FFXII and KKM drabbles. Also, FFVII crossover drabbles.
Many drabbles. First, two drabbles written with the sole intent and purpose of killing x_saturnine. Never let it be said that my love is not pure.
Final Fantasy XII, end game spoilers, Larsa and Gabranth, and their love is so canon. Sorta. Not-so-vague Larsa/Gabranth. Or is it Gabranth/Larsa? I forget which.
Locking Doors
"Would you kiss me?" Larsa asks, for he can feel Gabranth at his shoulder, ever steady and still.
"My Lord?" Gabranth asks, and it is dark enough to be Basch's voice, but it echoes like Noah's was wont to do.
"I asked, Judge Magister Gabranth, if you would be one who would kiss me." Larsa cannot help the bite of his voice, and he grimaces at the courtyard in whole. "Would you, or would you rather take to a different liege?"
"The queen," Gabranth says, "has no need of me. She has courtiers aplenty, and many that would die for her."
"The queen," Larsa echoes, "and yet I am an emperor. Am I not enough yet? Or shall you insist upon following me, death upon death? Have you another brother, hidden away to take your place." He cannot bear the stillness of the air, and so he kicks at the water, splatterings dark upon the surrounding stones.
"I do not understand," Gabranth says, "your words, My Lord. Ask what you might of me, and I shall do it, should it be within my power."
"I would ask of a kiss." The second kick sends half as much water as the first, and Larsa watches as Gabranth sidesteps the water, a shimmer of metal in the sunlight. "Shall a servant not kiss his master? Or a friend kiss a friend? Or--" His boot is quite wet now, and so he kicks the water again, because he shall do nothing if not to make a point.
"Or a dog his owner?" Gabranth's voice is wry, and Larsa cannot decide which he sounds more like, the elder or the younger.
"That is not what I said," Larsa says hotly, and he would strike out but for the armor Gabranth wears like cloth. "You are no dog, but a--" The word will not come to him, for there are too many words, and many of them are too personable, words above and below his place, and so he holds his tongue.
"My Lord?" Gabranth asks, and Larsa taps his foot upon the ground, watching the dark water-shadows on the stone.
"A friend, perhaps," Larsa says grudgingly, and he looks away, for the metal is too bright in his eyes. "Should you wish to be."
"And what kiss shall a friend give to another?" Gabranth asks, and Larsa is sure there is laughter, and he cannot bear the feel of his blush.
"A kiss to the mouth," he says, and he straightens his shoulders, for if he shall be laughed at, he will at least keep his pride. "And more, perhaps. As friends are wont to do."
There is silence behind him, and Larsa tightens his lips, and feels his chest tighten as well. After a moment he kicks at the fountain again, and the water shatters in the air.
"In Landis," Gabranth says, and it sounds much as Noah had, "such kisses would be taken behind locked doors."
"Then lock the door," Larsa says, for the thought that Gabranth might reach out, and the thought that it might be warmth rather than cold metal, makes Larsa brave.
"My Lord," and now Gabranth sounds much like Basch, "there are no doors to lock here."
Gabranth is tall, and Larsa is still young, and so he rests his head upon Gabranth's breastplate for only a moment.
"Then, if you might, come to my rooms. There are many doors there," and Larsa's breath mists over the armor, and the sun doesn't glint near so much, "and you might lock them as you see fit."
"As you wish, My Lord," and the laugh is Noah and Basch both, and Larsa cannot help the kiss he gives to the armor. The metal is cold, but so are Larsa's lips, and so Larsa cannot help but think, perhaps it is not so wrong, if the two are one and the same.
Kyou Kara Maou, no real spoilers. Gwendal would do most anything for his brother, but sometimes, even he can't save Wolfram. Vague Gwendal/Wolfram.
Something Wrong
"I think there is something wrong," Wolfram said, and his fingers were clutching Gwendal's coat. There was blood in his hair, at the corner of his mouth, and Gwendal could hear men screaming.
"Hush," Gwendal said, and the world rose about them, dirt walls rising up and up and up. "Conrart will be here soon, and His Majesty--"
"Brother," and Wolfram's voice sounded as a half-sob, "something is wrong. I cannot feel my legs. Fix it, Brother. Brother--"
"Hush," Gwendal said desperately, and he could feel the world dropping beneath them, dragging them down, and Wolfram was ever lighter in his arms.
