Ficlet Post (the first)
Title: The Lucky Ones
Fandom: Final Fantasy Tactics
Pairing: Alma/Tietra
Rating: G
Word Count: 713
Notes: Written for FFEX Moogle Fluff. You can read it here or at AO3.
Summary: After another hard day at Akademy, Alma comforts Tietra.
After dinner, Tietra retreats into the library, and Alma watches the sweep of her skirts as she flees. Zalbaag turns to Alma and asks, “School again?”
Alma nods, hands fisted in her skirt. “Yes. Our classmates are terribly unkind.”
Already standing, Zalbaag nods at her. “Do what you can,” he says, “There is naught else you can do beyond that. Do not overextend yourself.” And then he is gone.
She sits for a moment longer before she rises. The library is silent as it tends to be since father’s illness. In the far corner, Tietra sits in the worn armchair that she has claimed for herself in all but name. Her dark hair falls over her face like a curtain, hiding her from view, even as she clutches the book. “Tietra?” Alma asks.
Tietra does not look up. Her shoulders hunch, and she bends further over the book while a soft noise leaves her mouth. “Tietra,” says Alma again, keeping her voice soft as she approaches. “I am sorry.”
“You have no reason to be so,” but Tietra’s voice is choked.
Alma continues forward till she stands right before her friend. “Tietra, I do not take pleasure in your pain. Our classmates are both cruel and short-sighted. Your worth is not less for lack of noble blood, nor is mine more for the half-noble blood in my veins. Blood is but blood.”
“Sweet words, but short-sighted ones. Do not be naive, Alma. You are not so blind,” she snaps, and she looks up at Alma, eyes rimmed red and tears clinging to her dark lashes.
“Nay. You are right,” Alma presses her palms to Tietra’s shoulders. “My common blood means I cannot be blind to the importance others place on blood. I do not think less of you, that I am of nobility and you are not. You are kinder and of higher intellect than those who wear the trappings of nobility while scorning others.”
Tietra closes her eyes, shoulders heaving. “I am sorry. I did not mean-Perhaps I am not the best of companions, currently.” She lowers her head again, but does not pull away from Alma’s touch.
“You are my friend, Tietra. I will not abandon you to your sorrow.”
The book tumbles out of Tietra’s lap as she clutches at Alma’s skirts, taking deep hiccoughing breaths. Alma combs her fingers through Tietra’s thick hair, and Tietra rests her head against Alma’s stomach. When her breath steadies, Tietra murmurs, “I am truly lucky to have you, Alma. I fear what would become of me, otherwise.”
“I would say that we are both lucky,” Alma cannot keep the smile from her voice.
Tietra peeks up at Alma through her hair. Her mouth curves into a matching smile, eyes puffy still from her tears. “Without me, you would be alone in a home of men,” Tietra points out.
“Indeed. As would you,” but Alma laughs.
“No.” Tietra buries her face into Alma’s stomach again. “I would be alone, with Delita gone so often.”
Alma wraps her arms around Tietra, hugging her tight. They breathe together, evenly, and Alma rocks her to the rhythm of their breathing. “Alma?” Tietra pulls back, smiles up at her. “I think you would enjoy the book I am reading. ’Tis a compilation of Romandan fairy tales.”
Tietra gently pushes Alma back to pick up the fallen book. She thumbs through it to find her place, then says, “This one is about a sparrow and a bush.”
“Read to me?”
With a nod, Tietra scoots over so that they may share the armchair. Alma presses herself against Tietra’s side as Tietra begins to read, voice sure and melodic, and Alma rests her head against Tietra’s shoulder. Anyone looking in would think Alma was merely examining the pictures. They would think little of Tietra’s smile, or the way Alma curls into her warmth.
Alma reaches and takes one of Tietra’s hands, lacing her fingers with Tietra’s. Tietra’s reading slows, as she is forced to turn pages one-handed, but her smile falters not at all. Alma squeezes her hand, before she presses a kiss to the fair curve of Tietra’s cheek.
Tietra laughs, breaking the flow of her tale. But all Alma can think is that they are, indeed, lucky.
Title: To Dust
Fandom: Final Fantasy XIII
Character: Fang
Rating: G
Word Count: 428
Notes: Written for areyougame. You can read it here or at AO3.
Summary: Returning to Oerba brings up some memories.
In the distance, the windmills are still. Fang steps into the sand, her sandals gritty with it. The silence settles inside, heavy and sure.
