InsaneJournal

Ironman week 3 - Fluff
Summary post up late, half because the week's fics were actually finished late (well, by my rules, not the contest rules - I am supposed to try and get them up weeknights, but I am allotted one day slip for Circumstances, and thus the last one should be posted Saturday and the repost should be Sunday), half because last night was eaten by this week's fic.

As far as writing-process goes this week was more painful than painfic week. I don't know why. Clearly I fail at fluff. >_>

No warnings, except for generally likely spoilers and potential awkward prose.

they said our love would fade, but it gets stronger every day / they say that beauty fades, well, you're more beautiful than ever
Bleach, Yoruichi/Soi Fong. 200 words.
Shaken
Soi fong feels shaky, her emotional armor feels full of holes. But everyone has been thrown by Aizen’s dramatic departure, even those that aren’t injured enough to still be in recovery.

She can’t say that hasn’t affected her, of course. She’d also be lying if she said that was the main problem.

Yoruichi knocked down a wall in Soi Fong’s mind that had been there for a hundred years, and now it gapes raw and new. And somehow, behind it, her feelings are still there. It’s ridiculous to still feel the ache of Yoruichi’s disappearance.

Especially when she’s here.

“Yo.” Yoruichi calls from the doorway, with a grin. Soi Fong feels a blush rising to her face and hates herself for it. “Liking your downtime?”

Soi Fong can’t meet her eyes. “I’d almost prefer we were doing something. It seems anticlimactic to just sit here, after all that.”

“Ha!” Yoruichi walks in. “I’m with you on that.”

Silence falls for a few moments. Then suddenly Yoruichi’s hand is on her face, lifting her head.

“I’m sorry,” Yoruichi says, with uncharacteristic seriousness. “I –“ she breaks off.

Then Yoruichi bends down and kisses her, and Soi Fong flushes instantly with warmth.


whenever I'm alone with you, you make me feel like I am home again
Final Fantasy XII, Basch/Gabranth. 100 words.
As Simple
“Gabranth, now.”

Basch nods slightly—acknowledging, not accepting, but this is hardly the time.

“How does Archades treat you?” he says instead.

“As well as can be expected,” Noah responds with a wry smile. It reminds Basch of stories of fistfights, and he wishes this were as simple. “There is some animosity, but I think I shall be honestly judged for my skill.”

Basch’s face must betray his feelings, because Noah reaches and clasps his hand. “Truly. It can be a good place.”

Basch smiles. “Then we must drink well tonight, for after this your work will absorb you.”


we talk about it all night long / we define our moral ground / but when i crawl into your arms / everything comes tumbling down
Final Fantasy X-2, Nooj/Gippal/Baralai. 400 words.
Moral Ground
“I don’t like it. It’s too like old Yevon.” Nooj says, with a punctuating thump of his cane against the floor.

Calmly, Baralai responds, “We wouldn’t be restricting them because they’re machina, we would be restricting them because they’re dangerous and unnecessary.”

Gippal snorts dismissively. “Guns aren’t any worse than your magic or your staff, unless you’ve been lying to me all these years about your destructive capability.” Baralai allows that with a small smile.

“Guns are most effective against people, though. Fighting fiends usually calls for something else.”

“You are hardly unbiased, Gippal.” Nooj puts in, “considering they’re a substantial portion of how your faction sustains itself.” Gippal waves a hand.

“That’s not the important point,” he says. “There’s always new machines to be made.”

“That is a problem, too,” Nooj warns. “Making destructive machines for no reason.”

They go around in circles like this a lot. Baralai still can’t manage work up irritation over it. They are all arguing for what they think is right for Spira. More importantly, they are arguing, here in the same room. It’s so much different than before, when the tension of history and betrayal made them lead their organizations separately under the umbrella of slightly different ideals, and never directly address the others’ existence.

