Yes, that's right, the results of my fic-exchange with Pyro are now available for your viewing pleasure here. Warning: PWP Squall/Irvine/Zell. Yes, that's right, threesome smut. You have been warned.

Tell me why I keep getting random, going-nowhere FF8 scenes. *points at Irvine* It's all his fault. *grumble*

It was cold in the tent. More than cold, it was freezing. Fuck, how did people manage to live here before electricity and heaters and better insulation than just a thin layer of cloth between themselves and the howling winds? Irvine glanced over to where Squall lay burrowed inside his bedroll. He was asleep, only the top of his head visible above the blue, standard-issue SeeD sleeping bag. Irvine sighed, and rummaged down deeper inside his own. These things must have been designed for midgets, he decided. He tried to curl up as best he could. Skinny midgets, he amended. Skinny midgets who enjoyed freezing to death. He glanced over at the third, empty bedroll. Maybe Zell wouldn’t mind if he borrowed it. Just for a little while, so he could fall asleep and stop shivering his ass off. He’d give it back when Zell came in from watch duty. Honest.

It took a little while to stop shivering and warm up the double layer of blankets, but finally he was able to relax and drift off into sleep. Irvine awoke slowly. It still wasn’t exactly stifling under the blankets, but the winds had died down outside and weak winter sunlight was peeking through the tent flaps. He could hear the faint jingle of Squall’s belts as he walked around the camp. There was a large lump in the middle of Squall’s discarded sleeping bag that presumably was Zell. He must have grabbed Squall’s bag when they switched out for camp watch last night, letting Irvine keep the extra cover. It was the sort of thing Irvine could easily see him doing.

He worked a couple of kinks from his neck and reluctantly eased out of the bag into the frigid morning air. Last night had been too cold for him to shed any clothing, so he only had to slip on his boots and grab his hat. Irvine picked up the topmost blanket, wrapped it around his shoulders, and stepped towards the tent flap. Then he paused, considering, and reached back to grab the other bedroll. He carefully settled it atop Zell’s hidden, huddled form. “Thanks,” he whispered, smiling down at the lump in the sleeping bag.

Irvine would just like to say (at gun[blade]point) that Squall does not own, nor ever has owned, a pair of pants like the ones mentioned in the last post.

Squall: There.

Irvine: But you know, I saw a pair just like them at this little specialty leather shop in Galbadia, and I'm sure if we called them they could get you a pair, because, you know, you really would look totally fucking hot in them--

It is almost quitting time. I have been here since 7:20 this morning which is nowhere near when other people (darthneko) got to their jobs, but is quite very extremely early for me. I stayed here until 6:40-something last night setting up all the equipment in the boardroom for the training today, then rushed immediately over to the theater to paint, do not pass go, do not collect $200 or dinner on the way. Tonight I get to paint again, but at least I get to change clothes and collect food first.
</plaint>
I got donuts for todays meeting--two dozen assorted, and instead of just throwing in a few chocolate and a few cake, they also included frosted ones with sprinkles! Yay for sprinkles!

Listened to the Nickelback cd while painting, and although, as usual, Hobbes and Fawkes put in their appearance while listening to "This Is How You Remind Me," Irvine decided to pop in as well.

Me: Irvine, look, I know I've been channeling you lately, but come on. This is Fawkes and Hobbes' song. Why are you popping up?

Irvine: "This is how you remind me"? Hello, who was the only one who kept any memories of the orphanage and had to "remind" everyone else?

Me: Okay, okay, fine, you reminded me that you reminded them about their childhood, now will you go, please? I'm trying to paint the Golden Gate Bridge.

Irvine: But there's fic in them thar lyrics!

Me: Please don't try to do an Ozark hillbilly accent. I'm too busy for fic right now. I'm painting, see?

Irvine: But, but, it's angsty Squall/Zell/Irvine fic! I mean, come on! *bounces up and down slightly* It's perfect!

Me: You obviously have me confused with someone else. Someone who can write angsty Squall/Zell/Irvine. Go bother Blackrose, why don't you, I need more Battlegrounds fics to read. And stop bouncing, you've been hanging around with Zell too much.

Irvine: Please? *whispers huskily* I could make it worth your while.

Me: *whimpers* No, please, don't do that to me. You know what I'm like around smut. I can't help it.

Irvine: *still whispering* You know Zell is a lot like you. Blushes all over. All over.

Me: If I short out my keyboard with drool, how am I going to write your fic, Mr. Smarty Pants?

Irvine: I'm sure you'll find a way. *muses* Hmm, you know, I think that's the first time I've ever been called Smarty Pants. Tight pants. No pants. But never smarty pants. Did you know that Squall has this pair of leather pants with zippers down both sides and all this belts and holes cut out in them so that you can tell he has on nothing at all underneath them and he--

Me: Okay, okay! That's enough. You win. As soon as I get time, okay?

