FYFF: MISSION ONE, ACCEPT Y/N?

[sexychocobo]

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5. Please format your subject in the following ways:
   • Characters: FFV, Faris | FFXIII, Fang
   • Relationships: FFVII, Cloud/Tifa | FFIV, Cecil/Kain/Rosa
   • Friendships: TSW, Aki & Jane & Neil | FFIX, Steiner & Garnet

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Comments

Dissidia, Terra/Cosmos

[(Anonymous)]

Terra doesn't want to... But how can she say "no" to Cosmos, without invoking the goddess' divine wrath?

FFXII, Larsa/Penelo(/Vaan)

[(Anonymous)]

She knows he's too young for her, but he's on her mind anyway.

FFXIII, Fang/Lightning

[(Anonymous)]

Comrades in arms

FFVII:AC, Cloud/Reno

[(Anonymous)]

Cloud gets into some trouble and Reno bails him out. Unfortunately for Cloud, he has a new best friend.

FFVII, Zack & or / Sephiroth

[(Anonymous)]

They were friends, until they weren't anymore.

FFIV, Rosa/Scarmiglione

[(Anonymous)]

Rosa as Scarmiglione's wife and queen of all things dirty and disgusting.

Using another anon's format, ideas that could be used but def. aren't needed, use any or none if you want
-Rosa looking and acting gross as part of being wife and queen
-how she feels after spending her life surrounded by nice things and learning how to be a lady
-Barbariccia rubbing it in like the mean bitch she is
-Rosa visiting Baron

FFVII, Yuffie & Red XIII

[(Anonymous)]

Choose any, all, or none of the following:

Philosophy
Anger
Youth
Races
Night time

FFVIII, Rinoa/Ultimecia

[(Anonymous)]

And an humiliated Squall being forced to watch them doing it.

FFX, Kimahri/Rikku

[(Anonymous)]

Cuddling please? Or more if you like. Just please something consensual.

(Art) FFX, Kimahri/Rikku

[(Anonymous)]

Hope you enjoy!

FFVII Turk Mission Fic

[(Anonymous)]

FFVII/Inception crossover, with the Turks infiltrating people's dreams

Re: FFVII Turk Mission Fic

[aeris1172.livejournal.com]

WAAAAAAAANT

[(Anonymous)]

FFVIII, Squall/Rinoa/Quistis, Squall's had a hard day and the girls want to make him feel better. Bonus if things don't go as planned, but everyone has fun anyway.

FFX, Luzzu

[(Anonymous)]

I'd love to see something about Luzzu, after Gatta's death in Operation Mi'ihen and the defeat of Yu Yevon.

Re: FFX, Luzzu - "Penance" (G)

[(Anonymous)]

Every day since coming home from Operation Mi'ihen, Luzzu stands guard at the shrine on the summit of Besaid Mountain. He follows the same ritual each day: he wakes early, takes a little breakfast, then trudges his way up the mountain to takes his place there, heedless of heat, wind, or rain. Then, when night falls, he makes his way back to his hard cot in the old Crusader lodge and disappears into sleep, only to begin again the next day.

It is a subject of many whispers in the village, this vigil that Luzzu keeps, even after the destruction of Sin, when danger is never again likely to come from the sea. Lulu notices him go, almost every morning, then sees him coming back at night; almost every time she considers stopping him to ask why, but she never has. Then one day, six months into the Eternal Calm, Lulu is awakened by a roll of thunder, followed by the pounding of rain on canvas: the first storm of winter. She opens her eyes and, noting Yuna still rolled up in the blankets by the corner, quietly gets out of bed and throws on her winter cloak before slipping out the door and into the rain.

The storm is a fierce one: the rain falling in sheets, lightning piercing the sky. Alone in the village square, she makes her way toward the lodge. As she walks, she wonders. Surely these weather conditions will deter Luzzu from his daily errand? But no; as she reaches the door, she looks over her shoulder and sees him already walking through the gate, his dark red hair standing out against the gray day.

"What madness is this?" For a moment she watches; then she turns on her heel to follow him up the hill.

Rain does not usually bother Lulu -- she enjoys being buffeted by the elements, drawing from their raw power -- but today she draws the hood of the cloak over her head, letting the dark purple folds of fabric fall around her face. Then she walks into the wind, breathing deep of the bracing cold air, concentrating on not slipping on the already-muddy trail that leads up the face of the mountain. She is only a few minutes behind Luzzu, but once she reaches the shrine, she sees that he is already soaked to the skin and shivering. She doubles her pace, and when she reaches him, she lays a hand on his wet arm.