"Please, please, Brother," Wolfram begged, and the sparks in the air lit and died, lit and died.
"Brother," Wolfram cried, and Gwendal could feel the world burn to ash.
Conrart carried Wolfram's body home, for Conrart was the one who was always carrying Wolfram. Celi's tears were wiped by a man, as they always were, and Wolfram was wrapped in cotton and linen, silk tied about his eyes. Gwendal kissed Wolfram's mouth, for Gwendal never kissed Wolfram, and Wolfram never said goodbye, for Wolfram never said goodbye to anyone.
"I think," Gwendal said, and there was no one for him to clutch, for there hadn't been since Wolfram said 'please' and closed his eyes and turned his face away.
"I think there is something wrong."
And then a set of drabbles for usagivindaloo on pornandkittens.
Final Fantasy VII/Sailor Moon crossover. Sephiroth falls into the reactor, and falls into the arms of ghosts. Vague Sephiroth/Aeris, vague Sephiroth/Tifa, and vague Sephiroth/Hotaru, oh my!
Falling Boy
When Sephiroth fell in the reactor, it was with a strange sense of curiosity and confusion. His hair whipped in his face, brushing slippery-smooth into his mouth, and his mother's head was wet in his arms.
He wondered if it was blood, then wondered if it was his blood, or hers.
When Sephiroth landed, it wasn't so much as landing as drowning. The lifestream was thick around him, closing over his head as he sank down, and his mother's head grew heavier in his arms.
The lifestream dragged him along, slowly sinking through the planet, and then it dragged him other places, too. Sephiroth watched people through filmy eyes, and people reached out to him with ghost arms, cradled him between their death-wet hands.
One looked like the Ancient girl Hojo was forever searching for. The woman slipped fingers through Sephiroth's hair, rested a hand on his mother's forehead. She's waiting for you, the woman murmured, warm voice echoing low in Sephiroth's head. Send her back to us, she's waiting.
Another was tall, thick built and dark haired. She won't forgive you, the man said, for breaking her. He dripped blood, silvery red and cold, and Sephiroth fisted his hands in his mother's hair.
It will never end, another said, and she was slender, pale and curled around him. Her face looked cold. It will never end. It can be destroyed, but it will always return. It will never end.
Why, Sephiroth wanted to ask, but asking had never served a purpose. Asking had never returned answers, not from Professor Gast, or Hojo, or his own mother. He closed his eyes instead, curling around his mother's head.
It will never end, the little girl whispered, curling around him, and her mouth was cold on his cheek. Be strong.
And a Final Fantasy VII, Sephiroth-centric. Vague Sephiroth/Every Female Character Possible omg. But mostly vague Sephiroth/Aerith*.
Voice of Women
Sephiroth lives in a world of men. There is Professor Gast, who talks to him in the mornings, asking him how he's feeling, teaching him numbers and letters. There is also Hojo, who Gast never calls 'professor,' and who Sephiroth never calls 'father,' even though he knows.
The first woman he ever sees, or hears, is a woman who watches him sadly, and tries to touch his cheek. Hojo grows angry at this, always grows angrier, and sometimes Sephiroth can hear them arguing.
Lucrecia, for that's what her name is, screams at Hojo, and Hojo, for that's who Sephiroth hates, screams back, and Sephiroth sits on the lab table, holding out his arm for Professor Gast's needles.
Lucrecia leaves one winter's morning, quiet and silent, and before she leaves, she presses her lips to Sephiroth's face.
"Be good," she says, and her hands are cold on Sephiroth's shoulders. "Be a good boy for Professor Gast."
Hojo is angry when he learns that Lucrecia is gone, and Gast is a little quieter when he slips the mako into Sephiroth's skin.
Sephiroth doesn't much care, because Sephiroth has never known what good a woman is.
x
Sephiroth sees many women in Midgar. They wear tight, revealing clothing, bright reds and greens and blues, the color of blood and mako and the sky. They reach to him with soft hands, slipping slender fingers through Sephiroth's hair and into Sephiroth's clothes, and Sephiroth holds out his arms, still as ever.
