Flash Fiction (Take 14-Part One)
Jun. 19th, 2011 04:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: I now haz Batman icons! Thanks to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tmelange ! Also, today I finally bring you the first of the flash fiction. Yesterday, I came home to no internetz, thus the reason I couldn't post them.
Forhockeyiris
Prompt: Kensei/Shuuhei, “Battle of One,” 30 Seconds to Mars
Fandom: Bleach. Warnings: NSFW. Spoilers. Massive speculation. Slashiness. I honestly don't know where this one came from.
For tmelange
Prompt: Superman/Batman, jealous!Batman
Fandom: DCAU (would be my guess). Warnings for some crack, some OOC, snark, hints of slashy
Of all people to find himself being somewhat growly over, Batman would have expected the least of them to be Green Lantern. If there is one person Batman can halfway tolerate on the Justice League – even with his overreaching sense of morals – it is John Stewart. John tends to value strategy over reckless rampaging, which is a plus in any one of Batman's books.
However, at this very moment, Batman finds himself irritatingly and inexplicably narrow-eyed at Green Lantern. He passes it off as his usual ill temperament however, and no one seems to notice that his typing on the Watchtower's main console is faster-paced and more aggressive than usual, or that his shoulders and back are as stiff as a board.
No one except Superman, of course, whose super senses can hear the quickening of Batman's heartbeat, the under his breath growling, the quiet creaking of his leather gloves, and the subtle tensing of his muscles. Superman is milking this response for all its worth, the manipulative bastard, doing with Green Lantern what he absolutely refuses to do with Batman: acting contrite.
John is giving Superman the talking to of a century. Certainly a first, but apparently, this one time of Superman flying in fists a blazing before crashing head first into a Kryptonite wall has struck a chord with Green Lantern. For the first time ever, he's making a fuss about it, chastising Superman as though he were a two year old breaking Mommy's precious vase as opposed to the world's biggest Boy Scout.
And. Batman. Is. Not. Pleased.
He's the one who's supposed to remind Superman that he's not invincible. He's the one who isn't afraid of Superman or intimidated by him or who doesn't treat him like the next, best thing closest to God. He's the one who's not impressed.
Where in the hell John has suddenly lost his ridiculous hero worship of Superman – whom all the members of the Justice League irritatingly carry as well, save Batman because he's too intelligent for such a thing – Batman doesn't know. But he wants John to find it and find it soon.
Because Superman is listening. Superman is apologizing. Superman is admitting that he was wrong. Which he never deigns to do when Batman is the one berating him.
Batman, despite his better interests, flicks his eyes up, catching a glimpse of Superman reflected in the monitor. And sees Superman catch his peek and wink. He's doing it on purpose, the bastard, because if there's one thing Superman enjoys more than baiting Batman, it's invoking previously unexperienced emotions in Batman.
Oh, Clark is going to pay for this later.
Forkechirase
Prompt: Seifer/Laguna
Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII. Warning for spoilers, language, prelude to slash
He's everything Squall isn't, and nothing Squall is. Which sounds like a riddle and Seifer's never been too fond of riddles, but something about Laguna Loire is simultaneously simple and ridiculously convoluted.
He says: “Welcome to Esthar, Seifer!” when he should be saying “Die, you Sorceress Knight, you!” He even greets Seifer with a hug, of all things, rather than a spray of gunfire to the gut or even a dirty scowl, like the one Seagill directs at Seifer.
Dirty scowls Seifer can deal with. He smirks, winks, and swaggers, doing more to annoy Seagill than to smooth over the situation. Full-bodied embraces, however, leave Seifer oddly touched and at the same moment, filled with the desperate urge to run in the opposite direction as quickly as he can.
Laguna is more like Selphie than he is like his son and that should scare Seifer, too. He gets the Ice Princess. He does not get the hyperactive bundle of sparkles and yellow.
Where Seagill tracks Seifer's every move with suspicious eyes and one hand dangling near his waist where he used to carry the famous katal, Laguna slings an arm over Seifer's shoulders and happily directs Seifer into his inner sanctum. Much to every one of the President's personal bodyguards' horror.
Laguna laughs them off, swears that Seifer will never hurt him – which is the one thing that he has in in common with his son. Squall still stupidly thinks that Seifer is harmless for all that he was that bitch's willing servant. Seifer has the urge to do something really violent and stupid just to prove both of them wrong.
But he doesn't. And Seifer's not entirely sure why.
Laguna is an engima, wrapped in a mystery, covered in a conundrum, but he's also so stupidly simple that Seifer feels like an idiot himself for being confused.
He says: “Join me for dinner, Seifer.” And Seifer does, without thinking, when he knows he should be sulking because he doesn't want to make nice with Squally-boy's father.
And Seifer sits down at the long-ass table, piled high with food which Laguna dives into with gusto all while talking animatedly. Seagill glares at him with suspicious eyes; Zabat never says a word, just looks at him, head tilted, as though Seifer's the real puzzle here.
