-the road called life-

la tragedia part 2

te_ashi — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 07:42:18 GMT

Title: la tragedia
Fandom: Tales of the Abyss
Pairing: eventual Sync/Asch
Characters: Sync, Van, Regret
Rating: PG-13 bordering on R for some disturbing violent imagery (tho this part is G)
Notes: Sync and his first encounter with a mirror. Poor kid. :/

The burns still ached, even after healing spells and bandages soaked in cool ointment. He was still dazed, wary, not yet accustomed to the place he had woken up in. Even the dim yellow lights were brighter than the room they used to keep him in. The food actually tasted like something, too. It was strange, overwhelming, and his stomach couldn't handle it at first. Still, it was better than being hungry, so he forced it down anyway. Time...he had never had so much time to rest before. Let alone a real bed. He tucked his pillow against his back, pulling the sheets up over his head, curling into a small ball on the mattress. He had gotten snapped at when they found him underneath the bed, so from then on he only pretended to hide. They left him alone, mostly. Only coming in to bring food and check on his wounds. Until he could walk on his own, that is.

"He's fully recovered?"

He remembered these voices, from before he had lost consciousness.

"It seems so. But, sir...if they were all failures, why would he be useful?"

"That's what I'd like to find out. Stand." This command was addressed to him, but he only hugged his knees tighter, staring at the man and woman warily.

"Is he frightened?"

"Just stubborn." He was yanked out of bed, protesting when the hand on his injured arm gripped a bit too hard.

"He'll need discipline."

"To be expected. I'd like you to take care of that."

"Understood, sir."

A hand gripped his chin forcefully, jerking his gaze upward.

"I know you can speak. What number are you."

He only clamped his mouth shut, glaring.

"....they weren't labeled?"

"Yes, that was a careless mistake." The man's voice hardened. "I asked you a question. Answer it."

This command was again met with silence.

"....judging from the reports, number five was disagreeable--"

"I want him to speak."

He didn't want to speak. He wanted to be left alone on the soft bed and brought food. It was much better than before. But he was nowhere near strong enough to break the man's hold on him.

"Don't know. What number," he said slowly, trying to indicate he didn't entirely understand the question. Someone had asked him the same thing before...

"They barely made any effort with this one, hmm?"

"Number three," he said, trying out the words curiously.

"You're number three?"

He made a dissenting noise. "Number three stopped moving."

"The other one that was recovered was six, and two and four were unresponsive in testing. He must be five. Looking at the reports, his abilities weren't up to par, but if he survived..."

He stared sidelong, waiting for them to be done with him and leave. Instead he was dragged by the collar of his shift over to the wall, where a strange metal frame stood. He jumped a little as he was pulled in front of it, but calmed down once he saw a face he recognized. One of the others was here. He thought maybe it was the one that had looked up and smiled at him that time long before, since none of them besides that one had ever looked him in the eyes. And this one was staring straight at him. He blinked, the other did too. They had bandaged him up as well, and he looked small and pale standing next to the man behind--

He squirmed, twisting around to look up at the person holding him there. Then back at the sight in front of him. There were more of this man as well? So many people with the same faces.

But he felt uneasy; something was wrong. The other two standing there bothered him in a way he didn't understand. He reached out finally, needing to touch them to calm himself, but all his fingers met was cool glass.

He slapped his palm against it, confused. The familiar boy on the other side did the same, matching his movement. Windows weren't supposed to look like this. There shouldn't be space for another room behind this one.

"I thought as much. No self-awareness." Hands grabbed his wrists, pulling him back, holding him still. He made a small, distressed noise.

"Take a good look at that face."

He couldn't have looked away if he tried.

"It may be yours, but it doesn't belong to you."

He was the same. Exactly the same as all the others.

This one. Different.

"Don't you want to know why? Why you were created. Why you were thrown away."

Fon Master Ion will die.

Destroy the Score with me.

la tragedia part 1

te_ashi — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 22:15:24 GMT

Title: la tragedia
Fandom: Tales of the Abyss
Pairing: eventual Sync/Asch
Characters: Sync, Florian, Van, Regret
Rating: PG-13 bordering on R for some disturbing violent imagery
Notes: I haven't written fic in forever, and then inspiration strikes...during finals week! FML.

Based on the doujin I'm drawing, which is based on our Abyss rp.

They all had the same face.

During the short times he was with them in that cold, dark place, he watched. There was one that did nothing but lie there, eyes wide and blank. Another huddled in a corner, making small, pitiful noises. But the first thing he remembered about the face they all shared was standing there as the barred door clanged shut behind him, and one looked up, crawling over on his hands and knees. His eyes were a little brighter than the others'. He tilted his head to the side, as if confused, then opened his mouth.

"This one. Different."

Something jumped in his chest, staring down at that pale, dirt-smudged face. He licked his lips cautiously, trying to remember the right words.

"I am....?"

The other nodded, his expression brightening, a grin spreading across his face as he made a nonsensical noise in agreement. Or perhaps delight?

He had seen similar expressions before, on the faces of the tall men. But they weren't like this. He didn't feel afraid of this.

***

They're all failures! We need to make another.

And what about two through six?

Just dispose of them.

The heat was nothing compared to the pain in his arm, his side, but it made it even harder to breathe, and he shuddered, coughing, whimpering a bit at the fresh, sharp sensation it caused. All he could see were the fingers of the hand flung out in front of him, twitching slightly. A shuffling sound, labored breathing he couldn't distinguish from his own, until another hand came into sight, a familiar tattered sleeve brushing over his own. Slowly, he lifted his head to see that familiar face, but--

Under the tangled strands of hair, one eye struggled to focus on him while the other was....gone. Indistinguishable from the horribly marred skin around it. He stared, barely noticing as the pain began to fade, replaced by a cool, gentle feeling that spread from the glow under the other's hand.

Then his own breathing steadied, and he heard the difference between it and the rasping sound coming from the other's lips. A tired, cracked, trembling voice emerged--

"What...number are you...."

He had no idea how to respond, but the other continued anyway.

"I'm....the third."

Then a shudder, shoulders slumping, breathing slowing for a moment before sliding limply over onto his side. The one eye now clouded, unseeing.

He pushed himself up, wincing, his newly healed skin still raw. Reached out to touch the limp form's shoulder, shaking it a bit. His lungs drawing in the thick, hot air, forcing his voice out.

"Why--"

He was trembling, uncontrollably, more terrified now than when that helmeted soldier had first shoved him over the side of the cliff.

"Why did you stop moving--"

He groped uselessly at the body's threadbare robe, rocking back and forth on his heels. Looking around frantically, he finally got a glimpse of his surroundings: jagged stone wavering in the heat, an unearthly red glow filtering up from far below.

He pushed himself to his feet, still dizzy from the loss of blood, and leaned heavily against the rock wall, ignoring the burning sensation in his palms. Out. He needed to get out, get away. There were no bars here, no men with leering faces. He was alone, he could be strong.

He began to wander, searching for a path, upward and away from the searing heat. But not all the rock shelves and ledges were connected. He stared over the edge, down onto the heaving surface of the magma below. Then looked up, and mustering all his strength, jumped.

His chest hit the edge, his hands scrabbling for purchase as he gasped for breath. He felt his body slipping, panic rising in the back of his throat, before his fingertips caught on a small groove. He hung there for a moment, legs suspended over nothingness, until adrenaline kicked in and he heaved himself up over the ledge, ignoring the ridges the sharp rock scraped across his chest. He crouched there for a long moment, breathing heavily, hugging his knees. Alive. He was still alive.

He had never known how to keep track of the passage of time in the first place, having spent most of his short life in that cold, dark room. Here it was only keep going, push forward, to the next ledge, further up, away and away. So focused was he on his goal that he didn't notice the variation in color of the rock beneath his feet until he tripped over something soft, sending him sprawling. He curled in on himself in pain and panic, thinking it was perhaps one of the monsters he had spotted roaming nearby.

The lump was a familiar color, and made a pitiful, frightened noise. Wide, green eyes stared up at him over arms covered in the same tattered fabric that clothed his own body. It was another one of them, apparently uninjured. He stared for a moment, then uncurled himself, pulling on the other's sleeve.

"Have to...keep moving." His voice was hoarse. The other flinched a bit, but scrambled to his feet. Pale hands latched onto his, and he forced his bruised, scraped legs to take another step, continuing on.

Something caught his eye up ahead; bright glowing blues and greens against the rock and the red glow. He stumbled towards it, half dragging the other along. It was flat, humming softly, and somehow familiar. He put his hand out against it and felt a soothing coolness travel down his arm and through his body. Exhausted and relieved, he slumped to the ground, the other making a concerned noise, pressing close to him. They lay there in a tangle of limbs, his eyes slipping shut. Rest...safe here....

***

He came to to the sound of voices somewhere above him. His mouth was dry, too dry, and he licked his lips to try to wet them, but to no avail. More voices. He couldn't make out words, was too tired to. He glanced down wearily at the pale hands still curled into the fabric of his robe, the tangle of hair obscuring the face pressed against his chest.

Then a hand grabbed his arm, jerking him to his feet roughly. The one who had been clinging to him made a startled noise, flinching and covering his head with his arms.

"What were those idiots doing, they were supposed to be properly disposed of--"

He bit down, hard, on the hand that reached to encircle his neck. The man swore, tossing him aside, slamming his back against the rock to try to dislodge him. He gasped, tasting blood, the world spinning around him as he tried to pinpoint his assailant.

"...wait."

He had heard this voice before. Breathing heavily, he squinted up at the figures gathered around him.

"Piece of trash bit me--"

"I said leave him, that's an order." This tone was hard and commanding.

"Y--...yessir."

He couldn't see. Everything was blurring, black eating at the edge of his vision.

"Yes, this...trash must be in an advanced stage of dehydration, yet it can still put up a fight. He will be useful."

He fought it, trying to focus on what they were saying.

"Commandant, are you sure--"

"Take him back and clean him up. As for the other one..."

Darkness. Hot, suffocating, clutching at him. He hated that darkness.

tbc~

Abyss fic omg.

te_ashi — Wed, 25 Mar 2009 02:13:14 GMT

Title: Beasts and Men
Fandom: Tales of the Abyss
Pairing: Arietta/Asch if you squint, but it's not intended as romance.
Characters: Arietta, Asch, mentions of the rest of the God-Generals
Rating: PG
Word Count: 590
Notes: Never thought I'd write fic about Arietta, but here it is. Kind of unfinished, but I couldn't figure out a proper ending.

Arietta settled in surprisingly well among the other God-Generals. Human though they were, they were each close enough to wild beasts that she felt more at ease around them than the other inhabitants of Daath. This did not mean she liked them, but it was tolerable. Dist unnerved her, and the way Sync smirked from under the mask he always wore made her want to bare her teeth and growl back at him, but Ion had taught her better than that. And Largo, for all his great size, or perhaps because of it, made her feel safe. She sometimes caught him looking at her the same way Mama did after losing a cub to sickness, or the winter. As if he would make sure to look after her so she wouldn't suffer the same fate.

Dist was desperate for attention, Sync teased her in an attempt to rile her up, it seemed, and Largo guided her with a gruff word or two every now and then, but Asch never spoke to her at all. Ordinarily she would not care to bother with anyone that wasn't one of her friends, or Ion, or the Commandant, but he was different. Whenever she passed him in the cathedral halls, her head turned automatically, tracking his movement until he disappeared around a corner. She was too caught up in studying him to notice the glares he shot her way when he noticed she was staring. Mama would have scolded her for being a bad hunter. Do not get mesmerized by your prey. Do not let them notice you.

But Asch was not just prey, he was wounded prey.

Arietta saw it in the way he moved, how he always looked behind him or stood with his back to a wall so he couldn't be approached from behind. How he never quite looked people in the eyes unless it was deliberate, to make a point. How he lashed out at the smallest things, eyes sharp, on guard, snarling. She could smell the fear and helpless rage on him. It puzzled her, why he never seemed to heal, why he didn't seek out one of the many Seventh Fonists in the cathedral to make it better.

Which was why she approached him, despite her dislike of speaking to anyone but the Commandant or Ion, since her words were still clumsy.

"Where does it hurt?"

His head snapped around, eyes flashing. Growled something that sounded like "What're you talking about!? None of your business." Stalked off, boot heels clicking angrily against the polished floor.

Asch was wounded.

Arietta understood now. Because there was no blood, no bruise, no open gash, and yet her chest and stomach ached when she thought about Ion. Asch had lost something. Someone had taken it away from him and hurt him.

The next time they met, assigned to a mission together, he was watching her warily, guarded. She was careful not to meet his eyes, startle him, as if he'd flee at any moment.

"Do you hate them for taking it away?"

He was silent, shoulders tense, grip tightening around the hilt of the sword at his waist.

"I know," she said. "I hate Anise because she took Ion away. I can't forgive her."

His only reply was a derisive hiss from between his teeth, but she saw him relax a fraction. Smelled less anger.

She knew how to tame beasts, after all. It just required patience, to make them her friends. She had to show them she knew how they felt.

te_ashi — Sun, 12 Oct 2008 07:56:01 GMT

Title: The Death of a King (Part 2)
Genre: Fantasy, Satire? (I'm not sure if this counts)
Rating: PG
Notes: This is a fun little original story idea I've had floating around for a while. I don't really plan to use it for anything in the future, let alone sell it, so I'm not locking the post, and am using a CC license instead. I just wanted to write it.

Part 1

In any other situation, perhaps, Macie probably would have realized it was the first time she had ever seen Mother look frightened.

"You can't do this." Nora's voice was trembling, though it could have been with anger. "You can't. Macie hasn't done anything--"

The soldier adjusted his helm, so only his frown was visible, not his eyes. "There's no guarantee this development won't continue. Children can't control themselves. Rebellious AI mutations mean the System will become unstable."

Mother's furious tone broke through this statement. "So I was given this child only to have her taken away again?"

"That's not quite right," the man corrected, clearing his throat. He at least seemed as unhappy to perform his task as Mother and Nora were to witness it. Macie squirmed a little in his grip, trying to bite the hand that held her shoulders firmly, her teeth not quite succeeding at penetrating the thick leather of his glove. "She'll be returned to you as soon as they remove any alterations in her code. In the meantime, you have new dialogue assignments. You're to say the King's guard kidnapped--"

"They won't give Macie back!" Nora shouted suddenly. "Just another blank-slate smiling little girl that looks like her--"

"Be quiet," the soldier hissed, something rather urgent in his own voice. "Or do you want your code wiped, too?"

Nora went pale, and Mother shook her head sadly.

"I'll go in her place." Nora looked stricken.

"That won't solve the problem," the soldier said, not without pity, as he dragged the still struggling Macie through the door out into the street.

***

The King sat on his throne, looking decidedly bored.

"Lazaad," he prompted, for perhaps the tenth time in the past hour or so. "Report on their progress."

"Well, sir, they did manage to defeat the Dragon of the Keep, but they are currently stalled at the Puzzle Statues two rooms after that."

"Slow day," the King remarked, examining his fingernails with evident interest. "But I suppose it can't be helped."

The man standing to the right of the throne nodded. He was dressed in almost garishly elaborate sorceror's robes, and was studying a small device with a glowing screen that he held with both hands.

"Ah, they've got--no, nevermind."

The King drummed his fingers against one carved stone armrest. "Was our request for the hint tablets ever processed?"

"I'm afraid not, sir."

"Bureaucrats," was the muttered and decidedly un-regal reply. Lazaad merely nodded again, sympathetically.

A sound of shouts and a scuffle was heard echoing off the vaulted ceiling of the Throne Room, and the King straightened eagerly.

"I thought you said they were at the Puzzle Statues."

"They are, sir. That would be the slum child the soldiers are bringing to System HQ for reprogramming."

"Reprogramming...what for?"

"According to the report, she showed signs of dissenting AI development...by all accounts, even such a low-class entity could cause serious damage to the Fourth Wall if the mutation were allowed to continue."

The King contemplated this silently for a moment, then presented his subordinate with his very best devious smirk.

"Cancel their orders. Bring the child to me."

Lazaad nodded, not missing a beat. "As you wish."

***

Macie, having discovered that it was more or less impossible for her to cause any physical harm to the soldier carrying her, had settled on just making his job as difficult as possible and struggling every step of the way. Once she even managed to worm free of his grasp, but another soldier had snatched her up before she had even managed to take ten running steps down the hallway. They were in the castle now, she knew that much even if she had never been there before.

What probably unnerved her two forceful escorts more was that the girl had not uttered a word, not even a shout, since her abduction, only glared at them fiercely and fought hand and foot for her freedom. Yet somehow there was no doubt in her mind that she would never see Mother and Nora again. Or if she did, she would no longer be "Macie" as she knew herself.

But far be it for her to make it easy for them.

The newer soldier gave a resigned sigh; he was one of the castle guard, in fact. "Mind yourself, you little brat, you're being brought before the King."

The King. It didn't surprise her that he was behind all of this. Macie wanted nothing more to give him a piece of her mind--and perhaps a good kick in the shins in the process. Both guards seized an arm each, thrusting her forward, and Macie glared through the disheveled hair now covering her face at the man seated upon the throne.

He smiled at her.

The nerve.

It was kind of a nice smile, too, which startled her, since she was pretty sure the King was evil and evil people weren't supposed to smile nicely at children, unless they were pretending--that had to be it.

Macie scowled back. The King raised an eyebrow at her.

"Macie, was it? That's a nice name."

Macie stuck out her tongue at him.

"Spirited, yes, that was the description." He was rather young-looking, actually, clean-shaven with long, dark hair swept back from his face, which was conflicting horribly with her imagined image of the King as a cackling old man with a beard and long, bony fingers. Macie clamped her mouth shut, refusing to reply.

"I hope you'll cooperate for now," he said, "since I did go through the trouble to put an appeal in to stop your code alteration. The truth is, Macie, you are a very intriguing young lady. You have an immense amount of potential."

"Sir," Lazaad interjected, "perhaps smaller words, she is eight years old."

"I'm not stupid," Macie blurted indignantly, forgetting her vow to herself to stay silent. Lazaad had the decency to look somewhat offended.

