - Your Favorite Song
Day 02 - Your least favorite song
Day 03 - A song that makes you happy
Day 04 - A song that makes you sad
Day 05 - A song that reminds you of someone
Day 06 - A song that reminds of you of somewhere
Day 07 - A song that reminds you of a certain event
Day 08 - A song that you know all the words to
Day 09 - A song that you can dance to
Day 10 - A song that makes you fall asleep
Day 11 - A song from your favorite band
Day 12 - A song from a band you hate
Day 13 - A song that is a guilty pleasure
Day 14 - A song that no one would expect you to love
Day 15 - A song that describes you
Day 16 - A song that you used to love but now hate
Day 17 - A song that you hear often on the radio
Day 18 - A song that you wish you heard on the radio
Day 19 - A song from your favorite album
Day 20 - A song that you listen to when you’re angry
Day 21 - A song that you listen to when you’re happy
Day 22 - A song that you listen to when you’re sad
Day 23 - A song that you want to play at your wedding
Day 24 - A song that you want to play at your funeral
Day 25 - A song that makes you laugh
Day 26 - A song that you can play on an instrument
Day 27 - A song that you wish you could play
Day 28 - A song that makes you feel guilty
Day 29 - A song from your childhood
Day 30 - Your favorite song at this time last year

Day 04 - A song that makes you sad

I love this song. It sort of reminds me of the Cat In the Cradle song; it feels like it's meant to be happy and uplifting and encourage father/son relationships, but then it has this undertone of misery and unhappiness to it, particularly the "you're so much like me... I'm sorry" line... it's just sad.

I think the memory that makes it even strong is the fact that the first time I heard it was for this Dragonball Z AMV (an amazing video btw, if you haven't seen it), a video I saw years ago that made me realize for the first time how terrible the fathers in DBZ really are. So much for being just a silly fighting show.

I am going to be so wasted by the end of the week, I can already tell. ~_~;


[identity profile] 2010-10-19 04:38 am (UTC)(link)

Laconic: Using or marked by the use of a minimum of words; brief and pithy; brusque.

It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to Guy; he just knew better. Anyone would know better, anyone with an ounce of observational skill. Guy was a master at hiding his emotions but Asch figured that he wasn't good enough to hide one this strong.

He hated him. Hated.

Not that it wasn't understandable; or rather, he knew why. When Van had told him, Asch had felt like an idiot for not noticing it sooner. Of course he'd known about Hod- one doesn't reach ten years of age in a noble household of Kimlasca without reading about Hod, knowing about their glorious victory thanks to the cunning of Duke Fabre's leadership. Asch remembered turning the pages of the text, reading about things that had happened when he was too young to understand and not realizing he was still too young to understand. Guy staring at the sword, Guy leaving the room for the history lessons, Guy staring down at the book as his hands clenched into fists and shook...

So Asch wiped his face free of expression and let Guy snap, let him snarl, let him hiss and glare and sharpen his katana with swift, angry motions. Didn't watch how both the sword and his eyes reflected firelight and didn't watch how the corner of his mouth turned down and lined his face. He looked old in the firelight, and Asch turned away so he wouldn't have to see it.

Natalia lectured Guy about it; he heard her, and though he wanted to step in, tell her to stop, he didn't. He couldn't.

Guy deserved this outlet. If it had to be him...well. He hated the replica. Who was he to criticize? If this was the only way he could help Guy, if this was the only thing he could do that the replica couldn't, then so be it. Maybe Guy would appreciate it one day. Maybe after he was gone, Guy would reflect on the days when Asch took the abuse without so much as a harsh word and think, "that was kind of him." Maybe he'd come to view Asch as a brother again. As a friend.

The thought made him laugh.

The old Luke was dead; there wouldn't be an "again," not now or ever. Guy hated him for connections that weren't there anymore, only by blood, but if anyone had a right to hate his blood it was Guy. Asch could throw away his past, his identity and even his name, but he couldn't throw away his blood. That would stay, and Guy would hate it, and he would be justified.

But damn it all the same.

Guy hates doing chores.

iu (i promise i will stop editing someday)

[identity profile] 2010-10-19 05:01 am (UTC)(link)

* A Mythical Creature or Idea * resignation

Edward had a dangerous thought one day. Very dangerous.

They had entered a battle they hadn't been sure to win; one of too many, too many as of late. Sigmund, of course, would treat it as if he were simply walking down to the river to refill their water stores. It was just another obstacle to overcome, a fallen log in his path. Over or through, and nothing less from the Liberator. Nothing less for the Liberator.

Blood and ichor bespattered his armor and even as Edward struggled against a beast of his own he looked forward to tending to it later that evening. There was something about washing away the aftermath of a battle, something about banging out the dents and polishing Sigmund's armor to a sheen that removed the stress of the day. Occasionally he would be elected to scrub Sigmund's clothes clean as well, and when his lord dressed the following morning his face would be washed and he would be as new.

Edward liked to pretend that just with that, he could mend what was inside of his lord as well. As if his teeth hadn't been stained red the evening before as he coughed and coughed inside the tent with Eugene at his side and Edward polishing the armor until it shone like the sun in the moonlight. Aya would start the fire but it wasn't loud enough, and she would cover her ears because even with the distance and the barrier of the tent's canvas, they could hear Sigmund struggle to breathe.

Edward's expression was as unshakable as stone, and the armor would always be clean the following morning.