They slip perfume against his skin, rings and bracelets lying cold against his skin, and he wonders what the good of a woman is. She is beautiful, but she is soft, and it's easy to push her to the ground.
Hojo complains daily of this and that, of Gast's meddling and Sephiroth's dallying, and Sephiroth listens as he sits in a high backed chair, arm held out as Gast checks blood pressure and heart rate.
Gast leaves one spring morning, office scattered with half-burnt papers and files. He rests his hand on Sephiroth's head before he leaves, tired and a little old.
"It's for the best," Gast says. "I can't take you with me. It's for the best."
Hojo is furious with the burnt papers and destroyed files. He's even more furious about the missing Ancient woman, and Sephiroth wonders what it is about a woman that can turn the world on its head.
x
Tifa Lockhart is dangerously young. She doesn't know her own mortality, and she doesn't understand Sephiroth's immortality. Sephiroth can't be bothered to explain it to her, though, because he's searching for some kind of answer somewhere in the world, and he's sure the answer would never be in a skinny, awkward teenage girl with a cowboy hat.
Still, it's Tifa that leads him to the mako reactor, and it's in the mako reactor that Sephiroth finds his mother.
He's always known that he's been born of woman, because he is alive, and as a rule, all life is born of woman. It doesn't surprise him that he has a mother, or rather, it shouldn't surprise him that he has a mother, but somehow he is still startled by 'JENOVA,' carved over the door like blood smeared over the lintel.
It's with a feeling close to desperation that he returns, calls out, "Mother, Mother, let me in, Mother," because he never had a mother to call for when he was a child. He feels like a child now, in a nightmare he can't wake up from, and he wants to feel a mother's lips, warm, on his face, to tell him, "hush, hush, be good."
It's Tifa who catches him, though, sweating in the summer heat and fire, hair plastered to her cheek.
"I hate you," she screams, and she's holding up a sword, position all wrong, but she's holding the sword, and she's screaming at him. "I hate you! You killed them, you killed them! I trusted you--"
Sephiroth throws her to the ground, then leaves to retrieve his mother. It's not until the trooper throws him from the bridge that Sephiroth realizes that he's falling for a woman.
x
The city of the Ancients is silent, just like Sephiroth's head is not. His mother speaks to him constantly, a litany of coos and purrings, lullabies that keep him awake at night.
Son, Son, she calls, and he always answers, for she is his mother, and he is her son.
He retrieved her body, but he's losing piece by piece, all to the ragtag group lead by Strife. Time passes, and there is less of his mother, but her voice is ever louder in his head, a chorus of murmurings that grow in crescendos Sephiroth can never ignore.
Aerith Gainsborough follows him to the Ancient's city, autumn leaves catching in her hair. She kneels below the city, and she prays, and Sephiroth watches her, listening to his mother in his head.
She is beautiful when she dies, just like every other woman has been beautiful before she died. Her eyes are wide, and her mouth is open, and her fingers brush past his coat, slipping warm against his skin as she falls.
His mother screams, and Aerith whispers, and now there's another voice in his head.
When he dies months later, Aerith rests her hand on his head, presses her lips to her forehead.
"It's fine now," she says, and her voice sounds a bit like Lucrecia's, and a bit like JENOVA's. "It's fine now."
Sometimes, Sephiroth feels like a child.
You're a good boy.
And another Final Fantasy VII/Sailor Moon crossover. Only it's more of a Sailor Moon/Final Fantasy VII crossover. Hotaru-centric, vague Hotaru/Sephiroth in that it's not very vague at all. zomg, fear the het.
Diamond Cage
None of them are normal. Hotaru knows this, just like Hotaru knows everything from before. She remembers long, lonely years in her locked cage, walls gilded with diamonds she could never break through. She remembers sleeping, and dreaming, and waking only to sleep again. She remembers, in a hazy way, the Princess dying, and she remembers, in the same haze, burning alive for her power.