"I hoped as much," the King replied dryly. He gestured at the guards to release her, and Macie opted to fold her arms across her chest, lifting her chin, perhaps to appear more intimidating. "There's something I'd like to talk with you about. Would you come a little closer? Projecting my voice ominously can get tiring."

Macie shook her head firmly. "Nora said never to go with strangers, or else they'll do bad things to you."

The King stared at her for a moment, eyes widening slightly. Then he threw back his head and laughed.

It was, to Macie's surprise, anything but drawn-out, maniacal cackling, but a deep, mirthful laugh that shook his shoulders. Lazaad, standing by his side, looked slightly scandalized, but kept silent.

"My dear," the King said, his frame still trembling with mirth, "the only person I'd like to do bad things to is, in fact, the leader of the merry little band of adventurers headed my way at this moment." The way he stressed the word "bad" probably flitted right over Macie's eight-year-old head, but it drew a few knowing snickers from the guards. "His name is Carin, nice young man, but unfortunately he has that girl Celia hanging all over him."

Surprisingly enough, this appeared to be the right answer.

"Oh," was all Macie said. She strode up the steps to the dais the throne stood upon, plopping herself cross-legged at the King's feet, arms still folded as she gazed intensely up at him. He regarded her with amusement.

"Celia's very nice," Macie added firmly. "You'd better leave her out of it."

"You've met Celia?" the King prompted. Macie nodded.

"They all came into our house and they were supposed to take Mother's medicine, but I hid it under the bed. But Celia was nice. She asked about my father."

"Your father?"

"Don't have one," Macie said. "Of course, I'm not supposed to know. That's why they took me away."

"Do you know why those people come into your house, Macie?"

"Because--" she bit her lip, trying to recall what Nora and mother had spoken about. "Because the System says so? That's stupid. They get everything dirty and just give us more cleaning to do."

"I can imagine," was the sympathetic reply. "But do you know why it's important to do what the System says?"

Macie shook her head, regarding the King warily. He rested his chin on his fist; the smile he had given her at first was back, and this time she was almost inclined to believe it.

"Macie," the King said, "For Celia, and Carin, and their friends, all of us exist for them."

Macie made a face.

"Don't be like that. It's very important."

"Why?"

"Because they need us."

"Aren't you supposed to be evil? Don't you rule the country with an iron fist?"

"That was one of your dialogue assignments, wasn't it?" The King laughed again. "Yes, I am evil, and yes, I rule the country with an iron fist. And you may call me Rafael."

"Sir--" Lazaad spluttered, but the King--Rafael--waved a hand to silence him.

"It may be difficult to understand right now," he went on, "but those people need us. You, and your family, and all the townspeople and the merchants, and I, and every one of my guardsmen, down to the ones that have numbers instead of name assignments."

"I don't want to be needed," Macie huffed. "I want them not to come to our house anymore." This statement was rewarded with a chuckle and a hand that descended to ruffle her already-unkempt hair. The girl tolerated this, surprisingly, perhaps because she was still trying to process all this information.

"You'll see soon enough."

"Sir--" Lazaad interjected urgently, "they've arrived."

"You'll stay a bit longer, won't you, Macie?" Rafael asked lightly. "I have something to take care of, and you're welcome to watch."

Macie nodded, her curiosity winning out now that she wasn't being dragged anywhere, and stood, following the gestures of the two guards from earlier. She sat between them at the base of a pillar, off to the side of the hall. Both of them were watching the king expectantly.

In an instant the throne room fell silent, the last echoes of voices dying out. Lazaad stood stiffly by the King's side, and though Rafael had hardly moved from the position he had been speaking to Macie in, his facial expression had darkened, his casual sprawl across the throne now an arrogant one. Macie counted almost ten seconds of breathless quiet, before shouts and the clang of metal upon metal were heard down the corridor.

A few seconds later the ornate double doors were thrown open, roughly a score of people spilling through them. Unmistakable among the armored guardsmen, who quickly collapsed to the stone floor, were the very group of people who had visited Macie's house with Celia that day. Each one of them brandished a weapon, dispatching the guards that rushed at them with practiced efficiency. One of them, a burly man stripped to the waist, bashed dents in armor with his fists as if it were tin. A guard scored a lucky strike with his spear, opening a gash across the man's upper arm, causing him to roar with pain and fury. Macie heard a familiar voice shout, and a staff was raised above the fray, a glowing light surrounding the man, sealing the wound closed.

It was over within a matter of minutes, the twelve-odd guardsmen lying motionless, sprawled across the floor. One of the victors, a young man with a shock of brown hair, lifted his broadsword with a shout of triumph, before turning to look over his friends. Weapons were sheathed, armor straps readjusted, and Celia darted from person to person, speaking with them and checking for injuries.

Once this was done, the group huddled around and conferred in low voices. Macie looked back at Rafael. He sat still as stone, impassive, as if he hadn't seen the stand his loyal guardsmen had made. It was all very odd, but Macie found she could not speak a word. She fidgeted nervously.

Finally the group turned to face the throne, and the young man with the broadsword--Carin--stepped forward. At this Macie saw Rafael twitch almost imperceptibly, as if he had started breathing again. Carin drew his sword, striding to the foot of the dais and leveling it at the throne.

"Your reign of terror ends here, Remington!" he shouted. "You'll oppress the people of this kingdom no longer. The Fahar has chosen me as it's wielder, so don't make the mistake of thinking I'm the same as I was at Reinsgate!"

A smirk grew on Rafael's lips.

"If it isn't Carin. Still desperate to follow in your fool of a father's footsteps? Shall I tell you again how I executed him?"

"Shut up!" Carin snarled, drawing his blade back into a fighting stance. "Don't you dare speak about my father like that! I'll make you pay for what you did you him!"

Rafael snapped his fingers. "We'll see about that."

Lazaad lifted a hand, gathering a ball of energy in his palm and sending it sizzling through the air. A cry, and Celia leapt forward, pushing a startled Carin out of the spell's path, lifting her staff at the last moment. The ball impacted against the transparent shield she erected, sending sparks skittering across it before it flickered and died. Celia dropped to one knee, and Carin rushed to her side, supporting her shoulders.

"Celia!"

The cry came from two throats at once, and Celia, lifting her head to reassure the young man, caught sight of something else, eyes widening.

"...Macie?"

Macie leaned forward, concerned, but a guard's hand on her shoulder pulled her back. "Celia! Are you okay?"

"I'm..." Carin helped Celia to her feet, where she took a moment to steady herself. "I'm fine, don't worry. But--" and with this she whirled on Rafael, eyes blazing.

"You--monster! Kidnapping a child, taking her from her family! You've gone too far!"

Rafael stood, sweeping his cloak out from under him in one elegant motion, extending his arms out to the side and tilting his head back. And he laughed.

It was deep, bone-chilling and utterly ruthless; Macie could only stand open-mouthed under the weight of the sound that sprang from the King. Carin glared, the rest of their friends shivered and Celia seemed close to furious tears. As the echoes finally died away, Rafael straightened again, tilting his head to the side very slightly, his gaze cold and calculating as it fixed on the pair of young adventurers.

"And what are you going to do, dear priestess? I could have her killed with a word. Such a shame, don't you think?"

"Take me instead," Celia blurted, and Carin's eyes widened in shock. "I'll take Macie's place, so let her go!"

"Celia, don't--"

"A tempting proposition," Rafael's gaze was fixed on Carin now, "I get your little priestess in exchange for a worthless little girl...what do you say, boy? Unless, of course, you're rather I had the child's head removed from her shoulders--"

Carin gritted his teeth under Celia's determined gaze, and shook his head stiffly. "You bastard...hiding behind a little kid..."

"Hardly," Rafael smirked, and Celia pushed the young man away gently, walking forward with her head held high. The King gestured to Lazaad, who once again raised his hand, this time surrounding Celia with a glowing sphere.

"Now let Macie go," Celia repeated, her voice somewhat muffled by the magical barrier. Rafael laughed again, short and hard.

"You're just as much of a fool as the boy. Why would I let her go, now that I have two hostages?"

Celia pounded against the sphere with her staff and fists, to no avail. "You liar! Let her go!"

Rafael only spread his hands. "My dear, you forget who I am."

Carin let out a cry of fury and raised his blade, only to freeze when the King spoke again.

"Don't be so hasty, boy. You wouldn't want these girls to get hurt, now, would you?"

"Coward!" Carin accused.

"I prefer 'realist', myself," the King murmured, though this under his breath and barely audible. "Lazaad, entertain them." Turning on his heel, cloak flaring behind him, he returned to his throne, seating himself and crossing one leg over the other. His chief sorcerer strode forward, readying another spell, and as if this were a cue, the rest of Carin's group moved to meet him, readying their weapons.

Macie stood still in fascination as organized chaos unfolded before her, a cacophony of cries and explosions as the sorcerer flung spell after spell at his opponents. The group divided instantly with Carin's rallying shout, as he, the burly man and a tall woman with a spear took the front lines, drawing Lazaad's attention away from the young sorceress and bowman that stood further back. Carin and the tall woman dodged spells with incredible speed and dexterity, and though the big man could hardly match them in that respect, he seemed to be able to pass of the affects of most hits with the shrug of a shoulder. It was over very suddenly, as Calin deflected an energy missile with the flat of his sword, the flash momentarily blinding those not expecting it. The spear woman leapt, vaulting off the young man's shoulders to land before Lazaad, driving her weapon through his neck. With a surprised gurgle, he slumped to the floor.

As the last of his spells flickered and died, the sphere around Celia vanished, and she rushed to Carin's side. He embraced her tightly, and they stood there for a moment, oblivious to the world.

Then the burly man coughed, and they broke apart, flustered, Celia hurrying over to him to assess damage. The sorceress snapped off a comment, making Celia blush further and Carin scowl, and a bit of laughter leapt from one member to another. Macie sat down again, eyes wide.

The lighthearted moment was banished by a pitiful wheezing noise; Lazaad, apparently not quite finished, was dragging himself slowly hand over hand toward the dais.

"My....leige....forgive...me....I have...failed......you..."

Rafael regarded him for a moment, then stood, drawing the sword at his hip with a cold scrape of steel and driving it through his advisor's body.

"Useless," he spat with distaste. Celia gasped.

The group was instantly on guard again, watching the King warily.

"I suppose," he said slowly, "that I must deal with you nuisances myself."

Carin tensed, eyes widening as Rafael raised his hands above his head, wisps of darkness gathering above them, solidifying into a wickedly sharp blade that he then leveled at those standing before him.

And he laughed.

"This hall shall be your grave."

"That's the cue," the guard to Macie's right whispered. "Time to make ourselves scarce."

"You're on your own, kid," the other said, patting her on the head before following the other through a secret sliding panel in the wall. Macie glanced after them frantically, then stood, her stumbling steps carrying her up the back of the dais, squeezing herself into the gap between the back of the throne and the wall. From there, if she stuck her head around the side, she could see everything.

The burly man gave a cry of rage as the sorceress crumpled to the floor, only to be downed a few seconds later with a vicious slash across the chest. The spearwoman tried desperately to draw their enemy away from the boy with the bow, and was cut down along with him. Carin locked blades with the laughing King, his eyes filled with tears of rage.

"Celia! Take care of them! I'll handle this!"

"Carin--"

"If you don't, they'll die!"

Celia flinched, hurrying to tend their friends' wounds. Carin was forced back a step.

"Playing the hero, boy?" the King sneered. "You don't stand a chance against me."

Carin seemed to be holding his own at first, but was eventually beaten back, step by step, sweat standing out on his brow, an angry gash across his right shoulder and upper arm. But he gritted his teeth and endured, though every strike he directed at his opponent was easily deflected. He stumbled, falling to his knees, and the King lifted his hand, striking the young man across the face with the hilt of his sword. Carin sprawled onto his back, almost losing his grip on his own weapon, the tip of the King's dark blade held at his throat. Macie realized she was chewing on her thumb.

Then an arrow lodged itself in Rafael's left shoulder.

The boy with the bow was kneeling, obviously in pain and breathing heavily, but he drew another from his quiver and brought it to the string. The fistfighter gave a roar, stumbling but driving the King back, away from their fallen leader. The tall woman hefted her weapon, barely able to stand, but lifted it over her shoulder and sent it flying through the air, slashing open the side of Rafael's leg as it sped by. The sorceress managed to form a crackling ball of energy between her hands, slamming it into the ground so that a glowing trail snaked across the floor--not at their enemy, but into Carin's sword, the blade beginning to hum and glow.

And Celia raised her staff, a single shining shaft of light falling from the ceiling to hold the King where he stood.

Carin climbed to his feet with a hoarse cry, driving his blade through Rafael's chest.

Macie gasped.

The King's eyes went wide, and his hands lost his grip on the hilt of his weapon, reaching up to grasp the length of metal thrust through him.

"Impossible....that I could be...defeated by--curse you...Carin....."

Then Carin drew his blade back, and the Rafael fell to the floor, silent and still.

The young man stood very still, as if stunned, until Celia cried his name, pulling him close and burying her face in his shoulder. It was then he dropped his sword, raising his trembling hands to grip her shoulders. Celia whispered something only he could hear, and he nodded, a relieved smile finally finding its way onto his weary, bloodied features. The she pulled away, and they rejoined the others, picking themselves up slowly. Carin retrieved his weapon, which was still glowing faintly.

"The kingdom is finally free," he said. "Now we can restore the rightful king!"

"--Macie," Celia said suddenly. "Where's Macie?"

Macie ducked behind the throne, out of sight.

"She must have escaped in the confusion," Carin said after a moment.

"Yes, she's a smart girl," Celia murmured.

Macie waited until the group's voices had faded completely before poking her head out again. The hall was silent. All the guards were gone, including the bodies of the ones that had attempted to guard the doors. All that was left were the prone forms of Rafael and Lazaad. Macie shivered a little, her ears ringing.

Then the King sat up.

Looking hardly worse for wear, he looked himself over, dusted himself off, then strode over to Lazaad and yanked the sword from the sorceror's chest, giving it a quick examination before sheathing it.

"Recompile was faster than usual. Make note of that," he said.

"Yes, sir," Lazaad said, sounding slightly disgruntled as usual, and climbed to his feet, straightening his robes and producing the strange device from a pocket. Rafael glanced around the hall, hands on hips, then stretched liberally, pulling an arm behind his head until something cracked audibly.

"Good run, sir," Lazaad commented. "The addition of a hostage was an especially nice touch. Should we consider making it a permanent feature?"

The King seated himself on his throne again. "Hmm, it was certainly more effecive. Yes."

Macie emerged from behind the throne, finally, to stare at him.

"Oh," Rafael said, "so you did stick around. I'm glad. I do hope we weren't too noisy."

Macie crouched to poke at the leg that had been sliced open by a spear only several minutes before.

"Villains get self-repairing algorithms, dear," Rafael said, amused. "Do you perhaps understand me a little better now?"

"You're dead?" Macie inquired, which drew another heartfelt laugh from him.

"Never permanently. There were other groups that came to your house before Celia's, yes?"

Macie nodded.

"The people in those groups are different from us. You could say...they're from a different place. They're governed by different laws. And that is why we exist for them, because they need us."

"To be evil?"

"Precisely." Rafael leaned forward again, chin on fist, and Macie blinked. "Those people will go home, and they will feel accomplished. Why? Because they saved the world, Macie. They're heroes. That's the greatest thing anyone can do for them."

"But why?" Macie insisted. "Why do you do it?"

Rafael's gaze grew distant.

"Because, Macie...I love them."

"That's enough, Queen of Magpies! Let Adelpha go!"

The woman's feathered headdress glittered as she laughed, mocking the young man who stood before her.

"If you want your beloved little sister, then come and get her!"

The Queen raised a hand, raining razor-sharp obsidian shards down upon the group of warriors that faced her.

And after evil had been vanquished and the cavern had fallen still and silent, lying surrounded by scattered black feathers and shards of glimmering stone, Macie smiled.

The Death of a King by Isabella A Grigoli is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

te_ashi — Wed, 10 Sep 2008 03:10:03 GMT

Title: The Death of a King (Part 1)
Genre: Fantasy, Satire? (I'm not sure if this counts)
Rating: PG eventually for an iffy line.
Word count: 1,138
Notes: This is a fun little original story idea I've had floating around for a while. I don't really plan to use it for anything in the future, let alone sell it, so I'm not locking the post, and am using a CC license instead. I just wanted to write it.

Character designs. Macie and Celia are the only ones with names at this point.

Macie used to think the Day was exciting, when her mother would pull that crisp blue dress from the closet, the same cut that all the other young girls in the village had to wear as well, the clean white apron that went over it, strings that tied in a bow in the back. It was always freshly pressed and smelled of starch. Then her sister Nora would tie Macie’s short dark hair up in pigtails and sit with her on the edge of the bed they shared, looking very stern.

“Now, Macie,” she said, as she did every time. “Be sure to remember what you’re supposed to say.”

And Macie would nod eagerly and stand up straight in the corner of the room when indicated, waiting. Sometimes the whole day went by, and nothing would happen. Mother would begin to pace, then return to her own place when footsteps were heard outside. More often than not, no one would come to the door. But when they did, they never knocked.

Mother stood in the kitchen when door opened, stirring a pot of soup. The same pot of soup she had been stirring all day, on and off. It smelled delicious, but they never seemed to get to eat it. She didn’t look up, just stared straight ahead as the group of young men and women entered the kitchen. Sometimes their armor was freshly polished, sometimes it bore the dirt and stains of days of travel and their boots tracked mud all over Mother’s clean floors. She never said a word. She only spoke when spoken to, as did Nora, whose place was in the hall upstairs. Their lines were carefully rehearsed, to be repeated as many times as they were prompted to.

Macie was usually ignored. She did her best to stand proudly, giving the visitors her sweetest smile, but few of them even glanced her way even when they did enter her room. Once one of the younger boys in the group rifled through the wardrobe drawers, as if expecting to find something. Macie stood very still, her smile trembling, Nora’s warnings ringing in her ears. Say nothing unless you’re spoken to. Don’t move, don’t even turn your head. Just smile no matter what. Macie thought at first, perhaps Nora was afraid of these people, though many of them were about the same age as she was. Perhaps it was because they were usually armed.

