Shorts by Ozymil (Updated 12/7/17)
Posted: Thu Aug 14, 2014 3:56 am
Shorts by Ozymil
1. Heat (Rin)
2. Loose Leaf (Hanako)
3. Safe and Sound (Rin)
4. One Step, Two Step (Hanako)
5. It Started With a Sunday Afternoon (Rin... kinda?)
I just can't leave this fandom alone
Updated December 7, 2017
___
Been a while since I've done fanfiction. Just a little something I wrote up. Hope you guys like.
___
The first thing that pierces through her veil of sleep is a soft wailing to her left. Barely a murmur, but it stands out as a shrill cry amidst the twilit serenity. The second is her own breathing as she jerks out of her slumber.
Rin is a light sleeper these days, a trait Mayu seems to have picked up.
“Hisao,” she calls softly, looking nowhere in particular. The room is starting to take shape as she blinks away the sleep from her eyes. Not that there’s much to see. She was never the type for decoration, and Hisao was all too content to let his utilitarianistic tendencies render their apartment a spartan cubicle (according to her, anyways). Except for the bed, some books, sketchpads, a crib and three bodies, the room is bare.
As far as she can recall it has always been like this. Since the other bedroom held everything Rin and Hisao needed for their studio and study, respectively, little else happened in this room aside from sleep, sex, and smoking. Until Mayu came around. Once the two realized that they'd be responsible for another human being they'd made the executive decision to cut back on their Bohemian lifestyle.
But every now and then she'll drift back to her creative muses. This time of the night is her witching hour, a return to her avant-garde roots where she treads the line between vulnerability and invincibility. On nights like this when the world has stopped moving Rin can acutely sense the space of the room, her consciousness expanding and contracting with each breath. She can smell the lingering tobacco, feel the warmth from her and Hisao that permeates air. For Rin, this room is a dynamic portrait of her life, the culmination of everything she is and has been. In these moments of stillness her breathing slows and she takes it all in, exploring every nook and cranny of the portrait without lifting a foot.
Another soft cry from Mayu brings her out of her private meditations.
“Hisao,” the call goes out again, carefully tugging him from sleep. His response is a slight shuffling and a resounding “Mmmph…” before he settles back into the mattress. She blows a puff of air at his bangs in mock frustration and allows a moment to pass where she simply lies against his arm, taking in his warmth and presence.
To Mayu’s credit her restlessness is simply punctuated by short gurgles and the shifting of cloth, stuck in a state somewhere between content and restless. Deciding that it would be better for her daughter to remain more in the former, Rin reluctantly pulls away and slinks out of bed. Gravity is threatening to topple over her sleep-addled body, but she decides that she can put up enough of a fight to stay vertical.
Her eyes have finally settled in the dim light. She enjoys that, the shifting of her surroundings into focus. Other than her sense of shapes and colors, the one thing that Rin has come to rely on is her sight. If she can see it she can paint it.
Hisao has a painting of himself, several in fact. Emi has a few, as do the woods, clouds, and shrimp tempura.
Mayu does not.
Hisao and Emi call her a good mother. She doesn't feel like one.
Rin guesses that it's maternal instincts driving her. The inherent drive to ensure your progeny lives and carries on your genes. She doesn't like that answer, but she goes through all the motions anyways without quite knowing why.
It's been four months since Mayu was born and there has been a blank canvas sitting in the studio for five. Galleries and patrons have been hounding her for another masterpiece, eager as ever to get their hands on a Tezuka original, but she ignores their calls. At least she can afford to do so.
The squirming bundle of flesh and cloth catches her attention once more. In the darkness it looks like taffy being spun, the outline of a frying egg, or what she and Hisao look like when they make love. But it cannot be those things because she has painted them.
The crib is only a foot or so from the bed. With a bit of effort Rin leans forward and ends up face to face with Mayu, who reacts gleefully to the sudden invasion of her personal space. She wriggles and turns towards Rin, grasping at her auburn locks. A small laugh escapes the young woman's lips.
One of Mayu's hands brushes against Rin's cheek and grabs at her face.
"Do that again," she whispers through a small grin.
Whether a result of chance, actual understanding, or simple childish whimsy, Mayu places her palm against Rin's face and leaves it there, giggling all the while.
Rin simply closes her eyes and sinks deeper into Mayu's touch.
___
"I like it."
"You say that about all of my work."
"Yeah, but this time I mean it."
"Mmm."
"Aw, cmon don't be like that. I'm kidding. It's good. Really. Hands emerging out of the darkness, grasping at the viewer. Haunting, but at the same time... inviting. Might be one of your best yet."
"... I like it too."
"Thought of a name?"
"Heat."
"Interesting choice."
"It was an interesting subject."
"I don't remember posing for this."
"You didn't."
"Hm, should I be offended that something else seems to have taken my place?"
"Not taken. Just sharing."
"Ha ha, I'll take your word for it."
"... Where's Mayu?"
"Asleep."
"Mmm... Nap sounds good."
"I'd say you earned it. Go on ahead. Want me to start making the calls?"
"No. Not selling this one."
"Oh? Why's that?"