Summer in Oerba was the busiest time, bursting with activity, as the hunters hunted, the builders built, the herders herded, and so on.
Vanille rested her head on Fang’s stomach, the grass tickling their sun-dark skin. “Look!” and Fang could hear the smile in her voice, “Cocoon is red today.”
Red with blood. But Fang didn’t pick that fight, instead breathed out a long breath.
At her back, Hope sucks in a breath. Fang moves ahead before he can say anything, her gaze locked on the ocean dark against the horizon.
A Cie’th shambles into few, and her stomach drops as she draws her spear. Her good old spear, crafted so long ago now by Oerban smiths.
They gave her her spear on her sixteenth birthday, in the autumn with the cool winds blowing in off the water.
That night, with the viper’s nest bright overhead, Fang traced the inscription over and over with the pad of a finger-Oerba Yun Fang.
After twenty, Fang stops counting the Cie’th they come across. Vanille hangs back, pulling up the rear with Snow, while Fang, Sazh, and Light forge ahead.
Fang runs another Cie’th through with her spear-whose blood is on her hands?
The other orphans loved to follow Vanille’s lead. That day, they chained bright flowers together to make necklaces for the hunters. Luck, for a sufficient haul. Fang huffed a sigh, twirling stems together. Hers never turned out like Vanille’s did.
Vanille just laughed. She pressed her mouth to Fang’s cheek.
Though the building itself is coated in dust and falling apart, the picture is there and so is Bhakti.
Vanille cradles the damn robot to her chest, but doesn’t cry. Sazh strokes her hair, and Fang dodges the hand Snow tries to place on her shoulder.
More and more Oerbans went to war. Fang found herself watching the soldiers, and her hands itched for her spear. More and more, Vanille was silent, eyes fixed skyward.
Cie’th after Cie’th after Cie’th, and Oerba crawls with them and no people. If Fang remembered hope, the most she could hope is that some people escaped.
Beneath them, Oerba was tiny and getting smaller. Cocoon got closer and closer.
Vanille clasped Fang’s hand.
The railroad tracks are being claimed by the sea. Fang gazes back over Oerba, her home, with its wandering Cie’th. She crosses her hands in prayer-I’m sorry.
Vanille is all that’s left.
This entry was originally posted at http://mako-lies.dreamwidth.org/125483.html.
Fandom: Final Fantasy Tactics
Pairing: Alma/Tietra
Rating: G
Word Count: 713
Notes: Written for FFEX Moogle Fluff. You can read it here or at AO3.
Summary: After another hard day at Akademy, Alma comforts Tietra.
After dinner, Tietra retreats into the library, and Alma watches the sweep of her skirts as she flees. Zalbaag turns to Alma and asks, “School again?”
Alma nods, hands fisted in her skirt. “Yes. Our classmates are terribly unkind.”
Already standing, Zalbaag nods at her. “Do what you can,” he says, “There is naught else you can do beyond that. Do not overextend yourself.” And then he is gone.
She sits for a moment longer before she rises. The library is silent as it tends to be since father’s illness. In the far corner, Tietra sits in the worn armchair that she has claimed for herself in all but name. Her dark hair falls over her face like a curtain, hiding her from view, even as she clutches the book. “Tietra?” Alma asks.
Tietra does not look up. Her shoulders hunch, and she bends further over the book while a soft noise leaves her mouth. “Tietra,” says Alma again, keeping her voice soft as she approaches. “I am sorry.”
“You have no reason to be so,” but Tietra’s voice is choked.
Alma continues forward till she stands right before her friend. “Tietra, I do not take pleasure in your pain. Our classmates are both cruel and short-sighted. Your worth is not less for lack of noble blood, nor is mine more for the half-noble blood in my veins. Blood is but blood.”
“Sweet words, but short-sighted ones. Do not be naive, Alma. You are not so blind,” she snaps, and she looks up at Alma, eyes rimmed red and tears clinging to her dark lashes.
“Nay. You are right,” Alma presses her palms to Tietra’s shoulders. “My common blood means I cannot be blind to the importance others place on blood. I do not think less of you, that I am of nobility and you are not. You are kinder and of higher intellect than those who wear the trappings of nobility while scorning others.”
Tietra closes her eyes, shoulders heaving. “I am sorry. I did not mean-Perhaps I am not the best of companions, currently.” She lowers her head again, but does not pull away from Alma’s touch.
“You are my friend, Tietra. I will not abandon you to your sorrow.”