Once as a group turned around to leave, a young woman detached herself from her companions, crouching in front of Macie as if to get a better look. She smiled, and Macie decided it was a nice smile, even if the girl’s friend had left dirty footprints on the rug.

“What’s your name?”

Macie stood up a little straighter, delighted to finally say the words she had painstakingly rehearsed time and time again. “I’m Macie! Daddy went off to fight the evil King Remington and never came back. Now Mother and my sister Nora and I are all alone.”

The woman’s face fell. “Oh…I’m so sorry.”

“Celia—we’re leaving!” A young man’s voice, probably their leader’s, called from the hall.

“—coming!” Celia replied, hastily patting Macie on top of the head as if to try to comfort her. Then she was gone, and Macie frowned a bit at the open door.

Nora waited until she heard the front door close downstairs before entering the room from the hall, her brows knitted together. “Macie, did they take anything this time?”

Macie shook her head. “I hid it under the bed, like you said. They don’t look there.”

Nora shook her head, her frown deepening. “No, that’s for your own belongings—you were supposed to put it in the drawer for them.”

But even Celia’s nice smile could not shift Macie’s resolve once she had decided on something. “Mother needs that medicine if she gets too sick to work. I won’t give it away!”

Nora took her by the shoulders, anxious. “It’s the rules, Macie, I know we can’t afford any more but everyone has to give something—”

“Then give them something else!” Macie cried, stomping her foot. “They come in here and Mother gets all nervous—I thought it was exciting at first but all they do is make everything messy and we have to do more cleaning, and they go through my things and I have to watch and I hate it!”

Nora shushed her, not wanting Mother to hear, but Macie wouldn’t stand for it.

“Why do they come here! Why do we have to pretend like nothing’s wrong! It isn’t fair! Just lock the door and don’t let them in ever again!” She pulled at her apron strings. “And I hate this dress! It itches!”

Macie turned and ran down the stairs, Nora chasing close behind, catching her before she could make it to the front door. She then explained to Mother, who gave Macie a lecture the girl was firmly determined to ignore.

“I don’t make the laws in this town, it’s what we have to give in return for a quiet and peaceful life…those young people will save us from King Remington, young lady! Show more respect! I’ll give you another chance, but if you misbehave…”

Macie was confined to her room for a few days, staring forlornly out the window at her friends playing together in the street. Nora brought her meals, an expression something like sadness on her face. Whenever Macie asked, Nora would only say “You’re too little to understand.”

At night before Nora came to bed Macie sometimes heard her arguing with Mother downstairs, and would open the door a crack to listen.

“She deserves to know the truth—”

“Macie is only a child, she can’t possibly understand—besides, children can’t keep such secrets, you know what they’ll do if someone finds out she knows--don’t be a fool, Nora!”

“So we’re…lying to her! She thinks Father was killed by the King, but—we never had a Father to begin with, did we!?”

Mother gave a little gasp, and Nora was silent for a moment.

“I thought as much…it wasn’t that I was too young to remember him. He just never existed. The System gave us to you…”

“Go to bed, Nora,” Mother said quietly.

“Mother—”

“Does it make us any less of a family?”

Nora had nothing to say to that. A few moments later Macie heard her climbing the stairs, and shut the door as quietly as she could, slipping under the covers. Nora entered the room, standing for a moment by the bed before reaching down and hugging Macie tightly.

“You’re right, Macie…it isn’t fair. But you have to be good…for Mother’s sake.”

Macie nodded a little, but she wasn’t so sure if she meant it.

Part 2

The Death of a King by Isabella A Grigoli is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

te_ashi — Wed, 13 Aug 2008 08:10:40 GMT

Title: Darkness Goes Alone
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts II
Pairing: n/a (....unless you like Tifa/Sephiroth????)
Characters: Tifa, Sephiroth
Rating: PG
Notes: "Sephiroth and Tifa are parts of Cloud's heart" interpretation. This idea popped into my head a few days ago and wouldn't leave me alone.

She approached him slowly, with heavy steps. He did not move, nor look up to acknowledge her presence, though a bitter smile formed on his lips, and his eyes opened halfway, glimmering faintly. Their once harsh color had gone dull, and his breathing was ragged, forced, hitching every now and then with a convulsion that shook his shoulders. A tattered blue-black feather fluttered to the ground.

His once magnificent wing was twisted at a hideous angle, limp against the rocky ground, drenched in the same thick, dark substance that spread from the wound on his chest, dripping slowly to pool beneath his knees. It was not blood, it was his essence, and it was very close to running dry.

Cloud hadn’t finished him off. Perhaps he had realized there was no need to. She watched him silently for a long moment, and a fitful breeze lifted a few strands of hair from her face, tossing them about.

The wind did not touch him unless he willed it.

“If you’ve come to offer me any words of pity, swallow them. Begone.”

There was no malice in his tone. There was no need for it. But it was harsh, nonetheless, and she blinked, perhaps a little startled even if she had expected a rejection.

“I can’t pity a part of him,” she replied simply. “Least of all myself.”

He was silent.

“It’s over.”

“So you’re here to gloat, then.”

She frowned, slightly. “Hardly. You should know me better.”

His laugh was as broken as his slumped form. “Better than myself.”

She took a few steps around him, carefully avoiding the fitful tendrils of darkness that curled away with him, vanishing into thin air only a few moments after they had formed. He was watching her through the tangled hair that hung over his face, but his gaze, for once, seemed resigned rather than predatory.

“Finish me, then.”

She shook her head. “I may as well take my own life.”

This time the laugh turned into a cough, and he clutched his chest, the black liquid seeping over his gloved hand. The toe of her boot stopped before the blade that lay by his side, just out of his reach, even if he could have lifted his hand to grasp it. She stood still, gazing down at him.

“Why not, then,” he gasped, a mocking hint in his words. “It will be over soon enough.”

“Not over,” she said softly. “Whole.”

He shook his head very slightly, the edge returning to the glint in his eyes, and he spat at her feet.

“You don’t love him,” she said.

“And you…do?” was the derisive retort. Her eyes flashed the color of flame, of her bright burning anger.

“You love nothing but his darkness, Sephiroth.”

“Only by my…nature. You blame me, now that I am…as crippled as you?”

The words stung, and she closed her eyes, the ghostly pain in her right shoulder flaring. But she could not hate him.

“Fitting,” she said after a long moment, quietly, “as we are one.”

He seemed unable to find a reply, only watched her, his gaze as cold as it had been her entire existence.

It was the end, and she could not hate him.

She held out her hand. “We’ll go, together.”

And for a brief instant, she thought perhaps she saw a weary sadness in those brilliant eyes, but he gathered all of his strength into one movement, taking up his blade and driving it through his own chest.

“The darkness goes alone,” he said.

come on and lay it down
I've always been with you
here and now give all that's within you
be my savior and I'll be your downfall

[I will be the death of you]

te_ashi — Tue, 24 Jun 2008 10:46:15 GMT

Title: Flame Silhouette
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII: Crisis Core (Kingdom Hearts AU)
Pairing: Genesis/Sephiroth
Characters: Genesis, Sephiroth, Zack, Cloud
Rating: PG-13 bordering on R for sexual implications
Notes: For Aki, based on the RP. This started out abstract and turned specific and then abstract and back again and I DON’T KNOW. I didn’t set out to summarize our entire Sephiroth Gaiden but apparently that’s what I ended up doing. Also, the post-DoC arc scene was too much fun to write. I just loved the dialogue we wrote. (though I tweaked it a bit) Despite the fact that I hate fics in which Cloud is sexually abused, apparently physically abusing him is okay with me. >.> Poor kid.

I've been having trouble with endings lately; I don't really like this one, but I was running the risk of rambling on forever, so it'll do.
Word Count: 2,523

It was a cruel game for the Planet to play, though its dealings with him always seemed to have been so. For that skin to be warm beneath his fingers, those lips to respond to his in kind, those hands to still know his body so well—it was unbearable. A vicious illusion as that familiar eerie gaze focused on his face through impossibly long lashes. A nightmare in that silver hair that cascaded over those shoulders onto his chest, its ghostly touch sending shudders through him.

A dream he never wanted to end.

Breath caused that chest to rise and fall, as his own did. That pale skin flushed red under the ministrations of his tongue, sharp with the taste of sweat. It was real, far too real. Though perhaps it was the edge of emptiness, the knowledge that he must be deceived that kept him always hungering for more.

His eyes fluttered shut as he tried to focus on the soft sound of breathing by his ear. His heartbeat—one that continued despite everything—did not seemed to have slowed at all, though neither of them had moved for several hours. The weight sprawled across his back was grounding, at least, if not slightly restricting to his own breathing. He couldn’t bring himself to care.

A slight draft lifted a few tangled strands of hair from his face, but even this slight movement dragged something that might have been a choked sob from between his lips. Frustration rose in him immediately at his lack of control, burning the back of his throat, even as the body above him shifted in response, pressing lips to the back of his neck, murmuring something perhaps meant to be comforting before falling still and silent again from exhaustion.

The quiet was stifling, and he clenched his teeth lest another sound escape, careful not to let any other muscle in his body tense. This loss of self control was not new to him, and neither were the slow-burning anger nor the sense of helplessness it brought. It had been years, perhaps, but he liked the free-falling feeling even less. Feeling. It should have been merely a physical sensation, but the suffocating, viselike grip on his chest was only real in the most abstract and painful of ways.

The mere fact that it was painful still sent him scrambling through his conscience for understanding. It was a journey that always seemed to lead him back to the same place, a place he avoided perhaps out of sheer stubbornness, or what else he did not know.

If anything, he would cling to that last shred of pride for the rest of his life, the rest of eternity. Foolish, and he knew full well, but something within him would not back down. It was the last part of him that refused to be consumed by the burning.

For it did burn, as he had tried to speak with broken words, harsh kisses, hard touches. The truth seared his throat and tongue, choking him. The words so often whispered in his ear would never pass his own lips. He was flame, consumed with need, driven back to the brink of madness by it, but he would never give in. It was not in his nature.

It was, perhaps, the only thing he held back now.

***

He had declined Weiss’s offer of alliance. Perhaps because, as he would never admit, the only three people that had ever mattered to him were dead. Nevertheless, he did let on that he had lost purpose. There was nothing left to gain. There was nothing left to fight for.

Genesis had lusted for power, but only ever for one purpose—the defeat of a single man. With that gone, though his body’s degradation had been halted, the inevitable emptiness began to sink in. He had a life back, but nothing to live for, and the futility of it threatened to consume him. The only thing to do was let go.

So he slept. And awoke again within the darkness, along with the knowledge that something had changed. The world had been torn asunder and he was left again, alone, somewhere among the fragments. Slowly, he came to remember a childhood he had never had, a brother who had not been one before—and yet somehow it seemed right, a small reassurance—and something else. Loss. The power of the darkness surged within him, but emptiness could not fill empty spaces. He returned to the world of light and found a grave, and a familiar face.

Zack had been surprised to see him at first, but suspected nothing—perhaps he considered their parting to be on good terms. Genesis’s memory was the same, but with a different concern on his mind, he paid it no heed. For he remembered much, much more.

And much of it was the darkness.

The darkness he had found refuge in, for it held no threat to someone with his power. No matter how tainted his heart became, it could never be consumed. He had always been a strange child; his natural charisma charmed adults but other children were beings of instinct, and shied away from him fearfully. The only ones who seemed immune to it were Angeal, his half-brother, who had grown up with him, and another boy who shared his power—his curse.

Sephiroth.

He had felt akin to the other at first, drawn to him by their unique connection, one that no one else could understand. Perhaps they were even friends. The three of them spent time together under some semblance of normalcy, but Genesis felt himself growing distant. Unlike others his age, busy with their own small worlds of fantasy, he became fascinated with the workings of the heart—motivation, desire, fear, anger. Soon he learned he could influence such emotions in others, and wasted no time honing his abilities in secret.

But it was not a very well-off part of the city they lived in, so the hearts at his disposal were already corrupt, easy to push over the edge. With each use of his power pain grew in his left shoulder, though he ignored it, and the tendrils of shadow creeping over his own heart as well, for he knew they could not harm him.

One day he awoke from a gripping, painful nightmare to find his bedsheets smeared with blood and black feathers. It was as if the shadows in his heart had manifested themselves in that wing, and he took it as a sign that he had grown more powerful.

That day, a woman was found murdered on her kitchen floor, stabbed to death by the same men whose hearts he had dragged to the very edge of darkness. Her young son escaped unharmed, but was pursued. Yet before he could meet the same fate, he lashed out instinctively, and the last speck of light in their hearts vanished.

They became monsters. Beings of shadow, hearts consumed by darkness that only knew hunger. Genesis would have been fascinated by this discovery, delighted even, but for one thing.

Sephiroth’s wing was white. He had used the same power, twisted those men more profoundly than his friend ever had, but it had been in self-defense. His heart held only a few traces of darkness, that of fear. Genesis was struck by that purity, and the feeling that had lingered around him ever since their first meeting.

He wanted it all to himself.

So he dragged the other into the darkness with him, stripped away what innocence he had left, until he had plucked the last pale feather from a wing that had grown as black as his own. Sephiroth’s dark hair was streaked with silver, his strange eyes weary, glimmering only faintly, but Genesis was all he knew, and the thought of leaving never crossed his mind. That is, until he caught the eye of the Lord of the Underworld, and was offered something more. A purpose. A reason to fight. His skill with a blade, as well as the darkness itself, improved so rapidly that soon enough he had surpassed his old friend. Jealousy burned within Genesis, only intensifying when the other’s attention turned to someone else—a boy who seemed to remind Sephiroth of himself.

Cloud was chosen as his world crumbled around him, given part of Sephiroth’s power, a twisted wing of his own. And eventually he had grown into a man, triumphed over his tormentor, found his way home.

He was the only one who had ever bested Sephiroth.

Genesis set out to break him.

He would not let Zack interfere. To think the failed specimen the fool had given his life for was one and the same with the only man who had matched blades with the god of battle. He was not sure what fueled him—anger? Jealousy?—but it was enough to erase any hesitation as his booted foot slammed into his opponent’s stomach. Something cracked—most likely a rib—drawing a groan from the smaller man. A smirk twitched across Genesis’ lips—it has been disappointingly easy, confirming his suspicions. Sephiroth had not been trying when Cloud defeated him.

In the next moment a flash of light blinded him, slamming into his chest and throwing him backwards. He regained his footing quickly, almost smiling up at the familiar silhouette.

Only this one had two wings.

“So...you’re finally here. I’m afraid I wasn’t quite finished.”

Slitted eyes narrowed even further. “You’re fighting Cloud because I wasn’t here? The next best thing? I’m disappointed you’d settle for less. Leave him.”

Genesis could only sneer. “Protective of your pawn? I never would have thought.”

“You were my example, after all.” A smirk in return. But try as he might, Genesis could see no madness in those eyes.

Something had changed.

He gestured contemptuously at the form sprawled behind the other. “You chose that over me?”

“You weren’t grateful for what you had.” The dangerous edge to that voice was more familiar. Genesis could still get a rise out of him, it seemed.

Then Cloud struggled to his knees, drawing their attention, apparently still intent on fighting. Sephiroth only gazed at him condescendingly.

“Lift that sword, puppet, and you’re out of the game.”

Defiance flared in those blue eyes. “I don’t...belong to you—!”

The hilt of the Masamune against Cloud’s broken ribs sent him sprawling backwards several yards, the pain on top of the beating he had just taken apparently enough to make him pass out. But Genesis could see through the strike, could read the controlled power in it—it was meant to disable, not to kill.

He no longer cared. He had his rightful opponent back.

And so they fought.

With swords, with words, the frustration of the years between them, the years they had lost spilling out in violent strikes, some that drew blood, others that flew carelessly wide. Something fiercer than either had experienced before—Sephiroth never had to try, but Genesis had struggled with all his being to surpass him, and so they were evenly matched—something desperate that needed to be confirmed by steel meeting steel, harsh epithets thrown back and forth.

In the end it could only prove one thing—need. The empty spaces the other had managed to fill over time, not through kindness but necessity, not through friendship but want of something, anything familiar, not through warmth but a feral, hungry flame that fed on the pain they could cause each other.

A battle that refused to end, though perhaps it had a long time ago and it was only Genesis that would not give up, clinging to the consolation that winning would give him, though he knew it was an empty one.

In time swords were cast away, and Genesis found himself relying on words to finish what he had started, the futility beginning to sink in. It was not purpose enough. That was the only thing that could ever frighten him. That perhaps the point of life had ended long before and all that was left to do was feel—the one thing he had always refused—or even build instead of destroy.

He insisted he was incapable of change but the lips against his neck told him otherwise, he claimed they were a disaster but the fingers trailing down the curve of his spine refuted him. He could not refuse this, he craved it more than anything—after so many years alone, touch was intoxicating, the sensation of the other’s breath against his skin alone sent him into shudders of ecstasy. And there were moments of lucidity where he tried to speak of what it did to him but it was like tearing limbs off, one by one. Words were a game to him, they would forever be inadequate; he used them to bind people to him, push them away, wrench them around more forcefully than he could do with his hands. Words were his weapons, his armor, and without them he was intensely lost and helpless.

He hated it.

It was not unlike breaking a dam after so many years, letting the water rush through with thundering force, scouring everything, mercilessly. Only the flood didn’t stop. He was drowning in the silence, a silence broken only by breathless moans and gasps and the friction of skin against skin. It turned him inside-out and left him naked, vulnerable, a part of himself exposed that had never been before no matter how much of his clothing he had stripped away.

He learned to give himself over to it for a time; suffocating in the physical sensations helped him forget that perhaps he was just as weak as anyone else and only hid it better. Somehow finding solace in their tangled limbs and the ache in the aftermath.

Soon enough he realized he was empty again and tried to fill himself with anger, but it bled out of him as if through an open wound. All that he wanted had become wrapped up in a name, a face, a body, a voice, and perhaps it had always been, but he had been blind—blinded himself, indeed.

He could not call it love.