"Come inside," she calls up to him, raising her voice so she can be heard over the wind and rain. "Whatever you're looking for, it's not worth this."

He breaks his pose of watchfulness long enough to cast her a quick glance, and then he shakes his head.

With a sigh, Lulu speaks a few words under her breath and gestures with the Moogle doll she carries beneath her cloak, and around them, the rain stops. Luzzu looks up, his eyes wide with suprise for a second. "What..."

"A spell Yuna taught me, and then we modified it together." Lulu points up to the sphere of calm that she has cast around them. "A variation on Shell that protects against all the elements, magical and natural, over a small area. Look, the rain is still falling outside the sphere of influence." She tucks the doll under her arm, then rubs her hands together to cast a small warming fire at their feet. "And this one is all mine, of course. If you insist on being out in this wretched storm, at least I can keep you warm and dry for a little while."

Luzzu's answering smile is marked with sadness. "I don't deserve your aid, or your comfort. But thank you."

Lulu tips her head to the side, considering him. "Ah. You do this as a penance."

"Of a sort." He looks away. "I led too many friends to their deaths. Chappu, Gatta, others you've never even known. That was bad enough. But to learn that it was all for a lie? A fraud?" He shakes his head. "It's too much to bear."

"Yevon deceived us all," Lulu replies, her tone soft. "You can't blame yourself for not discovering the truth."

"Can't I?" Luzzu lowers his eyes, his free hand clenching into a fist. "There were clues. Operation Mi'ihen, of course, but that was hardly the first. Odd decisions made by the Maesters, strange rumors out of Bevelle and other places. And though no one person put all the clues together, some people did walk away before the truth was known. I could have walked away, too. And maybe if I had, some more people would be alive."

"Maybe." Lulu steps around to stand in front of him and meets his eyes. "But you can't know. You'll never know. And punishing yourself for mistakes you couldn't have known you were making isn't going to change that." She waits for a moment, letting him consider her word. "Maybe it's time to let them all go." Turning away, she lets her gaze drift out to where the sea meets the sky. "I have. I try."

Luzzu is silent, and she stands next to him, the two of them watching the storm-tossed ocean together. When he finally stirs, it is to look at her again, his smile less stiff now. "I'll think about it," he says.

"That's all I ask." Lulu pats his arm, then steps away. "The fire will burn itself out soon, but the Shell spell should last a few hours more, and it's designed to keep elements in as well as out, so it should keep you warm for awhile. See you tonight." She steps out of the sphere of calm and back into the storm, then heads back down the mountain, letting the hood fall back from her face so she can feel the touch of the rain on her cheeks.

--

It is the next day; the storm has passed, and Lulu is once again up early, greeting the sunrise with a cup of tea on the temple steps. As she sips from the cup, the lodge door flips open, and Luzzu appears, pack in his hand. She stands and hurries to him. "Luzzu?"

He turns to her, his expression peaceful. "Lulu. I thought on your words, and your kindness, all yesterday and last night. This morning, I came to a decision." He gestures to the knapsack in his hands, then slings it over his back. "You're right that I need to let the past go, but without my past, who am I? Where do I belong?" Looking up at the sky, he lets out a deep breath. "I'm not going to find that out here, surrounded by a lifetime of memories and regrets. The answer is out there, somewhere." He turns his gaze back down to her. "It's time for me to go find it."

"I'm glad," Lulu says with a smile. "Good luck."

"Thank you." He stoops down to leave a light kiss on her cheek, and then he leaves, walking through the village with a lighter step than he's shown in years. Lulu watches him go, and resolves to do a better job of taking her own advice.

Final Fantasy IV, Kain/Cecil

[(Anonymous)]

Kain wants and has wanted Cecil every bit as much as Rosa.

Eclipse

[(Anonymous)]

Eclipse
FFIV, Kain/Cecil (+ Kain/Rosa, Cecil/Rosa), no warnings.
[1500 words] Notes: trying to write kid-to-teen Kain was... interesting.

_____



In the old forgotten passageways beneath Baron Castle the walls exhale ghosts like vaporous winter breath: a fine spice on a hunt for treasure, harmless old haunts that feather around them as they creep down the halls with their stolen torch, their voices a nervous-laughing titter of echoes.

