alcesverdes

Mytho and Fakir, teddy bears.

autor as a child :D or as a sheep

Duck!Ahiru and Mytho feeding ducklings in a pond

fakir and ahiru, cuddling

Taking this one. Thanks!~

Fakir making up a bedtime story for Mytho, Ahiru and Uzura

little!Fakir and little!Rue, fighting over the prince (adorably)

Duck, Mytho, Fakir, Rue and Autor (and maybe Drosselmeyer too?) all as ducks. ;)

Chibi!Rue, Mytho, and snow.

Crossover with Ranma ½, cursed springs of Jusenkyo. Bonus points if someone falls into the Spring of the Drowned Duck, for obvious reasons.

Rue braiding Ahiru's hair.

I am all over this one! ♥

I can do this.

Yay! I can't wait to see~

Ohoho
I'll totally do this.
I'll try to get it done as soon as possible xD

Chibi!Rue and chibi!Fakir feeding duck!Ahiru.

chibi!Mytho and chibi!Fakir, knights and swords and possibly a "dragon" in form of chibi!Rue.

Rue/Ahiru talking philosophically about ballet or the art of dance or something in their dorm together at Ballet College. Probably Ahiru won't SOUND philosophical, but she can still add a lot to a conversation with her earnest quacky ways, after all.

Rue was already angry when they entered the barn. She was soaked and cold and outside there was a storm and wind and it was getting dark and Duck's umbrella had broken down and she was all uncomfortable because, with the fuss of the upcoming performance at the Academy, she'd forgotten to tell Mytho to join her at the bridge. And if Rue hadn't happened to met a certain Miss Don't-Worry-I've-An-Umbrella on her way back to school, she would've walked faster and gotten there way sooner.

"Oh, great! They're still dry!" Duck said referring to whatever she was carrying in those bags of her.

"I'm happy for you," Rue said, though she wasn't. And she didn't try to hide it either.

But the remark went over Duck's head as usual.

Rue went to check that all the windows were closed; they didn't need more wind nor water getting in there.

She heard Duck coming behind her. "Here, Rue."

Rue turned around and found Duck offering her a towel. She had another one around her shoulders.

"Where did you get that from?" Rue asked.

"Downtown," Duck said. "I was coming back from buying them when I ran into you. There are more in the bags if you need them."

Rue took the towel. "Thank you," she whispered. This time she was honest.

A couple of towels later, Rue was sitting down on a pile of straw hugging her legs. It seemed like it was going to keep raining for several hours more. "I wonder if we'll have to spend the night here," she wondered aloud.

"Well, if we stay together and under the straw, we'll be warm," Duck said as she produced a hairbrush from her bags.

How many things does she have in there? "You are not suggesting we're going to sleep holding each other."

"It's better than being cold, isn't it? Besides, aren't we friends, Rue?"

There she was again with that. No, they weren't friends. They'd never be friends because ravens could not have friends.

Rue opened her mouth to say that, but then she noticed Duck was fighting with her brush which had stuck in her hair.

"What are you doing?" Rue asked.

"I. Can't. Take. It. Off!" Duck yelled, pulling so hard it had to hurt.

"Why you--?" Rue rubbed her forehead and, to her own amazement, went to help the other girl.

"You're far better at this than me," Duck said to Rue, giggling apologetically. Both of them were now sitting down on the straw, the later behind the former, brushing her hair.

"This is why you always wear it in a braid, isn't it?" Rue asked. "It tangles up too easily."

Duck sighed. "Yes, It isn't as docile and pretty as yours."

Rue froze for a second and pursed her lips. Most of the compliments she heard lately that she didn't tell Mytho to tell her came from Duck. Those also were the most sincere.

"Rue?"

"It's nothing." Rue let the brush aside and started to braid Duck's hair. "I wouldn't say your hair isn't pretty," she said. "It's soft and you actually take good care of it."

"Really?" Duck said. Rue could hear the smile on her voice.

"I've no reason to lie about that."

"Thank you, Rue."

"You're welcome."

Rue kept braiding and the rain kept falling and it still didn't look like it was going to stop any time soon, so they'd probably had to sleep there on the barn, very close to each other.

The only difference was that now Rue wasn't as annoyed at the thought.

Oh, this is lovely. You really captured their cute-cranky dynamic in a nice, subtle way, and I love how Rue warms ever-so-slightly to Duck by the end of the ficlet.

I loved this line:

Rue froze for a second and pursed her lips. Most of the compliments she heard lately that she didn't tell Mytho to tell her came from Duck. Those also were the most sincere.

It says so much! I love these two together, and this darling little fic is a great example as to way.

Genderbended Ahiru and Fakir, the lake scene.

Any couple, winning the Golden Apple.

Fakir, Mytho, and milk toast.