It wasn’t. He wasn’t capable of something so pure. It was want, it was need, it was obsession. That hadn’t changed. Part of him didn’t want it to, because love was something you took for granted and he thrived on the thrill of the unpredictable. He was tempted by the coil of fear that formed in his stomach at the glint of madness in those eyes, the fingers that caressed him so gently one moment but would leave bruises the next. He wanted to know what it was like to be used, tossed aside carelessly again and again, as he himself had done. Whether it was a part of him that wanted to be punished, absolved of all his sins by having them visited upon him, or merely masochism, he himself did not know.

He would not apologize for anything, and he would not call it love.

I hear a voice say "don't be so blind"
it's telling me all of these things that you would probably hide
am I your one and only desire?
am I the reason you breathe, or am I the reason you cry?

always, always, always, I just can't live without you

I love you, I hate you, I can't get around you
I breathe you, I taste you, I can't live without you
I just can't take anymore, this life of solitude
I guess then I'm out that door and now I'm done with you

[to think that providence would take a child from his mother is appalling]

te_ashi — Sun, 25 May 2008 03:19:44 GMT

Title: Luke
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts II/Final Fantasy VII/Tales of the Abyss
Pairing: Cloud/Tifa, implied Zack/Aerith, Sora/Riku/Kairi
Characters: Cloud, Tifa, Aerith, Zack, etc
Rating: G
Notes: Watching his wife and son is a man who realizes he’s been a father for a long time. (based on the RP doujin. Spoilers for it. Probably won’t make as much sense to anyone other than Aki or I, but that’s all right. I’ve wanted to write this for a while now. Sappy fluff and babies. Kay?) (Also spoilers for Tales of the Abyss. Yes. I won’t explain.) (and umm...happy Father’s Day, I guess? XD)

Several weeks before Cloud had been feeling a little more lost than usual. Perhaps just overwhelmed, but he found himself sitting and talking to Aerith. It was probably because she was one of the few who read him the best, and the first to ask what was bothering him. She had watched him for a moment, bemused, shifting fourteen-month-old Angeal on her lap when he fussed, stringing together nonsense words in his own little language as children were prone to do at that age. Eventually she tugged ribbon and materia from her hair for the boy to amuse himself with, hoping it would quiet him.

“There’s still a chance of complications; is that what you’re worried about? You know Tifa’s just fine.”

Cloud shook his head.

“Maybe it’s just...I don’t know what’s going to change?”

Aerith offered one of her mysterious smiles. “Oh, you’ll adjust quickly. You don’t sleep much anyway, right?” She laughed, and her son gurgled happily as if in reply, his bright eyes focused on the orb in his tiny hands. Cloud smiled halfheartedly, but his mind was still elsewhere, distracted.

“It’s something you don’t quite understand until it happens to you,” Aerith said after a moment. “So, there’s not much point in explaining, is there?”

Cloud blinked, realizing he probably should have expected such a blunt answer from her. Aerith had long since stopped putting up with any nonsense from him, after all. He watched as she murmured something to her son, tickling him playfully until he giggled and squirmed, nearly dropping her mother’s materia.

“Is it worth it?” he said after a moment.

She looked up at him, laughing.

“Absolutely.”

Absolutely.

It was that word that stayed with him in the room darkened by blinds, the sun only halfway through its downward journey through the sky. As he reached forward with a trembling hand to brush a few damp strands of hair away from Tifa’s face, she opened one eye halfway and smiled faintly at him.

“Look at you, Cloud...you’re more of a mess than I am.”

He smiled tentatively back, taking one of her hands in his, noting vaguely that his heart rate was still faster than normal. He had seen much in both lives, across the worlds he’d traveled to, but no experience compared at all. That small part of him that was always frightened had grown faster than he thought possible, and no matter how much he had been reassured it was part of the process, seeing Tifa in any sort of pain was...

Cloud couldn’t deny he’d never be perfect, that there were still things he’d never put behind him, and one of them was that he’d never been there for her when it mattered most. As much soul-baring as he’d been forced to do, it had never actually come up, though many of his other insecurities that had been exposed were tied to it. Not that anything made it easier. A flaw he’d have to live with.

Still, he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. Tifa’s eyes had closed again from exhaustion. Something gripped him, an almost desperate feeling he couldn’t put a name to, and he leaned over, whispering three words in her ear, his voice cracking halfway through as if he were an awkward thirteen-year-old again, not a grown man.

Three words he couldn’t remember speaking to anyone but his mother, words he hadn’t used out of fear and uncertainty or maybe—simply because he had never really understood them until now.

And Tifa smiled as if there were nothing else to say. Perhaps there wasn’t.

A sleepy murmur and the bundle of blankets in her arms shifted. They both froze, remembering how long it had taken to get the baby to stop crying—Cid had made a remark along like lines of “Just like his daddy, eh?” prompting Aerith to chase him and everyone else out of the room in order to give the new addition to their sprawling family some peace and quiet.

Tifa slipped her hand from Cloud’s, patting the child’s back gently. “Shh, Luke...”

Cloud was silent, an expression almost like surprise crossing his features, at the same time wondering why it was so unexpected. He should have known. And it was all right.

Because Luke was their son, the first child he had ever considered their child, a troubled boy torn from his family at a young age, and then thrown from the world he called home. Finding refuge in Tifa’s kindness and somehow, without either of them noticing, becoming a member of the family, someone important, someone to be protected. Marlene and Denzel had been considered their children as well, he supposed, but ultimately Marlene was Barret’s daughter, and Denzel more of a younger brother than anything, mature and independent for his age. Luke had needed raising, and a lot of it. And though Cloud knew it had been inevitable fate that they “abandon” him, it had still hurt, like losing a limb. A member of the family, after all. The next time they saw him he was nearly grown, a cynical, jaded young man who hated the world that called for his death. Even then, Luke had been their son; Cloud held no doubts after seeing Tifa’s eyes burn with that fierce, protective light. But in the end, it hadn’t meant anything. Luke had died to save his world just as it had been read when he was born, the destiny he had rejected his entire life. And Cloud knew what it was like to lose a child.

He was no stranger to loss. Far from it, he was used to having those close to him torn away, but the hard truth was that each death never came easier. Zack and Aerith had returned to them, but even that had not prepared any of them to lose Sora. With the Keyblade bearer gone, it was as if the stars had gone out all over again. The worlds mourned him. When Riku and Kairi had returned from the wrenching task of bringing the news to the friends of his they knew, they said that somehow the others had known a terrible thing had happened. Their hearts resonated, after all. And in the absence of such a powerful heart, the loss was even more keenly felt. Sora, of course, fought his way back by sheer force of will, a grudge against Hades and a little help from Shiva, but the three months he was gone held a terrible emptiness for all the residents of Radiant Garden.

In the end, though grief was grief, some things were merely different. Cloud knew Tifa had never gotten over Luke’s death, and he wasn’t sure he had either. Kyran’s arrival had been a welcome distraction, but he was more attached to Zack than anyone else, and as he grew older Cloud noticed an uneasy feeling of distance growing between them. Deep down he knew it wasn’t Kyran’s fault, but at fifteen the boy stood nearly a head taller than Cloud, and had strange powers even for a Cetra. The eerie resemblance to the man who had shared the same power over darkness was nearly overwhelming sometimes. After all, it was the man whose presence had haunted both his lives, dragged him into the world of darkness when he was no more than a child, caused him endless pain and taken the life of one of his dear friends. Even dead for good, even though Zack had forgiven him, even though Aerith had forgiven him, even though in the end he had saved Cloud’s life, Cloud could not find it in himself to absolve Sephiroth of anything.

It was another flaw he would carry for the rest of his life. Cloud felt a sigh escape his lips, unheard by Tifa, who was still fussing over their son. Luke.

Cloud reached out tentatively, helping her tuck the blankets in around the baby more securely. Despite that, a tiny hand slipped free, immediately latching on to the closest thing—Cloud’s index finger. He tugged experimentally, but the child’s grip was strong—stronger than it should have been, even.

So much for theirs being a normal child. Cloud laughed softly despite himself. “He’s yours, all right...”

Tifa murmured something in amusement, but he could tell the day was taking its toll on her, and she was drifting off to sleep. In that moment Cloud didn’t want to think about the past anymore, for once. It was enough to be with his son and his...wife. The word was still strange to him; all he’d done was sign an official marriage certificate. It would have been just that, but they organized a small ceremony when everyone else insisted. In the end, Tifa was Tifa, just as she always had been and always would be.

Luke made a few more noises before finally settling down, though he still refused to relinquish his father’s finger. Cloud decided that was all right.

Luke...it’s the name of a hero, you know. Two of them. They shared the same destiny, but one of them broke free of it. The other one...I’ll never forget. He didn’t speak aloud; the child wouldn’t be able to understand him anyway. Cloud knew the words were more for himself, besides. Grow up strong, and...I’m sure he’d be glad to have you as a brother.

Strange, to think after losing his real family he had ended up with a bigger family than ever before. Every moment was worth it. Aerith’s cheerful support, Zack’s teasing when he didn’t have his hands full of their own son and daughter, Leon’s solid, dependable presence he knew he’d be lost without. Yuffie and Cid, traveling back and forth to bring Radiant Garden’s technology to mako-starved Gaia, his old companions from there—Barret, Nanaki, Vincent, Reeve, and Shelke, newly promoted to a commanding position in the WRO. Aarao and Ester, even Kyran, the children at the orphanage, Sora, Riku and Kairi. Rinoa, whom he knew Tifa and Leon still spoke with from time to time. Fenrir, the runt of a chocobo he had somehow managed to raise into a fine adult, with more than a little help from the others.

Cloud realized he should have stopped long ago waiting for things to end, because they never did. There was always fighting to be done, things to fix, people to comfort, cities to run. Children to raise. He never thought he’d be cut out to be a parent, but things like that just happened regardless of how qualified people felt, after all. He’d been a parent for a long time, and now this child...was his.

this is what it means to be held
how it feels when the sacred is torn from your life and you survive
this is what it is to be loved
and to know that the promise was when everything fell
we’d be held

this hand is bitterness
we want to taste it, let the hatred know our sorrow
the wise hand opens slowly
to lilies of the valley and tomorrow

[and all I need is you, come, please, I'm calling]

te_ashi — Thu, 24 Apr 2008 05:26:54 GMT

Title: Madly
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts II
Pairing: Leon/Cloud
Characters: Cloud, Leon, briefly Tifa, Aerith and Yuffie
Rating: G (PG for mentions of blood?)
Notes: Fluffy abstract angst because I haven't in a while.

It was imperfect unison the girls observed, but somehow a dance nonetheless. A side-step, a nod, accord but with an undercurrent of tension. Tifa would just shake her head and sigh, and Aerith smiled her mysterious smile. Yuffie asked questions loudly and perhaps that made it worse, but who was to know?

Because the dance carried on when they were alone, too, a furious tumult during sparring and something quietly awkward in between. Because they knew each other and it should have been only that.

At least, that was what Cloud thought.

He found himself leading because following made him stumble, but it was reckless nonetheless and that was why it was beautiful. Cloud himself had not been beautiful until he was broken, a decadent kind of beauty that haunted his eyes and his stance and the blood that was drawn sometimes.

But Leon was beautiful because he was whole. At least, that was what Cloud thought, and it frightened him.

So Leon was never allowed to catch up. Darkness, darkness, until it became an excuse and not a reason why Cloud would not meet his eyes or disappeared for weeks on end, returning bloody and exhausted. Until bloody and exhausted he was tired of leading and ready to end it but blue eyes were always watching him with something like pity. He didn't want pity, but it was as if those eyes could think of nothing else to give.

Anger was better, it hurt like a clean wound that made him forget it could fester worse than pity ever would. Words like "trust" and "friends" cast down on the floor between them to be subject to merciless scrutiny; stepping around them was part of the dance, as were the heated words and cold silences.

Cloud thought the anger kept him safe. He couldn't have been more wrong.

That gaze still burned him, the sound of heavy breathing over the clash of their blades made him shudder with a strange euphoria, and he did not understand how to close the distance between them if they were not meeting in violence.

Leon did.

Yet Leon knew distance too well, thought he liked it a little too much and felt the dull ache it caused was better than throwing yourself down defenseless at another person's feet. He had decided that long ago with a scar and a name. He put his all into protecting, and that became all he knew.

Leon didn't know how to dance anymore; he was out of his league.

But he was no fool, and he could see that it came down to a matter of wearing down the other's patience. It was a battle he could fight. It was a battle he was so damn sick of fighting.

I'm the end of the line, Strife.

It was an answer to what am I searching for, and what is there to come home to, why shouldn't I leave and what am I waiting for. Cloud could feel that like a blow to the stomach, an attack that broke his guard and sent him reeling, made him misstep. But Leon was right.

Cloud hated being defenseless more than anything; he had to close his eyes so as not to see the killing blow, fully expecting his own retort to be flung wild and leave him wide open.

So what the hell do you want!?

It did. Shredded him to pieces through the agonizing silence that followed.

You.

Stripped of all defenses, he realized how blind a single person could be.

And lowering the hand the shielded his face, he saw for the first time how much blue eyes spoke, an expression known as anger betrayed as so much more by what they said. Because things were never simple and maybe, just maybe there was something worth salvaging in the man who stood before him, the tale of his life written in the set of his jaw and everything he wanted in those eyes.

...me.

Still Cloud could not keep the disbelief from his voice; it was all too sudden for something he had known for what seemed like forever. And in a split second that expression softened, or maybe he only imagined it, wanted to be trusted for once with pain other than his own. Then blue eyes closed, as if to say enough, but for one more soft confirmation.

You. Madly.

we give it up, try to find what was with us all the time
gotta lose some things if you're ever gonna get on by
and who was wrong, who was right?
always end up in a fight, and I thought I'd crumble, no, I'm fine

madly, madly, madly
well, if you really love me
when you see me leaving, just let me go
madly, madly, madly
well, tell me that you need me
show me I'm the only and that's all I need to know

[a failed postman's job]

te_ashi — Sat, 23 Feb 2008 22:38:22 GMT

Title: Letters
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII (Crisis Core)
Pairing: one-sided Tseng/Aerith, implied Zack/Aerith
Characters: Tseng, Aerith, Reno, Rude
Rating: G
Notes: I-I love poor Tseng to bits. That is all.
Word Count: 1,108

It was the first time he realized he had been the one fooled all along. Another day when he had managed to slip out of his new leadership duties and take on some field work—so as not to go soft, was his excuse. It was not like him to shirk duty or make excuses, but he supposed it was a special case.

A personal responsibility, even. An unspoken promise he meant to keep as if it would make up for something.

As she exited the church, instead of heading on her usual path home through the slums, she had made a sharp left around the corner of the tall stone building, catching him off guard. She did not look surprised to see him. She was clutching a small package in her hands.

It was not like him to lose his composure or to stare, startled and unsettled, but he supposed it was a special case. She smiled at his confusion.

“You didn’t think I knew you’ve been watching me all along? I’m not stupid, you know.”

“Of course not,” he managed. It was only polite.

“I know this is very sudden,” she said, “but I have a favor to ask of you.”

It was not like him to be struck speechless by a request. But he supposed...for her, perhaps, he could make an exception.

“You see,” she went on, “you’re the only one I can go to.” She gazed at him solemnly for a moment, then held out the package. “Could you please...deliver these to Zack for me?”

Taking in his questioning look, she added, “They’re letters.” The smile quirked at the corner of her mouth again. “Promise you won’t read them?”

He stared a moment longer, then realized he was staring and adjusted his tie awkwardly. “I’m afraid...you don’t understand the situation.”

Her gaze was steady and burned a hole through him and he found he couldn’t avoid it. “You know where he is, don’t you? It’s been almost six months.”

“...I would not be...authorized to disclose that information to a civilian if I did.”

She blinked, slowly, some of the intensity leaving her expression as she acknowledged that it was as close to a “yes” as she would get.

“But you’ll do your best?”

He couldn’t possibly refuse her. Not her. He nodded slightly, not trusting himself to speak. Her face lit up.

“Thank you!” She whirled around, a bounce in her step, turning her head to smile back at him. “Come visit the flowers sometime. They’ll be happy.”

He stood there for a long moment after she left, holding the small brown package in his hands.

***

Once he returned to his office, he placed the package, unopened, at the back of one of his desk drawers, and tried to forget about it.

***

Several months later she gave him another package, but her face fell when he indicated he hadn’t managed to deliver the first one. She said she didn’t blame him—“You’re busy with work, aren’t you?”—but they both knew the real reason, or at least she guessed and didn’t dare speak her suspicious. He was grateful for not having to confirm them.

“It’s all right,” she said lightly, breaking a moment of grim silence. “They’re silly little things, anyway. Nothing interesting happens around here; I don’t have much to write about after all.”

But when she smiled, he could see the pain in it.

“You get away with coming here a lot, don’t you?” she said, changing the subject. “And you haven’t been ordered to take any action?”

“It’s my—”

“—day off, I know,” she finished for him, wrapping her arms around herself and laughing a little. “I’ve learned your code. Miss Rosalind said the same thing, that time.”

He didn’t have the heart to tell her that someday, he’d run out of excuses.

“Thank you,” she said finally, turning away. “For everything.”

He watched her go; her steps were heavy.

***

The day he finally received a proper new assignment, he was almost relieved. That he could no longer find a reason to have to face her and explain that the four bundles of letters she had given him were still sitting in the depths of his desk.

“There are eighty-eight now,” she had said. “I kept track.” Then she had laughed; it sounded forced. “He’ll be surprised at how much I wrote, won’t he? I wrote one almost every other week. Or maybe he’ll tease me for being so frivolous.”

He opened the drawer and took out the first package, gazing at it as if seeing it for the first time. It was wrapped in brown paper and tied with what looked like gardening twine. A few words were printed across the front in neat script.

He rolled the end of the twine between his fingers until it unraveled and a few strands fell away, drifting down to lie on the impeccably clean carpet beneath his feet.

He put the package away and picked up his phone from the desk.

***

He had let himself hope after sending Cissnei off with her orders. Feigning incompetence was better than the alternative, he thought, though he knew they could only get away with it for so long, after what had happened to the man who had previously held his position.

There was a knock at the door to his office.

