themorninglark (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
themorninglark) wrote2020-12-31 03:46 pm
themorninglark) wrote2020-12-31 03:46 pm
2020 fic review
Text version of my 2020 fic review!
We Must Go
kazetsuyo, haiji & kakeru & fujioka gen
Being a runner is about looking forward, not looking back. That was what he’d learned years ago, from Kiyose and Kurahara, more than anyone else. But as Kazuma pays for his groceries, bids Tsukimoto a good afternoon and walks back home, passes by racks of bicycles, vending machines with well-worn nicks and scratches in their paint and neighbourhood cats curled up in alleyways, he thinks that sometimes, you have to look back. Sometimes, the road brings you far away, and back again, if only to see the same road with different eyes, and know that when you set foot on it a second time, it will not be to run the same race twice.
—
bravery and violets
fire emblem: three houses, yuriashe
Dimitri is alive. The professor is alive. Everyone, everyone, against all odds, still draws breath. Ashe’s bow is singing to the dawn. He is not thinking any more, only nocking arrow after arrow and letting fly like he never has before. There is just enough light to see by. He has got by with so much less.
And as day breaks over the battered walls, Ashe stands on the battlements and looks out upon what remains, and there he is sweeping in not a second too late, a violet zephyr that still takes his breath away.
—
the ground all around, it was always holy
fire emblem: three houses, dimiclaude
And Claude finds, in this moment, he is intensely curious; he wants to know everything about the real Prince of Faerghus, who wears bedroom socks that match his pajamas, whose hair gets mussed and falls in his eyes when the hour is past for proper appearances.
Dimitri's inhale comes tight and shallow, his exhale deeper. His shoulders sag like he is breathing out an incredible weight. He clasps his hands and looks up. “Do you ever worry, Claude? Do you lie awake at night and ask yourself what it means to lead?”
—
the brilliant days and nights
haikyuu!!, akaken
At twenty-six, Keiji stands on the edge of a lavender field and watches a boy he once kissed walk down the path, surrounded on either side by blossoming purple, and the river runs south, south, back to where it all started. It leaves his feet wet and his throat brimming.
Kenma has his hood down, his hair up in a messy half-bun with loose strands spilling out, the wind blowing them back. When he turns, the only words left for Keiji are: do you see me like i see you? do you see me here, surrounded by lavender, looking at you look at me?
—
all the birds are quiet here
fire emblem: three houses, dorothea gen
Her ribs are a cage that guard her heart. But the spaces, the spaces between them! Her lungs, swelling with air, all the music that lives within her, they are slipping out from the bars, they will not be contained. One day, wingtip to wingtip with everyone she loves, she will fly circles round the monastery’s spires. The ceiling is made of stars and the ground, their light. Dorothea takes her shoes off, one and then the other, lets them dangle in her hand as she walks, bare of foot. This much is hallowed, and also real: the puddles on stone, the water round her ankles. The hymn in her throat. Dorothea opens her mouth, and begins to sing.
—
follow your fire
haikyuu!!, atsuhina
Loving: that’s what Miya Atsumu does. When he finds out that Osamu didn’t continue, Shouyou’s mouth is full of onigiri and that’s how he hears, with Atsumu saying Samu made that, it’s good, isn’t it? He’s leaning forward, hands balled into fists on his lap and a rough shoe-shine gleam in his voice, like he had anything to do with his brother’s onigiri. And that’s love too: so blinding Shouyou once looked directly at it through a net, and then again to regain his sight.
—
city’s on fire
haikyuu!!, miya twins gen
Atsumu always drives, even though, in Osamu’s opinion, he is the better driver, where better means less likely to get them killed in a speeding accident. They don’t talk about that past life. They don’t talk about being lucky thirteen and waking to sit bolt upright, safe in their bunk beds, Atsumu clambering up the ladder to grab Osamu’s face in his hands, staring at it until Osamu leans forward to knock him on the forehead. Atsumu whispering, hey, Samu, your face looks really ugly all banged up.
—
a cartography of love
haikyuu!!, oikawa gen
How funny, the way San Juan squeezes round his heart the same way Sendai does, when he says it. I’m from San Juan. Weaving through the crowds and chaos here in Buenos Aires, another vision sweeps through his mind like el zonda on a sunny day; a plaza paved in sandstone and mosaic, flanked by acacias. It’s not much, but the streets are wide, the ombú waits like a sentinel for him every day, and Maria knows to save him a carton of milk on his way home. Is it warm, these days, on that road that leads to the stadium? Will the wind wait for his return?
—
it could be a love song
haikyuu!!, osakita
“Yeah?” Osamu’s face lights up. “That's high praise from you.”
“What makes you think I know anything about cooking?”
“Maybe you don't, but I bet you know something about rice.”
Shinsuke, about to take another bite of the onigiri, lowers his hand. There’s a smile on Osamu’s lips that’s nothing like his onscreen alter ego’s. If tennis heartthrob Kousaka Ren is a pond frosted over, Osamu is the melting water. That smile is the crack that breaks the ice in half.
—
in no particular order
haikyuu!!, osakita
He’s talking like he doesn't know just how he sounds right now, the words spilling over each other to leave his mouth, the way he sounds when he starts telling Shinsuke about vinegar and mirin, about the beautiful yellowtail he handpicked from the fish market this morning. Listening to him is like standing under a waterfall. It makes Shinsuke want to close his eyes. He takes a sip of tea. The woman who sold me my plates invited me to her pottery class. So I went. But I was awful at it. Osamu smiles, looks down at his hands, palms up. Shinsuke doesn't know much about grace, or beauty, only that when those hands shape food, they move like a field of grass in the wind.
