"This wind coming in feels like home. It's comforting and it soothes me." A place for people who consider YYH home! Also home of the YYH Doujinshi Masterlist. Let's revive this fandom!
So, here I am, it’s a rainy Saturday night, and I’m trying to decide what Yu Yu Hakusho fanfiction to give passionatekitsune that’s as well-written as Midsummer’s Moon. I’ve read thousands upon thousands of Yu Yu Hakusho fics in my time. I thought I’d post a list of what I came up with, in case there are any others out there who like reading well-written fics, and maybe haven’t done any of the fandom’s old faithfuls yet, or would like to branch out. Some on this list I like more than others, some are ubiquitous, some aren’t as well-known. There are some notable absences from this list—Blossomwitch, for example—but I’m going to excuse myself by saying this is only my favorite writing styles, not even my favorite fics, so you’ll have to give me a pass on what I did and did not include, if it doesn’t match up to your own (equally valid and awesome) preferences.
“I’m going to kill you,” Kuwabara said slowly and carefully, enunciating each syllable with the careful precision usually reserved for prayer. “I’m going to kill you, and I’m going to roast your flesh and I’m going to feed it to my cat.”
“You found a human today, didn’t you.” He knew that if he looked up, he would see
Mukuro’s lips curling into the same self-amused smirk he could hear in her voice.
“You smell very… freshly washed.”
Tokyo in late June usually suffered from heavy rain, as did the rest of Japan, but today it seemed that the unbearable weather of later summer was making an early appearance. The sun blazed high in a blue-white sky, and had long since replaced puddles of last night’s rain with glassy heat-mirages. The still air stuck to skin like cobwebs, every breath as thick as syrup.
A polite smile for the soldiers who had escorted him to his rooms as they all pretended that the
men were, indeed, escorts, and not guards. A murmured goodnight, a step away from the doors
so that they could be closed.
A mind free of illusion.
There was no sound of the "escorts’” footsteps retreating down the hall, though in the heavy,
armored boots they wore, there surely should have been. He was more than certain that they
would stand outside those doors all night – not to keep anyone unwanted from entering, but to
keep him from leaving.
The air was hot and dry, and the warm breeze that drifted by occasionally was no comfort. The intense sun seemed impossibly close to those exposed on the dusty ground below. The students worked carefully, measuring and roping the ground into three by three meter squares. Supervisors wandered, checking on each team between spates in the shade of the base tent.
Kazuma called her again today, requesting a lunch at some upscale restaurant in his new
neighborhood where he probably hung out with all his new, upper class friends. She didn’t call
him back, she didn’t know why he kept trying because she never did, and part of her hated
herself for it.
Yukina put her fork down and said, “I need a job.”
Keiko paused with her cup halfway to her lips; then she glanced toward Shizuru, who sat in a slant of light, her cigarette dangled loosely away from the table. They were at their favorite coffee shop, squeezed into a booth near a window to rest their feet and take a break from the cold and intermittent but persistent flurries of snow. Yukina had been taking tiny bites out of a small, brightly colored fruit tart; Keiko was drinking orange-ginger tea; Shizuru was smoking, lazy eyes on the people passing by and the traffic of the street.
Losing his friends and family before his eyes had hardened him. Keiko was the last to pass away. She died at the age of fifty-seven. Although he was two years older than her, he looked no older than twenty-five. As did I. Yusuke and I had attained the lifespans of our youkai halves. It was a blessing that Yusuke learned to hate.
Kaito had a memory of sleeping with Shuichi Minamino when they were very young, on a school trip. They were scattered around the resort house. It was a depressing place, which was why the school got such a deal; it had once been a prison for those guilty of minor crimes, juvenile delinquents being rehabilitated with art and psychiatrists. The windows still had bars and wire criss-crossed inside the glass. There were cages around the clocks.
Oh, I loved him with everything I was. I thought of him with every breath. He was exquisite – life,
love, beauty. I thought I would have given up my existence on this earth for just a few moments
with him, although fortunately that wasn’t necessary. (Well, no, it did turn to be necessary, didn’t
it?)
The Mountains wore their Autumn Kimono, clothed in their finery of red and gold. The heavens
boasted blue skies and pink-cream clouds, with grey storm spirits teasing the revelry of their
brethren. Nature posed herself, and fluttered breath swept at her mountain face. All was serene
in this world.