That tension is gone now, forced away with Shuyin. They’re not exactly like they were in the Crimson Squad, but that’s probably a good thing. Constantly training, fighting fiends, bone weary and on the edge of death isn’t how this should happen. When he thinks back to then, he sees how lost and close to breaking they all were.

Now they can argue late in the night and know that they actually have the power to change something. Now when they fall into a stalemate, exhausted, Gippal can touch Baralai’s arm and smile, and they both can turn to Nooj and break him out of his fugue as well, and they can all retire without the edge of impending doom.

That in itself is enough to make Baralai giddy. He’s fairly certain he sees it in the others as well. Perhaps someday, when the sheen of newness has faded from this, he will be more affected by their conflicts. But for now, Spira is sound and unthreatened. All of them are here, and it’s easy to let the smaller issues slide away under the touch of their hands.


On the continent of your skin, wandering, wandering, I could spend my life traveling the length of your body each night.
Final Fantasy XII, Basch/Vossler. 400 words.
Weather of Your Country
Vossler’s skin feels cool under his fingers, which is ridiculous even though Basch knows it is largely because his own skin is radiating heat like a chunk of fire magicite.

He’d been in Dalmasca long enough, he thought. He and Vossler spent the same time out in the sun, demonstrating the same training regimen. They retreated back to their tent to avoid the strongest heat of day at the same time. And yet Vossler cooled down quickly and dropped into a light sleep, while Basch lies here still, burning as if the sun still beat down on him. It’s entirely unfair.

And so Basch can’t feel terribly guilty about the possibility of waking him. He picks up his fingers from their light rest on the curve of Vossler’s bicep to run the remaining length of his arm.

To his surprise, Vossler doesn’t stir. Basch sits further up on an elbow and looks at him, but if he is pretending sleep he is doing it flawlessly. So he continues his exploration on Vossler’s chest, dipping the pads of his fingers into topography of muscle and browned skin. Basch wonders how long he can spend like this, just looking and feeling Vossler’s body; there are enough details to notice that he could be a long while.

It’s when he rakes blunt nails across Vossler’s side that it’s enough; barely a twitch of Vossler’s eyelids and then he’s up and Basch’s back is flat on the floor. He begins to suspect that Vossler had never been unconscious.

“The sun still gets to you, then, strange man of the north?” Vossler says, faintly teasing. And then again perhaps he was asleep, as his voice is low and rough like it is in the morning after a long night. It prompts a new type of warmth to flush through Basch.

“Perhaps I’m simply normal, and it’s the weather of your country that’s bizarre.” Basch tries, with as much composure as he can manage when Vossler has him pinned. Vossler looks briefly indignant, and then Basch follows up with, “or perhaps it is you that have gotten to me.”

Vossler’s eyes darken for a moment. Then he shakes his head and lets up. “Try to sleep. We have work to do yet this evening.”

Basch sighs but smiles, and they both settle back. He can feel the heat flow from Vossler’s skin as he moves away.


My heart can't stop beating faster, every time I hear your name or your laughter.
Ouran Host Club, Haruhi->Tamaki. 200 words.
Arrhythmia
Haruhi likes it at Ouran Academy. There’s no logical reason why. Instead of focusing on studying, she’s paying off a debt larger than she can really understand by pretending to be a guy and talking to girls. (The task - she’s calculated - must be amazingly lucrative. Either that or Kyouya is being generous in her repayment plan, but that seems about as unlikely as Mori joining the debate team or Honey munching carrot sticks.)

Still, these days she finds herself smiling as she walks into the Host Club, even before she sees the ridiculous scheme of the week. Somehow she’s found a place at Ouran, even though the students all live in their own world.

Tamaki’s only the most extreme example, and in a way his ridiculous flamboyance is a comforting constant. That doesn’t explain the happy warmth she feels when she sees him, or the way her heart beats faster when he looks at her, and she figures it can’t all be anticipated panic at his latest plan. It’s not important, though.

Haruhi ignores the way her heart flips a little when Tamaki tilts his head at her and smiles, except to hope she’s not developing an arrhythmia.