“Come in.”

Two pairs of eyes fixed on him as he stood after they entered, filled with an expression he couldn’t identify.

“We’ve come to give our report,” Reno said after a moment, as if he couldn’t stand letting the silence go on for any longer. He was usually like that, though this time for a different reason.

“Go ahead.”

The field operative straightened, folding his arms behind his back and staring straight ahead in an uncharacteristic display of discipline. His partner, as always, stood stoically by his side.

“The targets have been eliminated.”

He let out a breath. When nothing else was forthcoming, he prompted, “Is that the end of your report?”

Reno’s gaze snapped to his face, hard and unflinching. The man was usually carefree to a fault, but the rigidity of his posture and the strange coldness in his eyes betrayed something.

“The targets have been eliminated.”

There was another, very painful silence.

“Two full infantry squads are listed as casualties. But otherwise, the mission was a success.”

He placed the file he was holding carefully down on his desk.

“End report.”

SEALED: CONFIDENTIAL was emblazoned in tape across it. He looked up again, finally.

“Dismissed.”

Eighty-eight letters sat at the bottom of a desk drawer, collecting dust.

[he who turns beasts into men]

te_ashi — Tue, 25 Dec 2007 08:50:50 GMT

Title: The Man Who Was Once a Dragon
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts (KIND OF)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Uh....Girl/Dragon? Hero/Hero's Wife? King/Queen/Knight? AHAHAHAHAHA
Word Count: 988
Notes: OKAY. This'll be interesting.

A fairy tale-type story based loosely off my Kingdom Hearts/Final Fantasy roleplay with thunderedge. Basically...I got the idea writing out Genesis' dialogue, because he's constantly making literary references. Essentially, this is to the roleplay, or at least the Sephiroth Arc, as LOVELESS is to Crisis Core. (LOVELESS the play, not Loveless the shounen-ai manga XD though apparently LOVELESS the play does have shounen-ai themes...? ~~Traveller/Hero OTP totally~~ *shot*) Since Genesis can't really quote LOVELESS anymore, he says "I'm writing my own story"--i.e. taking hold of his own destiny instead of relying on a book to determine it.

Genesis: Do you understand now? No one can control him. Sephiroth, the nightmare, the god. The Angel of Death's wings are no longer clipped. And no doubt...the chains your little witch locked his memories away with have fallen away by now.
Riku + Kairi: *bristle*
Kairi: How dare you call her that!
Genesis: Ah...the Princess and the Dark Knight. *gaze stops at Sora* Two-faced cards. The Crown Prince and the Key of Destiny. The Princess Royal and the Enchantress. But they are inconsequential to my purpose. *continues past Vincent and Yuffie* He who was once Chaos, Harbinger of the End. The Mischevious Thief. *stops at Cloud, Tifa and Leon* The Village Boy who became Dragonslayer and his lovers. I find it hard to believe a child like you would play such a part, but then again, the dragon orchestrates his own defeat by playing with his prey for too long.
Cloud: .....
Zack: *strides over to stand by him*
Genesis: And who do you think you are?
Zack: The village boy's best friend, I suppose. Or you could call me the "dragon-tamer". *grins recklessly* He who turns beasts into men.

Funny thing is, I've been calling Sephiroth "the dragon" ever since the title of the Load in the first Underworld Arc, "Princess Vs. Dragon". (stolen from Bleach >.> ) But in that case, Aerith's the princess...

This deviates somewhat from the actual plot of the RP, especially near the end, but I was trying to make it fairy-tale-like. I'll leave who the different characters correspond to up to the reader...

Once upon a time, there was a prosperous kingdom where many people lived happily. It was ruled by a wise King, his beautiful Queen, and their loyal Knight.

One day, a great and terrible Dragon rampaged across the countryside, destroying homes, villages, and their crops in its rage. Eventually it reached the castle, and the King stood to fight it. But along with the other heroes who had tried to vanquish the Dragon, he was struck down. Just as all seemed lost, a village boy took up his fallen friend's sword, and with strength born from desperation, buried the blade just below the Dragon's heart.

The great beast fell into a deep slumber, and the people rejoiced that they had been delivered from the scourge. But before the Dragon slept, his spite poisoned the boy who had defeated him with a wicked curse. For the rest of his life, the boy would have to fight off the Dragon's dark power within his heart.

Peace returned to the kingdom. Homes were rebuilt, and people could once again live their lives without fear. But the King, who had finally recovered from the grievous wounds the Dragon had inflicted, feared that the beast would one day wake once more.

And so the King and his Knight set out on a journey to seek the advice of a powerful Enchantress. The Enchantress cast an intricate spell to seal away the Dragon's power, along with the memory of his terrible deeds, in the form of a human with a single wing--a mirror image of the boy he had cursed.

And so the Man who was once a Dragon awoke, and found himself alone.

Lost and friendless, he wandered the kingdom, finding shelter nowhere, as the people were wary of his strange appearance. Finally, starving and exhausted, he collapsed before the door of the Hero whose sword the boy had used to defeat him.

The Hero's clear sight could see through the Enchantress' spell, and he knew that the stranger's true nature was the Dragon, but he and his wife were kind people, so they took the man in. Grateful for the kindness the Hero had shown him, the Man who was once a Dragon promised to help his benefactors any way he could.

In time, he came to live with them, and became their friend. But the rumor that he was truly the Dragon began to spread, and the villagers feared him, and the boy who had defeated the Dragon shunned him, as he held bitterness toward the beast that had cursed him so.

Yet among the people there was a girl who held no fear in her heart. She told the Man who was once a Dragon the story of her younger sister, who had been taken away by a wicked Sorcerer.

Tirelessly, the girl had spent her whole life searching for her missing sister, but to no avail. His heart moved by her sad story, the Man who was once a Dragon vowed to help her.

After a long journey, the girl and the Man who was once a Dragon found the wicked Sorcerer's lair, and rescued the girl's sister. But the wicked Sorcerer, enraged, attacked them, and in defending her sister, the girl's life was taken from her.

The Man who was once a Dragon brought the girl's sister to safety. Stricken with grief, he swore to barter with the Lord of Death himself to win the girl's soul back. But when he reached the gates of the Netherworld, his human form perished, and the spell broken, the Dragon was reborn.

Scattering frightened souls in his wake, the great Dragon went to demand of the Lord of the Dead the price of a soul.

But the Lord of the Dead was proud, and refused to bargain, and bade the Dragon to take his leave. The Dragon refused to depart without the girl and flew into a rage, enveloping the Netherworld in flames.

It seemed that nothing could calm the Dragon's fury. The Lord of the Dead offered the girl's soul, along with the souls of those the Dragon had slain to try to appease him, but the beast was so consumed by his anger that he would not listen.

However, the girl saw not the Dragon, but the Man that had been so kind to her, and threw herself before him, begging him to stop. Not wishing to harm her, the Dragon let his fire die.

Along with the rest of the freed souls, the girl and the Dragon continued on to the entrance to the world of the Living. But the Dragon hesitated, for he remembered the terrible things he had done to the people of the kingdom. The girl smiled gently and said that surely he had repented by returning the lives that he took. Still the Dragon was reluctant, afraid that his great and uncontrollable rage would once again do harm.

And so, once they returned to the world of the Living, the girl and the Dragon went to see the Enchantress, who was wise in all things and could surely help them. The Enchantress listened kindly to their plea, but said sadly that the spell to turn the Dragon into a Man would merely break again once the Man died, as Dragons are immortal. But she took pity on them and split the Dragon's immortality between them, and cast them into the sky so that they could look down upon the kingdom and watch over its people for all eternity. The Dragon's power broken, the boy who had defeated him was freed of his curse, and where the bitterness had been his heart was filled with compassion.

And the girl and the Man who was once a Dragon walk the night sky together, watching over the boy, and the Hero and his children, and the King and his citizens, and the kingdom is at peace.

Happily ever after? I suppose.

IN PROGRESS

te_ashi — Tue, 27 Nov 2007 21:02:32 GMT

Title: Destiny From the Sky
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII
Rating: G
Pairing: Zack/Aerith
Word Count:
Notes: IT JUST HAPPENED I SWEAR. Listening to Norah Jones. I hope I didn't screw anything up because my memories of the game are fuzzy. I need to replay it.

Children are remarkable at being invisible, so she saw them before they saw her--the dark suits and the arrogance in their strides. More than her own fear and muddled memory, it was the Voice that told her to run, find someplace safe until they went away. Don't go home they'll find you--and her mother, she'd never let them take away her new mother--so she ran fueled with that alien desperation, a feeling that was not her own. Without natural sunlight there were plenty of shadowy places for someone her size to hide, and in the few months she had lived quietly in Sector 6 so far, she had learned the twists and turns of the alleyways like the back of her hand.

But this time it wouldn't be enough. They were being thorough. Maybe someone had seen her and told them--the glitter of gil was too tempting to someone who had lived their whole life in the dank semi-darkness cast by the plate. She didn't blame them, her nature was too forgiving. She just ran.

Further than she had before, ignoring the scrapes on her knees when she tripped over the hem of her dress and fell flat on her face. Heeding nothing but the Voice's whisper in her ear, turn that way, don't look back they'll see you, take you away where you can't hear and stare into your face with bright lights, stick needles into your arms, muttering to themselves. Her breath began to come in little gasps, the unfiltered air that was a mere irritant most of the time seemed to be trying to choke her. There were less people around now, but she paid it no mind, ducking behind abandoned buildings and piles of debris for a moment to catch her breath before continuing. And there--the Voice nudged her reluctant, weary legs across another empty street--there was a haven, a pair of heavy doors hanging slightly ajar, just wide enough for an underfed child to slip through. Her feet clattered across the wooden floorboards but she no longer cared about the noise, collapsing to her knees and crawling into the shadowy space behind a column, rolling onto her side and squeezing her eyes shut.

Safe. She was safe here, the Voice said, soothing her and slowing her heartbeat. When she finally opened her eyes, she had to blink rapidly to adjust. The familiar rank smell of polluted air had faded, replaced by something soft and dusty, and another scent--almost...sweet?

She sat up slowly, shaking out her tangled curls, and scooted to the edge of the broken flooring, heedless of splinters. Hesitantly, she reached out, the tip of her finger brushing the smooth underside of the flower's petals. It was a bit wilted, but stood proudly in the soft earth--she put her palm flat against it, digging her fingers into dirt that was for once, rich and not stripped of nutrients.

Her small face broke out into a smile, and she caressed the tiny plant's petals again before leaning forward to breathe in its scent. She had never smelled something so alive before.

(in progress)

spinning, laughing, dancing to her favorite song
a little girl with nothing wrong is all alone
eyes wide open always hoping for the sun
and she'll sing her song to anyone that comes along

fragile as a leaf in autumn
just fallin' to the ground
without a sound

crooked little smile on her face
tells a tale of grace that's all her own

spinning, laughing, dancing to her favorite song
a little girl with nothing wrong
and she's all alone

hope

te_ashi — Thu, 01 Nov 2007 20:27:24 GMT

Long time no RP drabble. And Cloud is finally...happy.

Edit: Soooo. This is basically the ultimate follow up to the whole confession/Connected/Answer/more angsting sequence. I wouldn't say it's a conclusion, though. Because people are always changing. I think that's why we love this RP so much? There's been so much character development that it's technically OOC, but really it's that certain people have grown up. And I don't really care if it seems like self-insertion at this point, because I've learned a lot about myself from it, and I think it's helped me better myself. Blah blah blah.

It's also an interesting study of the consequences of unrequited love...and for once I'm writing from the other side of it.

My answer this time was....surprisingly confident.

Not that it wasn’t frightening....terrifying—but I knew, somehow, that I had to tell you then or it would be too late. No more hesitation.

I couldn’t lose you and I knew you didn’t really want to go. Even in pulling away you were asking me not to let go so I held on. A test? I suppose I passed. I suppose it was enough. And for the first time, I knew for sure that you were beginning to understand.

I’ve never been...good with words. Most of the time they just desert me, or tumble over each other so fast and furious that I can’t piece together a coherent, adequate phrase. Even so, the idea of somehow being able to speak without words was...intimidating. I’m probably...more aware than it seems of what I missed. The years the darkness took from me. The language people speak with their hands and eyes and bodies. The contact, physical or otherwise, that I spent so much time avoiding. I knew there was an absence and for so long, I was ashamed of it.

Maybe...I still am, but...

I’m learning. Even now, after so many years, I still have so far to go. Sometimes it seems too far to be worth the struggle.

But...everyone’s waiting for me at the end. You were one of the ones who waited the longest.

I keep asking such foolish questions about why you chose me, of all people...but it isn’t about choice, is it? It’s a free fall, not knowing where you’ll end up, and sometimes the wind can be cold and unrelenting.

It’s too easy to trivialize your own pain in the face of someone else’s, isn’t it?

Lying here listening to your breathing, I know there’s no more reason to run frantically to catch up to anything. And maybe that means we’re finally all right.

I’ve hurt you, I’m going to keep on hurting you, as you’ll hurt me. But in the face of everything we’ve been through, that no longer frightens me so much. Maybe what scared me in the first place was the thought that you’d never understand, yet—I should have seen that you, of out everyone, would be the one to understand.

So many words in one moment—I’m terrified and I care I care stop holding back for me am I allowed to feel this? don’t push me away stop lying it hurts when you try to protect me like that and tear yourself apart instead—

all that and more, but I knew you heard even though I couldn’t speak because you finally cried. And I realized I was no longer ashamed of tears because they spoke, too.

I’ve never felt so much like this about anyone, so I had convinced myself there was a missing piece but nowhere to put it. This feeling is whole and I don’t think it will change, I said. But it’s still not what you need me to feel to be truly happy.

I know, you said. It’s painful, but someday, it’ll be all right.

So here I am, waiting along with you. I think...I’ll be able to sleep peacefully for a while to come.

I hope your dreams are the same.

"Hey, Cloud...I've gotta go to Midgar."

te_ashi — Fri, 14 Sep 2007 15:19:50 GMT

Title: The Body
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII/Crisis Core
Rating: R for disturbing images
Pairing: none
Word Count: 1,038
Notes: ...here I was complaining about Zack death fics and how I didn’t want to read any more, when this started screaming “WRITE ME NOW BITCH.” :\ I feel like a dirty hypocrite. I really don’t blame anyone for not reading this. It disturbs me, and I wrote it.

Edit: This was basically rendered obselete by the ending of Crisis Core. Consider it based off the original game, then. x.x (which technically, it was.)

He had seen everything.

Not that he had comprehended anything at all. The haze still impaired his senses, and he lay helpless inside himself. Screaming and screaming. He saw nothing. He had felt the gunshots, shattering the air, blows to his chest.

The blood had caked and dried in the dirt by the time he understood. It had been forever. A day was a long time. The sky was still overcast. He was still screaming. Incoherent words tearing at his throat until it was raw, until he was voiceless. Even then soundless pleas were still offered to the earth and the sky until the rising stench made him retch.

He could not look at the body.

There was nothing in his stomach to begin with, but acrid bile seared his throat and tongue, chest heaving, hunched over with fingers grasping at the dust. He gasped for air, unable to breathe, unable to move, his consciousness a desperate torrent of pain. But the pain was welcomed because it banished coherent thought.

After another age he struggled to his knees, clutching a fist to his chest as it was wracked by a hacking cough. The dust stung his eyes, but he barely acknowledged it. He dragged himself to the edge of the cliff, stiff fingers groping for the glint of metal that reflected the dying sunlight.

The sword was heavy, but not as heavy as he recalled. He acknowledged it only as strength born of desperation. He thrust it into the rocky soil at an angle, attempting to lever himself to his feet, but stumbled and lost his grip, falling hard. He lay there for a long moment, something digging into his cheek, the blade’s shadow falling across his face. He thought he could taste the blood in the dust. This realization brought on another bout of dry retching, and he curled up protectively in an attempt to still it, clutching his knees to his chest. Eventually, it subsided, and he squeezed his eyes shut, reaching out blindly to try to drag himself upright again.

He ignored the hideous scraping sound the blade made as it was pulled through the dirt, the stones adding more scratches to its scarred and pitted surface. The edge was dull by now. He leaned heavily on it, attempting to bury it further in the unyielding ground beneath his feet. By putting all his weight into it, it sunk half a foot into the barren earth, but would go no further. He shifted his stance, wrapping both hands around the hilt, and yanked it toward himself, metal grinding against stone as the dirt began to loosen. He kicked at the clumps that broke free, clearing them away, then continued to work the blade in deeper, pausing every now and then to dig out a stubborn stone with his fingers.

It took longer than he expected for sweat to start beading on his forehead, but he did not even stop to wonder why. The moon shone feebly through the clouds, the only natural light illuminating the hole that was now nearly three feet deep. It was tedious, difficult work, but he could not admit that it would eventually be over, because that would mean he would have to face what came next. He rested only once to catch his breath, and though he dreaded the completion of the task, a feverish urgency drove him on.

The eastern sky was hazed over with predawn light when he finally had to return to the body. He covered his mouth and nose with a hand, though it did nothing to stem the fresh wave of nausea that rolled over him. The body was not a person, the cold, rational part of his mind said. It was merely left over organic matter. He couldn’t breathe anyway. He stood there for nearly an hour, wavering, frozen by disgust and an inexplicable fear.

He straightened up, finally, not knowing when he had moved and not caring, never wanting to know. He stared down at the slightly raised mound before him, transfixed, unsure of what he had just done. Something wasn’t right.

Nothing was right.

His gaze traveled upward until it found the bloodstain. It was merely a dark mark in the dirt now. There was nothing to be done. Someday it might rain, and it would be washed away.

He wondered briefly if he should mark the spot, then shook his head vehemently, not wanting to think any longer. He stumbled away, hitching the sword onto his back in what seemed like a strangely familiar motion. He wandered among the rocks near the bottom of the incline, searching by sound until he found the feeble trickle of a stream. It was all but dried up, tepid and sluggish, but he plunged his hands into it, splashing water onto his face in an attempt to clean it. He paid no heed to what polluted source it might have stemmed from, anything to clear his mouth of the taste of dirt and vomit. He was still scrubbing his hands long after everything had been washed away, until the skin was raw and reddish from chafing. Eventually he pulled the gloves back on over them, trembling, and stood.

