Flash Fiction Fills (Take 28) Final
Feb. 19th, 2012 02:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: At last! I have finished these, more than a week later. *shameface* Please enjoy!
For mandaelee1013
Prompt: Ione and Malcolm, how they became friends with benefits
Universe: Infinity's End, pre-The Edge of Tomorrow. Canon. Warnings for alcohol-use, implied het, intended smut
For firegirl0
Prompt: Kyouya+Ishida, let us handle things
Fandom: Bleach, Ouran High School Host Club. Sequel to this flash fiction. Warnings: Language
For animelover1993
Prompt: Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, Sound of Madness
Fandom: Transformers Bayverse. Warnings for OC character death, mayhem, violence
a/n: So this flash fiction did a pretty good job of teaching me how this is going to work in the future with my new job. Once a month definitely. I get one weekend off a month for certain. That weekend will be when I do my flash fiction. I'll announce it ahead of time so you guys don't miss it.
I have some ficcage on the backburner that desperately needs to be posted. It shall trickle forth as soon as I can. Thanks to everyone for their patience. I have the best readers! :)
For mandaelee1013
Prompt: Ione and Malcolm, how they became friends with benefits
Universe: Infinity's End, pre-The Edge of Tomorrow. Canon. Warnings for alcohol-use, implied het, intended smut
“A little bird tells me that you're a noble,” Ione says, dropping into a seat next to Malcolm. “I'm a bit hurt you never told me.”
Malcolm raises his brow, pushing his drink over toward her. “I don't for one second believe that you ever thought otherwise.” He nudges her with his shoulder.
Ione grins, taking his cup and knocking back the other half of his Rozlin with one huge gulp. “Okay, you caught me. I knew. Didn't think it a big deal since you didn't.” Her eyes, however, tell a different story than the nonchalance she is aiming for.
“Someone's got a stick up their craw about it, I take it?” Malcolm asks, signaling for another drink from the bartender. One for him and one for Ione. She looks like she needs it and Malcolm's thirst always seems bottomless.
Nudging him back playfully with her elbow, Ione raps her fingers on the countertop. “Don't want to talk about it. I knew what I was getting into when I took this scholarship.”
“Hmm.” Malcolm ponders. “Let me guess.... Sandel, Auria, and Trent?”
Ione's silence is telling. As is the fact she practically snatches the mug of Rozlin from the bartender and downs half the contents in one gulp.
“Thought so.” Malcolm slides a few coins to the man and turns his attention to Ione. “They're just jealous. I turned Auria down in public. Her pride can't take it.”
“Don't have anything to be jealous of,” Ione mutters into her cup though she is definitely eying Malcolm from the corner of her eyes. “We're just friends.” There is a hint, however, a subtle invitation.
This time Malcolm is the one who has to grasp his Rozlin and drink deeply. He leans closer to Ione, close enough that he can smell the scent of her soaps. “We could give them a reason to be jealous,” he suggests. “Make rumor into fact.”
“And scandalize all of Grayshire?” Ione's mouth curves into a slow smile as she turns in the stool to face him better. “Your grandfather would have kittens.”
“Grandfather doesn't have to know,” Malcolm counters, a lurch of arousal threading it's way through him. “This'll be between you, me, and whoever's bed we decide to make a statement on.”
Ione laughs, her voice dropping into a seductive husk. “From what I hear, you're good at making a statement.”
“I can prove it, too.” Malcolm finishes off his drink, pushing it aside and slipping from his stool. “Coming?”
Ione drinks the last of hers as well and leaps from her seat. “Let's see what you got.”
Malcolm raises his brow, pushing his drink over toward her. “I don't for one second believe that you ever thought otherwise.” He nudges her with his shoulder.
Ione grins, taking his cup and knocking back the other half of his Rozlin with one huge gulp. “Okay, you caught me. I knew. Didn't think it a big deal since you didn't.” Her eyes, however, tell a different story than the nonchalance she is aiming for.
“Someone's got a stick up their craw about it, I take it?” Malcolm asks, signaling for another drink from the bartender. One for him and one for Ione. She looks like she needs it and Malcolm's thirst always seems bottomless.
Nudging him back playfully with her elbow, Ione raps her fingers on the countertop. “Don't want to talk about it. I knew what I was getting into when I took this scholarship.”
“Hmm.” Malcolm ponders. “Let me guess.... Sandel, Auria, and Trent?”
Ione's silence is telling. As is the fact she practically snatches the mug of Rozlin from the bartender and downs half the contents in one gulp.
“Thought so.” Malcolm slides a few coins to the man and turns his attention to Ione. “They're just jealous. I turned Auria down in public. Her pride can't take it.”
“Don't have anything to be jealous of,” Ione mutters into her cup though she is definitely eying Malcolm from the corner of her eyes. “We're just friends.” There is a hint, however, a subtle invitation.