When the revenant comes Kain's blood freezes and he sees the panicked bloom of Rosa's untutored magic, shielding them; Kain's lips parting in awe and breathlessness as they flee.

But as they tumble back down the halls, to light and safety and a likely spanking, it is Cecil who clutches his hand.


---


The water turns all their hair an indeterminate grey, leeching out Rosa's bronze and darkening Cecil's until they might all three be ashen-mopped siblings. But the soft brushes of skin as they play raises the hairs on Kain's nape in a way the chill water doesn't, and he watches them, trying to understand: Rosa's bright eyes, Cecil's quiet face.

He stays in the pond after they leave (the water feels like flying); settled close together on the grass, the sunshine falls on their drying hair, washing them a clean pale gold, and though he's not underwater anymore he can't breathe.


---


When the air starts to feel electric-thin between them he thinks it's Rosa's magic — and it is but it isn't, small sharp-gold glints when they touch that have nothing white or holy about them. He wonders desperately if she can feel it, if she tastes metal on her breath like rain and lightning churned inside — if she senses his presence on her skin, feels his absence when they're apart.

Kain stares at the ceiling, sleepless; listens to Cecil's breath in their room and covets the aware prickle of his skin that never fades, because Cecil never leaves him.


---


He knows when they discover each other: words turned thick and clumsy, falling into the sudden silences in awkward bursts; accidental brushes of limbs gone abruptly long and disobedient seeming to scald them. Kain would laugh if not for the confused tightness of his heart, watching them: a happy-hollow emptiness and he tries to distract himself, distract them all with talk of their futures, mage and soldiers; the sharp nervousness of impending training so unlike the soft buzz of being with them.

It eases them a little and he breathes easier and loves them and thinks: I discovered you first.


---


Cecil is not the kind to speak of it, but Kain knows when it has happened and he finds himself alone on the practice fields, angry desperate jabs of his spear slicing the air as he remembers the soft flush of Cecil's face, red blooming across pale skin and the fine lines of his nose, the way Kain's fingers had itched and wanted to touch, wanted to take, wanted.

He wants to taste her on Cecil's lips.

He wants Rosa to taste Kain the next time they kiss.

He wants to take Cecil's face in his hands and share nothing.


---


Rosa pulls him into their small circle endlessly, her invitation sunshine on his skin, gentle in intent and scalding in effect; he burns cold. She doesn't know how it sears him — nor will she, ever; she and Cecil share their hours with him and he is grateful-jealous-silent when their time alone without him is scarce: he can taste those hours as they tick by, burned into his palms, stamped by his hands onto his own body.

They share themselves with him: Rosa's sun-kissed purity and Cecil's moonlit regard in her reflected light, and he feels like twilight between them.


---


The irony of it is that Kain had already chosen a path alone before it happened: he will be a dragoon, as he knows Cecil won't. Cecil and Rosa for each other, and the skies for him, where moon and sun dwell, where their light will always touch him.

But when the parting comes it cleaves them not in two, but three: Cecil consents to the dark knight's path and the three spend the last night before training begins together, talking on the hill by the pool. Kain chokes on it: the first time they have felt all-three-together in months.


---


The sky sweeps across the darkness inside him, chasing the thick roils of himself until he feels nearly scoured. He touches down to find Cecil watching him, helmless, his hair a white spill against the dark armour. Kain regards him across the steps between them: the clean line of jaw, the tired flatness of his mouth.

"Her touch sears me," Cecil says, quiet on the wind.

And yours me. These words burn. Kain doesn't know what his silence says, but Cecil takes a long breath. "Help me with the armor, please." Kain nods, and keeps his touch distant and cool.


---


The armor seems to eclipse Cecil, swallow him, as close to his skin as touch; Kain tries not to stare. Cecil tells him of the darkness it seems to seed inside him and Kain wants to laugh, cruelly, because Cecil does not seem to see the shadows that dog Kain: jealousy, pride, selfish want, hovering over him like Baron's ghosts, clinging to his skin where only high-borne winds can tear them free. Cecil begins to find himself unholy, and Kain wonders if that's so wrong: let us be unholy together, then.

He wonders if Rosa's touch would burn him, too.