It was growing dark again. An unnatural glare caught his eye, and he turned, glancing out over the rocky stretch of wasteland at the bright faraway lights of the city. A coldness crept down his spine, and he shuddered, as if suddenly aware of how alone he was.

“Hey, Cloud. I’ve gotta go to Midgar.”

The sound of a familiar voice was such a relief that it was a long moment before he recognized it as his own. He blinked slowly, attempting to decipher the phrase he had spoken without thinking. He knew the words. He had heard them before.

“Hey, Cloud...”

That was his name, wasn’t it?

Cloud shifted his weight, straightening his shoulders. The wide blade that lay across his back felt right, somehow.

“I’ve gotta go to Midgar.”

He glanced again at the city, shrouded in the eerie green glow generated by the Mako reactors. Someone was waiting? Maybe that was why.

He began to walk again, further and further away from the body.

[but there's a darkness living deep in my soul, still got a purpose to serve]

te_ashi — Wed, 18 Jul 2007 16:51:58 GMT

Title: Lead and Follow: the Wasteland
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts II (post-Showdown of Fate. Yes. Again. STFU.)
Characters: Cloud, Tifa
Pairings: CLC, Tifa/Aerith (implied)
Rating: G
Words: 743
Notes: Something I wrote to solidify some of the ideas for my doujin, Lead and Follow. It started out not unlike Proximity did; a few stupid gratuitous scenes that would make any 13-year-old yaoi fangirl squeal, and I told myself I'd leave it at that. HAHAHA. Funny, I am. Really. Unfortunately, I still like my plot better than my smut. Woe. Anyway, I ended up combining it with some of my ideas for Tifa/Aerith doujin, because I needed some shoujo-ai. After all, I keep promising delovely_masha some… >.>

Well, the T/A pairing is implied in Proximity, but it's not the focus at all, and you really need to read into it anyway. Mostly because too many yaoi fans have this problem with yuri. Well, this time around I decided I didn't care. So, I'm sorry if you follow my work and don't like girl/girl. Too bad. Don't read it.

Anyway, this has a similar basis to "incompletion", but that was kind of tragic and made me feel bad, even if I was happy with how it came together. It was my first exploration with the whole "Tifa isn't real" storyline, as I've always written her as a resident of Hollow Bastion/Radiant Garden because of the roleplay. But I wanted a different, more hopeful outcome, at least.

I ramble. But Lead and Follow is much more than this one scene, both before and after it. I hope it's not too vague. I just felt like it needed to be written.

"What is it?" she asked quietly. He looked away.

"I could never…look at you. And that hurt." He closed his eyes in memory of the light that had seared his vision, temporarily blinding him. "It hurt to look but it hurt not to…try."

She reached out to touch his shoulder, gently. "You can look now, can't you?"

He didn't for a long moment, glancing instead out over the flat grey horizon. The wasteland stretched on unbroken in every direction, save for a few rocky outcroppings here and there. There was no way to tell in which direction the city lay, or even if it was possible to reach it in time. They were dying, he knew. Splitting the light and darkness to solidify her existence had left them both so mortal. Without food and water they wouldn't last more than a few days. If they needed to expend energy to fight—even less. And he knew she wasn't accustomed to the needs of flesh and blood.

He still couldn't explain what had possessed him in that moment. He knew he had won, was finally free, but somehow that had only strengthened his resolve. Was it selfishness on his part, to take that half of her light for his own? But she would say it had been his to begin with. Was he so desperate not to be left alone that he had given her the darkness to keep her there with him? He hadn't known if it would work. Nothing but a feeling, a hunch to depend on.

Those who existed completely in light were the Princesses, and those who existed in darkness, the Heartless and Nobodies. Living beings were scattered in between. That was why his polarized existence had been so unstable; the struggle between her and Sephiroth for his heart. But they had hearts, their own separate hearts that were not part of him. Yet they were neither alive nor the creatures of light and darkness that were natural to the worlds. They had been born from him, somehow, impossibly, and inevitably they had to return.

But he had wanted her to stay.

"I thought," he said finally, cautiously, not looking away from the landscape, "that it was impossible that something so beautiful had once been part of my heart."

She laughed then, and some of the loneliness left him, though not all. "Are you sure you mean that? What would Leon say if he heard?"

He swallowed hard, not recognizing her tone as teasing. She had always been serious with him. "I didn't mean like that—"

"I know," she said gently, apologetically. She knew how much the reminder had hurt, too. He nodded, unable to speak for a moment.

He looked at her, finally, the first time he had really looked since she had reached for him, calling his name. That was enough to banish any lingering regret.

"Still," he said, "I don't know what I was thinking."

She smiled a little, sadly. "It doesn't matter. Thank you."

"For what?"

She laid a bare hand over her heart. He'd never seen her hands without gloves before, and wondered if her palms were calloused, like his own.

"For giving me what I never thought I'd have."

He was silent again, taking this in.

"I was created to love you, you know," she said softly. "So was he, in a way. But he only loved your darkness. And I…I loved all of you. That was—is the difference. Between light and darkness." She shook her head. "But the light also has a way of bringing about the unexpected."

He said nothing.

She looked away quickly, before he could see the tear that had escaped her eyelashes and rolled down her cheek.

"It…hurts, doesn't it? It's so wonderful, but it hurts so much…here. Without…them."

He drew in a breath slowly, understanding.

"I was never supposed to love anyone else," she said, drawing her knees up to her chest and resting her cheek against them. "So I didn't understand…at all. And now I—" she fell silent then, and he wondered if she was crying.

That frightened him more than anything else.

He stood, feeling a cold wind picking at him, scattering the dust at his feet. It was growing dark.

"Let's go home," he said. She didn't reply for a long moment.

"Can we?"

"We have to," he said, holding out his hand to help her up. "After all, they're waiting for us."

hey now, all you sinners
put your lights on, put your lights on
hey now, all you children
leave your lights on, you better leave your lights on

'cause there's a monster living under my bed
whispering in my ear
and there's an angel with a hand on my head
she say I've got nothing to fear
she say we all shine like stars
she say we all shine like stars, then we fade away

ATV post #2

te_ashi — Tue, 10 Jul 2007 22:43:26 GMT

....shrug?

te_ashi — Sat, 07 Jul 2007 15:55:51 GMT

Title: A Perfect Lie
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts
Pairing: CLC (implied)
Rating: G
Word Count: 1,140
Notes: I realized after “Memories of Fire” that specific writing is really not my thing, at least when it comes to slash. (so far) It felt too contrived, it was an exhausting project, and I’m still not satisfied with it. So I decided to return to abstraction, since it just flows more naturally.

Young and naïve as I was, I believed it, completely and utterly.

Light and darkness existed and pulled at me, and I had chosen the darkness. That was the perfect truth. And so I ceased to be a child, but I never grew up. For nine years I drifted, the currents of the worlds dragging me where they would, leaving pieces of myself behind. Always leaving. Sometimes it seemed like leaving was the only thing I could do. I could fight, yes. But staying was beyond me.

Yet when the heart of the worlds was sealed, I felt something calling me home. Home to a place I barely remembered, as it had been visited by terrible destruction. But in the ruins, light still lingered, and painful as it was, I was inexplicably drawn to it.

There I met strangers. Children whose faces I could barely recall were now grown, and I realized that I had once been one of those children, though I was not the same. But I was welcomed with open arms, and I was given a place to stay. And so I stayed, though I no longer belonged.

I knew I didn’t remember you. I had memories, certainly, but they had faded under years of sweat and flames and blood and broken bones. There was a child I had known, a boy a few years older than myself, and we had been friends as little boys were friends, which mostly involved wrestling and races and dares. And there had been laughter there too, and tag and hide-and-seek and play-fighting with sticks and stealing food from the kitchen late at night. But we were no longer children, and what I had known of that boy had very little to do with the man that now stood before me. Just as the boy I had been had very little to do with what I was now.

But you nodded and accepted me without question, as an equal, as if nothing had changed between us, or perhaps as if nothing had ever happened at all. And I was fine because there were no questions for me to answer. I wasn’t sure if I had the answers.

But before I realized it, or indeed, because I didn’t realize it, I had begun to take your presence for granted. A decade of restless change, unsettling, and suddenly I had a constant. Almost as if you weren’t there, because I was too aware of the presence of others most of the time. Uncomfortable in it, even. I could only tolerate Aerith’s mothering or Yuffie’s teasing for so long before it became stifling.

But you were somehow unassuming. Far from quiet, but we were similar enough that you understood when I needed silence. And so the stranger that you were slowly became known to me through that silence, our mutual acknowledgement of unspoken struggle.

Almost without noticing, I began to smile again.

But only when you were there, only ever for you. And I wondered why it was no longer painful to find some sort of delight in things. It wasn’t happiness, not really. Amusement, maybe. Something barely heard in an exhalation of breath, a slight smirk, a nod—confirming that there were small things in the grim picture of my life worth smiling at.

What made me feel at ease was that it was so natural. You didn’t go out of your way to try to cheer me up, as Yuffie did—usually by trying to pull on my cheeks—things merely happened. And we would glance at each other when she gave up and tripped over her own feet, too preoccupied with scolding me to watch her step. I never met people’s eyes directly—it was easy to read them but I was more concerned about my own being read—but I could catch the warmth in your expression. As infuriating as the girl could be, you still held fondness for her, a bond formed from years of watching her grow with you.

It was that warmth I had been missing all along, but I never knew until I saw it. I never thought of it as “light” because light to me was painful, searing, tearing at the darkness that suffused my being to claim me for its own. That light could consume, I knew. I flinched away from it, cleansing but unforgiving. It could save me but it would not heal me. So I pushed it away.

This warmth wasn’t light, wasn’t that light. But neither was it darkness. And so in between I found solace for a short while, among faintly glowing embers casting dim shadows. It was kind to my struggling existence. A kindness I didn’t deserve, yet couldn’t bear to give up.

It should have been a mistake. I was not allowed to hold anything precious; he had always made sure of it. Every time I had sought to protect something it had been torn from me, until I learned it was better to hold nothing dear in the first place. And so I had died.

I didn’t dare to think, to hope, to dream. Not this time. And soon enough, things had gone too far for me to look back. All that was left was for me to move forward.

So I turned to you and found myself smiling again, understanding nothing. I was only concerned with being, not realizing that the furthest thought from my mind explained everything. I knew but could never have seen it coming.

And so we were. We spoke, but only when necessary; words were usually not needed. Sometimes I followed and sometimes I led, but it didn’t matter as long as it was you. I had become someone again, not by getting back to my feet, but by falling. I fell, I fell into trust, I fell into humanity and interaction and emotion. I fell and you were always there to break my fall.

The day I stopped falling, I was finally able to see the lie for what it was.

Light, darkness, it no longer mattered. I had reclaimed myself because of you, by merely existing alongside of you, watching you live and work and build, watching you bring hope and joy to people’s faces. I had come to understand that I needed no purpose to live, just live, that I could choose for myself. And maybe I had always been able to.

I had been a perfect lie, and you had broken it and I stood among the fragments, uncertain. I was not supposed to have a life. I was not supposed to have hopes and dreams. I was not supposed to be a person in my own right and I was not supposed to fall in love.

The perfect truth was that the truth was never perfect.

it just doesn't stop!

te_ashi — Thu, 14 Jun 2007 17:54:29 GMT

Title: A Thousand Voices (WiP)
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts
Pairing: N/A
Characters: Cloud (POV), Sephiroth, Camellia and Ren (OCs), Biggs, Wedge, Jessie
Rating: R for violence. (;D! I mean...)
Notes: I dunno how long this will be, but I hope not as long as Homecoming, because HELLO TRAUMA. >.> I wanted to deal with a point someone brought up...I believe it was chibixleon, about how Sephiroth always threatens to take away all that Cloud holds dear, but then...doesn't. And all the hints at Cloud's KH past...something had to have happened. Naturally, violence ensues.

I'm taking this lightly here, but it's actually rather serious. And Cloud is technically 16, but mentally a lot younger since he lost about 4 years of growing up normally. So my language is probably too sophisticated, as usual, but I'm not changing my style just because of that.

I realized that most of my OC nowadays, when I must have them in fics, are either mature adults or small children. Possibly because that lessens the chance of romantic involvement with the canon characters, so less people will scream "Sue!". People will scream "Sue!" anyway, but what are you gonna do.
Word Count: 2,536 (so far)

I remember that my hands were shaking.

I remember flames and the smell of burning flesh. I remember screams and blood, tears swept away in an instant by the heat.

A thousand voices crying out to me, and he laughed at our suffering.

before.

I attributed the strange excitement to adrenaline from the fear. A few moments ago, some naïve thought that I might make it this time had crossed my mind, but it had been banished almost instantly.

I had no idea what to expect. Foolishly, I thought he might tell me.

"What happens next?"

His perpetual smirk widened ever so slightly. "Well, why don't you tell me."

I lost my voice then. It was too much.

He leveled his blade at me, and I flinched. Even this far away, it still hovered dangerously close to my throat.

"You've forgotten already? I'm disappointed in you."

I focused all my will into steadying my hands, gripping the hilt of my sword as tightly as I could. I could only shake my head in reply.

"You haven't forgotten? Good. Then let's see if your time with the darkness taught you anything."

I had forgotten—how fast he was. Or maybe I had never known until then, because the first time I had been too preoccupied by the pain. The light burning my eyes and agony gripping my shoulder as power took form.

It was over in moments. I might have managed to block one strike, but it didn't matter. I was face-first against the rocky ground, blood on my tongue and streaming down my arm, cursing the tears spilling from my eyes at the pain.

Weak, defenseless, helpless, as always.

"Apparently not." He sounded almost bored. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself, trying to ignore my rapid heartbeat. "Get up."

I couldn't reply, tried to swallow and ended up only choking. A cough somewhere between a gasp and a sob wracked my body with pain.

"You can't? Very well." Something connected with my side, sending me sprawling against another hard surface. I heard something snap, and white fire raced through my shoulder and down my arm. There was nothing left but the terror and the pain then, and the fingers of my uninjured hand scrabbled for purchase on the blood-slicked pebbles beneath them, searching for a grip, anything to hold on to so that I could drag myself to my feet and run.

Run.

The power responded to my blind panic, seeping through the heat of agony to grip the back of my neck with its cold. I grasped at it desperately, pulling as it pulled at me, no thought of the consequences, only escape, away from him. A deathly chill enveloped my body, and I fell into darkness.

the first day.

Maybe it was the dull ache that woke me, or the cold. The first thing I heard was a heartbeat, and the sound of someone's breathing. It was ragged and slow, catching every now and then.

I didn't move for a long time. Mostly because no clear thoughts crossed my mind, no memory of my last conscious moments, no curiosity at my current whereabouts. Just feelings, sensations; the creak of floorboards settling, a slight draft across the back of my neck, the harsh sound of my breath, dragging, the gradual slowing of my heartbeat.

I finally opened my eyes, my vision adjusting instantly to the shadowed room. It was night. Curtains drawn across the window, but I knew. A room was in a house and a house meant people, but they must have been asleep, which accounted for the lack of noise.

I lay there, still, ignoring the itching sensation building across the length of my forearm, and stared at the wall, paying no heed to the passage of time nor the feeling returning to limbs. Eventually a glow began to creep through from behind the curtains, and I had to close my eyes again. The light grew still, and I made a mental effort to ignore it as well, not thinking to turn away. The cool blackness behind my eyelids was soon a burning red.

I fought with it, unable to admit that it was a useful distraction from actual thought, challenging myself to stay as still as possible until the light became too unbearable.

Wood creaking again, but fainter; someone moving around beyond the door. A faint murmur of voices. I wondered if I could shut my eyes any tighter. But no one entered, and gradually I relaxed, letting my consciousness drift along the strange yet familiar sounds of a household preparing for the day.

I would usually only be half awake at this time. My mother would be gone for work already, but on her days off she would wake me up so we could spend the day together. I could feel the way her footsteps sounded on the stairs, coming down the hallway. I'd bury my face in my pillow, pretending to be sound asleep, but she saw through it every time.

I found myself turning my face to hide it without thinking, a smile flitting across my lips. I could see her standing with her hands on her hips, exasperated, ready to yank off the covers and drag me out of bed—

I let out a small gasp as the daydream ended, though whether it was from surprise or pain I didn't know. The brief euphoria the memory had brought was dragged away by the clawed hand gripping at my chest. I couldn't breathe for a long moment, soundless sobs sending shudders through me, drawing sharp jabs of pain from my injuries. I focused on each one in turn in an attempt to take my mind off of the return of reality.

Right arm, broken in at least two places. Cuts down my left forearm, chest, bruises down the entire right side of my body, a broken rib or two. I knew the wing was fine; nothing seemed to affect it. I had been lucky this time.

Gone. She was gone. My mother would never wake me up again, scold me, tug fondly on the wisps of hair framing my face and tell me to cut it already. She'd never make sandwiches for lunch or call each of my friends by name or come home late from work, sit in her room and cry and pretend I couldn't hear her. Eight years after my father left and she still cried. Not anymore. They were all gone. He had just gone sooner.

All I could recall were smiling faces, faces that no longer had names. Names I should have known but didn't want to, made myself forget because it hurt. It was no use anyway; I'd never see them again.

They were laughing and calling my name, but I said I had forgotten that, too, and turned away.

"You're awake!"

The voice, a real voice, startled tears from my eyes. I froze, closing my eyes tightly, seized by a sudden inexplicable fear. A moment later I remembered to breathe.

Footsteps, a faint shadow fell across my face. I didn't move.

"I saw that. Don't pretend to be asleep. There's nothing to be afraid of; you're in good hands. Don't worry."

I bit my lip, refusing to respond. Maybe because I didn't know how. After a moment I heard a sigh. It sounded almost familiar.

"All right, I get it. I'll give you some time to adjust. But I promise I don't bite." Door hinges creaked. "I'll get you some food; that should wake you up."