Hotaru knows that sometimes Michiru looks at her with sad eyes, thoughtful and soft. She knows that Haruka sometimes curses late at night, because Hotaru is always tilting on the edge, about to fall. She knows that Setsuna is waiting for the day Hotaru will die, because then Hotaru will be born again, and everything will start over, again.
All these things make Hotaru tired, and sometimes she just wishes she could scream, because it feels like there is something inside her, clawing to get out. She wants to let herself burn away, skin and muscle and bone, until there's nothing but ash, but every time, she wakes crying, because every time, she comes back, and she can't just let go.
Hotaru tries to forget the world as best she can. She sits on the stool before the piano, kicking her feet, and she tries to ignore the power pulsing through her fingertips. She floats through the house, dress sliding across her naked skin, and tries to ignore the way she can feel every breath of every person, slinking over and through her skin. She spreads out on her bed, or the floor, and closes her eyes, trying to ignore the dreams that whisper out, listen, listen, reach out, listen to her.
Some of the dreams are harder than others.
One of the dreams is harder than the others.
He's tall, taller than anyone else Hotaru has seen in this life, or her last. His hair is long and silver, and at times, when she sees the hair spread over her legs, she thinks, ever-so-briefly, of a princess she was never allowed to touch, for wont of fire in the skin.
His eyes are green, and his mouth is thin, lips pressed together almost disapprovingly. Hotaru twirls to her feet, skirts and skin and hair, and she doesn't quite reach his chest. The man's leather gloves are hot on her skin, and she expects her wispy dress to catch aflame. Everything is fever-bright, from his eyes, which glow in the way insanity glows, to the place inside her that groans and cries and says, please, please, oh god, please.
The straps of her dress slip on her shoulders, and his silver hair tickles her thighs. His long body curls around her, like a black-gilded cage, and she feels her breath catch in her throat, because this is the one dream she can never ignore.
When she wakes up, sprawled across the living room floor, her dress is rumpled on her stomach, and her legs are bare. She rolls over in the dark, hair slipping over her eyes, and tucks her hand between her legs.
Tomorrow night, she will try to sleep again.
YES, I DO CHANGE HER NAME FROM AERIS TO AERITH AND BACK TO AERIS EVERY CHANCE I GET. YES, I DO FAIL AN EXTRAORDINARY AMOUNT. shutup
Final Fantasy XII, end game spoilers, Larsa and Gabranth, and their love is so canon. Sorta. Not-so-vague Larsa/Gabranth. Or is it Gabranth/Larsa? I forget which.
Locking Doors
"Would you kiss me?" Larsa asks, for he can feel Gabranth at his shoulder, ever steady and still.
"My Lord?" Gabranth asks, and it is dark enough to be Basch's voice, but it echoes like Noah's was wont to do.
"I asked, Judge Magister Gabranth, if you would be one who would kiss me." Larsa cannot help the bite of his voice, and he grimaces at the courtyard in whole. "Would you, or would you rather take to a different liege?"
"The queen," Gabranth says, "has no need of me. She has courtiers aplenty, and many that would die for her."
"The queen," Larsa echoes, "and yet I am an emperor. Am I not enough yet? Or shall you insist upon following me, death upon death? Have you another brother, hidden away to take your place." He cannot bear the stillness of the air, and so he kicks at the water, splatterings dark upon the surrounding stones.
"I do not understand," Gabranth says, "your words, My Lord. Ask what you might of me, and I shall do it, should it be within my power."
"I would ask of a kiss." The second kick sends half as much water as the first, and Larsa watches as Gabranth sidesteps the water, a shimmer of metal in the sunlight. "Shall a servant not kiss his master? Or a friend kiss a friend? Or--" His boot is quite wet now, and so he kicks the water again, because he shall do nothing if not to make a point.
"Or a dog his owner?" Gabranth's voice is wry, and Larsa cannot decide which he sounds more like, the elder or the younger.
"That is not what I said," Larsa says hotly, and he would strike out but for the armor Gabranth wears like cloth. "You are no dog, but a--" The word will not come to him, for there are too many words, and many of them are too personable, words above and below his place, and so he holds his tongue.
"My Lord?" Gabranth asks, and Larsa taps his foot upon the ground, watching the dark water-shadows on the stone.