---


He finds Cecil exhausted in Kain's room, waiting. The blue shadows under his eyes match his complexion too well and Kain simply looks, for a moment.

"I can't take it off," Cecil whispers. "I want to. I can't."

Kain kneels before him. He takes his gauntlets off, this time: the armor feels less like metal and more like sharkskin, organic and rough under his fingertips. Cecil's breath quickens as it comes off, piece by piece under Kain's hands, and Kain watches his face, steadily, to remind himself every moment that what the shaky exhalations hold is the edge of tears.


---


Rosa seeks him out, and he keeps the bitter twist off his lips: he knows it's Cecil. She tells him he's her closest friend, their closest friend, as he silently drinks in her face; she tells him she needs him and takes his hand. Her touch is a sudden frost, spreading crystalline across him like all his dark silent thoughts leap from his blood up to his skin, to be near her, to confess, to freeze forever visible, tattoos on his fingertips that will ever speak for him: I want too many things.

"Help him," she says. "Please help him."


---


The armor is learning Cecil's skin: it deepens into the grooves between muscles, learns the lines of bones; Kain watches as it hollows itself into place, casts shadows upwards onto Cecil's face. Kain wonders what magics Rosa's fingers would feel seeping from it, hungry and dark. He helps Cecil with the pauldron, rubs his fingers together and looks at them, curious at their lack of this perception.

And he puts his hand on Cecil's bare shoulder over hunger-etched red lines, and neither of them flinches and Cecil's eyes are endless: Kain had thought no vaster need existed than his own.


---


He can touch where Rosa can't, and the knowledge burns in his fingertips, settles on his tongue; he looks Cecil in the eye as he aids him and he knows his hands are hungry, wanting the armour's knowledge, the secrets of Cecil's skin: wants to know what blackness it feeds on in his heart because Kain remembers his face after Cecil and Rosa had first kissed and thinks: if we are both now too unholy for her, can we find each other in darkness?

And they are all three of them empty with hunger: the armour, and Cecil, and Kain.


---


Cecil grows less bowed under its weight, his eyes less hollow; he leans into Kain's hands, lids closed, breath deep like he inhales the moment, as if Kain's touch is an assurance of his own humanity underneath that dark and hungry second skin, and Kain does not laugh; does not ask Cecil if it is humanity they share or something else.

Kain places his palms on Cecil's back, leans his forehead against it, exhale long down his spine, and listens to Cecil's breath catch.

Rosa thanks him for Cecil's ease; he does not tell her how he came by it.


---


When Cecil stumbles into Kain's room and tears the armor off, piece by piece with his own hands, Kain understands: a full dark night at last, and Cecil weeps; Kain wonders if it is for himself or Rosa and—

"Kain," Cecil breathes, "Kain," wet with tears, desperate, unarmoured in the moonlight and when Kain touches him he takes Kain's face in his hands, kisses him in the dark, Kain's hands in his hair.

The moment slides bitter-coveted down Kain's throat: Cecil could not go to Rosa for this, and Kain knows he will never be this weak again. Kain breathes.

Final Fantasy IV, Kain/Edge

[(Anonymous)]

Edge has been rejected by Rydia, and Kain by Rosa. Bonding after Cecil and Rosa's wedding. Drinks may be involved. Porn is awesome.

Final Fantasy VI, Celes/Terra

[(Anonymous)]

Terra and Celes have both always wanted to find who they really are, and they share a special connection, as powerful as that between Heaven and Earth.

Final Fantasy VI, Terra/Edgar

[(Anonymous)]

Every king needs a queen. The problem is that the queen comes with an entire village filled with orphans....

Final Fantasy VI, Terra/Shadow

[(Anonymous)]

Shadow intended to die after Kefka's Tower fell, but Terra finds him, barely alive, in the wreckage. Hurt/comfort. If Relm is involved, that's even better.

FFVI, Terra/Shadow, "Reconstruction" (1/2)

[(Anonymous)]

[Anon, I shipped this before I even knew what shipping was. ♥ Which is why I am wandering back to the meme months later to fill this. Hope you enjoy!]



At first he stays because he cannot leave. Even before he realized that half his left leg was gone, fever stole his thoughts and cracked bones stole his movements. Every breath hurt and reminded him that he was, despite his best intentions, alive.

