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fanfic: final fantasy viii ficbits

Back in 2006 I actually wrote drabbles that were 100 words. This impresses me considering that now whenever I try to write anything I vomit out 2000 words before I stop and go, "No, you cannot write a 16,000 word story while failing Spanish!". Consolidating these from old Livejournal posts that I forgot existed, wow.

I also realized when looking over this I stole the name of the bar in Timber from a meta post that regann made once upon a time, and I guess I should credit her. *g*


The Sparks From Opposing Weapons, Seifer/Zell, G
"You aren't welcome here," Seifer said, his voice sharp. Words curt—like knives, Zell thought. Seifer leaned against the doorway of his apartment, looking disdainful in the dim light and by all appearances totally disinterested.

Zell wondered when he had started to see through Seifer and then he decided it didn’t matter. "I was welcome yesterday," he said, grinning, ignoring the skills Seifer had spent years honing to keep from getting close.

"Not anym—" Seifer began, but Zell didn’t feel like fighting today; it was easier to tug Seifer down and shut him up, warm and wet and familiar.

---

Appreciation for the Salt and the Swell of the Sea, Seifer/Zell, G
"You can’t catch," Zell said. Laughing as Seifer rose, wet and sandy and eyes as chilly as the water he had landed in.

"You can’t throw," said Seifer. He waded in after the ball he had taken a tumble for, grumbling discontentedly about sand. Zell knew they were crazy; hints of summer only stayed until noon and sunset was shading the horizon colors without names.

He grabbed the ball as Seifer tossed it back. "You could try to win this time," Zell said.

Seifer only smirked at him, framed by a sky full of romance and said, "I already have."

---

Angry and Bloody But Giving It His Best, Seifer/Zell, G
"Why'd you punch me?" Zell complained; on his back with eyes full of sky.

"You're a moron," Seifer said. The ground was cold, compared to the warmth of Seifer's thigh under his neck and the white heat of Curaga running up and down his arms.

"Is it—" Zell asked, but Seifer's eyes were hot with something Zell didn't understand and he wondered why he was so concerned with the dead dragon (dead, had to be, after that) instead of himself, hands broken and bleeding and Seifer looking—

"You’re worried," Zell said, surprised but not displeased, and then finally passed out.

---

Eight Shots and Counting, Irvine/Seifer, G
Seifer adopts a bar stool at The Shining Bomber. One blurry week later Irvine adopts the one next to him; spends hours insulting his choice of drink.

"Why are you still here?" Seifer asks him once, head buzzing. "Don’t you have autographs to sign?"

"You’re more famous than I am," Irvine says, and Seifer quickly realizes that he’s a liability—of course Garden would put a collar on him.

In the dark, when clothes are vanishing and Seifer repeats his thoughts, he’s surprised when Irvine presses their foreheads together, eyes angry and says, "They don’t pay me to want you."

---

The Vehicle of Her Revenge, Rinoa, Zone, G
She had run away, slip-twist through her bedroom window using long secreted-away rope. On the train, it didn't count as looking back since there was a wet wall between her eyes and Deling. She rubbed at her face with too-soft hands and ignored the stares. She was broke, she was alone, and she was out for revenge.

She didn’t expect anyone to sit next to her, tilt the hood of her jacket back and grin at her.

“Hey, princess,” he said. “Why the waterworks?” He laughed at her expression and took her hand and said, “My name’s Zone; what’s yours?”

---

so that happened!