Kurama felt the metal pole grow hot under the touch of his palm. It vibrated with the pitch of the train, humming so slightly that he barely noticed the buzz the trembled his bones, his teeth.
Kurama kept his eyes out the window. Plants blinked past. In the window of a danchi, a set of pale work apartments, there was a potted shamrock. A gift from a hateful boyfriend. The owner refused to kill it because she loved its flowers. They made her forget his abuse. Kurama, via the chemical structure of a Makai pollen that mimicked analgesic endorphins, also helped.
I knew my mother. I didn’t know this man and I didn’t know his child. I was polite and most of the mistake lies in that. His first mistake was commenting on my face. The second was the threat to my mother that he imposed.
“You’re not dating anyone?” Hatanaka asked at the table. “A handsome kid like you?”
I was not comfortable answering him.
After dinner he offered to help me wash the dishes. It was a human thing: sinking teeth into meaningless argument, blind to complication and cost. I must have been exhausted, or trusting, or playing to indulge in it.
Whatever he had on his mind shouldn’t stay there for long. Something that robbed him of concentration was a danger – was still a danger, Kurama should say, even after the Ankoku Bujutsukai. The story had not ended. It was in the air, his youko-self could detect: there was another mission in store for them.
She looked out her window and realized that it was becoming light outside; she’d been up all night again without really intending to. Her homework was still not quite finished, and she really couldn’t recall where the hours had all gone; now, knowing it was close to time, she closed her books, stowed them in her bag, and got up to prepare. Today it would be hot again, and she would need to leave early so that she would pass some of her wait outside in the cooler morning.
Dying didn’t spell the end for me; it gave me a new shot at life. All I have to do to keep that shot is protect a demonic book from a madman, not let anyone know I’m from another world, and try to change destiny completely. What could possibly go wrong?
The shadows talked to him. Now that he was dead they weren’t so hard to hear nor easy to
ignore. On the other side of life, across the edge, they waited. They always waited. Insignificant
at first, but then they grow and claim shape, terrible monsters awaiting those that created them.
The creators always came one way or another.
Someday, even the stars will die and the world will become a tomb of ice. It would be an ice so
cold that nothing could survive, not even the warmth of hope.
To Toguro, who has been gone so long and has gone so far that he might as well be dead to
me,
I am writing you a letter today, though don’t think anything of it, for I know that I will not. I don’t
even really know why I am wasting this ink on you. This means nothing, you know, nothing has
changed, though I have to admit that sometimes I do wonder where you are and what you are
doing, but that questioning rarely lasts long before it slips into revulsion and an innate and
heavy anger, that makes me feel like I’m burning inside. You disgust me still, I hope you know
that, and it does not shame me to admit that this urge to speak to you comes from a deeply
rooted belief that there are still too many things due to be said, between you and I, that I must
one day speak aloud for you to hear.
Maybe one day we will get a chance to voice them, maybe I will die before then; maybe our
paths will cross and both of us will be struck dumb, volumes spoken only with our eyes- maybe
that will be enough. Let that be enough. No, in fact, I change my mind (it’s my prerogative to do
so) and I say let me die before then, having forgotten you entirely.
Kuwabara “Let’s go to hell together!!” Kazuma as Buttercup
Urameshi “AS YOU FUCKING WISH” Yusuke as Westley
Kurama “You threatened to kill my mother, prepare to succumb to plant life” as Inigo
Hiei “I don’t do rhymes” as Fezzik
– YYH fanart wish requested by lord-jagi (OK, just the Kuwabara as a princess bride part but I made up the rest)
I’M NOT REALLY SORRY
I’m very proud of the dress even though you can’t really see much of it haha
Not sure if this is where you expected it to go, but this is what happened in my brain. The more I added to the picture, the funnier it got in my head.
Nothing really fits or makes sense, but I had to make Kuwabara Buttercup because of the request so it went from there … Even though Hiei’s the swordsman, I can’t exactly imagine Kurama as Fezzik … at least he kind of has Inigo’s hair. So I guess it’s just entertaining that Hiei’s the “giant”. The only one that kind of works is Yusuke, mostly ‘cause of the whole dying and coming back to life thing.
Anyways, lord-jagi, this is what you left me with when I had to go to bed and it kept me up cackling most of the night SO NOW I SHARE IT WITH YOU I HOPE YOU ENJOY
YYH-Revival 