fandom fun :3 [60-60-60]
Meh. I'm starting to run out of things to drabble, and I still have a lot more to go. >_<
Most of these ones are fanfics, surprisingly. The last one is a parody of one of the features that you can find in the Magna Carta game, so don't be surprised if you don't get it. I'm not particularly sure whether I really get it either. o_o;;
38. Sleep. Final Fantasy 7.
Work for Tseng began the moment he stepped into the lounge reserved for Shinra’s infamous Turks and didn’t even have the time to finish fixing his tie as he had to pull Reno and Elena apart before they killed each other. He put an end to the fight, delivered a spot lecture called upon Rude to accompany him to Junon, where he braced himself for what was certain to be a whole day spent walking just beyond Rufus Shinra’s shoulder as a driver, bodyguard, personal secretary and health advisor rolled into one.
Strangely, Tseng was rather unsettled by the fact that things didn’t turn out that way. Instead, one of the vice president’s advisors left him a message upon his arrival, bearing instructions on all the things that would both keep him occupied and away from Rufus’ office. The Vice President intended to hole himself up at the office the whole day, and wasn’t keen on seeing anyone. The chances of him drawing up plans for world domination were likely, if such was the case.
So it was that Tseng and Rude went about their business, acting on orders that were patched in to them through couriers or via PHS messages. It was near midnight by the time Tseng sent Rude back to Midgar and went up to the vice president’s office. The corridors along the way were shadowed and empty. He did not bother to knock at the door and opened the lock by swiping his card into the feed by the panel.
“…Sir…?”
Venturing into the office and some further investigation revealed Rufus Shinra, the young and ruthless vice president of Shinra Corporation who possessed all of the qualities his father did not even have an inkling of, sprawled out on the couch, fast asleep. The mess on his desk showed Tseng that he was right about his charge occupying himself with plans for world domination. In rest, Rufus looked his age, maybe even younger.
Tseng brushed the bangs away from Rufus’ face and kissed the younger man just as he stirred, lulling the latter into deeper dreams. The next morning Rufus would wake up with a blanket wrapped about his person and the strange tingling feeling on his lips. He wouldn’t remember what he dreamt about, only that it had been pleasant.
39. Ghosts. Kingdom Hearts.
He had been in love with Ansem once. Maybe he had even worshipped him, and for good reason. At the time, he hadn’t seen any reason not to worship the man… his dreams became visions of bronzed skin, rippling muscles and a killer smile. He would wake up to the taste of salt on his lips and the echo of that voice echoing in his ears, like too many waves of words made of sweet nothings. He would lie back in the bed Maleficent had given him to crimson eyes filling his vision, and his hand would be doing things to himself before he knew it and beyond his own understanding.
Nothing in all the worlds that were sullied and sundered by the Heartless could have prepared him for their first encounter. One second they had stood on opposite ends of the room and in the next Ansem had him against the wall, wrists held fast above head and mouth hungrily devouring his own. The phantom’s touch was solid. The feel of him, real.
There was no love in their fucking and what connected them was as good as rape. Ansem stripped him of everything: he was broken in by the creature he worshipped, physically, mentally and emotionally. He was under Ansem’s thrall before he even realized it, and by the time he did it didn’t really matter. It was easy to succumb. The abuse he endured was a small setback to the closeness he received in return.
He did not know what brought him to his senses. The only thing he really bothered to consider was the bitterness in his mouth and the teasing reminder of crooked love and hopeless devotion. He soon fell out of the habit of sleeping following their separation. That way, he’d never have to see those eyes in his head again.
40. Arson. Full Metal Alchemist.
A part of an FMA fanfic that I never got around to finishing.
Those days, two words came to mind whenever she watched him, whether it was from behind as he walked down the marble steps of Headquarters or from a distance as he haunted the corridors like a ghost, a pale and rapidly thinning shadow of the powerful soldier he was supposed to be.