"A friend, perhaps," Larsa says grudgingly, and he looks away, for the metal is too bright in his eyes. "Should you wish to be."
"And what kiss shall a friend give to another?" Gabranth asks, and Larsa is sure there is laughter, and he cannot bear the feel of his blush.
"A kiss to the mouth," he says, and he straightens his shoulders, for if he shall be laughed at, he will at least keep his pride. "And more, perhaps. As friends are wont to do."
There is silence behind him, and Larsa tightens his lips, and feels his chest tighten as well. After a moment he kicks at the fountain again, and the water shatters in the air.
"In Landis," Gabranth says, and it sounds much as Noah had, "such kisses would be taken behind locked doors."
"Then lock the door," Larsa says, for the thought that Gabranth might reach out, and the thought that it might be warmth rather than cold metal, makes Larsa brave.
"My Lord," and now Gabranth sounds much like Basch, "there are no doors to lock here."
Gabranth is tall, and Larsa is still young, and so he rests his head upon Gabranth's breastplate for only a moment.
"Then, if you might, come to my rooms. There are many doors there," and Larsa's breath mists over the armor, and the sun doesn't glint near so much, "and you might lock them as you see fit."
"As you wish, My Lord," and the laugh is Noah and Basch both, and Larsa cannot help the kiss he gives to the armor. The metal is cold, but so are Larsa's lips, and so Larsa cannot help but think, perhaps it is not so wrong, if the two are one and the same.
Kyou Kara Maou, no real spoilers. Gwendal would do most anything for his brother, but sometimes, even he can't save Wolfram. Vague Gwendal/Wolfram.
Something Wrong
"I think there is something wrong," Wolfram said, and his fingers were clutching Gwendal's coat. There was blood in his hair, at the corner of his mouth, and Gwendal could hear men screaming.
"Hush," Gwendal said, and the world rose about them, dirt walls rising up and up and up. "Conrart will be here soon, and His Majesty--"
"Brother," and Wolfram's voice sounded as a half-sob, "something is wrong. I cannot feel my legs. Fix it, Brother. Brother--"
"Hush," Gwendal said desperately, and he could feel the world dropping beneath them, dragging them down, and Wolfram was ever lighter in his arms.
"Please, please, Brother," Wolfram begged, and the sparks in the air lit and died, lit and died.
"Brother," Wolfram cried, and Gwendal could feel the world burn to ash.
Conrart carried Wolfram's body home, for Conrart was the one who was always carrying Wolfram. Celi's tears were wiped by a man, as they always were, and Wolfram was wrapped in cotton and linen, silk tied about his eyes. Gwendal kissed Wolfram's mouth, for Gwendal never kissed Wolfram, and Wolfram never said goodbye, for Wolfram never said goodbye to anyone.
"I think," Gwendal said, and there was no one for him to clutch, for there hadn't been since Wolfram said 'please' and closed his eyes and turned his face away.
"I think there is something wrong."
And then a set of drabbles for usagivindaloo on pornandkittens.
Final Fantasy VII/Sailor Moon crossover. Sephiroth falls into the reactor, and falls into the arms of ghosts. Vague Sephiroth/Aeris, vague Sephiroth/Tifa, and vague Sephiroth/Hotaru, oh my!
Falling Boy
When Sephiroth fell in the reactor, it was with a strange sense of curiosity and confusion. His hair whipped in his face, brushing slippery-smooth into his mouth, and his mother's head was wet in his arms.
He wondered if it was blood, then wondered if it was his blood, or hers.
When Sephiroth landed, it wasn't so much as landing as drowning. The lifestream was thick around him, closing over his head as he sank down, and his mother's head grew heavier in his arms.
The lifestream dragged him along, slowly sinking through the planet, and then it dragged him other places, too. Sephiroth watched people through filmy eyes, and people reached out to him with ghost arms, cradled him between their death-wet hands.
One looked like the Ancient girl Hojo was forever searching for. The woman slipped fingers through Sephiroth's hair, rested a hand on his mother's forehead. She's waiting for you, the woman murmured, warm voice echoing low in Sephiroth's head. Send her back to us, she's waiting.