Duck, Mytho, Fakir, Rue and Autor (and maybe Drosselmeyer too?) dancing like Michael Jackson to Thriller

Any cuteness involving Duck!Ahiru and Princess!Rue.

Expect something anon, anon!

Rue and Autor, in love.

I LOVE YOU. FOREVER. AND EVER. AND I'LL HAVE YOUR BABIES, TO BOOT.

(Also, I probably should have been more specific- I meant the dancing in the lake scene near the end of the series. BUT I DON"T CARE. BECAUSE I LOVE YOU.)

Fakira, you're way too good at the whole tall/dark/hansome thing, even as a girl, and Ahir(u?) your masculinity probably takes a hit everytime you transform.

OH I've been rewatching and just got to the bit where they face off against Rue at the underground lake that is made of ravens. I've actually forgotten how it ends ahahaha

Glad it works for you! :'D Fakir was a lot of fun, but mannifying the Princess Tutu costume is probably a lost cause. I don't even know what to call him. Prince Ballet Slippers? Prince Swanfeather? Maybe I shoulda left him in the tutu...

Mytho is, Fakir has discovered, a little like a baby. Not a human one, mind, but like a duckling or a puppy, always following its mum. Or him, in this case.

It's not really how a prince should behave, Fakir knows, but he's also sure that there aren't many princes that don't have a heart, so Mithos can't really be that bad, all things considering.

But it gets troublesome when he asks him what to eat. "I don't know," is frustrating most of the time, but when it involves something like food, well...

As a prince, Fakir guesses that Mytho probably ate fowl and delicious meats, he probably had banquets every night (or at least the nights when he wasn't saving those in need), but as he is now, it makes no difference for him if he eats carrots and peas or broccoli and cauliflower sprouts. Fakir has asked Raetsel and Charon for the things he loves the most, and then for the things he hates to see if there's any change on Mytho's face. But Mytho just eats whatever is put in front of him, and when he's asked about it, he just repeats his 'I don't know's.

Fakir isn't sure why Mytho can't like something, even without his heart. He has a tongue and a stomach, and thus he should be able to say if he likes things sour or sweet, if something is too spicy for him or not. It seems unfair that he can't even choose food, the way he can't decide if he has a favorite colour, a favorite song, even a favorite dance.

And if he can't even make it so that Mytho finds something he likes to eat, in what else will he fail?

"Don't lose hope," Raetsel tells him, kissing his forehead. "One day, it'll be different."

And the way Raetsel has to speak about the future makes Fakir think that she might be right after al, so he asks her help.

"Milk toast!" Fakir tells Mytho, putting it in front of the prince. "I like it! My m--" but he stops himself, not ready to speak about his parents, not yet. "It's good, and I asked Raetsel to help me make it! Eat, eat!"

Mytho picks up the spoon and starts eating, quiet, no expression and no wonder on his face. Fakir sighs, because he had been hoping for surprise at the taste, the way his mother had told him that milk toast always made her feel happy, even when she just made it for him. But Mytho just eats it and...

"... Fakir?" Mytho says, almost even ask, but Fakir can't answer him, laughing at the milk mustache that the sugar milk has left on top of Mytho's lip, and perhaps he shouldn't laugh, but he can't help it, and if he's the only one laughing, he promises himself that it won't be for long.

**

"Milk toast," Charon informs Fakir, giving Mytho a plate, and then waiting until Fakir has managed to push himself against the headboard to give him one as well, his eyes still worried, still serious, but also very, relieved. "The way you like it."

"Thank you," Mytho says, before Fakir can say so, and it's still surprising, both to Charon and him, to see these proofs that Mytho exists as more of the white shadow he has been for the last eight years.

Charon smiles then, shakes his head. "It's nothing, Mytho. Eat it while it's warm."

"We will," Fakir says, nodding as well, giving his adoptive father a smile, watching as Charon smiles back, walking towards the door. His wounds still hurt, but Fakir is ever so grateful that the story was proven wrong, that he can still be alive, that he didn't completely fail.

He glances towards Mytho, unsurprised that he has started eating already. Mytho, perhaps sensing his glance, looks at him after he has swallowed.

"It's sweet," Mytho says. Fakir sucks in a deep breath.

"... is it?"

The prince nods, and then, almost thoughtful, so that it barely counts as a statement, he says: "I like it."

His heart aches in a way that Fakir can't completely describe, fierce and burning but brilliant, so very brilliant that he covers his eyes with his hand, feeling the way his shoulders start to shake, chuckling despite himself.

"... Fakir?" Mytho asks, but Fakir is still laughing too much to answer him.

And if he's the only one to laugh, well... he's certain that it won't be for much longer.

ffff I'm not the original requester, but I have to comment and tell you that this is REALLY super good!

Is this set at the beginning of the second season? Or is it after the end?

