{Fan Fics} Memories of Spira, An Uneasy Feeling, & Before the Storm
I figured I might as well follow Yin's example and de-anon from three of the ultima_arena fic challenges. (Lolz, me being all last minute? NEVER! XD) ♥
Username: Breyzy (of breyzyyin)
Class: Soldier
Title: Memories of Spira
Summary: A set of five short "Who, What, When, Where, Why" pieces centered around Final Fantasy X and Final Fantasy X-2.
Characters/Pairings: Let's see...characters focused on in the pieces are Shuyin, Yuna, Kimahri, Tidus, and Yunalesca. Mentions Lenne and Auron. Implied Shuyin x Lenne.
Word count: 1000
Rating/warnings: G.
Other Notes: De-anon for the UA "5 W's" Short Fiction Set challenge.
LEGAL DISCLAIMER: I do not own FFX, FFX-2, or their characters. They belong to Square-Enix.
Who: "Shuyin"
It seemed like time had stopped for him. Maybe it had. Or, maybe it had never even flowed for him in the first place. Who was to say? Certainly not him.
He could remember life. His life? He couldn’t say. It seemed brief at times, it seemed tranquil at others. There was laughter, there was love, there was sadness, there was guilt.
…There was Lenne. It always came back to her.
An overwhelming ache, a deep despair. Was that all that his life was reduced to? The sum and the parts constantly replaying, always ending on a painful note. The gunshots. Then Lenne’s eyes looking at him, while he lost all sensation.
She was always there, always within reach. He could never grasp her though. That last scene, their last moments together: they were always stuck on constant repeat.
She probably would have referred to it as the final act right before the curtain fell. His eyes closed as his vision got blurry, her face fading into darkness.
It was cold there, trapped in his guilt. Trapped in his hate. Hate for what? Who could even say?
Shuyin’s hatred grew every time he was reminded that he couldn’t save her.
What: "Sending"
She knew it had to be done. She knew that it was necessary to help those who had passed away, those spirits still lingering in Spira. She knew it was her job as a Summoner to assist those who were unsent.
Yes, Yuna knew it had to be done.
She also knew that there was a difference between knowing something had to be done and actually doing it.
Was she even strong enough? Was she even remotely prepared?
Her feet began to move, her body started the motions. She was going to perform the Sending, not because she necessarily felt strong enough or ready…but because she knew that it was necessary.
She was a Summoner. It was her duty, her sense of obligation that drove her actions now.
It was…sad. Yuna’s eyes began to water, but she couldn’t stop. Not now, not until the spirits were sent to the Farplane.
So she danced with the spirits, willing them to say goodbye…willing them to leave this life behind forever.
Yuna didn’t think she was strong enough. She did it because she had to, because it was necessary.
She did the Sending because those spirits needed the closure more than she did.
When: "Before Besaid"
The Ronso youth had been told by the dying man outside of Bevelle to find her. He had said he was a guardian of the High Summoner Braska, and that the dying man had made a promise to the Summoner that he would take his daughter to a new home, to safety.
She was tiny, like all human children. Her pupils were two different colors. The only other difference between her and other children was her noticeable lack of a smile.
She knew why he was there. She made no effort at communication. They barely said a word to each other. With little information exchanged, they began their travel to Besaid.
The child looked up at him eventually, “You’re tall.”
The Ronso glanced down at her, “Kimahri is small for Ronso.”
The young girl acted like she hadn’t heard, “Your horn is broken.”
Kimahri winced at his very obvious disgrace, “Yes.”
She was watching him still, “That’s okay. We can be broken together.”
She was silently crying, but she smiled anyways. The Ronso felt something akin to a kindred spirit in the little girl, and he decided that he’d try to protect her from anymore pain.
“Kimahri would like that…Yuna.”
Where: "Zanarkand"
It was the night sky, the bright lights that lit up the streets in neon hues. It was the crowds of people pushing and pulling, going in every which direction without any semblance of order. It was movement: alive and pure and free.
It was the sounds of laughter or the clash of differing opinions as they grew louder in the background. It was crazy, it was hectic, and it was breathtaking in the madness.
It was the excitement, the adrenaline. It was the crowd cheering at the blitzball stadium: the fans who wanted more and the athletes who gave their all.
It was the rush of something unpredictable, the drive to achieve something unattainable. It was that energy, that untouchable vibe that seemed to linger in the air.
