I got this indescribable urge to write Saiyuki and GetBackers fanfiction yesterday and I have several ideas swimming in my idea.
@___@ And they simply refuse to leave. They keep saying 'write me! write me!'
so I stayed up 'till one writing. I'm glad my parents gave me my own room of they would have flipped. Literally.
so, here is the result. Needs slight editing and definite add ons...
Pairing: Goku x Sanzo
Summary: Goku explores his five senses with Sanzo
-You don’t realize what you have until you lose it. And even when you regain it, it’s easy to forget what it was ever like-
—Midou Ban “GetBackers”
Son Goku was familiar with all five senses of the body. In the cave, his memories were dim and shaded. In the cave, everything was calmly, perfectly neutral. There were the seasons, but he didn’t remember much. Everything seemed so…empty, so he found himself empty as well. Devoid of feeling, devoid of caring, devoid of living. He was like a empty glass in dire need of filling, a life that had no substance.
That was where Genjo Sanzo came in.
When Goku touched Sanzo, in those rare moments when contact was allowed, he could never place the smoothness of Sanzo’s skin. He felt many things; silk, cotton, rubber, wood. But Sanzo’s skin felt different, he wondered if this was how a sun was supposed to feel.
“And how do I feel?” Sanzo asked, not directly looking at Goku.
“You’re too soft. It isn’t safe to be so soft!” Goku chimed, his eye bright like candle flames or of gold glinting in the dark. Goku took out another coat and put it on Sanzo’s shoulders, “You need to wear more clothes to protect yourself!”
“Idiot,” Sanzo muttered, shrugging off the coat and looking down at Goku, “I am perfectly aware on how to take care of myself.”
Goku looked mournfully, “What if you get hurt?”
“Then I heal.”
Goku blinked, “Heal?”
“Heal,” And the sun seemed so bright that day.
Touch was one sensation, one of his favourites. Everything seemed different and sometimes it was nice to compare. Of course, Goku compared everything to Sanzo and for some reason; everything fell short in comparison to Sanzo.
Thankfully, Sanzo doesn’t know this.
Likes butterfly wings brushing over petals, the hands briefly touch his forehead and stroke it. For a motion so light, it brought peace to his expression as Goku’s eyes closed and he smiled. The hands never stopped moving and they felt warm, always so warm like the summer river he had played in earlier or the aromatic warmth of a meatbun in his hands.
It wasn’t so bad, falling sick. Sanzo was there and that was all he needed.
Goku could tell what a person is like by the sound of their voice. Hakkai’s was like water, smooth, rarely troubled on the surface, but turbulent inside. Gojyo’s voice was like an unpolished diamond. Unrefined and rough, but still retains the beauty of sincerity. Sanzo’s voice, Goku felt, was like poison. It gripped you and forced you to go through and experience the contents. Like a sweet too sour, Goku thought. Sanzo’s poison is good for you, Goku realized later on, but it is still too bitter and loathsome for other people.
And it was that voice he heard in his dreams when he was cold. The dreams seemed so dark. Why wasn’t there light? He’s had his share of darkness, he’s atoned for his crimes. Why does the darkness come in his sleep?
But the voice calls him away like it always does and it is that voice that he awakens to in the light of dawn.
If any sense of Goku’s is strong, it would be his sense of smell. Goku understands the loss of all the senses and desperately tries to hold onto them before the chance comes when they vanish again. Hakkai always smells faintly of sake and forests, evergreen leaves pressed onto a dirt path by footsteps. Gojyo smells of his brand of cigarettes and dew; the kind that clings onto plants after rainfall. Sanzo smells of cigarettes too and dusty old tomes beneath ancient libraries. Goku reasoned that it might be the robes and sutra. After all, they’re old enough to smell like that.
Goku clings to him and breathes in deeply. The scent was oddly suitable to his tastes and even in the summer when they both cling with their share of sweat, Goku could still breathe in that scent and be content. Sanzo is here…Goku clutches onto Sanzo.
And Sanzo does not complain.
But Goku can never deny that Sanzo is beautiful. Beauty of course, Gojyo had leered once to Goku, lies in the eye of the beholder. Goku had no idea what that meant, but Sanzo was beautiful and Goku revels in that beauty. If the sun came down to earth, like in the legends, would they look like Sanzo? Goku imagined a God with bright yellows clothes and bright eyes and a smile. But in the end, when he looks back, they turn out to look like Sanzo.
“Ne, ne Sanzo! Won’t you read this one?”
“The legend of the Sun god? Again?” Sanzo placed a hand on his face in exasperation, “This is the third time. Pick something else.”
“But this one works the best!” Goku protested, “Nothing puts me to sleep like this one! And I have good dreams!”
Sanzo cracks an eye at this in contemplation because he knows Goku gets bad dreams.
“All right. Lie down and I’ll read the story.”
Goku beamed at Sanzo and quickly scurried under his covers and looked at Sanzo with wide bright eyes. Too bright, too innocent, too caring.
Yet Sanzo does nothing except read the story softly in that poisonous voice.
But taste is forbidden, Goku knew without asking. But he had taken the forbidden fruit.
“’Night Sanzo!” Goku smiled and pecked Sanzo’s cheek gently. He had seen it done in the market place and wondered what it felt like. Taste…there was a taste…
Sanzo whacked him with the fan afterwards and there had been an odd colour in his cheeks. But Goku had touched his lips and loved the taste that adorned it, even if it was for a short while.
Tasted like a sun should, Goku thought cheerfully, warm and loving.
Sanzo is horribly OC here. For some reason, Sanzo always is messed up when I write him.
And there's the drabble also
Pairing: None really...
It occurred to him when they went into town. The crowds pressing through like ignorant cattle. He tried to keep up with the others, but he was shorter so he was pushed at the back.