But even when the moon was bright and everyone else basked in it, soaked in its power, Sigmund didn't seem to draw the same strength they did. He remained in the tent and coughed, but without fail he would emerge the following morning with clean teeth, a clean face and a low "thank you, Edward," as he collected his effects to dress. It shouldn't be right, that a man so great should have to demean himself by suffering a mere sickness. It wasn't right.

That dangerous thought occurred to Edward as he listened to Sigmund gasp and Eugene speak to him in low murmurs. He would kill Veros himself if it would cure his beloved Lord Sigmund.

Of course, even as the idea came to him Edward knew it was wrong, it was blasphemous. Their crusade was to free the moon, not to kill the god of it, and Sigmund wouldn't approve of such a ridiculous promise. Sigmund wouldn't hear anything of it, and as a form of penance Edward refused to sleep until Sigmund's armor was as beautiful as it had been the day they had commissioned for him a new set on a return trip to Halgita. He had hardly rested, but it was worth it. A suitable punishment, for his inability to repair the Liberator without resorting to death threats against gods.

But the feeling persisted, and though Edward reminded himself of the futility of it, reprimanded himself for such dangerous thinking, he knew it was true. If he were ever presented with the choice, his sword would be against Veros before he could rethink his decision. If he should die for his actions, then at least he would die in an attempt to mend Sigmund's illness. At least he would die knowing that it was possible, that maybe someone would take up the mantle he left. Please, someone else try.

"Edward," Aya whispered and it wasn't until her hand lit upon his wrist that he noticed his arms were trembling with the effort of buffing the breastplate clean. Or perhaps he was shaking for another reason, but when he looked at her he couldn't hold her gaze. Her eyes were too large, too honest, too resigned and he refused to think that maybe, just maybe, the only member of the Force that had to live at whatever the cost would be the first to die.

Sigmund wheezed inside of the tent and Eugene's voice was strained; Edward's gloved fingertips squeaked against the metal as he resumed cleaning.

And in the morning, Sigmund's teeth were white again and so shone his armor against the rising sun.

Svala fought against becoming an aristo tooth and nail.
Edited 2010-10-19 05:10 (UTC)


[identity profile] 2010-10-19 05:17 am (UTC)(link)

drabble (100 words) - a natural sound

Kamina despised silence; it was obvious, with the way he screamed and laughed and spoke. With the noise he made climbing, moving, even sleeping. The stone over their heads seemed to press down on everything, seemed to make things muffled and quiet even when they echoed. Kamina could shout until his vision darkened and he still wouldn't feel loud enough.

But Simon...with Simon, it was all right. With Simon, Kamina could sit and listen, his back to a filthy wall, his legs up and his arms crossed and his only other company the grrnd grrnd of the digger's drill.

Kamina had wanted to learn how to read because not knowing how makes him feel stupid.


[identity profile] 2010-10-19 05:31 am (UTC)(link)

(write for) 10 minutes | A Spiritual Advisor | lost in my memories

Cloud knew that voice. He asked who it was, but deep down in the very bottom of himself, he knew. He knew it like he knew there was something wrong with him, and not in the way that people knew to get help. How did it go? People who were crazy didn't think they were crazy?

Cloud wondered sometimes if the person who coined that fleck of wisdom was just trying to make himself feel better about being locked up.

But there was something wrong. There was more than one voice, more than one person telling him what to do. It wasn't his conscience at odds with his desires, it wasn't inner conflict over a difficult choice, no. There were people, there were things that were fighting over him inside of him and sometimes he would curl up in a ball in bed at night, gripping his head, teeth chattering as he sweat buckets only to be unable to remember the following morning what had terrified him so.

But he still knew that voice. He knew it.

It would whisper encouragements and tell him he could get by, it would tell him things about himself he'd forgotten. It reminded him of ruffled hair and of snow and of keeping up the pace. When he closed his eyes he saw sunlight; when he opened his mouth he tasted gunpowder. And when he listened he heard the ping ping of bullets against metal and had an urge to run and run until they were safe.



Who are you?

Cloud knew that voice. He knew it was safe, he knew it was there for him, to save him, to be saved by him. He knew the other, the one that told him to cast aside his feelings and his humanity, the one that told him to be silent to listen to her and to OBEY was dark and alien. She only came when everything else was quiet, when night was too dark and when the room was too still. She was the one that made him curl up. Sometimes the sunlight and gunpowder would chase her away, but sometimes it wouldn't and then Cloud would have to do it himself.

He wanted names for them both, but he was too afraid to look for them. If he named the voices, that made them more real; if he assigned them designations that meant he really was crazy, that more than admitting there was something wrong with him he would have to tell the others. They would leave.

Of course they would leave, who the hell wouldn't leave? He was hearing voices for God's sake.

You're too hard on yourself, you know.

Sometimes he equated the sunlight and gunpowder to a guardian, or to a wiser, older version of himself. Sometimes he pictured a man with dark hair, but whenever his mind's eye tried to focus on a face it vanished like smoke. Like a dream.

Who are you?

You know.

He knew.

Cloud has a great deal of bitterness when it comes to his lack of a father figure in his life.
Edited 2010-10-19 05:32 (UTC)

[identity profile] 2010-10-19 05:32 am (UTC)(link)
...i think i'm done

-except that tyler hates rock music
Edited 2010-10-19 05:33 (UTC)

[identity profile] 2010-10-19 11:02 am (UTC)(link)

axel hates to be the center of attention