He remembers standing perfectly still in preparation and practice for death as the tower shook and shattered around him. For the first time in years, his arms were open. "Come get me," he said, without challenge or mockery, to the ghosts who waited. He remembers pain, but only in the instant before the darkness welcomed him.

Here his memories feel like dreams of another man's life. He has lived three lives already; he doesn't want another.

This time the piece of the past that has followed him is Terra, whose answers are clear, simple, and infuriating: "You were missing. I came back to find you."

Apparently the only part of him that died was the part that knew how to vanish without a trace. He hates speaking now, hates the naked clarity of his voice without his mask, so he only stares at the place where his leg should be beneath the blanket.

"It was gangrenous," she says. "We couldn't save it, not without—"

"Magic," she doesn't say, but he hears it in her abrupt silence. Looking at her hands, she picks up after a beat: "I thought you could recover best here in Mobliz. We didn't know where else to bring you. We don't even know your name."

So here he is again in an isolated corner of the world, snatched from death's hands. He knows how this story ends. He'd just as soon skip to the epilogue without destroying someone who thinks he can be saved.

He wonders if Strago suggested Thamasa, but he felt the old man's shrewd eyes on his back from the moment Interceptor took to the girl. Strago must know, and know better.

"Where's Interceptor?" he asks.

"With Relm. We weren't sure you were going to make it."

This is two questions answered for one. The reactions roiling inside him refuse to coalesce into anything simple, so he lets none of them out.

When he doesn't respond, Terra raises her head again. "Edgar said he can make you an artificial leg once the wound heals. It won't be the same, but you'll be able to walk again." She laces her fingers together. "Then you can go wherever you want."

At last his silence drives her away, and he drifts back into fevers that weave his pasts into his present and melt them all together.



He stays; he heals; he waits. Time is sealing him up with scars, but he can still feel everything, even the leg that isn't there. When he begins to hobble on crutches, he stumbles every time he trusts his weight to a ghost.

When he catches his reflection in a window, he finds a stranger; he looks older than he remembers, his face thinner and his cheeks more hollow, and bruises bloom between forgotten scars. He knew every stitch and fold of his mask.

Every time he dies, he comes back different, nameless. He draws the curtains as if hiding the image will turn him back.

For so long he has run with death at his heels; when he stopped, death lost interest. Now he has fallen into a drowning slowness, a rippling reflection of his mayfly life in Thamasa.

"How are you doing?" Terra asks him every morning, and she never takes silence or shrugs for what they are. She holds a one-sided conversation as she changes his bandages and rubs medicine into the places that are slowest to heal. Her hands are still callused from her years with a sword; her palms sometimes still flatten and flex as if she means to push healing light through them.

Today he meets her eyes (the last time he did so, they were shining and golden and wild) and says, "I was trying to die."

He doesn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't for her to finish tying the bandages around his knee and reply, "I know. I'm trying not to hold it against you."

His arm tenses under the chill of the salve she paints over a deep wound. He wraps words around the bitter taste of absurdity that won't leave his mouth: "You know what I am."

Her fingers still briefly before she removes them and wipes them clean. "I once killed fifty soldiers in three minutes."

He remembers this vaguely, from a time before he cared. "Not of your own will."

"I don't think that mattered to the soldiers." She closes her tin medical kit and smiles thinly at him. "We're not who we used to be."

Not "who," he said, but "what"; his identity may be forever in flux, but he is always a bringer of death. Every time he changes, he becomes less.

When his silence makes it clear that he is finished with the conversation, Terra leaves him to his breakfast. At the threshold she pauses and says, "I don't think you ever killed your emotions, not really."

Perhaps this is true. He has never been able to kill anything that wanted to die.



On his better days he stalks aimlessly in the shadows, Duane's clothing hanging loosely from his atrophied frame, seeking a solitude that lasts more than a few minutes. Once he sent grown men scurrying away with a cold glance; now he can't even divest himself of inquisitive children unless one of Mobliz's adults intervenes. One of the most persistent little girls is brash, flamboyant, heartbreaking.

Learning to ignore his phantom limb lets him make his way beyond the village, where he can sit in silence on the edge of the cliff and watch the churning of the sea far below. He could fall so easily. He has fallen so many times before.

You can go wherever you want, he tells himself, but he doesn't know what he wants. He doesn't want to want.

Sometimes his secluded spot has been claimed by Terra, who stares south over the water as the wind tangles her hair. He never announces himself, only hobbles back to his room to lock the door and muffle the noise of children growing up.

