karanguni: (BALTHIER beckons)
Been writing a bit of [livejournal.com profile] nasdack lately (very overdue-ly, since the plotline for this, uh, plotline came up months and months and months ago). It's sort of kind of VERY terrifying that the introduction to the new arc - which isn't even on the giant list of Things To Do that Nyx and I have up - is clocking in at, oh, 5000 words.

I'm just going to be here.

Whimpering a lot.

And wondering how long the baseline of 18 major scenes is going to come up to. Multiply each scene by at least 2000 words and and and JAlfjlasjflkajsflkjfla sjfkl.

Hee hee hee. ♥

Anyone have anything in particular they'd like to see in the AU? Just to, y'know. FAN THE FLAMES. *beams*
karanguni: (BALTHIER beckons)
So. Guess who's writing a Stephen Maturin-Tseng-Balthier like AU madfic in her head? GUESS. GUESS! :D :D :D :D :D 8D
karanguni: (BALTHIER works)
Strange Untitled Stockmarket!AU

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII/Final Fantasy XII/The Stock Exchange
Rating: PG-99
Characters: Balthier/Tseng, Tseng/Rufus
Summary: Tseng's in New York, Balthier's in London, and Rufus is in the sky as the world burns around them. Hedging on futures can be such tricky things.
Functional explanation: It's all [livejournal.com profile] logistika_nyx's fault. A good chunk of this belongs to her, adapted to fit the situation and tense. You can read the original crack-ery here to see precisely which bits. Nyx: I apologise. Profusely. But probably not profusely enough.

Mostly, this is just a trader!AU: in which Tseng and Balthier make money on the gone-to-shit stock markets of our world. And Rufus waggles his eyebrows a bit. Hooray!

2425 words and oh, such a hell I am going to for this. Beware un-beta'd tense shifts!

'Are you an optimist?' Balthier would say into the receiver, when Tseng picked up. )
karanguni: (BALTHIER works)
Title: Reins of History
Rating: PG (genfic)
Summary: Vaan and Penelo play catch up with two sky pirates, one of whom is a leading man quite unwilling to act anymore.
Characters: Balthier, Fran, Vaan, Penelo, splitsecond appearance by Boobsy Woman Elza.

1536 words. First part (prelude, really!) to a planned series revolving around Balthier, because the boy won't shut up even when gagged. He'd probably enjoy it, too.

It was what Master Reddas would have wanted, and in any case, you're the only one who's got enough decency and brains to take over the port, you pig headed, obstinate, self-centred dandy. )


Feb. 17th, 2008 11:14 am
karanguni: (HOUSE kills)
Final Fantasy XII fic is eating my life. It's not supposed to eat my life. Replaying everything is not supposed to make me want to write endless streams of Balthier. ;_; What was meant to be a three hundred word prelude is turning into a thousand words of fic, and I haven't even reached the main plot yet. WHAT IS THIS. WHAT IS THIS. Please stop doing this to my fingers nghgnghngh.

In other news, watched the first few episodes of Entourage. Vincent is, uh, amazing. And him and E? Amazingly gay. Then I went to re-read Backstroke of the West, which never fails to kill me very hard every single time. Oh, Star Wars. He is in my behind! George Lucas should totally hire these Chinese translators.

karanguni: (EDWARD)

Title: Merely A Sweeper
Fandom: Terry Pratchett's Discworld (post-Thief of Time)
Rating: G
Summary: There's always someone better than you. Except where there isn't. Lu Tze, and the fact that this time, the apprentice really has outdone the master.
Characters: Lu Tze and the Underaged Abbot

Roughly 1300 words.

There's always someone better than you. Except where there isn't. )


Oh, hey, and to cut down on spam, the latest icon batch from the communites as well:

3x Final Fantasy XII (Balthier)
4x Final Fantasy VII (3 Rufus, 1 Reno)

\o/ for productivity! )

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A universe of unmapped grief and love
And new master light is beyond
The pleiades and plow and southern stars.

O soaring
Icarus of outworld, burn bright
The traceries of known skymarks,
Slide the highway planets behind
Your clear waxed wings.

Go conquer the everywhere left
Beyond your sad confinement
In a predicted bonehouse,
Witch thrown riddle of flesh
And water.

O soar until nothing
remains but great glittering holes
In the black godspun shirt over your head.

- John Fairfax