I lay still until I was sure she was gone, then pushed back the sheets and attempted to stand. It was the wrong choice. My knees buckled, my head spinning, vision blurring for a long, agonizing moment before it righted itself. I clung to the side of the bed with my unbroken arm, biting back a cry. I waited for the pain to fade before trying a few hesitant steps, but only made it as far as the wall with the window. I leaned heavily against it, breath coming in short gasps, gripped by an urgency I didn't understand.

Even such small movements must have taken longer than I thought, since the woman was back before I had the strength to move again. I stared down at my bare feet, not knowing why my ears were burning with shame. She made a disapproving noise when she saw me, setting something that clinked at the foot of the bed before hurrying over and taking my arm carefully.

"That's no good; you'll only make it worse. Got somewhere to go in a hurry? I didn't think so." She had a brisk, precise way of speaking, cutting off the ends of her sentences sharply. "Sit down now, there's a good boy."

Somehow, I no longer had the will to argue. She set the tray next to me, pulling up a chair. I refused to look anywhere but down.

"Well then. At least you're up and trying to be about, that's a good sign. Considering the mess you arrived in. Can you understand me?" I nodded, slowly, almost automatically. "Good. Now, you look like you're still a growing boy, so don't let yourself starve. You've been asleep for days." She held a spoon up to my face, but my stomach twisted. I turned my head away.

"This is no time to be picky. I don't want you fainting on me. You've lost a lot of blood, you know. I'm surprised you pulled through."

I didn't move, and after a moment a strong hand gripped my chin, forcing my mouth open. I didn't have the strength to resist. I could taste nothing—my mouth was too dry—and swallowed with difficulty, retching a few times before I managed to force the food down. I had the uneasy feeling it wouldn't stay there for long, but my rather opinionated caretaker insisted I down a few more spoonfuls before she was satisfied.

"I'll leave the rest here if you feel up to it later." She set the tray aside, pulling back the sheets and indicating that I lie down again. I shook my head. Now that I was up, I no longer wanted to sleep, or even just rest. Despite my injuries, I was gripped by a strange restlessness. Perhaps it was merely my natural curiosity picking up again. If so, maybe that was a good sign.

The woman sighed when I tried to get up again, a tone I knew all too well. "No, you don't. Look at yourself; you can barely stand on your own. Get some more rest, you've got time."

I shook my head again, more forcefully. When she opened her mouth to object, I said, "I'm not tired."

"Oh, so he can speak. That's a relief."

I bit my lip again, that strange feeling of shame catching in my throat. I suddenly felt very small. Fighting the urge to cry, I glanced up and caught her gaze, glaring. She blinked, startled, then turned to look at the window, as if to verify something. I frowned, not expecting this reaction.

"Trick of the light…?" she muttered, looking back. We stared at each other for a moment, then she grabbed my chin again, tilting it up.

"S-stop it—"

She seemed fascinated. "I've never seen eyes that color before…"

"What—?" I lifted my good hand to swat hers away, but she caught my wrist.

"Careful with that. Well, you're certainly a strange one. What's your name?"

"Let go—" I leaned back, trying to get her to release me, which she did, smiling a little.

"Touchy, are we? Hm, no more than most, I suppose. Get used to it, I'm pushy."

I stared down at my lap, half hidden by the sling that supported my broken arm. Despite my annoyance at being touched so casually by a stranger, this woman's blunt honesty was somehow a relief. I could deal with it.

"You're not very talkative, are you? I'm Camellia. Cam is just fine. You?"

I could see no reason to expend the energy to attempt a lie. "…Cloud."

"Cloud. And how old are you, Cloud?"

I thought about it. I had no way of knowing how much time had passed, but judging by my physical growth— "Fourteen," I said hesitantly.

"Fourteen? Really?" She sounded skeptical. "And that hunk of metal is yours?"

My head snapped up, an emotion I didn't understand seizing my chest. I followed her hand gesture almost fearfully, gaze drawn to the sword propped against the opposite corner of the room from the window. The blade was taller than I was, wrapped to the hilt in tattered bandages. I stared at it in disbelief, not really listening to Camellia's next words.

Mine. It wasn't mine. It should have been. But he had been the one to give it to me, and so it would never be mine.

Camellia was shaking my shoulder, gently, and I blinked, not realizing I had blanked out.

"You okay? I was worried for a second there. You went white as a sheet. Should I get rid of it? Not that I could without help, the thing's heavy…"

I shook my head. If I couldn't get rid of it, no one could.

"It's mine," I said shortly, ignoring how the words nearly stuck in my throat. She laughed.

"Whatever you say. Though if I were you, I'd get a more efficient weapon…something smaller and lighter." Her face darkened momentarily. "Times like these, you need something like that…even a kid like you…"

I looked at her questioningly, but she merely shrugged.

"Don't mind me. I ramble sometimes. Well, you seem much better than you were a few minutes ago, so do you think you can stomach anything else?"

I shook my head, truthfully. The conversation, if it could be called that, had been merely a distraction. I realized the source of the uneasy feeling that had begun to grow in my chest. The back of my neck felt strangely cold, and I reached up unconsciously to cover it. Camellia’s eyes widened in what I realized after a moment was guilt.

“I’m sorry, it was a mess...it was easier just to cut it then get all the blood out and untangle it...”

My stiff fingers met a short fringe of hair before touching skin. Relief replaced apprehension. Such an ordinary reason for this feeling. It made perfect sense. She had cut my hair, that was all, and I wasn’t used to it. It was almost a little frightening how simple it was.

“I’ll sleep,” I said suddenly, shifting carefully to lie on my side. Camellia nodded in approval.

“That’s more like it. Now, you just call me if you need anything, I’ll be downstairs.” She stood and dusted off the front of her dress—a habit, it seemed—and strode briskly to the door. I closed my eyes, but didn’t hear it open.

“So young,” she said quietly after a moment. “You know, my son would be about your age by now.” And then she was gone.

I realized after a long time had passed that she had said nothing about my wing.

Next

mune ni kizamareta kizuato wo mitsumenagara
"mou moderenai..." to yoru ga sasayaku
saa, me wo tojite inori wo sasagereba ii
mou omae ni nokosu kotoba wa nanimo nai kara

drabble drabble drabble

te_ashi — Fri, 08 Jun 2007 20:13:51 GMT

Title: A Piece of My Heart
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII (Advent Children)
Pairing: Cloud/Aerith, (omg what) Zack/Aerith
Characters: Aerith, Cloud, Zack
Rating: G
Notes: Contrary to popular belief, I don’t hate on Cloud/Aerith. I’m just a Cloud/Tifa fan. If you look at the game, the player makes the choices for Cloud, so really, both pairings are canon. Advent Children is significantly ambiguous enough for this to work. So people should quit with the drama. (it’s been ten years already, geez.) Anyway, this just sort of happened. Spoilers for Advent Children, since it’s, well, the ending.
Word Count: 336

It’s all feelings here, she thought, as she watched them, sunlight glancing down through the broken roof to refract through the droplets of water thrown into the air. Air full of smiles and children’s laughter.

He was smiling. She didn’t even need to look to know; it resonated in her heart as she knelt down beside the young brother and sister who sit chattering in the ruins of a pew. They had been healed before, by the rain. The girl glanced up, recognition flickering behind her dark eyes.

“You’re that lady! You helped us, right?”

She nodded and held out her hand in greeting. And goodbye. She couldn’t stay long. The Planet called to her. You are the world, it said. You have a duty to it. There were no real words, but she felt it, that voice that was not a voice resounding through every fiber of her being.

She rested a hand briefly on top of each child’s head, then stood, every step she took across the ancient floorboards seeming like an age. The moment she felt his gaze on her back, she had to turn, feeling her own smile widen with a feeling she had almost forgotten. It was a feeling she knew she had to let go of, but she reveled in that instant of reality, of humanity. She glanced back to see him staring, a mixture of disbelief, surprise, and something she couldn’t quite place.

I’m leaving a piece of my heart with you, her eyes said. Here with the people I love.

He blinked, slowly, almost as if he understood.

She inclined her head. “Everything’s all right now...right?”

As if he could hear her across the distance between them, his smile returned in acknowledgement. They were both letting go, finally.

She turned back to the light that reached for her, and before all true sensation left, she felt Zack take her hand.

“He’ll make it,” he said. “He’s not alone.”

“Of course not,” she replied. “And we’ll still be here.”

[kono mama naitemo ii]

te_ashi — Mon, 09 Apr 2007 16:25:31 GMT

Just a little thing. Tifa instead of Cloud, for once.

His shoulders were shaking.

I'd seen them straight, strong, or burdened with grief. They always carried so much weight. I could never understand it. But the only time I can remember him really crying was—

Saying a sudden goodbye to a dear friend. A memory so far away it feels like a dream.

Here and now…

We've come so far. And maybe because there's more we hold dear than ever before. So many promises, I can't quite separate which ones were kept and which weren't. But I'm not sure it matters.

That it took two lifetimes for him to be able to cry freely, in front of me—

Maybe it was selfish of me. But I welcomed the change.

This man that's been broken over and over again—

This man that I've…fallen in love with over and over again…I couldn't help but think that it meant he was finally whole.

He apologized again. I've heard those words so many times they lost meaning a while ago.

"What's left to apologize for?" I asked.

"A lot of things…I'm never going to catch up, am I."

"Nobody does," I said. Because maybe I know that best of all. It feels so callous, sometimes…that I've learned how to let things go. Maybe I've always envied his stubborn way of clinging to mistakes. But that's not atoning for them.

There are some things you really can't atone for. The most anyone can do is keep on living, try to make something of it. Have we? I don't know. But it's something to believe in.

Believing, I can believe in him, and the people around us.

To keep on believing, and living…that's meaning enough for me.

all the struggle we thought was in vain
and all the mistakes one life contained
they all finally start to go away
now that we're here it's so far away
and I feel like I can face the day

I can forgive, and I'm not ashamed
to be the person that I am today

Art post

te_ashi — Mon, 02 Apr 2007 16:30:35 GMT

First character design I ever did. Aryan changed a lot, I think...I keep drawing his scars differently.

[ima dake demo ii, ikitekudasai]

te_ashi — Fri, 23 Mar 2007 15:56:00 GMT

It's unreasonable, that's all.

You'd think the world being as it is, you can make it what you want. I always thought the problem was with me, that I wasn't trying hard enough. Maybe that's why I thought it was all right to give up. Because the world will go on without me. Insignificant, I am what I make myself. If I'm too tired to keep moving forward, it's my own weakness.

It was never like this before. When I used to wake up and wonder why I bothered. There's nothing overwhelming, no looming danger that threatens to destroy all I hold dear. I'm just living right now. Like I never thought I'd be able to. I still don't understand it.

Just existing alongside of other people...the meaning in that. That it could mean something...that it doesn't have to mean anything. Sometimes I lie awake realizing I haven't touched my sword for weeks. How many years of my life have I spent fighting?

Yet in a way, there's still something to be won.

What was most frightening was the idea that it would never end. Maybe it's that way for everyone. Maybe I'm still scared. Maybe I...

You know, it's not all right.

You just keep telling yourself that. I don't know how to change anything. It's this life right now, learning how to smile again. Again. That's it...how many times have I lost myself? Sometimes it seems like I can't remember without stripping away everything that's happened so far.

I'm too many people at once.

What's frightening is how much I depend on everyone around me to keep me togeher...let them define me when I don't know myself. It was fine for a while. But I can't make everyone happy just like that.

I can't make you happy just like that.

I can't...

I can't change myself anymore.

I can't depend on you to change me.

Part of me wants to go back to that in-between time, when I never really slept at all, if only because I knew you then. I wasn't afraid of hurting anyone. Now everything keeps falling apart.

Just existing alongside of other people is harder than anything.

I haven't given up--I won't. All it is is that I don't know where I'm going, and I can't ask you to tell me anymore...this time, it's my responsibility.

Selfish of me, isn't it. Thinking we'd be better off if you changed. What does that mean? I don't want you to keep on hurting like this anymore. It's not even something you can run away from, like I did. So my thoughts betray me and say we should go back. But all that means is that I'd be unaware again.

It's like forgetting. And I swore never to give up any of my memories, even the painful ones.

KH DoC Homecoming: Parts 25 + 26

te_ashi — Sat, 10 Mar 2007 03:23:30 GMT

I posted this on DA but not here? What gives. Anyway, it's DONE. AUGH.

25. ending

Light. Who was it that told me I was looking for it?

She holds out her hands to me. "I'll give you my light!"

My vision blurs as his grip tightens on my throat. "Did you really think that borrowed light would enough to face the darkness?"

Aerith smiles reassuringly. "Once you find it, you'll find your way back, right?"

Maybe there was nothing to find in the first place.

You glance over your shoulder, your confident smirk mirroring mine. "Then that'll have to be the one I take care of."

I can hear in his voice that he thinks he's won. This time… "So will you give in, or merely be consumed? A pathetic fate, but I suppose it's fitting…"

Yuffie sticks her tongue out at me. "C'mon, smile! You're no fun!"

I'm not even sure what hurts anymore.

I look up to see the kid staring down at me, apprehensive. "Uh...hey. You okay?"

If I found it, then where is it?

Only two years, but Sora has grown. Not only physically. He grins and taps a thumb to his chest. "Don't sweat it! If we see him, we'll tell you."

I know these faces…names…people who concerned themselves with me. People I tried to push away. They couldn't know. I couldn't say. And here…

Here…I am.

My voice is little more than a hoarse whisper, but I can still speak.

"Those…aren't the only two options!"

He flinches and lets go, the arrogant confidence suddenly gone.

I don't stop to wonder at it, but throw myself to the side, knowing what comes next. My hands scramble for the sword hilt, and I pull the blade across my back broadside, just in time. I can still feel the blows through it.

"Still clinging to the light?"

I ignore the familiar taunt and shift into a more stable stance for balance, still on my knees. I need to stand, but my throat is tight. Lightheaded from the lack of air. But he doesn't attack.

"You fool. You're too far gone."

I stagger to my feet, nearly blacking out, but manage not to fall.

"The darkness is all that's left," he says, smiling now. But I know how much he's lied to me.

I reverse my grip, the weight in my hands never feeling so right. It knows, and trembles in anticipation. I look up into the eyes of the beast.

Fear…it was all I had at first. It was the only thing I understood. Then anger. I hated him. He told me to run, so I ran. He told me there was only darkness, and I believed him.

He told me I lived in the past, so all I could do was look back and regret.

I am strangely empty. All that is left is something like pity. This one who is me and not me. I understand now.

My darkness, yes. All my fears, my insecurities, my failures and regrets. Without them I am incomplete and broken. But there's more than just that. If that was all I was, I truly would be him. Darkness, only taking, consuming. Never satisfied. Eternal, always needing more pain.

I will only ever be transient. If just for those who refuse to give up on me. If that's what light is, then—

"You're wrong," I say. "There's always something the darkness can't reach."

It burns like nothing else, but this time I don't look away. Lines of molten gold run from my hands down the length of the blade. The bindings are at their limit, straining to keep a few strands connected; as soon as the golden fire touches them, they snap, fading abruptly as if snatched away by the wind. The power hits full force then, slamming into me like recoil, but I hold my ground. The world blurs into grey; the only clear thing left stands before me, no longer a distinct humanoid shape in my vision. Not a mere shadow of darkness, but a gaping black void, grasping, blood-red lines like veins shot through it. One fine tendril peels away from the dark to strike, but metal clangs against stone. I am no longer there.

I hear him laugh derisively, but the sound no longer holds any meaning to me. Time has not slowed, but I am sharper. I don't need to look at my surroundings; they are indistinct to my eyes, but I know them in my mind.

A flicker of red out of the corner of my eye; I push off from the nearest wall as the spot where I was just standing is shattered into tiny chips of rock. A few seconds later, all thought is gone. My body knows. Eight years and now I can match his speed.

Surpass it.

The golden fire within me knows nothing else. This is its purpose. These blades are my weapons, my will. They tear into the darkness, one after the other. They have waited long enough.

I look up once my feet are on solid ground again, vision returned to normal. He is suspended, fading, one arm outstretched, as if to take me with him. Dark feathers crumbling to dust like dying flames.

"Defeating me…means nothing…just like your darkness…I will never….truly disappear…You…cannot run…."

"I'm finished running," I say quietly.

And then he is gone.

Something else is, as well. But I can't see what it is. No sound, not even my breathing.

I fall. The ground is cold. Another kind of cold. This is not an ending, because I need to stand up again. The lucidity vanishes abruptly, and panic seizes me. How can I be so sure that this means a change? Even if I changed myself…if it isn't enough…

Every time I fall, I will have to get up again to move forward. The thought is nearly unbearable.

"Come on, stand up."

I know this voice.

"Really, it's just like you to give up at a time like this, Cloud. But I'm not letting you. This is no time to be sitting around. It certainly took me long enough to find you again."

I flinch and throw an arm over my face to shield my eyes. An instinctive reaction.

She laughs. "Just what do you think you're doing? You defeated your darkness, didn't you?"

I take my arm away, slowly. Open my eyes.

"That's it." A gloved hand appears in my field of vision, palm up. Expectant.

I dare myself to look up.

She smiles down at me, and this time I can't look away. A face that I haven't really seen in years.

"See? That wasn't so bad. Let's go back." She nods encouragement. "Everyone's waiting."

I find myself smiling as I take her hand.

26. epilogue: homecoming

I still haven't adjusted to so many people in the same place. Yet I find it difficult to leave when I can think of nowhere to go.

The future frightened me even more than he did. It was why I took refuge in the past. But maybe I was afraid because I couldn't see anything.

I never thought I'd be able to go back to living a normal life.

Do you remember? When we were children, we swore to grow up and go on an adventure together. Never dreaming that the journey itself would lead us down such different paths.

I think I might be able to keep a promise now. But there's no need to make one. Yet. I'm still learning what that old promise really meant.

"Still so serious."

I try to hide the fact that she caught me by surprise. I can't tell if it worked.

"What?"

She leans against the wall. "Nice view. Do you come up here a lot?"

I shrug.

"Cloud. That's not an answer."

"…it's quiet," I add reluctantly. I never really know what to say to her.

She sighs and turns, leaning her elbows on the railing, chin in hands. "You've still got a lot to work on."