This time Malcolm is the one who has to grasp his Rozlin and drink deeply. He leans closer to Ione, close enough that he can smell the scent of her soaps. “We could give them a reason to be jealous,” he suggests. “Make rumor into fact.”
“And scandalize all of Grayshire?” Ione's mouth curves into a slow smile as she turns in the stool to face him better. “Your grandfather would have kittens.”
“Grandfather doesn't have to know,” Malcolm counters, a lurch of arousal threading it's way through him. “This'll be between you, me, and whoever's bed we decide to make a statement on.”
Ione laughs, her voice dropping into a seductive husk. “From what I hear, you're good at making a statement.”
“I can prove it, too.” Malcolm finishes off his drink, pushing it aside and slipping from his stool. “Coming?”
Ione drinks the last of hers as well and leaps from her seat. “Let's see what you got.”
For firegirl0
Prompt: Kyouya+Ishida, let us handle things
Fandom: Bleach, Ouran High School Host Club. Sequel to this flash fiction. Warnings: Language
Ichigo's initial fears are coming to life. Ootori is certainly the devil and Ishida has turned himself into the devil's apprentice.
“Very well,” Ootori announces. “Into the music room with you.”
“Don't dawdle,” Ishida snap, shoving them both toward the opulent school and its spic-and-span atmosphere that make Ichigo feel about two feet tall and covered in dirt.
“It'll take both of our not inconsiderable intellect to make this work, you realize,” Ootori says, still in that high-handed tone and only addressing Ishida.
The Quincy snorts, his grip on the back of Ichigo and Renji's neck unrelenting and surprisingly unbreakable for how tiny he is. “Oh, believe me. I know. I've had to work with these louts for years. Damn near useless.”
Ichigo opens his mouth to protest, but Ishida's fingers grip even stronger, and he winces. Oh, but the Quincy will pay for that later. Pay in full. Yes, he will.
“Nearly but not completely,” Ootori agrees with another assessing look at the two Shinigami. “Hmm. I'll let Tamaki decide their types. The twins will be in charge of makeovers. I'll work on crafting a legitimate cover story.”
“And I'll make sure they cooperate,” Ishida finishes with what Ichigo can only assume is a shark-like smirk, though he can't see the Quincy's face right now.
Ichigo looks over at Renji, who's looking back at him with a distinct air of “kill me now. Please.” Ichigo's pretty sure the same expression is on his face.
The music room, which apparently doubles as their club headquarters, is even more intimidating than the school itself. Ichigo absolutely does not inch a step closer to Renji.
“Mori-senpai can handle teaching them manners,” Ootori adds, scribbling something in his notebook. “And Honey-senpai will try and inject some charm into them.”
Ishida finally releases his death grip on the Shinigami's necks, not that there is anywhere to escape. “Good luck to him. I've been trying for years.”
Indignity wraps itself around Ichigo like a heavy cloak. “Oy. We aren't here to be insulted.” He doesn't think it's such a good idea that Ootori and Ishida have made such good friends with each other. Their mutual agreements can't be good for anyone's sanity.
Ootori smirks in terrifying concert with Ishida. “Don't worry. We're going to take care of everything.”
“Very well,” Ootori announces. “Into the music room with you.”
“Don't dawdle,” Ishida snap, shoving them both toward the opulent school and its spic-and-span atmosphere that make Ichigo feel about two feet tall and covered in dirt.
“It'll take both of our not inconsiderable intellect to make this work, you realize,” Ootori says, still in that high-handed tone and only addressing Ishida.
The Quincy snorts, his grip on the back of Ichigo and Renji's neck unrelenting and surprisingly unbreakable for how tiny he is. “Oh, believe me. I know. I've had to work with these louts for years. Damn near useless.”
Ichigo opens his mouth to protest, but Ishida's fingers grip even stronger, and he winces. Oh, but the Quincy will pay for that later. Pay in full. Yes, he will.
“Nearly but not completely,” Ootori agrees with another assessing look at the two Shinigami. “Hmm. I'll let Tamaki decide their types. The twins will be in charge of makeovers. I'll work on crafting a legitimate cover story.”
“And I'll make sure they cooperate,” Ishida finishes with what Ichigo can only assume is a shark-like smirk, though he can't see the Quincy's face right now.
Ichigo looks over at Renji, who's looking back at him with a distinct air of “kill me now. Please.” Ichigo's pretty sure the same expression is on his face.
The music room, which apparently doubles as their club headquarters, is even more intimidating than the school itself. Ichigo absolutely does not inch a step closer to Renji.
“Mori-senpai can handle teaching them manners,” Ootori adds, scribbling something in his notebook. “And Honey-senpai will try and inject some charm into them.”
Ishida finally releases his death grip on the Shinigami's necks, not that there is anywhere to escape. “Good luck to him. I've been trying for years.”
Indignity wraps itself around Ichigo like a heavy cloak. “Oy. We aren't here to be insulted.” He doesn't think it's such a good idea that Ootori and Ishida have made such good friends with each other. Their mutual agreements can't be good for anyone's sanity.