Another was tall, thick built and dark haired. She won't forgive you, the man said, for breaking her. He dripped blood, silvery red and cold, and Sephiroth fisted his hands in his mother's hair.
It will never end, another said, and she was slender, pale and curled around him. Her face looked cold. It will never end. It can be destroyed, but it will always return. It will never end.
Why, Sephiroth wanted to ask, but asking had never served a purpose. Asking had never returned answers, not from Professor Gast, or Hojo, or his own mother. He closed his eyes instead, curling around his mother's head.
It will never end, the little girl whispered, curling around him, and her mouth was cold on his cheek. Be strong.
And a Final Fantasy VII, Sephiroth-centric. Vague Sephiroth/Every Female Character Possible omg. But mostly vague Sephiroth/Aerith*.
Voice of Women
Sephiroth lives in a world of men. There is Professor Gast, who talks to him in the mornings, asking him how he's feeling, teaching him numbers and letters. There is also Hojo, who Gast never calls 'professor,' and who Sephiroth never calls 'father,' even though he knows.
The first woman he ever sees, or hears, is a woman who watches him sadly, and tries to touch his cheek. Hojo grows angry at this, always grows angrier, and sometimes Sephiroth can hear them arguing.
Lucrecia, for that's what her name is, screams at Hojo, and Hojo, for that's who Sephiroth hates, screams back, and Sephiroth sits on the lab table, holding out his arm for Professor Gast's needles.
Lucrecia leaves one winter's morning, quiet and silent, and before she leaves, she presses her lips to Sephiroth's face.
"Be good," she says, and her hands are cold on Sephiroth's shoulders. "Be a good boy for Professor Gast."
Hojo is angry when he learns that Lucrecia is gone, and Gast is a little quieter when he slips the mako into Sephiroth's skin.
Sephiroth doesn't much care, because Sephiroth has never known what good a woman is.
x
Sephiroth sees many women in Midgar. They wear tight, revealing clothing, bright reds and greens and blues, the color of blood and mako and the sky. They reach to him with soft hands, slipping slender fingers through Sephiroth's hair and into Sephiroth's clothes, and Sephiroth holds out his arms, still as ever.
They slip perfume against his skin, rings and bracelets lying cold against his skin, and he wonders what the good of a woman is. She is beautiful, but she is soft, and it's easy to push her to the ground.
Hojo complains daily of this and that, of Gast's meddling and Sephiroth's dallying, and Sephiroth listens as he sits in a high backed chair, arm held out as Gast checks blood pressure and heart rate.
Gast leaves one spring morning, office scattered with half-burnt papers and files. He rests his hand on Sephiroth's head before he leaves, tired and a little old.
"It's for the best," Gast says. "I can't take you with me. It's for the best."
Hojo is furious with the burnt papers and destroyed files. He's even more furious about the missing Ancient woman, and Sephiroth wonders what it is about a woman that can turn the world on its head.
x
Tifa Lockhart is dangerously young. She doesn't know her own mortality, and she doesn't understand Sephiroth's immortality. Sephiroth can't be bothered to explain it to her, though, because he's searching for some kind of answer somewhere in the world, and he's sure the answer would never be in a skinny, awkward teenage girl with a cowboy hat.
Still, it's Tifa that leads him to the mako reactor, and it's in the mako reactor that Sephiroth finds his mother.
He's always known that he's been born of woman, because he is alive, and as a rule, all life is born of woman. It doesn't surprise him that he has a mother, or rather, it shouldn't surprise him that he has a mother, but somehow he is still startled by 'JENOVA,' carved over the door like blood smeared over the lintel.
It's with a feeling close to desperation that he returns, calls out, "Mother, Mother, let me in, Mother," because he never had a mother to call for when he was a child. He feels like a child now, in a nightmare he can't wake up from, and he wants to feel a mother's lips, warm, on his face, to tell him, "hush, hush, be good."
It's Tifa who catches him, though, sweating in the summer heat and fire, hair plastered to her cheek.
