Meme results. :)
Okay... I made a writing meme lately, and there are the resulting snippets! ^^/
perkyandproud , sagakure ... I'm afraid your snippets are much MORE than snippets. They're rather longer than your average snippet (I've seen people make this meme using one-line only snippets); but I love you, and I loved the plots, so I wrote you a page each, more or less. :)
Kane-niisan... I'm still working on your FMA snippet. :( The stubborn thing just won't come out... I'M SORRY!!!!!
FFVIII snippet, for perkyandproud .
Request: "Then I name FFVIII. Zell Dincht and...one of Selphie, Rinoa or Quistis. Must be sweet and romantic and show that Zell isn't as dumb as so many portray him :-) Extra bonus if he looks *goooood* with his shirt off ;-)
Quistis barely kept her mouth from quirking up at the corners. Years of training herself in the fine art of combat had allowed her to enter the room undetected; but the stoic restraint that kept her from bursting into laughter (it was either that, or surprise attack her unsuspecting disciple from the back) was a natural gift.
Apparently for no reason whatsoever, Zell had disposed of his gloves, jacket and shirt (not that she was complaining, mind you), revealing an heavy silver chain hanging about his neck, with a massive trinket attached to it that chinked quietly as he bustled about, quite oblivious to her presence yet.
He was stirring and tossing something rather energetically, by the looks of it. Even in the confined space of his own kitchen, he seemed unable to stay put. He kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other, occasionally craning his neck and rolling his shoulders, bouncing on the heels of his combat boots.
Quistis dragged her eyes down his spine - the sight of his scarred back, the skin tanned and lustrous, muscles leaping under the strain, glistening with a fine layer of sweat, never failed to give her pause - and then glanced at the clock hanging inconspicuously on the wall to her right.
7:59 and 57 seconds.
58…
59…
To her surprise, the clock produced an angry, billowing squeak when it struck 8:00 pm. Zell immediately started, swivelling towards the clock in one amazing, fluid motion, cursed seven ways to Sunday and promptly began to rummage through the messy kitchen for his missing clothes. Quistis arched a delicate eyebrow, weighted the benefits of cueing him in (she figured it might be rather hard for him to locate that jacket, hanging precariously as it was from the chandelier) over watching him squirm, before decided she liked to indulge in a good show every now and then.
Zell had a smudge of flour across his cheek, she dully noted. Some wayward strands of hair were matted to his forehead, and there was a swipe of white there too, as though he’d wiped his forehead with his hands covered with flour.
She was getting interesting, Quistis decided. Zell, and flour? In a kitchen? Not a good combination, she summarily decided.
Her stiletto heels clicked on the tiled floor as she approached, her pace brisk but even. Zell tensed, then leaped - ever the perfect warrior - and spinning mid air he went into a crouch, throwing a charged punch to whom he supposed was an intruder.
…imagine his shock when his fist was caught in the glowed hand of his once-instructor and, hopefully, date for the night.
“Just what is happening here, Dincht?” she purred, eyelashes lowered in a look that had nothing of the demure, and much of the dangerous. “I thought you were supposed to meet me at the Front Gate at 8:00?”
Zell grinned, somehow managing to look both handsome and sheepish.
“Yeah. Uh. Supposed sounds just about right.”
“You forgot we had a meeting?”
Quistis dropped his fist, then crossed her arms across her bosom, and watched with a raised eyebrow a Zell squirmed about on his knees (which only made him squirm some more).
“Hell, no! Quis’, c’mon, as if I’d ever… I mean, I know it looks like I forgot, but I forgot to come get you because I…uhm… didn’t forget you were comin’, an’…”
At that point in time, her eyebrow was lowered again, furrowing together with its partner as suspicion blossomed into Quistis’s face.
“…You do not need my assistance with a mission, do you?”
Zell stilled, blinked, but somehow didn’t lose the grin.
“Nope.”
Her glacial blue eyes narrowed. There was a sort of droning soft sound coming from the other room, which she hadn’t noticed until now. Her head snapped up, and before he could do anything about it, she was striding towards the door, skilfully evading Zell as he scrambled after her on all fours.
“No! Wait! Quis’-I mean! Instructor Trepes! I can expla… busted.” He slapped a hand to his forehead, issuing a whimper.
Quistis spared him little to no attention. She glanced once at him over her shoulder, pushing the door open with more force than intended, and then her head whipped back around.
Zell emitted another whimper, just about at the same moment as Quistis released her breath in a low gasp.
Zell’s apartment had been morphed into what she could only describe as a cosy, welcoming alcove, a triumph of red velvet and golden décor and glinting silverware, haloed by the warm glow of candlelight. There was a table handsomely set for two, there by the window. Napkins shaped into flowers or butterflies spread their wings from the tall glasses; the slender neck of a wine bottle reared from an ice bucket, dewed with perspiration. The sound she’d heard were the low, muted notes coming from an ancient-looking music box, and as she strained to hear, she recognized the song as her favourite back from the days in the orphanage. The white flowers on the table were also her favourite, and it didn’t take a genius to know that her favourite colour was the same that decked now the whole room - a deep, deep tone of the purest crimson.
Quistis put a hand on her chest, surprised at the fluttering of her heart. She turned towards Zell with eyes that were huge and questioning, and his shy fidgeting made her insides flood over with warmth.