First half when Fakir is tiny, second half at the beginning of the second season o/

:) Very cute indeed! Love it

It's impossible to write with her sitting across from him. Which is completely unfair because he has work to do that should have been ages ago and the ink's drying in his pen and the lighting is just right for reading - And her hair is a black halo around her face and her slender fingers are beckoning and she's beautiful like nothing else in the world -

Autor practically snaps his pen in half. Rue reads on, undisturbed that she's disturbing him, which really isn't fair in the slightest. He shuffles his papers around enough that she finally looks at him, dark eyebrows curved, and then pulls her book up so that it covers most of her face - That is, her lips, red and sweet like strawberries, and her ivory smooth cheeks, but not her shining, limpid eyes – No! Pools! No! Orbs! - which are shaded by her raven eyelashes -

Terrible! His metaphors and similes are terrible! Berries and birds are the best he can come up with? Autor jams his pen against his paper, scribbles out a few lines. It's his fault, of course, for insisting they go to the library. But how was he to know that she could distract him so much in the midst of his beloved books? No one, nothing at all, has been able to peel him away from the cool leather of the tomes, the sturdy desks, the whispering, rustling book pages.

But then there's Rue, a queen in her throne, merely inches away. He wants to write epics about her laughter, sonnets about the swan-like grace she possesses, odes to her long, strong legs, novels about her wit, an entire set of encyclopedias about the way she dances.

She quirks her eyebrows again - Arches of Indian ink on the smoothest parchment...

The nib of Autor's pen cracks and then snaps, and ink leaks across his paper. "Ah. My pen broke."

"Hm?" Rue peers over the top of her book, her fine wine eyes narrow. "What is it?" She leans forward, her long arm like the graceful neck of a swan, and plucks the pen from his ink-splattered fingers. "You'll have to get a new one, I suppose."

He gets lost again in the maze of her eyes, the swirl of her hair around her face. "I wasn't getting much done, anyway."

She slips his pen back into his hand, those dancing fingers press against his skin for a warm moment. "Is that so?"

"I'm suffering from purple prose."

"Well," she says, her fingers continuing their waltz up his arm. "I know the best way to cure that."

Autor

"I'm suffering from purple prose."

Hearing this line in my head spoken by Autor put a grin on my face. XD Brilliantly in character.

Damn - that /a should have been /i.

Sorry for the wait. Here it is!!

The prince always knew where to find the boy at night. Underneath the sheets and pretending to shut his eyes so Charon rested his nerves, Fakir waited impatiently by the moonlight, as long as a child could under these circumstances.

His nightly visits had become a familiar comfort to him, a bedtime routine; not for what the white haired young man said to him -or rather didn’t say, for his mysterious lack of words- but for his presence, his light almost dreamy atmosphere in his dimly lit bedroom.

For a boy like Fakir, the world of heroism, knights and chivalry, was more than just a childhood fantasy, and he had become well aware of it by the quill and ink in his desk one fateful day. Mytho was an addition to this reality, a character taken out of his head and made to flesh, for Fakir’s own personal fascination.

Perhaps this was why he had learned to love the man that visited his bedroom, to admire and need for him. It was his quiet charming elegance, his regal stance so carefully placed, both natural and trained, like an old family discipline passed down through the ages. Every time Mytho stood near, Fakir was sucked into another one of his stories he would lazily write every cloudy afternoon.

A rustle was heard from his curtains, as a slender pale figure crept over his window frame and stood, a dancer’s pose, from the looks of it.

“Good evening,” he whispered, loud enough for the child to slide out his bed and glance at him, his honeysuckle eyes ever so kind and alluring.

Fakir didn’t say anything, and in return, nodded approvingly, a crooked smile creeping from the side of his mouth and pleasant warmth rising in his stomach. The prince quietly sat in the corner of the bed, and contemplated the pallor of the moon, almost as white as his lovely locks.

The boy had been keeping a gift for him, since that morning when Charon and he had walked to the market in search for food. It wasn’t much, but Fakir had given out more than his own silver coins to purchase a small felt teddy bear, tied with a red ribbon on its neck.

“This is for you,” he said in a small voice. Mytho turned to look at him, and Fakir’s hands rose up, bringing the package to cover his face. The prince gladly took it, and opened it to reveal what was the small stuffed animal.

And in that moment, he placed the bear in his arms, looking more grateful and pure than any angel Fakir could have ever described in his stories.

“Thank you,” was all that he said and it was enough to satisfy the moment.

Fakir had been given an identical one as well from Charon, this one sporting a blue ribbon which was kept inside his drawer. But he was much too shy to let him know that. For now, his head rested steady on his side, his eyes wide open were looking out for any danger, and his hands were softly caressing his arm, never letting go.

He was going to be the knight and comfort his prince, no matter what it took him.

Edited 2009-07-14 00:24 (UTC)

MEME

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hope this is the right scene

OP

Re: OP

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