He was lost and the despair began to eat away at him. Did they forget him? Did they leave?
“Bakasaru!” A whack of the fan came on his head, “Don’t wander around.”
Goku wanted to whine and complain that it wasn’t his fault, but he was cut off.
“Come on,” Sanzo muttered.
It was later that he realized that Sanzo was holding his hand.
and there's that Homura x Goku story I'm still working on. And this GetBackers story that came out somewhat okay.
Pairing: none, slight Ban x Ginji
-Wine is drunk, but never swallowed-
—Toa’s 31st descendant Genjo Sanzo “Saiyuki
Kudou Himiko was familiar with all poisons. As ‘Lady Poison’ she had to top of everything and never let down guard, not even once. Efficiency and proficiency is what kept her alive for so long. And personal experience, courtesy of Midou Ban.
When she found him, she had considered stalking the man and perhaps killing him quietly in his sleep. She found herself disagreeing with herself. One; it was low, even for her to carry out and she refused to stoop to his level. Two; Amano Ginji. She admired and almost longed for a man like that. He loved life, believed in it so trustingly and naively that even now Himiko finds herself unable to snuff out that particular candle of life. The world needed people like Amano Ginji and she didn’t want to deprive the world of an innocent caring person.
The third reason was the easiest; she wanted him to suffer and dying in bed is a privilege in this world.
She followed him, trying to associate the places he visits and tries to find the points at which he is weakest. What scares her the most is that in the time when he was away, he hadn’t changed and seeing him the way he was even when her brother was still alive made her question her motives.
But in the back of her mind, she recalled her brother’s body lying propped against the wall, a gaping black hold in his chest and similar blue-green eyes darkened to near violet, and it was hard not to kill Midou Ban on the spot.
Revenge destroys you, people say. But this isn’t as simple as ‘revenge’. This was a vendetta and one she will carry out to her last breath. Resolve nothing, peace nothing.
There was only Midou Ban’s dead body to rid her of her thirst.
Has she been too, infected with the bloodlust? The bloodlust that gives Kuroudo Akabane (1) no peace at nights, always trying to close onto an imaginary neck, squeezing out the life from the victim? Sometimes, she feels sympathy for the man, but on rare occasions.
But she found Midou Ban at his weakest when she saw him in the bar. The bar was typical of any bar, nothing particularly distinguishable and not even sociable notable. It was a tiny bar where men came to drink in their sorrow.
She remembered a conversation she had with her brother once.
“Vinginti,” His voice rolled like waves on the ocean, soothing and calm, “Is latin for wine. Wine can erode away your senses and leave you naked. It is the most disarming poison and the most effective.”
“And people take it willingly?!” She remembered answering in disbelief.
“Pain and to forget the pain makes people do stupid things. Sometimes,” And his voice seemed so far away and she couldn’t reach, “the pain is too much.”
No! She shook her head and narrowed her eyes. She would not believe that Midou Ban had pain. He gave pain to others, he cursed their existences with that hand of his. If he has pain of his own, she thought clenching her fist tightly, then he deserves it!
Amano Ginji was with him, his brown eyes soft with worry. Never will she understand his deep rooted loyalty of him, the snake. But whenever Amano Ginji looks at Midou Ban, she finds herself unable to question it. And sometimes (and she will never say this out loud) jealous of it.
“Ban-chan, you’ve had enough,” Ginji coaxed the Jagan master, “Let’s go back to the car and rest.”
“Just a minute,” And he downs another glass like it was water. Himiko curled her lip in disgust. Ban pushes back the stool and walks out calmly and Ginji immediately follows. Himiko notices that Ginji had not taken any vinginti that night and decides to follow them.
Midou Ban, Himiko heard herself say, you will die when you are weak.
She remained in the shadows as they approached their car. Ban seemed unsteady on his feet and Ginji helped him walk the way without him even asking. They had that deep bond that doesn’t require words. Once again, Himiko found herself grappling with their odd relationship.
“Ban-chan, do you want to stay outside?” Ginji says as he removes the blankets from the back.
“…Yeah,” Ban says slowly as if talking took out precious energy.
Ginji nods and goes inside the car. Ban looks around as he lights his cigarette. Himiko prepares her perfumes, knowing that he is unaware and drunk and hopeless and—
—she freezes instantly at the mention of her brother on his lips. Ban stares at the sky, his eyes unfocused and mournfully, deeply sorrowful like the pain that never goes away.
“Why Yamato? Why did you tell me to do it? I didn’t want to…” Ban trailed off and stared into the sky as if his answer might be imprinted there, “Gods, I never wanted to. I’m haunted and she hates me and how Yamato? How can I do this?!”
The last statement came with a hoarse cry and Himiko found herself recoiling into a deep abyss of her mind.
Ban immediately stops and looks at Ginji. Slowly he buries his head into Ginji’s shoulder. Himiko was struck by how uncharacteristic it was for Ban to show weakness, but Ginji wasn’t fazed in the least as he rested his hand on Ban’s back and rub soothingly on it.
“…I didn’t mean to,” The words were a whisper and Himiko nearly lost them.
“I know Ban-chan.”
“He told me to.”
“I know Ban-chan.”
“…Why did he tell me to?”
And for that Ginji had no answer, just murmured something into Ban’s ear as he led him into the Ladybug.
As they drove away, Himiko moved out of the shadows and into the moonlight. Her eyes were ragged and she wanted to cry and sob and yell. Anything to get the frustration off her chest.
Now she realizes how potent the Vinginti poison is. It reduced a man like Midou Ban into a lost deprived man and her into the person she was before.
Vendetta she had called it, but she realizes that she never even knew what that word meant.
@___@ I wanna write more and more and more and Singapore as a city lacks the creative drive I need damnit!