“Uhm.” He rubbed the back of his neck, shifting his weight around. “It’s just… happy birthday, Quis’.”
Vampire Knight snippet for sagakure.
Request: "Romantic & fluff: [established relationship] Kaname fails epically at cooking, but he desperately wants to cook something good for Zero on his Bday... But he's embarrassed that the hunter might laugh at his efforts, so he does it as a surprise without telling him, and is all expectant about whether Zero will like it or not. The food is horrid though. XD; Will Zero catch on what's going on or break Kaname's heart by spitting out the first bite of the food? XD; *lol*"
Aido surrenders his chair to Zero when he enters the room and, silly decorations notwithstanding, that is the first clue that he ought to be on edge. Then, taking a careful sniff, Zero notices a crisp scent of lilies and honeydew, mixing with a bitter tang. It’s like a spray has been used to cover the ugly scent of something… something burnt beyond recognition, and the suspicion escalates.
He is still wondering whom to point his Bloody Rose to, and what kind of pain he can promise in exchange for an explanation, when he catches Yuuki making shooing motions by the window, trying to dispel a faint cloud of smoke. The apologetic grin she flashes him makes his insides coil.
“Surprise,” she says helplessly, with that smile of hers that somehow manages to convey support, love and pity in one single package. Zero always linked that smiles to her failed attempts at baking him a cake in the years past.
He relaxes, thinking he’s figured out the mystery behind the burnt smell and the odd glances, when the kitchen’s door is pushed open, and Kaname sashays inside, carrying a try and looking deliciously on edge.
He smiles shyly at Zero (who has to stop himself from doing a double-take, it was so adorable), and then places the tray before him on the table, revealing a… an… indefinite something sitting ominously in its middle.
By this point, Aido shoots to his feet and vanishes outside, darting Zero a glance that’s both a warning and a plea. Yuuki makes some silent urging of her own, eloquently tilting her head towards Kaname, eyebrows raised expectantly.
The vampire’s cheeks are glowing pink, Zero notices in a daze. His forehead is moist with perspiration, and there’s a smudge of flour on his cheek he hasn’t quite managed to wipe away.
Yuuki cleans it for him with a gentle brush of her fingers, before waltzing out with an excuse and a giggle (presumably going to squat in the hallway next to Aido to spy on them).
Zero glares at the door as if he could somehow burnt through it and reach the two scoundrels. Across the table, Kaname is meticulously divvying up the ‘something’, each gesture calibrate and elegant as everything about him.
He positions a slice of black matter on a neat, small plate taken from the tray, and then heaps it with spoonfuls of whipped cream from a nearby bowl.
He pushes the plate towards Zero, shyly peering at him through his lashes. The glint of hope in his eyes is as endearing as it is unnerving.
Zero scowls into his plate.
“Must we do this every year? You know I hate my birthday.”
Kaname flips his hair away from his forehead. To the untrained eye, the motion is as elegant and controlled as usual. But Zero is much too attuned to Kaname not to notice the tell-tale trembling of his fingers, or the way his lips thin in an almost imperceptible frown.
“But I happen to love celebrating it.”
Zero glances down at what he guesses (hope) is cake, hidden underneath the charcoal and heaps of cream. He pokes the lump with the tip of his fork, ignoring both the catcalls coming from outside and the quickening of Kaname’s breath.
He glances up, and sees that Kaname is shifting and fidgeting. His cheeks, which weren’t quite as pale as usual to start with, darken a shade or two under the scrutiny. How… odd.
“…is there something wrong?” Zero asks, before he can think better of it.
Kaname starts imperceptibly, then regains his cool as though he’d never lost it.
“Not that I’m aware. Why do you ask?”
“You’re staring,” Zero explicates, blunt as usual. And as usual, Kaname manoeuvres smoothly around Zero’s bad manners and points a long finger to the plate.
“Aren’t you going to eat it?”
“Did Yuuki…?”
“No.” Clipped. Then, after a long minute of staring: “I made it.”
The ‘especially for you’ remains unsaid, and Zero has to tells himself a dozen times he’s not touched, before he can focus onto other things, such as comply with Kaname’s unspoken request… and complying with Kaname’s every request, be they unspoken or not, is a sort of priority for him.
Apprehensively, he picks up a morsel and puts it into his mouth; he munches carefully, wondering how worse than Yuuki’s cooking this could be.
The answer is: a lot worse.
He carefully schools his features before some of his disgust can leak, but Kaname has been staring at him too closely - that, or his damn vampire senses are sharpened even more, Zero thinks - and notices his unease right away.
He purses his lips.
“You don’t like it.”
The muscles of Zero’s throat work as he swallows.
“I didn’t say that.”
Disbelief flits across Kaname’s face.
“You don’t need to.”
“Look, I’m eating it,” Zero places another forkful of burnt cake in his mouth and chews slowly, carefully, as though making a point. His face reveals nothing, but Kaname’s eyes narrow another notch.
“That doesn’t mean you like it,” he reiterates, watching closely as Zero puts another morsel in his mouth. “You can eat Yuuki’s cooking, and you don’t like it,” he elaborates.
Which is exactly the point, though Kaname seems to be missing it. Zero might not like the cooking, but he likes he cook, and that’s why he keeps putting morsel after morsel of cake in his mouth and eating them (secretly thankful for the heaps of whipped cream, which make the thing at least marginally edible).