Ootori smirks in terrifying concert with Ishida. “Don't worry. We're going to take care of everything.”
For animelover1993
Prompt: Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, Sound of Madness
Fandom: Transformers Bayverse. Warnings for OC character death, mayhem, violence
The roar of the crowd is loud enough that it rattles over Sideswipe's plating and through his spark chamber. He grins, leaping back to avoid the swipe of his opponent's claws. Too slow, mech.
Beside him, Sunstreaker is toying with his opponent. The larger, sturdier mech practically bristles with weaponry, but hasn't managed to score so much as a scratch on Sunstreaker's shiny finish.
This bout is ridiculous, so far below their skill level that Sideswipe wonders what their proprietor was thinking to schedule it. They're drawing things out just for the sake of the crowd.
Another skilled twist and Sideswipe dodges his opponent again, lazily ducking up behind the mech and slamming his palm into the mech's helm. The ring of metal on metal barely rises above the din and clamor of the cheering crowd. Another sharp jab of Sideswipe's servo into the mech's neck and he drops, twitching on the ground.
Sunstreaker skates around his own opponent, twin blades cutting a deadly swipe over the back of one leg. Energon spurts in a dull-blue fountain, mingling with the brighter magenta of cooling fluid. The mech goes down to one knee, his other leg useless.
The twins exchange a glance, the heat of battle rising in their circuits. The only time they feel alive, sparks perfectly in sync.
The cheers get louder, making Sideswipe's audials ring. The announcer says something he can't make out, but the rumble in the flooring explains much. Sideswipe turns, seeing the gates to either side of the ring rising, more opponents pouring through the openings.
More victims really.
Sideswipe laughs, flicking his wrist, letting his energon blade slide out of it's sheath. Now this is a challenge. Beside him, Sunstreaker is silent, his expression set with deadly intent. Sideswipe can feel the pulse of his brother's spark, however. A perfect contrast, a perfect opposite, complimentary in all the best ways, pulsing the same desire to rend and destroy.
They move forward, together as one, ignoring their half-defeated opponents behind them. They'll finish them with the rest of the soon-to-be scrap roaring their direction.
Blaster fire erupts from the charging mechs. Sideswipe doesn't so much as flinch as it scores his plating. Instead he leaps upward, diving down into the middle of the tangle of mechs sent to slaughter. The first feel of his blade biting into foreign metal is music to his audials. And Sunstreaker is right behind him, a silent but lethal presence at his back. The way things are meant to be.
Beside him, Sunstreaker is toying with his opponent. The larger, sturdier mech practically bristles with weaponry, but hasn't managed to score so much as a scratch on Sunstreaker's shiny finish.
This bout is ridiculous, so far below their skill level that Sideswipe wonders what their proprietor was thinking to schedule it. They're drawing things out just for the sake of the crowd.
Another skilled twist and Sideswipe dodges his opponent again, lazily ducking up behind the mech and slamming his palm into the mech's helm. The ring of metal on metal barely rises above the din and clamor of the cheering crowd. Another sharp jab of Sideswipe's servo into the mech's neck and he drops, twitching on the ground.
Sunstreaker skates around his own opponent, twin blades cutting a deadly swipe over the back of one leg. Energon spurts in a dull-blue fountain, mingling with the brighter magenta of cooling fluid. The mech goes down to one knee, his other leg useless.
The twins exchange a glance, the heat of battle rising in their circuits. The only time they feel alive, sparks perfectly in sync.
The cheers get louder, making Sideswipe's audials ring. The announcer says something he can't make out, but the rumble in the flooring explains much. Sideswipe turns, seeing the gates to either side of the ring rising, more opponents pouring through the openings.
More victims really.
Sideswipe laughs, flicking his wrist, letting his energon blade slide out of it's sheath. Now this is a challenge. Beside him, Sunstreaker is silent, his expression set with deadly intent. Sideswipe can feel the pulse of his brother's spark, however. A perfect contrast, a perfect opposite, complimentary in all the best ways, pulsing the same desire to rend and destroy.
They move forward, together as one, ignoring their half-defeated opponents behind them. They'll finish them with the rest of the soon-to-be scrap roaring their direction.
Blaster fire erupts from the charging mechs. Sideswipe doesn't so much as flinch as it scores his plating. Instead he leaps upward, diving down into the middle of the tangle of mechs sent to slaughter. The first feel of his blade biting into foreign metal is music to his audials. And Sunstreaker is right behind him, a silent but lethal presence at his back. The way things are meant to be.
a/n: So this flash fiction did a pretty good job of teaching me how this is going to work in the future with my new job. Once a month definitely. I get one weekend off a month for certain. That weekend will be when I do my flash fiction. I'll announce it ahead of time so you guys don't miss it.
I have some ficcage on the backburner that desperately needs to be posted. It shall trickle forth as soon as I can. Thanks to everyone for their patience. I have the best readers! :)