Laguna laughs, and Seifer doesn't know if Squall sounds like that because he's never heard the Princess laugh, but it does make Seifer want to smile just a bit, too. Except he stops because that's stupid and then wonders if maybe that's Laguna's real talent: infecting people with stupid. Cause Seifer's still here, he hasn't run away yet, and if that's not the most asinine thing right now, Seifer doesn't know what is.
a/n: Six more flash fiction to come! Along with other bits of fiction in other storylines and oneshots and all sorts of goodies. Stay tuned! Feedback is always welcome and appreciated!
tmelange ! Also, today I finally bring you the first of the flash fiction. Yesterday, I came home to no internetz, thus the reason I couldn't post them. For
hockeyiris Prompt: Kensei/Shuuhei, “Battle of One,” 30 Seconds to Mars
Fandom: Bleach. Warnings: NSFW. Spoilers. Massive speculation. Slashiness. I honestly don't know where this one came from.
Fingers drag down the insides of his thighs, where skin is the most sensitive and soft, catching on the ridged scars there and pausing. Stopping to trace them again and again in soft contemplation. In frowning contemplation. Shuuhei doesn't have to open his eyes to guess the look on his senpai's face.
He squirms in discomfort, knowing that this conversation is something bound to happen, and something he's just as determined to avoid if at all possible.
“Shuuhei,” Kensei asks, and his voice is firm, but curious, brooking no opportunity for Shuuhei to avoid it. “What are these?”
He's tempted to be a smart ass. Tell him that they are scars, obviously, but such an evasion of the truth will only make things worse. Make it seem like Shuuhei has something to hide, that he's ashamed. He is, in part, but not for the reasons that Kensei may think. Because their origin is not what Kensei thinks.
“Take another look,” Shuuhei says, wanting to dispel the wrong thinking before he gives the right answer. “They are older than Tousen's betrayal.” It's easier, somehow, to say his former captain's name now. Maybe because participating in Tousen's defeat, feeling that spray of blood, had cleansed him of that utter sense of betrayal.
In destroying Tousen, he'd effectively destroyed his former captain's hypocritical teachings about the shedding of blood.
Calloused fingers stroke the length of them again. “They also weren't healed by kidoh,” Kensei says, and Shuuhei can feel the weight of his stare.
“No,” Shuuhei confirms, and licks his lips nervously. “To count, they had to heal on their own.”
There's a rustle as Kensei shifts on the futon and Shuuhei is compelled to open his eyes, to watch as Kensei gives him a careful look, those brown eyes thoughtful and unreadable. “What do you mean, count?”
He forces himself to meet his former captain's eyes. “He said that I had to understand pain to inflict it, to get over my fears of it.” The confusion in Kensei's eyes doesn't ease, and Shuuhei forces himself to clarify. “The shape of death wasn't the only thing holding me back with Kazeshini.”
Comprehension dawns, bright and terrible, and Shuuhei can see the dilemma within Kensei. The questions he wants to ask; the answers he's afraid to receive. The guilt, and finally, a resigned flush of understanding. The weight and warmth of Kensei's palm on those incriminating scars is both a relief and a greater suffering. But at least he gets it.
He squirms in discomfort, knowing that this conversation is something bound to happen, and something he's just as determined to avoid if at all possible.
“Shuuhei,” Kensei asks, and his voice is firm, but curious, brooking no opportunity for Shuuhei to avoid it. “What are these?”
He's tempted to be a smart ass. Tell him that they are scars, obviously, but such an evasion of the truth will only make things worse. Make it seem like Shuuhei has something to hide, that he's ashamed. He is, in part, but not for the reasons that Kensei may think. Because their origin is not what Kensei thinks.
“Take another look,” Shuuhei says, wanting to dispel the wrong thinking before he gives the right answer. “They are older than Tousen's betrayal.” It's easier, somehow, to say his former captain's name now. Maybe because participating in Tousen's defeat, feeling that spray of blood, had cleansed him of that utter sense of betrayal.
In destroying Tousen, he'd effectively destroyed his former captain's hypocritical teachings about the shedding of blood.
Calloused fingers stroke the length of them again. “They also weren't healed by kidoh,” Kensei says, and Shuuhei can feel the weight of his stare.
“No,” Shuuhei confirms, and licks his lips nervously. “To count, they had to heal on their own.”
There's a rustle as Kensei shifts on the futon and Shuuhei is compelled to open his eyes, to watch as Kensei gives him a careful look, those brown eyes thoughtful and unreadable. “What do you mean, count?”
He forces himself to meet his former captain's eyes. “He said that I had to understand pain to inflict it, to get over my fears of it.” The confusion in Kensei's eyes doesn't ease, and Shuuhei forces himself to clarify. “The shape of death wasn't the only thing holding me back with Kazeshini.”