Caged tiger. That was it. Riza Hawkeye shifted her gaze away from the sight of her superior burning the carpet beneath his boots. Request funding for upholstery repair within the next two weeks, she wrote down.
“Sir.”
“In a moment.”
Step, step, step, step, turn. True to the grace of man who had but to snap his fingers in order to reduce anything in his way - be it wall, be it man - to cinders, Colonel Roy Mustang was precise down to the last detail, even when he was agitated.
“It’s urgent.”
“If you need my signature, put it away with the rest of it. It’ll be signed by 3:30.”
3:30. Two hours. In two hours, she could savor a nice, hot, Black Hayate-free soak in her bathtub. In two hours, a severely depressed man could go out for a drink, slink back to a cold apartment whose bed had gone back to containing only one body at a time, slump down, find a gun in the drawer and end it. But she had to remember that the colonel was not severely depressed. He was the Flame Alchemist. He was a soldier, a murderer for the State. He was beyond such pettiness.
“Colonel.”
“That’s ‘sir’ and ‘colonel’ in under two minutes. Call me by name, and we can all buy a bottle of champagne in celebration.”
The smile flashed like a knife. Knives made her think of Brigadier General Hughes and the single lot where they had buried him with the State’s heroes. She could not afford to dwell on that, not with Colonel Roy Mustang meeting her gaze, eyes dark and fathomless and full of shadows similar to the rings smudging the skin below them. They glared at Riza, making her wonder how many nights her superior must have lost to sleeplessness since rain had come on a cloudless day at the cemetery.
“No… it’s raining.”
One man, shoulders shaking, braced against the crushing blow of a pain that no one should have been allowed to bear alone, but they were soldiers. They were trained for this sort of thing. There were things she would not tell her superior, little shifts she saw in him that were enough to make something in her want to reach out and hold him, just hold him, in the hopes that he wasn’t going to shake himself apart.
“Hawkeye. If you have nothing to say, then let’s not waste any more time.”
It was the subtle set of his shoulders, the stiffening of his back and the slight narrow of his eyes that told her that he did not want to be touched, or pitied, or cared for. The guarded look in the eyes told her everything, informed her how much he wanted to be alone. Alone, where he could blame himself for the death of a friend.
“It’s nothing… sir.”
“Then you’re dismissed.”
Scars of the battlefield. Names, places, dates, numbers, all pertaining to how fast and how well and how many. Grave markers in the grass, reduced to nothing but statistical figures and red tape that she had spent half a year in the Academy learning how to organize. There had been many more before Hughes but Riza knew the truth. Roy needed Hughes the way a man needed water in his lungs. They had been beyond friends, beyond brothers, beyond lovers, and now that Hughes was gone there was nothing left to do but hurt and breathe and kill. Perhaps, the Flame Alchemist knew this too.
It seemed like the longest walk of her life, crossing the distance between her desk and the doorway; maybe it was the feel of Roy’s eyes on her, cold and silent, as she saluted, turned from him, and left the room. It was only after the wooden doors clicked shut behind her that she remembered how to breathe.
The others must have realized by then. The man they served was going to slip away from them like smoke. The grief was too deep; he couldn’t have possibly been able to claw his way out of it. But they were good soldiers, just like she was. They would follow him, turning their eyes upward whenever another one of his limbs broke off and fell to dust.
One deep breath and Riza had straightened her position, walking with the usual air and presence of command that many respected her for. She tried not to think about her superior alone in the office with Hughes’s memory cutting his thoughts to ribbons. Stiff upper lip. Things were easier for them all that way.
41. Those They Left Behind. Thick as Thieves.
Inquisitor-Bishop Aidan Clayce had not taken the announcement well, and for the first time in a while Rethe Kyriff got to see the temper that men of the British Isles were infamous for flare up as the Voidseeker engaged in a shouting match with Netsach’s chief. It ended with Miriam Harper holding fast to her orders and Aidan storming off to blast away some paper daemons in the shooting range. Rethe took some time out to clean up the remnants of tea time and listen to Miriam grumble about how her number one Hunter was still as problematic as ever. She very intelligently forgot to consider the fact that Aidan only became that problematic when it had something to do with the Seer. He wisely refrained from commenting.