Irvine: How about right now?

Me: No.

Irvine: But did I tell you about my--

Me: Irvine. Go away. I said I'd work on it as soon as I could. Now, go...molest someone or something.

Irvine: *snaps off a salute* Yes, ma'am!

***Gah, bossy muses blackmailing me with FF8 threesome smut.***

Hrmmm...random bit of FF8 I did the other day. I seem to be channeling lots of Irvine and Zell. Not anything you'll ever catch me complaining about. Mrrrrowwrrr.

“Paperwork!” Irvine waved a sheaf of multicolored pages in one hand. “Like we need more of the stuff. Sign here, here, here, and here. Fill out these forms in triplicate. File this copy here and that copy there and whoops, one more copy over there and then one for our records and one for your records, and don’t forget to send a copy to main office! It’s all a bunch of crap. Next thing you know, they’ll be making us get receipts for each kill.”
Zell laughed, feet propped up on the headboard. “Can’t you just see that? ‘Excuse me, Mr. Ruby Dragon, but would you mind signing this release waiver for me? Yes, right here, down in the corner. And your initials over here. Oh no, feel free to sign in my blood.’”
“Hey, don’t joke about that too loud. They might decide it was a good idea.” Irvine plonked his pile of forms down onto a relatively empty corner of the desk and poked around for a paperweight.
“Well, I know the paperwork is a pain, but what brought on this outburst?”
“I was out of ammo this morning, so I went by Supplies to get some more before I went out practicing.”
Zell started walking his feet up the wall. “Uh-oh. Let me guess. You didn’t read the memo last week.”
“I was in Trabia last week! Like the first thing I want to do when I get in from a mission is read all fifteen million crappy little bureaucratic emails they sent out while I was out risking my butt for them.”
Zell kicked his feet away from the supporting wall and braced himself on his hands. “So,” he grinned upside-down at Irvine, “how many of ‘em did you have to shoot before they let you get your shells?”

Also have a bit of randomness. I have no idea who "she" is, but the song is Ave Maria.

The music washed over her. She didn’t understand the language; she didn’t need to. All she needed to know was in that beautiful voice. It was a voice crying out in the wilderness, singing its lament to the void. It was a grief inhuman in its power and otherworldly loveliness. The singer mourned for the whole gods-bedamned human race. For all of humanity’s breath-taking possibilities. For all of its potential saints and geniuses; for all of its possible tyrants and thieves. An elegy for a universe of lost souls. She saw how magnificent she could have been, and how pitiful she was in comparison. She never knew when the tears started.

Right now just a snippet. FFVIII. Post-game. Irvine and Zell talking. As to where it came from, or where it's going...who knows. I wrote the first line, they took it from there.
"Shit. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, dammit, fuck it all to hell."
"Nice to see you too, Irvine."
"Oh sorry, Zell, didn't hear you come in."
"Yeah, well, my catlike powers of stealth, you know."
"Catlike stealth? You? I could hear your mouth over in Trabia."
"Not if you're yelling at the walls like that. What'd they ever do to you?"
"It's... Nothing."
"Oh come on. Not even you can think that I'll buy that you're just pounding the walls because of a bad hair day. Especially not when you're so busy thinking about whatever it is you're thinking about that you didn't even notice me come in. What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Uh-huh. Might I remind you, and I quote, 'shit, shit, shit, dammit, fuck it all to hell'?"
"It's just... Everything."
" ..."
"It's just....Squall never talks to us. Not unless he's forced to, and even then it's as little as possible. Selphie acts like none of this happened. Ever. I don't know if it's the GFs or just selective amnesia, but every time I bring it up she just kind of blanks out. Like she's wondering what on earth I'm talking about. Then, she'll just bounce around and squeal about how we 'kicked sorceress ass!!'."
"Well, we did."
"I know that. I was there, remember? I'm just saying there's more to it than that. Nobody wants to talk about it. Nobody wants to remember it. Not even Quistis. Everytime I try to bring it up, she says she's too busy to talk. You'd think that we'd still be locked in a small room somewhere being questioned by medics and scientists and Garden officials, desperate to find out why we know about Ultimecia. What we know about the future."
"What about Rinoa?"
"What about her? Unless you happen to have a Squall mask lying around here handy, I doubt you'll even be able to get her to glance your way."
"That bad, huh?"
"Look, Zell, if it was just Rinoa or just Squall or hell, even just Selphie or Quistis, I'd buy it. But look at us! We were so close during that whole ordeal. We were the Orphanage Gang, for Hyne's sake! We saved the world together.
And now....
Now we don't even talk to each other.
Hell, the only reason I see you anymore is because we share a bathroom!"
"..."
"Well? Aren't you going to say something? Why are you avoiding me?!"
"It's not just you, Irvine. Except for Squall and Rinoa, we've all been avoiding each other lately."
"Why?"
"I think...we're afraid."