We Must Go
kazetsuyo, haiji & kakeru & fujioka gen
Being a runner is about looking forward, not looking back. That was what he’d learned years ago, from Kiyose and Kurahara, more than anyone else. But as Kazuma pays for his groceries, bids Tsukimoto a good afternoon and walks back home, passes by racks of bicycles, vending machines with well-worn nicks and scratches in their paint and neighbourhood cats curled up in alleyways, he thinks that sometimes, you have to look back. Sometimes, the road brings you far away, and back again, if only to see the same road with different eyes, and know that when you set foot on it a second time, it will not be to run the same race twice.
—
bravery and violets
fire emblem: three houses, yuriashe
Dimitri is alive. The professor is alive. Everyone, everyone, against all odds, still draws breath. Ashe’s bow is singing to the dawn. He is not thinking any more, only nocking arrow after arrow and letting fly like he never has before. There is just enough light to see by. He has got by with so much less.
And as day breaks over the battered walls, Ashe stands on the battlements and looks out upon what remains, and there he is sweeping in not a second too late, a violet zephyr that still takes his breath away.
—
the ground all around, it was always holy
fire emblem: three houses, dimiclaude
And Claude finds, in this moment, he is intensely curious; he wants to know everything about the real Prince of Faerghus, who wears bedroom socks that match his pajamas, whose hair gets mussed and falls in his eyes when the hour is past for proper appearances.
Dimitri's inhale comes tight and shallow, his exhale deeper. His shoulders sag like he is breathing out an incredible weight. He clasps his hands and looks up. “Do you ever worry, Claude? Do you lie awake at night and ask yourself what it means to lead?”
—
the brilliant days and nights
haikyuu!!, akaken
At twenty-six, Keiji stands on the edge of a lavender field and watches a boy he once kissed walk down the path, surrounded on either side by blossoming purple, and the river runs south, south, back to where it all started. It leaves his feet wet and his throat brimming.
Kenma has his hood down, his hair up in a messy half-bun with loose strands spilling out, the wind blowing them back. When he turns, the only words left for Keiji are: do you see me like i see you? do you see me here, surrounded by lavender, looking at you look at me?
—
all the birds are quiet here
fire emblem: three houses, dorothea gen
Her ribs are a cage that guard her heart. But the spaces, the spaces between them! Her lungs, swelling with air, all the music that lives within her, they are slipping out from the bars, they will not be contained. One day, wingtip to wingtip with everyone she loves, she will fly circles round the monastery’s spires. The ceiling is made of stars and the ground, their light. Dorothea takes her shoes off, one and then the other, lets them dangle in her hand as she walks, bare of foot. This much is hallowed, and also real: the puddles on stone, the water round her ankles. The hymn in her throat. Dorothea opens her mouth, and begins to sing.
—
follow your fire
haikyuu!!, atsuhina
Loving: that’s what Miya Atsumu does. When he finds out that Osamu didn’t continue, Shouyou’s mouth is full of onigiri and that’s how he hears, with Atsumu saying Samu made that, it’s good, isn’t it? He’s leaning forward, hands balled into fists on his lap and a rough shoe-shine gleam in his voice, like he had anything to do with his brother’s onigiri. And that’s love too: so blinding Shouyou once looked directly at it through a net, and then again to regain his sight.
—
city’s on fire
haikyuu!!, miya twins gen
Atsumu always drives, even though, in Osamu’s opinion, he is the better driver, where better means less likely to get them killed in a speeding accident. They don’t talk about that past life. They don’t talk about being lucky thirteen and waking to sit bolt upright, safe in their bunk beds, Atsumu clambering up the ladder to grab Osamu’s face in his hands, staring at it until Osamu leans forward to knock him on the forehead. Atsumu whispering, hey, Samu, your face looks really ugly all banged up.
—
a cartography of love
haikyuu!!, oikawa gen
How funny, the way San Juan squeezes round his heart the same way Sendai does, when he says it. I’m from San Juan. Weaving through the crowds and chaos here in Buenos Aires, another vision sweeps through his mind like el zonda on a sunny day; a plaza paved in sandstone and mosaic, flanked by acacias. It’s not much, but the streets are wide, the ombú waits like a sentinel for him every day, and Maria knows to save him a carton of milk on his way home. Is it warm, these days, on that road that leads to the stadium? Will the wind wait for his return?
—
it could be a love song
haikyuu!!, osakita
“Yeah?” Osamu’s face lights up. “That's high praise from you.”
“What makes you think I know anything about cooking?”
“Maybe you don't, but I bet you know something about rice.”
Shinsuke, about to take another bite of the onigiri, lowers his hand. There’s a smile on Osamu’s lips that’s nothing like his onscreen alter ego’s. If tennis heartthrob Kousaka Ren is a pond frosted over, Osamu is the melting water. That smile is the crack that breaks the ice in half.
—
in no particular order
haikyuu!!, osakita
He’s talking like he doesn't know just how he sounds right now, the words spilling over each other to leave his mouth, the way he sounds when he starts telling Shinsuke about vinegar and mirin, about the beautiful yellowtail he handpicked from the fish market this morning. Listening to him is like standing under a waterfall. It makes Shinsuke want to close his eyes. He takes a sip of tea. The woman who sold me my plates invited me to her pottery class. So I went. But I was awful at it. Osamu smiles, looks down at his hands, palms up. Shinsuke doesn't know much about grace, or beauty, only that when those hands shape food, they move like a field of grass in the wind.