There was no one else in the range by the time Rethe went down to find Aidan but that wasn’t much of a surprise. One of the first things that personnel at Netsach learned was to stay out of the Voidseeker’s way when he was in one of his moods. Aidan did not acknowledge Rethe’s arrival and Rethe wasn’t expecting him to. The boy only stopped near the doorway and leaned against the frame. He fell to watching the Voidseeker fire away, channeling his rage into each and every bullet in order to leave the shell of his own body and spirit cold. When at last he spoke, Rethe chose his words carefully.
“Alistair has been back with us for nearly a year now.”
“I know.”
“You never told me what happened during that mission in Ireland a few months back.”
“I don’t plan on telling you.”
This was not unexpected. Even though they were partners and in spite of the fact that they were together now and they loved each other, there would always be secrets to keep.
“So you still hate him then?”
“It’s not that I hate him.” At last, a reaction. “It’s just that… I mean…”
The range was suddenly forgotten as Aidan turned to face his young partner with a look that somehow managed to be exasperated and apologetic at the same time. Rethe had learned over time to watch the Voidseeker’s eyes for signals, and this was what he did. The expression in them was earnest.
“…It’s just easier to stay angry at him, I guess.”
Rethe did not question Aidan on this. Somehow, he understood.
42. Routine. Endtimes.
Wednesday evenings made Calintz Duskrider remember why he had chosen to buy one of the old dockside properties in spite of the high level of maintenance they required against barnacles and corrosive seaside winds. On Wednesday evenings the local water sprites came out to play, and Calintz took a break from whatever he was doing in order to kick back in the good old lawn chair out by the docks and watch them.
Rilea Heartnet would join him after fixing electric blue lemonade in a pitcher good for two and he’d offer her his seat the moment she stepped out but she wouldn’t take it. She’d pour the mix into two tall glasses, topped with a few lemon slices. Calintz was still left to wonder where his partner managed to get her black straws. He only saw those in restaurants.
They wouldn’t talk much, and if a conversation did take place it was mostly Calintz booming on about his week and Rilea listening with a smile. He didn’t bother asking her whether she found this boring; he already knew what she would say. Repetition kept things alive for them, and somehow it was a reminder that they only had so much time left to spend with each other.
43. Why Haren is the Hardest to talk to in Camp Mode. Magna Carta: Tears of Blood.
“I’m on to you, you know.”
At those words Haren felt like smashing something but it wouldn’t be the first time. He let a low growl rumble in his throat to show his displeasure but Chris only blinked at him and smiled. Calintz had taken Azel and Eonis with him on his survey of the area and Maya was sleeping. They were basically alone at the campsite.
“The captain’s never going to say it out loud or admit it to anyone, but a genius like me can tell that even he’s bothered by the front you put up. Seems like it’s impossible to get through to you. Most of us are right-minded enough to give up.”
Haren bolted to his feet, questing around for something of little value that he could toss at Chris’ head. The damned archer only laughed, watching him with that smile still in place. He barely flinched at any of Haren’s quick, irritated gestures.
“I don’t think anyone but me has noticed how you only get rough when the captain’s in the picture, or when he’s the one speaking to you. Afraid he’s going to find out the way I did? Don’t worry about that. Calintz is a sharp one on the battlefield, but he’s always falls a little bit short in the ways of the heart. He won’t notice you. He’ll just go on thinking you’re a real sour puss with a nasty temper that is still hung up on his dead girlfriend. I guarantee you that.”
“Shut the fuck up!”
“Oh? So you want him to notice you?”
Haren stormed off to the sound of Chris’ hearty laughter. The next morning he proved to be nastier than ever and Calintz still hadn’t a clue as to why.