Erm...err...random pointless totally actionless conversation? I think the format comes from something I saw on Neil Gaiman's blog, about writing exercises. Anyone think I should let them talk some more?

However you want to look at it, those two are a problem. They shouldn't work. At all. You don't normally find yourself after several years of insults and abuse (even mild) feeling strangely attracted to your former bully. Or to your former victim. It's just that....

I keep thinking about little boys. Who sometimes like little girls. But instead of telling the girl that he likes her, the little boy will instead pull her hair, and call her "freckle-face", and hit her, then run away. Now, normally, we would think that because he is being mean to her, he dislikes her, but instead, he likes her so much that he knows of no way to express these feelings. He wants her to know that he has feelings about her, but he doesn't want her to know what these are. He is afraid that she can tell that he likes her and that the reason that she hasn't mentioned anything to him about it is that she does not like him. So he goes to extremes to convince himself and her that he does not like her.

And part of me says, so....what's to stop that from being why Seifer constantly picks on Zell? Why does Seifer like to see Zell so worked up? Is it because he enjoys knowing that he has caused an emotional response in Zell, even if it's not really the one that Seifer would most like to see? Has it even become after all this time, a disguise so deeply ingrained that Seifer believes that he could *never* be nice to Zell?

Is it just the fact that my FF8 muses are smoking crack while eating an entire bag of dark chocolate Hershey's Kisses and listening to the end of TMBG's "Wicked Little Critta"?

He's a dick.
Way to go.
I like him.
I got...Problems.

***yeah, you can say that again....***

Well, it's finally done. The story that has taken me almost six months to write. Despite the blushes, despite the eeping, despite the plot turns into areas I did not really want go, and despite the writer's block. Last night I put The Matrix soundtrack on repeat and told myself I was going to finish it, and I did. It still has to be edited and revised, but it's over (I think).

So here, in it's primal, rough-cut preview version, is The Bet. Zell and Seifer and kinky yaoi goodness and a rather comedic epilogue. Oh my.

( Cut for fic )

So, let me know what you think of it (hint hint, pyro, this means you). If it's total dreck, I want to know before I make an even bigger fool of myself than I already do on a daily basis. (Although, half the stories out there on FF.net are total dreck, and they get more praise than my stuff, which is at least correctly spelled dreck.) ;)

Fu? WTF? When did you arrive in my head?

BEEN HERE.

What? Since when?

COLLEGE. POSSE. REMEMBER?

Oh, yeah. Me, Becca, and Alexis, caught up in the full thrall of FF8 fandom. Playing at the Posse. Becca as Seifer, Alexis as Raijin, and me as Fuujin. The total irony of it all, since I'm the hyper-cheerful loudmouth of the group. But still, I didn't think you moved in then. You've been awfully quiet since then. At least until now.

SILENCE. MY SONG.

I know, I know. It took me little while to realize who it was singing it in my head, that's all. I mean, I didn't know you were a songfic kind of gal. And the bunnies! Not Saifuu's, not Raifuu's. But pre-game. The story of your life. Echoes of Neil Gaiman and Zelazny and bits of bishink's sorceress-Fuu and snippets of half-remembered Eliot poems. I can't write that kind of story!

WRITE. NOW.

I mean it, Fu! I'm not good enough. You need a real writer for that, not me. And I still have to finish the Zell/Seifer story first. It's not fair to just drop a huge bunny like this in my lap!

**GLOWER**

And what's that bunny you have hidden behind your back? The dark one that's being very quiet?

NO BUNNY.

Fu, don't lie to me. I can see its ears poking out. Hey, who's that over there in the corner behind you? Hiding in the shadows? All wrapped up in the cloak and hood? Hey, you! Come back! Who are you?!

GO NOW.

Fu, who was that masked man? (God, that sounds corny.) Fu, tell me! **gasp** That was a romance bunny you had, wasn't it? With mystery man? Fu, c'mon, tell me who it is!

NO. **WALKS AWAY**

Fuuuuuu! Come back!

Dang, now I have some sort of teasing, half-hidden mystery romance bunny in my head. Fu and ??? All I know about Mr. Mystery Man is that he is rather tall and very quiet. Fu, this better not be an OC. I can't write OCs worth a shit, and you know it. Fu, stop broadcasting these little OC hints at me. No, no, he can't be a mute who communicates solely through telepathy. Stop reading Anne McCaffery, Fu! And, no, he can't look kind of like a cross between Ageha from Basara and Vampire Hunter D. Just shut up, Fu!

I never thought I'd say that.

( Cut for lyrics to Fu's song:  )

Well, looking at my watch (wait, don't have one, sorry, forgot), I see that I had promised myself that next time I posted I would post my Rinoa fragment. Be warned: it's Rinoa, it's post-game, and it's very very freaky and semi-incoherent.

( Read more... )