"I hate you," she screams, and she's holding up a sword, position all wrong, but she's holding the sword, and she's screaming at him. "I hate you! You killed them, you killed them! I trusted you--"
Sephiroth throws her to the ground, then leaves to retrieve his mother. It's not until the trooper throws him from the bridge that Sephiroth realizes that he's falling for a woman.
x
The city of the Ancients is silent, just like Sephiroth's head is not. His mother speaks to him constantly, a litany of coos and purrings, lullabies that keep him awake at night.
Son, Son, she calls, and he always answers, for she is his mother, and he is her son.
He retrieved her body, but he's losing piece by piece, all to the ragtag group lead by Strife. Time passes, and there is less of his mother, but her voice is ever louder in his head, a chorus of murmurings that grow in crescendos Sephiroth can never ignore.
Aerith Gainsborough follows him to the Ancient's city, autumn leaves catching in her hair. She kneels below the city, and she prays, and Sephiroth watches her, listening to his mother in his head.
She is beautiful when she dies, just like every other woman has been beautiful before she died. Her eyes are wide, and her mouth is open, and her fingers brush past his coat, slipping warm against his skin as she falls.
His mother screams, and Aerith whispers, and now there's another voice in his head.
When he dies months later, Aerith rests her hand on his head, presses her lips to her forehead.
"It's fine now," she says, and her voice sounds a bit like Lucrecia's, and a bit like JENOVA's. "It's fine now."
Sometimes, Sephiroth feels like a child.
You're a good boy.
And another Final Fantasy VII/Sailor Moon crossover. Only it's more of a Sailor Moon/Final Fantasy VII crossover. Hotaru-centric, vague Hotaru/Sephiroth in that it's not very vague at all. zomg, fear the het.
Diamond Cage
None of them are normal. Hotaru knows this, just like Hotaru knows everything from before. She remembers long, lonely years in her locked cage, walls gilded with diamonds she could never break through. She remembers sleeping, and dreaming, and waking only to sleep again. She remembers, in a hazy way, the Princess dying, and she remembers, in the same haze, burning alive for her power.
Hotaru knows that sometimes Michiru looks at her with sad eyes, thoughtful and soft. She knows that Haruka sometimes curses late at night, because Hotaru is always tilting on the edge, about to fall. She knows that Setsuna is waiting for the day Hotaru will die, because then Hotaru will be born again, and everything will start over, again.
All these things make Hotaru tired, and sometimes she just wishes she could scream, because it feels like there is something inside her, clawing to get out. She wants to let herself burn away, skin and muscle and bone, until there's nothing but ash, but every time, she wakes crying, because every time, she comes back, and she can't just let go.
Hotaru tries to forget the world as best she can. She sits on the stool before the piano, kicking her feet, and she tries to ignore the power pulsing through her fingertips. She floats through the house, dress sliding across her naked skin, and tries to ignore the way she can feel every breath of every person, slinking over and through her skin. She spreads out on her bed, or the floor, and closes her eyes, trying to ignore the dreams that whisper out, listen, listen, reach out, listen to her.
Some of the dreams are harder than others.
One of the dreams is harder than the others.
He's tall, taller than anyone else Hotaru has seen in this life, or her last. His hair is long and silver, and at times, when she sees the hair spread over her legs, she thinks, ever-so-briefly, of a princess she was never allowed to touch, for wont of fire in the skin.
His eyes are green, and his mouth is thin, lips pressed together almost disapprovingly. Hotaru twirls to her feet, skirts and skin and hair, and she doesn't quite reach his chest. The man's leather gloves are hot on her skin, and she expects her wispy dress to catch aflame. Everything is fever-bright, from his eyes, which glow in the way insanity glows, to the place inside her that groans and cries and says, please, please, oh god, please.
The straps of her dress slip on her shoulders, and his silver hair tickles her thighs. His long body curls around her, like a black-gilded cage, and she feels her breath catch in her throat, because this is the one dream she can never ignore.
When she wakes up, sprawled across the living room floor, her dress is rumpled on her stomach, and her legs are bare. She rolls over in the dark, hair slipping over her eyes, and tucks her hand between her legs.
Tomorrow night, she will try to sleep again.
YES, I DO CHANGE HER NAME FROM AERIS TO AERITH AND BACK TO AERIS EVERY CHANCE I GET. YES, I DO FAIL AN EXTRAORDINARY AMOUNT. shutup