When he hears the baby cry, he knows he will have nightmares.

On his worst days he stays in his room, eating and reading what Terra brings him. He isn't strong enough to steal away often to the shore. He isn't strong; he's an echo trapped in a seashell, flesh bound reluctantly to dusty bones. Terra left him a journal to record his thoughts, but he has already given up trying to improve on the flat white of the paper.

"Setzer's bringing supplies tomorrow," Terra tells him after shooing away a little boy with persistent questions and little respect for closed doors. She sits beside him and offers soup. "You can leave with him on the airship if you want. I know you're not happy here."

She might have stopped before "here." With a grunt that she can interpret as thanks if she likes, he accepts the bowl and eats mechanically. He hasn't been hungry since he woke.

"Or," she says, with something fragile fluttering under her voice, "you can stay."

From outside comes a child's scream of "Mama!" Terra is up and out the door in an instant, leaving him to remember a burning house and a former life he didn't want to acknowledge. This time he has no dog to force his hand and provide an excuse.

Why should he still need excuses? He leaves his soup, picks up his crutches, and follows.

The children are crowded around the front of the house, herded by Duane. In the center of the village, Terra brandishes a sword at a growling devoahan. It digs its hooves into the dirt and lowers its horns.

This village and its children mean nothing to him, but he has never felt more useless.

When the beast charges, Terra leaps aside and catches it with her blade as it passes. It roars and shakes its head, spattering blood from the cut over its eyes. Terra plants herself between it and the village, right hand white around her sword, left hand twitching around an absence of magic.

With a low growl, the devoahan turns and runs back into the wilderness. Children flow past him to Terra's side as she sags with relief. After giving them a moment to cling, she asks sternly, "Who left food out?"

"Paolo," reply several of the assembled.

Terra fixes one of the older boys with a look of weary disappointment. "You know better."

She takes care of things. For now she takes care of him, but if he left tomorrow and never returned, she wouldn't lack for damaged things to look after. The thought is oddly reassuring.

When Terra comes back inside to hang her sword high out of the children's reach, he waits in a shadowed corner, trusting his balance to the wall. The children bustle blithely past him, unaware that someone he used to be would have dropped the devoahan in an instant with a shuriken through the eye. He wonders if they know that Terra could have ended it as easily but chose not to.

The world is a cleaner place without mercy.

"You should have killed it," he says as Terra drops back on her heels.

"I'm tired of killing things." She picks dried blood from the back of her hand, then locks eyes with him. Her voice has the edge of a challenge: "Aren't you?"

"I'm just tired." This is too stark, too honest; he traces her disappointment in the lines around her mouth. "I shouldn't be here."

"Then leave." She doesn't look at him. "There's nothing keeping you."

Her words crowd his head like struggling butterflies when he tries to sleep. The future forks inescapably before him, and he has no curtains to pull around it.

In the dark he slips outside as quietly as he can, easing his crutches over the wooden floor, and stands alone in the chill of the stars. The wind tugs at the empty leg of his trousers. This has long been his preferred way of leaving—home, partners, family, bodies. He doesn't know how to negotiate an exit.

The sea chops up the moonlight like a perpetually breaking mirror. He stands on the edge of the cliff, closes his eyes, and sees Terra disappointed again.

His bed is cold when he returns to it.

Final Fantasy VII, Yuffie/Reno

[(Anonymous)]

Yuffie doesn't like Shinra employees. Unfortunately for her, one particular Shinra employee has taken a liking to her.

Final Fantasy VII, Tseng/Rufus

[(Anonymous)]

Tseng lives to serve, up until the point when he doesn't.

Final Fantasy VII, Tseng/Tifa

[(Anonymous)]

They live very different lives, and yet so similar. They live in the shadows of others, always supporting, and receiving nothing in return.

Final Fantasy VII, Tifa/Cloud

[(Anonymous)]

And one day, Tifa lost her temper.

Final Fantasy Tactics, Delita/Ramza

[(Anonymous)]

Before, during, and after. And forever.

Final Fantasy Tactics, Agrias/Mustadio

[(Anonymous)]

Agrias decides to demonstrate her affection with flowers and chocolates. Mustadio thinks she has something backwards, but he's okay with that.

Agrias/Mustadio, A Fool's Hope, PG

[(Anonymous)]

"I heard from Ramza that today was when you were born."