Somebody gimme something to write. My Muse is confusing me. @_@
Most of these ones are fanfics, surprisingly. The last one is a parody of one of the features that you can find in the Magna Carta game, so don't be surprised if you don't get it. I'm not particularly sure whether I really get it either. o_o;;
38. Sleep. Final Fantasy 7.
Work for Tseng began the moment he stepped into the lounge reserved for Shinra’s infamous Turks and didn’t even have the time to finish fixing his tie as he had to pull Reno and Elena apart before they killed each other. He put an end to the fight, delivered a spot lecture called upon Rude to accompany him to Junon, where he braced himself for what was certain to be a whole day spent walking just beyond Rufus Shinra’s shoulder as a driver, bodyguard, personal secretary and health advisor rolled into one.
Strangely, Tseng was rather unsettled by the fact that things didn’t turn out that way. Instead, one of the vice president’s advisors left him a message upon his arrival, bearing instructions on all the things that would both keep him occupied and away from Rufus’ office. The Vice President intended to hole himself up at the office the whole day, and wasn’t keen on seeing anyone. The chances of him drawing up plans for world domination were likely, if such was the case.
So it was that Tseng and Rude went about their business, acting on orders that were patched in to them through couriers or via PHS messages. It was near midnight by the time Tseng sent Rude back to Midgar and went up to the vice president’s office. The corridors along the way were shadowed and empty. He did not bother to knock at the door and opened the lock by swiping his card into the feed by the panel.
“…Sir…?”
Venturing into the office and some further investigation revealed Rufus Shinra, the young and ruthless vice president of Shinra Corporation who possessed all of the qualities his father did not even have an inkling of, sprawled out on the couch, fast asleep. The mess on his desk showed Tseng that he was right about his charge occupying himself with plans for world domination. In rest, Rufus looked his age, maybe even younger.
Tseng brushed the bangs away from Rufus’ face and kissed the younger man just as he stirred, lulling the latter into deeper dreams. The next morning Rufus would wake up with a blanket wrapped about his person and the strange tingling feeling on his lips. He wouldn’t remember what he dreamt about, only that it had been pleasant.
39. Ghosts. Kingdom Hearts.
He had been in love with Ansem once. Maybe he had even worshipped him, and for good reason. At the time, he hadn’t seen any reason not to worship the man… his dreams became visions of bronzed skin, rippling muscles and a killer smile. He would wake up to the taste of salt on his lips and the echo of that voice echoing in his ears, like too many waves of words made of sweet nothings. He would lie back in the bed Maleficent had given him to crimson eyes filling his vision, and his hand would be doing things to himself before he knew it and beyond his own understanding.
Nothing in all the worlds that were sullied and sundered by the Heartless could have prepared him for their first encounter. One second they had stood on opposite ends of the room and in the next Ansem had him against the wall, wrists held fast above head and mouth hungrily devouring his own. The phantom’s touch was solid. The feel of him, real.
There was no love in their fucking and what connected them was as good as rape. Ansem stripped him of everything: he was broken in by the creature he worshipped, physically, mentally and emotionally. He was under Ansem’s thrall before he even realized it, and by the time he did it didn’t really matter. It was easy to succumb. The abuse he endured was a small setback to the closeness he received in return.
He did not know what brought him to his senses. The only thing he really bothered to consider was the bitterness in his mouth and the teasing reminder of crooked love and hopeless devotion. He soon fell out of the habit of sleeping following their separation. That way, he’d never have to see those eyes in his head again.
40. Arson. Full Metal Alchemist.
A part of an FMA fanfic that I never got around to finishing.
Those days, two words came to mind whenever she watched him, whether it was from behind as he walked down the marble steps of Headquarters or from a distance as he haunted the corridors like a ghost, a pale and rapidly thinning shadow of the powerful soldier he was supposed to be.
Caged tiger. That was it. Riza Hawkeye shifted her gaze away from the sight of her superior burning the carpet beneath his boots. Request funding for upholstery repair within the next two weeks, she wrote down.