The book tumbles out of Tietra’s lap as she clutches at Alma’s skirts, taking deep hiccoughing breaths. Alma combs her fingers through Tietra’s thick hair, and Tietra rests her head against Alma’s stomach. When her breath steadies, Tietra murmurs, “I am truly lucky to have you, Alma. I fear what would become of me, otherwise.”
“I would say that we are both lucky,” Alma cannot keep the smile from her voice.
Tietra peeks up at Alma through her hair. Her mouth curves into a matching smile, eyes puffy still from her tears. “Without me, you would be alone in a home of men,” Tietra points out.
“Indeed. As would you,” but Alma laughs.
“No.” Tietra buries her face into Alma’s stomach again. “I would be alone, with Delita gone so often.”
Alma wraps her arms around Tietra, hugging her tight. They breathe together, evenly, and Alma rocks her to the rhythm of their breathing. “Alma?” Tietra pulls back, smiles up at her. “I think you would enjoy the book I am reading. ’Tis a compilation of Romandan fairy tales.”
Tietra gently pushes Alma back to pick up the fallen book. She thumbs through it to find her place, then says, “This one is about a sparrow and a bush.”
“Read to me?”
With a nod, Tietra scoots over so that they may share the armchair. Alma presses herself against Tietra’s side as Tietra begins to read, voice sure and melodic, and Alma rests her head against Tietra’s shoulder. Anyone looking in would think Alma was merely examining the pictures. They would think little of Tietra’s smile, or the way Alma curls into her warmth.
Alma reaches and takes one of Tietra’s hands, lacing her fingers with Tietra’s. Tietra’s reading slows, as she is forced to turn pages one-handed, but her smile falters not at all. Alma squeezes her hand, before she presses a kiss to the fair curve of Tietra’s cheek.
Tietra laughs, breaking the flow of her tale. But all Alma can think is that they are, indeed, lucky.
Title: To Dust
Fandom: Final Fantasy XIII
Character: Fang
Rating: G
Word Count: 428
Notes: Written for areyougame. You can read it here or at AO3.
Summary: Returning to Oerba brings up some memories.
In the distance, the windmills are still. Fang steps into the sand, her sandals gritty with it. The silence settles inside, heavy and sure.
Summer in Oerba was the busiest time, bursting with activity, as the hunters hunted, the builders built, the herders herded, and so on.
Vanille rested her head on Fang’s stomach, the grass tickling their sun-dark skin. “Look!” and Fang could hear the smile in her voice, “Cocoon is red today.”
Red with blood. But Fang didn’t pick that fight, instead breathed out a long breath.
At her back, Hope sucks in a breath. Fang moves ahead before he can say anything, her gaze locked on the ocean dark against the horizon.
A Cie’th shambles into few, and her stomach drops as she draws her spear. Her good old spear, crafted so long ago now by Oerban smiths.
They gave her her spear on her sixteenth birthday, in the autumn with the cool winds blowing in off the water.
That night, with the viper’s nest bright overhead, Fang traced the inscription over and over with the pad of a finger-Oerba Yun Fang.
After twenty, Fang stops counting the Cie’th they come across. Vanille hangs back, pulling up the rear with Snow, while Fang, Sazh, and Light forge ahead.
Fang runs another Cie’th through with her spear-whose blood is on her hands?
The other orphans loved to follow Vanille’s lead. That day, they chained bright flowers together to make necklaces for the hunters. Luck, for a sufficient haul. Fang huffed a sigh, twirling stems together. Hers never turned out like Vanille’s did.
Vanille just laughed. She pressed her mouth to Fang’s cheek.
Though the building itself is coated in dust and falling apart, the picture is there and so is Bhakti.
Vanille cradles the damn robot to her chest, but doesn’t cry. Sazh strokes her hair, and Fang dodges the hand Snow tries to place on her shoulder.
More and more Oerbans went to war. Fang found herself watching the soldiers, and her hands itched for her spear. More and more, Vanille was silent, eyes fixed skyward.
Cie’th after Cie’th after Cie’th, and Oerba crawls with them and no people. If Fang remembered hope, the most she could hope is that some people escaped.
Beneath them, Oerba was tiny and getting smaller. Cocoon got closer and closer.
Vanille clasped Fang’s hand.
The railroad tracks are being claimed by the sea. Fang gazes back over Oerba, her home, with its wandering Cie’th. She crosses her hands in prayer-I’m sorry.
Vanille is all that’s left.
This entry was originally posted at http://mako-lies.dreamwidth.org/125483.html.