He nearly jumps out of his skin, not merely because she surprises him, but also because it's Agrias of all people speaking. Trying to fight that flush that rises through his cheeks and ears, he turns to face her.

Her hands are clasped behind her back and she regards him as calmly as ever. Mustadio exhales. "Yes... I mean, it is. My birthday, I mean," he says.

Agrias nods, no hint of a smile on her fair face and he thinks that maybe he'd run off and become a knight or a hero or something if it meant she would but smile more often. Like he saw her, once, in a bar, her lips bright with rouge.

"Take this," she says and unclasps her hands and holds out a pressed red flower.

Mustadio takes a step back, not bothering to try and hide his blush, nor able to keep his eyes from widening. "Agrias," he says and then presses his mouth firmly shut before he can spill his thoughts or feelings. "T...thank you."

Without changing expressions, she waits. Silence and then--he winces and takes the flower, darkening as their hands brush. "You are welcome," she tells him.

He drops his gaze from her to look at the flower--a wild flower, probably picked somewhere outside of the Magick City--and then he looks back at her.

"It is not fair repayment for your gift, I fear," she says and then glances aside.

"No, no!" he says, "I love it! Truly, you could have given me nothing better!"

Her stance relaxes into something only mildly uncomfortable looking and he thinks maybe that's some sort of victory, but with Agrias, you never can tell.


Mustadio smiles and says, "It is quite beautiful."

With her lips curved upwards into an almost smile, she inclines her head to the side in agreement. The fading sunlight catches the gold of her hair and makes it glimmer and Mustadio catches his breath. Her loveliness has always been beyond compare--beautiful in the morning, day, and night, beautiful when running, sitting, sleeping, or bloodied from a fight. And her beauty is effortless, because it is always second to strength, honor, and duty. Mustadio sighs.

"Are you well?" she asks him, watching him intently.

"Y-yes," he says, "I am... quite well."

He glances back at the flower in his hand and grins. Agrias, Lady Knight and Protector, has given him a flower. A sign of affection--one he probably should have been brave enough to give her first, but that is of no matter--from the woman he moons after.

And maybe he's going about this backwards, but she gave him a flower.

Mustadio pulls a book from his bag, his favorite book on mechanicks, and puts the flower gently between its pages. "I will treasure it always, as I treasure our friendship."

For a few moments she blinks at him and then the almost smile is back. "It is but flower," she tells him, "But I am glad. I... treasure our friendship as well."

She turns her face from him, uncomfortable, and, by habit, her hand grazes the hilt of her sword. Mustadio tries to keep from laughing--oh, only Agrias--and winds up spluttering instead. Both of her eyebrows raise and she looks at him.

"Are you quite well?" she asks.

Mustadio nods, going red-faced again. "I am. Thank you, Agrias."

"I am on first watch," she tells him, glancing at the almost fully-set sun, "You should rest. Today has been long, and tomorrow shall be longer still, I fear."

"May I join you?"

Agrias blinks at him and frowns. "Two sets of eyes are better than one," he tells her.

"Are two sleepless people better than one?" she asks him dryly and then, when he looks down, Agrias considers. "If you wish. I will not stop you."

It's not much, but it's a start. It's the best birthday gift he's received since starting this errand and he grins at her, and maybe, just maybe, when she turns to look back at camp, he sees her blush.

But that might be a fool's hope. With her, all hope is foolish, she is a Holy Knight, without time for such things as romance and love. Yet, Mustadio knows himself for a fool. And he does not give up.

This is a beginning, and even if they merely become better friends, it will be time well spent.

Together, they head back towards camp.

As they walk, he begins to think maybe his hope is not so foolish. After all, Agrias gave him a flower.

Mustadio grins like a fool, and moves to walk beside Agrias who nods at him. For now, this is more than enough. This is perfect and he would have it no other way.

(Sorry if this is a little off, I've only played the original FFT, not the newer version... so... I hope you enjoyed it.)

Final Fantasy Tactics, Marach/Rapha OR Marach and Rapha

[(Anonymous)]

They were born together, they lived together, and they would die together. These were truths they understood from birth.

Final Fantasy VIII, Kiros/Laguna

[(Anonymous)]

No matter whether Laguna did it right or wrong, no matter how many times he failed the people he loved, one man followed him everywhere he went.