“Sir.”
“In a moment.”
Step, step, step, step, turn. True to the grace of man who had but to snap his fingers in order to reduce anything in his way - be it wall, be it man - to cinders, Colonel Roy Mustang was precise down to the last detail, even when he was agitated.
“It’s urgent.”
“If you need my signature, put it away with the rest of it. It’ll be signed by 3:30.”
3:30. Two hours. In two hours, she could savor a nice, hot, Black Hayate-free soak in her bathtub. In two hours, a severely depressed man could go out for a drink, slink back to a cold apartment whose bed had gone back to containing only one body at a time, slump down, find a gun in the drawer and end it. But she had to remember that the colonel was not severely depressed. He was the Flame Alchemist. He was a soldier, a murderer for the State. He was beyond such pettiness.
“Colonel.”
“That’s ‘sir’ and ‘colonel’ in under two minutes. Call me by name, and we can all buy a bottle of champagne in celebration.”
The smile flashed like a knife. Knives made her think of Brigadier General Hughes and the single lot where they had buried him with the State’s heroes. She could not afford to dwell on that, not with Colonel Roy Mustang meeting her gaze, eyes dark and fathomless and full of shadows similar to the rings smudging the skin below them. They glared at Riza, making her wonder how many nights her superior must have lost to sleeplessness since rain had come on a cloudless day at the cemetery.
“No… it’s raining.”
One man, shoulders shaking, braced against the crushing blow of a pain that no one should have been allowed to bear alone, but they were soldiers. They were trained for this sort of thing. There were things she would not tell her superior, little shifts she saw in him that were enough to make something in her want to reach out and hold him, just hold him, in the hopes that he wasn’t going to shake himself apart.
“Hawkeye. If you have nothing to say, then let’s not waste any more time.”
It was the subtle set of his shoulders, the stiffening of his back and the slight narrow of his eyes that told her that he did not want to be touched, or pitied, or cared for. The guarded look in the eyes told her everything, informed her how much he wanted to be alone. Alone, where he could blame himself for the death of a friend.
“It’s nothing… sir.”
“Then you’re dismissed.”
Scars of the battlefield. Names, places, dates, numbers, all pertaining to how fast and how well and how many. Grave markers in the grass, reduced to nothing but statistical figures and red tape that she had spent half a year in the Academy learning how to organize. There had been many more before Hughes but Riza knew the truth. Roy needed Hughes the way a man needed water in his lungs. They had been beyond friends, beyond brothers, beyond lovers, and now that Hughes was gone there was nothing left to do but hurt and breathe and kill. Perhaps, the Flame Alchemist knew this too.
It seemed like the longest walk of her life, crossing the distance between her desk and the doorway; maybe it was the feel of Roy’s eyes on her, cold and silent, as she saluted, turned from him, and left the room. It was only after the wooden doors clicked shut behind her that she remembered how to breathe.
The others must have realized by then. The man they served was going to slip away from them like smoke. The grief was too deep; he couldn’t have possibly been able to claw his way out of it. But they were good soldiers, just like she was. They would follow him, turning their eyes upward whenever another one of his limbs broke off and fell to dust.
One deep breath and Riza had straightened her position, walking with the usual air and presence of command that many respected her for. She tried not to think about her superior alone in the office with Hughes’s memory cutting his thoughts to ribbons. Stiff upper lip. Things were easier for them all that way.
41. Those They Left Behind. Thick as Thieves.
Inquisitor-Bishop Aidan Clayce had not taken the announcement well, and for the first time in a while Rethe Kyriff got to see the temper that men of the British Isles were infamous for flare up as the Voidseeker engaged in a shouting match with Netsach’s chief. It ended with Miriam Harper holding fast to her orders and Aidan storming off to blast away some paper daemons in the shooting range. Rethe took some time out to clean up the remnants of tea time and listen to Miriam grumble about how her number one Hunter was still as problematic as ever. She very intelligently forgot to consider the fact that Aidan only became that problematic when it had something to do with the Seer. He wisely refrained from commenting.