I can't find a reply. As the silence counts out nearly a minute, I consider leaving. I can't think of any other option. Certainly not speaking first.

"It's hard to adjust," she says finally, startling me. I glance over.

"What is?"

"To you not running away from me all the time." She laughs suddenly, and I manage to keep the guilt caused by my thoughts from showing on my face.

"Sorry," I say automatically. She looks at me.

"You're apologizing now?"

"Well…"

"It's all right, you don't have to. It was worth it. In the end…the promise came true."

"You kept it," I correct her. She shakes her head.

"It kept me. There were so many times I got lost, frustrated…I wanted to give up. But then I'd remember." She straightens up, putting a hand to the back of her neck. "Sometimes it was the only thing that kept me going." She glances at me, sidelong. I have to look down.

"I don't know," is all I can say. She nods a little, as if she understands. She probably does.

She looks out over the roofs of the city, past the newly rebuilt outer walls to the horizon. I find my gaze drawn inexorably to her profile instead.

"Still…it isn't what I imagined," she says with a bit of a sigh. "It's not like an end at all. Just another beginning. I guess I never thought past what would happen once we all found each other again."

"…what will happen, then?"

"That's the future, isn't it? Nobody can predict the future." She shrugs a little. "I was just...surprised at how everyone has changed. I mean, I guess it stands to reason. It's been so long…"

"They grew up, that's all," I say. She looks bemused.

"That's insightful of you."

I know she's teasing. "You're starting to sound like Aerith," I find myself muttering resentfully. She bursts out laughing.

"Maybe I am! Well, we've been doing a lot of catching up recently." She nods. "You know, you're not doing too badly at all."

"With what?"

"All I've been hearing from everyone was that you'd never tell them anything and hardly ever spoke, but you seem to be able to carry on a conversation pretty well."

"What's that supposed to mean?" For a moment I feel like an unruly child who has finally been praised for doing something right. Her smile fades.

"I don't expect anything from you right away. I think everyone else understands, too." Her brow furrows. "It was…painful, wasn't it."

I feel my breath catch and look down. I'd rather not remember, but it's not as if I can ever forget. She sighs again, apologetically.

"I was mostly just…scared," I say quietly. "Of everything. Making mistakes, having to face them, having to take responsibility. Running away just made it worse."

"It's all right. It wasn't your fault."

"I could have…" But I don't even know what I'm trying to say. I don't want to lose it in front of her. I shouldn't be considering such things.

"It's all right. As long as we're all here, things will get better. We just have to work at it." She reaches out to put a hand on my shoulder, as if to steady me. "Just remember that you're not alone."

I draw in an unsteady breath. "I…I know."

She nods, tightening her grip on my shoulder for a moment. I nearly ask her not to let go.

"It was too long," I say instead. "I nearly forgot what it was like, being with…people."

"You're back now."

"I'm back," I echo, feeling as if I've just realized it. "I'm home."

First|Previous

More of Cloud's rambling.

te_ashi — Thu, 22 Feb 2007 21:02:39 GMT

Technically for the RP/doujin, but I didn't feel like putting it on my RP journal (kumo_no_ookami) because...I don't know.

“The restoration of the city’s finished,” you said, and smiled.

And I thought, maybe things will be better from now on.

So I smiled back. Easier than it had ever been. And I thought, things are changing.

But really, things change all the time. What was unbearable was struggling to stay the same. Even when I saw myself as nothing but pathetic and worthless, I clung to that. Because it was painful, but change frightened me. It still does.

I’m too aware of the way I think now. If I had no one to care about the only thing keeping me alive would be the fear of dying. I’m not afraid of pain. I’ve seen too much of it, maybe. Physical pain, at least. My scars always ache when the weather gets bad. Two lifetimes of bad memories.

There’s hardly any unmarked skin over my stomach. It remembers that blade by now; three times the charm. I can put my hands around it, shudder at its cold, nonexistent touch. My right shoulder, the same ghost. The slash across my upper left arm; all I care to remember was that it severed the ribbon—Tifa gave me hers, afterward. She’s always giving me—when the air is bad enough I can’t hold anything in my right hand, my grip weakened by my trembling fingers. The bite marks go nearly all the way up to my elbow; healed, but unlike the other scars they retain the coloring of a bruise. The one on my back I can feel every time I stand, as the skin tightens in protest.

That’s setting aside the countless small gashes across the backs of my hands, my arms, chest, back, face—but those are barely visible. I sliced my right knee open on a rock when I was six; I can’t even remember which childhood it was—maybe both. Faded, but you can still see it.

Bad memories I would never give up, not for anything, because without them the good memories would be gone, too.

So maybe I have changed. Maybe I don’t give up so easily anymore. Or maybe I just don’t give up so easily on you anymore. And you have your own scars. One of them is for me. I can’t forget that. But I’m still afraid of you changing.

I could never say that. It makes me feel so guilty because I still don’t tell you everything—even though I trust you so much that it hurts. Because I wanted to ask if you’d follow through with your promise—now that the city’s rebuilt, will you reclaim your old name? But I couldn’t say it, because I didn’t want to know the answer.

Squall was...my childhood friend. My first friend, really. Someone I actually liked, someone I didn’t care about getting into trouble for, someone I didn’t mind following, being followed by. Someone I lost so fast that I shut away that part of me, and swore unconsciously that I’d never care that much about anyone ever again.

Squall was also someone I never knew. Someone who grew up—lived, fought and loved without ever knowing me, just as I lived, fought and lost without ever knowing you.

And who are you? Leon. Both of those people, but more. Maybe I haven’t been able to say it, but someday I’ll tell you what you mean to me. Once I can find the words to say it with. So I didn’t want to lose that—lose you. As if a name means anything.

As if... you changing would mean what we have would change, too. We’ve been through this before. When you forgot me. It was more than painful, but something kept it all together...kept us...and I...

It doesn’t stop me from dreaming. Though they’re more than nightmares.

Sora is crying as he claws desperately at my arm. “Help me—just help me!!”

I can’t, I say, but no sound escapes. The darkness has taken his voice as well, by now, so all that’s left is a terrible silence as he stares at me, eyes helpless, accusing.

Aerith puts her arms around his shoulders, gently, drawing my gaze away to hers.

“That’s all you’re able to do—stand and watch. Right?” She smiles, her eyes full of kindness, and blood trickles down her cheek.

“Don’t worry, no one blames you.” There’s a hand on my shoulder, and I turn to look, but no one’s there.

“Tifa?” I’ve found my voice, but it sounds hollow and unfamiliar.

“Behind you,” she says. I’m alone.

“You left again,” you say quietly. I reach out a hand, but you turn away. “Trying to make up for it now? It’s too late. I’m already gone.”

And then it is nothing but me, alone in the dark with four cold bodies. I couldn’t stop the bleeding.

I remember how long it took me to adjust to sleeping in a real bed. I considered it a weakness when I eventually discovered I was unable to sleep on a hard surface anymore. That was...a year ago, maybe...the floor kept me from dreaming since it allowed me no rest.

But I didn’t dream with you there, either.

The people I know have their own silhouettes within me. More than just faces, smiles and voices, but distinct presences. That sense lingers from the darkness, I know. That was why the light used to be so unbearable. Now I can stand its warmth.

You were tired and I didn’t know what to do. So I sat down next to you, not expecting to fall asleep. I don’t think I was fully aware until afterward, thinking about it. I had to think to realize, since that sense was indistinguishable from touch at the time. Maybe it was just a dream from your presence, and I’ll never know how close. But you leaned on my shoulder, and it felt right. And I didn’t wake up crying.

sou, omae wa
ore no iki no gedokuzai
aa, ore no namida no shokubai
sou, kore mo
orera no seikatsu

sou, sakende
tachiagare, ikite, naite
shinde, shinde, shindekure

aa, ore to tomo ni shindetsuzukete

that's right, you are
the antidote for my breath
yeah, the catalyst for my tears
that's right, this is
our daily life, too

that's right, scream
stand up, live, cry
die, die, please die

yeah, keep on dying right along with me

KH DoC Homecoming: Parts 21-24

te_ashi — Fri, 02 Feb 2007 13:08:52 GMT

Inspiration just struck, is all....25 will be the last part, I'm just stuck on finishing the fight scene. *wipes forehead* Phew. This got to be more than I expected it to. I'm not posting this on DA until I finish the last part, so if in the meantime if anyone wants to beta, it would be greatly appreciated. I like what I did here, but I feel like my writing got sloppier? I don't know. Comments welcome.

Other notes: I hope I covered the time gap between 23 and 24 okay? 23 is a week or two before the beginning of KH II, and 24 is after you beat Hollow Bastion (and it returns to being Radiant Garden). When you arrive before that story arc and talk to Cloud, he says something like "I don't care what happens to this world." My reaction was something like "Jeez....JERK." But then I realized it says in his character profile that he doesn't like other people knowing what he's thinking. XD

And Leon and Cloud are seriously slashy all on their own. I don't need to do anything...

And I managed to explain why Cloud's got Leviathyn Blade in KHII instead of the Buster Sword! Who's awesome? I think I am.

(....being able to fill in plotholes is actually not that fantastically exciting a talent. >.> )

21. dust

Alone again, I lose track of time so easily. I haven't differentiated between day and night for a long time now. Sleep when I was too exhausted to stand anymore, that was all. It was sacrificial.

There is nothing truly living in the wasteland, and I wonder if I expected anything else. It stretches on endlessly. All I have are blurred childhood memories of what lay beyond the old city walls. The world was alive then. Even with the efforts to rebuild, I can't see anything conquering this barren grey.

I know he is here, somewhere. I can feel him, a cold blade held against my throat. Dragging at every breath.

But as I fall back into the same old mindless routine, somewhere I am changing. I don't know what it means.

It hurts. More than it ever did, but I don't understand this pain. Not physical, but an ache deep in my chest. Sometimes it brings tears to my eyes, and I don't fight it because I'm alone. Crying by myself for no reason but relieved that I can still cry.

Sometimes I wonder what you would say if you saw me like this.

I know what she would say.

The ache in my hands and shoulders is welcome, real. Tangible. I can take this pain and speak it. Not enough training. I did nothing for nearly a year. And it will fade, eventually.

I don't know about the other.

Sometimes I think it has always been there, waiting quietly until I least expect it. But I don't know, not having any clue as to its source. Strange but familiar. As much as the pain he causes me has me begging to die, this pulls at me.

It tells me to live.

But for what, I don't know.

Another nameless day. The air hasn't warmed at all but the sun has chosen to be merciless. Yet that light doesn't deter the Heartless. My polarized darkness is stronger.

So once again I put my thoughts away and throw myself into battle. I've learned enough that if I think I make mistakes. Better to rely on instinct. Maybe they consider me easy prey.

It wouldn't matter if they had enough consciousness to consider that, since they don't last for very long.

Dust has risen from the ground to coat my tongue, and I spit with distaste. To think I was once so desperate that I had considered eating dust. Complacent. I'm getting complacent again. Even out here I'm still going nowhere. Because there's only one place to go.

I glance up, but the sky is obscured. I know it can't be a storm; there hasn't been any kind of weather for a long time. My eyes are watering from the dust and I blink rapidly, suddenly embarrassed by the tears even though there is good reason for them. The pain hasn't left, only intensified. A strange pressure at the back of my throat. I have to close my eyes because the world is suddenly too bright.

And very suddenly, I know what this ache means.

22. strength

I run. But this time I have somewhere to go.

A strange grinding of metal on metal reaches my ears, but I barely acknowledge it. My throat has closed, breath coming erratically, but whether it's the dust or something else choking me I don't know. I don't spare the time to stop and think. As if giving a name to this pain has called to it, it rises and cripples me. I stumble, but it takes a moment to realize I'm not running anymore. My fingers clutch uselessly at the ground.

Blinding, even with my eyes closed tightly. A brilliant, iron-clawed grip around my chest. I retch, but there's nothing left in my stomach. Coughing desperately to draw breath. Maybe I'm crying. Nothing has ever hurt like this before.

Sudden anger cuts through me and for a moment my thoughts are clear, solid. Do you see me now? Sephiroth. I know what I've lost. I know what I have to lose.

A deafening screech; I struggle to bring my hands to my ears, but it is gone almost as quickly. In the silence that follows I realize I can breathe again. I lie there for a moment, fingers tangled in the fabric over my chest.

As soon as my strength is back I roll on to my side, pushing myself into a sitting position. Hands shaking. I stare at them. A strange mark on the palm of my right glove, almost like a burn. I glance up.

Lying a few feet away is my sword, where I dropped it when I fell.

Only…

I consider standing, then decide against it. Only my personal dignity is at stake. Whatever there is left of it. I drag myself over on my knees.

The bindings are still in place, but the metal beneath is twisted, uneven. I pass a hand over my face when my vision blurs. I can't seem to look straight at it.

My mouth is dry, and I would probably be sick had I eaten anything recently. I push the nausea away and open my hand, only then realizing it was clenched into an impossibly tight fist. My fingers cramp immediately, but I grit my teeth and force them apart. I hesitate, then pull off the glove. Somehow I know it's the right thing to do.

The hilt feels the same, only strangely cold. I tighten my fingers around it to stop the shaking, only to realize it's not my hand.

Cold, yes, but not the chilling cold of the darkness. Cold with suppressed energy, humming against my palm. A strange calm falls over me. I haven't felt this certain in so long.

I close my eyes and realize I'm smiling.

My own strength. That simple and yet not simple at all. All I could see was my borrowed power, the only thing keeping me alive. But no matter how much it hurts, this is my own will now. No longer being held up, but being held back.

I can make out the outlines of six swords fused together, their edges interlocking. They will stay that way until the bindings break.

The brief euphoria is gone, then, but it leaves something behind. I know I don't have the strength now. I don't know what makes the pain of the light worse than the pain of the dark. But now more than anything, I can't bear to go back to that cold.

I will fight, I said. What that was…a promise? I don't know. But it's the only thing I can do.

23. found

I still don't know why I can never read your expressions.

"Do you know how long it's been."

It's a quiet statement. Far from how Aerith would say it. She'd lean over and tilt her head, or put her hands on her hips, and ask it as a question, accusing, but singsong and almost playful. As if scolding a child.

I really can't imagine you doing that.

"No," I say simply. You glance at me suddenly.

"Five months."

I have no reply.

"You didn't say anything. No warning. Just left."

"I had to."

I find myself avoiding your gaze, for some reason I don't understand. There's something in your eyes I've never seen before.

"Tifa was looking for you."

Whatever I was about to say catches in my throat.

"Surprised? You shouldn't be, really." You turn away, as if it's too painful to keep looking at me. I'm grateful for the reprieve. "You could have said she was alive."

No, I couldn't.

"She stayed for a while. But she left because you weren't here. Is that why you ran off? Because you knew she'd come?"

"I had to—" but my voice breaks, and I can't say anymore.

"She told us everything."

Nothing I can say. You're silent for a long moment.

Everything is so much clearer when I'm alone.

"So you've been through a lot," you say finally. Your voice is quiet enough that I can't catch the tone. "What did you think we'd do if you told us?"

I might as well have no breath in my lungs.

I hear you sigh. "So what now?"

You turn around again when I don't answer. The silence stretches so much that I think it will tear. To my relief, you break it again.

"It's gone."

Something I can react to. "…what?"

"Your wing, it's…gone."

I look up, finally, shake my head. "Only in form." I touch a hand to my shoulder. "I learned how to control it."

"Is that why you left?"

I glance down again. "I don't know."

You're quiet again for a moment.

"Let's go home," you say slowly. "Everyone was worried."

24. words

Time passing is no longer real to me. It goes so slowly, then suddenly the world will fall over itself to catch up. Yet these last two years, two months, even, have meant more to me than I ever expected them to.

It's a strange suspension that I thought was complacency. Somehow I'm still running, yet I stayed longer than I ever have.

There are still things I can't talk about.

There are still things I'm afraid of losing. More than ever.

Still stumbling, half-blinded. Though now there's a path I can follow. Barely. Maybe…

Last week, it rained. The first rain in twelve years. Whether it had something to do with the rogue computer program or not…it doesn't matter.

I've remembered so much I didn't realize I had forgotten.

I don't have to turn around to know you're standing there. Strange how your presence is so distinct to me. I keep my eyes fixed on a spot over the wall. Still grey stretching to the horizon, but someday…

" 'I don't care what happens to this world'…huh?"

I force myself not to look back. "Did Sora tell you that?"

You let out a breath. "I just want you to trust us. You did before; what's different now?"

I shake my head. "This isn't about trust."

"Then what?"

I don't reply.

"You know what Tifa told us, even if you still insist on avoiding her. Are you hiding something else?"

My mouth is suddenly dry. "I…..no. It's nothing."

"You have a chance to start over, and you're throwing it away?"

My hand tightens into a fist, and I struggle to keep my voice level, fail. "I'm not—you don't understand!"

"I might if you told me."

That tone is like a physical blow to my back. I will myself to keep standing.

"…..it doesn't concern you."

I instantly regret the words, but can find no way to take them back. I think I hear your sharp intake of breath, but I might be just imagining it. Or maybe it is mine.

"…..so when we fought together, that didn't mean anything?"

Everything. It meant everything. We stood back to back for that moment.

"Both of us…we don't know how to solve things with anything other than fighting."

I want to laugh at that because you are so much more than I could ever be. But it hurts too much. I hear you start to walk away and dare a glance over my shoulder. You look back at the same time.

"Words can be weapons, too." You hold my gaze for a moment before turning away, leaving me alone again.

I realize after a long moment what the intensity in your expression was. Anger. A stab of guilt. Am I really so far gone that I can't recognize such emotions? Or is it just that I've never seen you look like that?

We got into petty arguments all the time as kids. But we'd always work them out eventually. I hated arguing. You usually won.

Maybe things really haven't changed at all.

First|Previous|Next

what I really meant to say
is I'm sorry for the way I am
I never meant to be so cold
never meant to be so cold to you

I'm sorry about all the lies
maybe in a different light
you could see me stand on my own again
cause now I can see
you were the antidote that got me by
something strong like a drug that got me high
I never meant to be so cold