Comprehension dawns, bright and terrible, and Shuuhei can see the dilemma within Kensei. The questions he wants to ask; the answers he's afraid to receive. The guilt, and finally, a resigned flush of understanding. The weight and warmth of Kensei's palm on those incriminating scars is both a relief and a greater suffering. But at least he gets it.
tmelange Prompt: Superman/Batman, jealous!Batman
Fandom: DCAU (would be my guess). Warnings for some crack, some OOC, snark, hints of slashy
Of all people to find himself being somewhat growly over, Batman would have expected the least of them to be Green Lantern. If there is one person Batman can halfway tolerate on the Justice League – even with his overreaching sense of morals – it is John Stewart. John tends to value strategy over reckless rampaging, which is a plus in any one of Batman's books.
However, at this very moment, Batman finds himself irritatingly and inexplicably narrow-eyed at Green Lantern. He passes it off as his usual ill temperament however, and no one seems to notice that his typing on the Watchtower's main console is faster-paced and more aggressive than usual, or that his shoulders and back are as stiff as a board.
No one except Superman, of course, whose super senses can hear the quickening of Batman's heartbeat, the under his breath growling, the quiet creaking of his leather gloves, and the subtle tensing of his muscles. Superman is milking this response for all its worth, the manipulative bastard, doing with Green Lantern what he absolutely refuses to do with Batman: acting contrite.
John is giving Superman the talking to of a century. Certainly a first, but apparently, this one time of Superman flying in fists a blazing before crashing head first into a Kryptonite wall has struck a chord with Green Lantern. For the first time ever, he's making a fuss about it, chastising Superman as though he were a two year old breaking Mommy's precious vase as opposed to the world's biggest Boy Scout.
And. Batman. Is. Not. Pleased.
He's the one who's supposed to remind Superman that he's not invincible. He's the one who isn't afraid of Superman or intimidated by him or who doesn't treat him like the next, best thing closest to God. He's the one who's not impressed.
Where in the hell John has suddenly lost his ridiculous hero worship of Superman – whom all the members of the Justice League irritatingly carry as well, save Batman because he's too intelligent for such a thing – Batman doesn't know. But he wants John to find it and find it soon.
Because Superman is listening. Superman is apologizing. Superman is admitting that he was wrong. Which he never deigns to do when Batman is the one berating him.
Batman, despite his better interests, flicks his eyes up, catching a glimpse of Superman reflected in the monitor. And sees Superman catch his peek and wink. He's doing it on purpose, the bastard, because if there's one thing Superman enjoys more than baiting Batman, it's invoking previously unexperienced emotions in Batman.
Oh, Clark is going to pay for this later.
For
kechirase Prompt: Seifer/Laguna
Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII. Warning for spoilers, language, prelude to slash
He's everything Squall isn't, and nothing Squall is. Which sounds like a riddle and Seifer's never been too fond of riddles, but something about Laguna Loire is simultaneously simple and ridiculously convoluted.
He says: “Welcome to Esthar, Seifer!” when he should be saying “Die, you Sorceress Knight, you!” He even greets Seifer with a hug, of all things, rather than a spray of gunfire to the gut or even a dirty scowl, like the one Seagill directs at Seifer.
Dirty scowls Seifer can deal with. He smirks, winks, and swaggers, doing more to annoy Seagill than to smooth over the situation. Full-bodied embraces, however, leave Seifer oddly touched and at the same moment, filled with the desperate urge to run in the opposite direction as quickly as he can.
Laguna is more like Selphie than he is like his son and that should scare Seifer, too. He gets the Ice Princess. He does not get the hyperactive bundle of sparkles and yellow.
Where Seagill tracks Seifer's every move with suspicious eyes and one hand dangling near his waist where he used to carry the famous katal, Laguna slings an arm over Seifer's shoulders and happily directs Seifer into his inner sanctum. Much to every one of the President's personal bodyguards' horror.
Laguna laughs them off, swears that Seifer will never hurt him – which is the one thing that he has in in common with his son. Squall still stupidly thinks that Seifer is harmless for all that he was that bitch's willing servant. Seifer has the urge to do something really violent and stupid just to prove both of them wrong.
But he doesn't. And Seifer's not entirely sure why.
Laguna is an engima, wrapped in a mystery, covered in a conundrum, but he's also so stupidly simple that Seifer feels like an idiot himself for being confused.
He says: “Join me for dinner, Seifer.” And Seifer does, without thinking, when he knows he should be sulking because he doesn't want to make nice with Squally-boy's father.
And Seifer sits down at the long-ass table, piled high with food which Laguna dives into with gusto all while talking animatedly. Seagill glares at him with suspicious eyes; Zabat never says a word, just looks at him, head tilted, as though Seifer's the real puzzle here.
Laguna laughs, and Seifer doesn't know if Squall sounds like that because he's never heard the Princess laugh, but it does make Seifer want to smile just a bit, too. Except he stops because that's stupid and then wonders if maybe that's Laguna's real talent: infecting people with stupid. Cause Seifer's still here, he hasn't run away yet, and if that's not the most asinine thing right now, Seifer doesn't know what is.