"Writer's block cleared up. I'll get back to work soon. After my nap."
1. Heat (Rin)
2. Loose Leaf (Hanako)
3. Safe and Sound (Rin)
4. One Step, Two Step (Hanako)
5. It Started With a Sunday Afternoon (Rin... kinda?)
I just can't leave this fandom alone
Updated December 7, 2017
___
Been a while since I've done fanfiction. Just a little something I wrote up. Hope you guys like.
___
The first thing that pierces through her veil of sleep is a soft wailing to her left. Barely a murmur, but it stands out as a shrill cry amidst the twilit serenity. The second is her own breathing as she jerks out of her slumber.
Rin is a light sleeper these days, a trait Mayu seems to have picked up.
“Hisao,” she calls softly, looking nowhere in particular. The room is starting to take shape as she blinks away the sleep from her eyes. Not that there’s much to see. She was never the type for decoration, and Hisao was all too content to let his utilitarianistic tendencies render their apartment a spartan cubicle (according to her, anyways). Except for the bed, some books, sketchpads, a crib and three bodies, the room is bare.
As far as she can recall it has always been like this. Since the other bedroom held everything Rin and Hisao needed for their studio and study, respectively, little else happened in this room aside from sleep, sex, and smoking. Until Mayu came around. Once the two realized that they'd be responsible for another human being they'd made the executive decision to cut back on their Bohemian lifestyle.
But every now and then she'll drift back to her creative muses. This time of the night is her witching hour, a return to her avant-garde roots where she treads the line between vulnerability and invincibility. On nights like this when the world has stopped moving Rin can acutely sense the space of the room, her consciousness expanding and contracting with each breath. She can smell the lingering tobacco, feel the warmth from her and Hisao that permeates air. For Rin, this room is a dynamic portrait of her life, the culmination of everything she is and has been. In these moments of stillness her breathing slows and she takes it all in, exploring every nook and cranny of the portrait without lifting a foot.
Another soft cry from Mayu brings her out of her private meditations.
“Hisao,” the call goes out again, carefully tugging him from sleep. His response is a slight shuffling and a resounding “Mmmph…” before he settles back into the mattress. She blows a puff of air at his bangs in mock frustration and allows a moment to pass where she simply lies against his arm, taking in his warmth and presence.
To Mayu’s credit her restlessness is simply punctuated by short gurgles and the shifting of cloth, stuck in a state somewhere between content and restless. Deciding that it would be better for her daughter to remain more in the former, Rin reluctantly pulls away and slinks out of bed. Gravity is threatening to topple over her sleep-addled body, but she decides that she can put up enough of a fight to stay vertical.
Her eyes have finally settled in the dim light. She enjoys that, the shifting of her surroundings into focus. Other than her sense of shapes and colors, the one thing that Rin has come to rely on is her sight. If she can see it she can paint it.
Hisao has a painting of himself, several in fact. Emi has a few, as do the woods, clouds, and shrimp tempura.
Mayu does not.
Hisao and Emi call her a good mother. She doesn't feel like one.
Rin guesses that it's maternal instincts driving her. The inherent drive to ensure your progeny lives and carries on your genes. She doesn't like that answer, but she goes through all the motions anyways without quite knowing why.
It's been four months since Mayu was born and there has been a blank canvas sitting in the studio for five. Galleries and patrons have been hounding her for another masterpiece, eager as ever to get their hands on a Tezuka original, but she ignores their calls. At least she can afford to do so.
The squirming bundle of flesh and cloth catches her attention once more. In the darkness it looks like taffy being spun, the outline of a frying egg, or what she and Hisao look like when they make love. But it cannot be those things because she has painted them.
The crib is only a foot or so from the bed. With a bit of effort Rin leans forward and ends up face to face with Mayu, who reacts gleefully to the sudden invasion of her personal space. She wriggles and turns towards Rin, grasping at her auburn locks. A small laugh escapes the young woman's lips.
One of Mayu's hands brushes against Rin's cheek and grabs at her face.
"Do that again," she whispers through a small grin.
Whether a result of chance, actual understanding, or simple childish whimsy, Mayu places her palm against Rin's face and leaves it there, giggling all the while.
Rin simply closes her eyes and sinks deeper into Mayu's touch.
___
"I like it."
"You say that about all of my work."
"Yeah, but this time I mean it."
"Mmm."
"Aw, cmon don't be like that. I'm kidding. It's good. Really. Hands emerging out of the darkness, grasping at the viewer. Haunting, but at the same time... inviting. Might be one of your best yet."
"... I like it too."
"Thought of a name?"
"Heat."
"Interesting choice."
"It was an interesting subject."
"I don't remember posing for this."
"You didn't."
"Hm, should I be offended that something else seems to have taken my place?"
"Not taken. Just sharing."
"Ha ha, I'll take your word for it."
"... Where's Mayu?"
"Asleep."
"Mmm... Nap sounds good."
"I'd say you earned it. Go on ahead. Want me to start making the calls?"
"No. Not selling this one."
"Oh? Why's that?"
"Writer's block cleared up. I'll get back to work soon. After my nap."