There was no one else in the range by the time Rethe went down to find Aidan but that wasn’t much of a surprise. One of the first things that personnel at Netsach learned was to stay out of the Voidseeker’s way when he was in one of his moods. Aidan did not acknowledge Rethe’s arrival and Rethe wasn’t expecting him to. The boy only stopped near the doorway and leaned against the frame. He fell to watching the Voidseeker fire away, channeling his rage into each and every bullet in order to leave the shell of his own body and spirit cold. When at last he spoke, Rethe chose his words carefully.
“Alistair has been back with us for nearly a year now.”
“I know.”
“You never told me what happened during that mission in Ireland a few months back.”
“I don’t plan on telling you.”
This was not unexpected. Even though they were partners and in spite of the fact that they were together now and they loved each other, there would always be secrets to keep.
“So you still hate him then?”
“It’s not that I hate him.” At last, a reaction. “It’s just that… I mean…”
The range was suddenly forgotten as Aidan turned to face his young partner with a look that somehow managed to be exasperated and apologetic at the same time. Rethe had learned over time to watch the Voidseeker’s eyes for signals, and this was what he did. The expression in them was earnest.
“…It’s just easier to stay angry at him, I guess.”
Rethe did not question Aidan on this. Somehow, he understood.
42. Routine. Endtimes.
Wednesday evenings made Calintz Duskrider remember why he had chosen to buy one of the old dockside properties in spite of the high level of maintenance they required against barnacles and corrosive seaside winds. On Wednesday evenings the local water sprites came out to play, and Calintz took a break from whatever he was doing in order to kick back in the good old lawn chair out by the docks and watch them.
Rilea Heartnet would join him after fixing electric blue lemonade in a pitcher good for two and he’d offer her his seat the moment she stepped out but she wouldn’t take it. She’d pour the mix into two tall glasses, topped with a few lemon slices. Calintz was still left to wonder where his partner managed to get her black straws. He only saw those in restaurants.
They wouldn’t talk much, and if a conversation did take place it was mostly Calintz booming on about his week and Rilea listening with a smile. He didn’t bother asking her whether she found this boring; he already knew what she would say. Repetition kept things alive for them, and somehow it was a reminder that they only had so much time left to spend with each other.
43. Why Haren is the Hardest to talk to in Camp Mode. Magna Carta: Tears of Blood.
“I’m on to you, you know.”
At those words Haren felt like smashing something but it wouldn’t be the first time. He let a low growl rumble in his throat to show his displeasure but Chris only blinked at him and smiled. Calintz had taken Azel and Eonis with him on his survey of the area and Maya was sleeping. They were basically alone at the campsite.
“The captain’s never going to say it out loud or admit it to anyone, but a genius like me can tell that even he’s bothered by the front you put up. Seems like it’s impossible to get through to you. Most of us are right-minded enough to give up.”
Haren bolted to his feet, questing around for something of little value that he could toss at Chris’ head. The damned archer only laughed, watching him with that smile still in place. He barely flinched at any of Haren’s quick, irritated gestures.
“I don’t think anyone but me has noticed how you only get rough when the captain’s in the picture, or when he’s the one speaking to you. Afraid he’s going to find out the way I did? Don’t worry about that. Calintz is a sharp one on the battlefield, but he’s always falls a little bit short in the ways of the heart. He won’t notice you. He’ll just go on thinking you’re a real sour puss with a nasty temper that is still hung up on his dead girlfriend. I guarantee you that.”
“Shut the fuck up!”
“Oh? So you want him to notice you?”
Haren stormed off to the sound of Chris’ hearty laughter. The next morning he proved to be nastier than ever and Calintz still hadn’t a clue as to why.
Somebody gimme something to write. My Muse is confusing me. @_@