In some ways, it was all of these things and none of these things at the same time. It was life, free-flowing and unrelenting. The residents didn’t ask questions, they just continued their routines.
Did it even exist outside of legends, beyond history? It was like a vague dream or a distant memory: close one’s eyes and it might be totally gone.
It was Zanarkand.
And, to Tidus, it was home.
Why: "Final Summoning"
She never wonders if she is wrong in her actions.
Perhaps she once did, in the past. But that life was so long ago, that past so distant that she can barely recall the memories as anything more than shadows. Vague and without form, they offer her no clues.
Memories of who she once was give her no comfort. They provide her no solace and one will find no answers in them.
Yunalesca isn’t even searching for answers to begin with: she truly has no questions to ask.
She was providing hope to Spira. The tradition of the Final Summoning that she began lifetimes ago must be upheld.
It was an unfair cycle to the Summoners of past, present, and future. She knew that well: she still had vague recollections of her own fears and sadness that were numbed over the years. She had transformed those feelings into a constant reminder of her purpose: the Calm provided a break from the sorrow brought on by Sin.
It was necessary. Her purpose wasn’t wrong, she didn‘t view her goals as evil. In her unsent mind, the ends justified the means.
Yunalesca knew her reasoning and that was the only motivation she needed.
_________
Username: Breyzy (of breyzyyin)
Class: Soldier
Title: An Uneasy Feeling
Summary: Reks and Vaan talk prior to the start of Final Fantasy XII.
Characters/Pairings: No pairings. Reks and Vaan are the central characters.
Word count: 500
Rating/warnings: G.
Other Notes: De-anon for the UA Quotations challenge.
LEGAL DISCLAIMER: I do not own FFXII or the game's characters. They belong to Square-Enix.
The door shut tightly behind him, with the light of the hallway replaced entirely by the darkness of the tiny room. He tried to remember what day of the week it was and failed. So many days he spent simply following the same routine: get up early, try to find something to eat, training, then back to his quarters late in the night.
It was familiar, this routine. To some it may have been considered boring, but not to the youth. He welcomed the routine. He found that it made him feel safe and secure.
His eyes adjusted to the dark as he peered into the room. The outside light from the window reflected a silvery mist into the room. Not enough to truly see by, but just enough to illuminate the area.
He looked to the left side of the room and saw his little brother already in bed, although he doubted he was truly asleep. No…Vaan was probably pretending, like always: he often feigned sleep when Reks returned home from training, not wanting his older brother to know he had stayed up for him.
Reks didn’t have the heart to wake him, so he always allowed the deception…assuming it would hurt Vaan’s pride to believe otherwise. It had always been like this between them: this constant worrying about safety, about feelings, about…well, just about everything. They were the only family they had left. They both just wanted to protect the other in their own ways.
Walking over to his bed, Reks removed a single piece of paper from his person. The military orders he received just that day: his first assignment under Captain Basch‘s command. A nervous, uneasy feeling settled into his stomach…it couldn‘t be ignored.
Lying on the bed, Reks glanced up at the ceiling…breathing deep to calm his nerves. Speaking quietly to himself so that he didn’t wake Vaan. he muttered: “It is not how long you live, but what you make of the time you have in this world.” (Doga, Final Fantasy III)
…He knew it to be true, but it did little to stop the uneasy feeling as he tried to fall asleep. His tossing and turning must have been too much for Vaan to pretend to ignore.
“You don't have to endure it.” (Queen, Final Fantasy Type-0)
Reks simply stared at the ceiling, choosing his words carefully: “If you look on the bright side, we’ve got a good future going for us.” (Jack, Final Fantasy Type-0)
“You‘re kidding, right?" (Snow, Final Fantasy XIII) Vaan asked in an exasperated tone.
Reks sighed and thought back as to why he joined the military. He could endure the training, endure whatever was around the corner if it meant his brother would be safe.
Reks looked over to Vaan’s bed and saw his face illuminated by the moonlight. He smiled reassuringly, hoping his brother could see: “It’s not a question of can or can’t. There are some things in life you just do.” (Lightning, Final Fantasy XIII)
_________
Username: Breyzy (of breyzyyin)
Class: Soldier
Title: Before the Storm
Summary: Cadet Farron during her first training mission. Pre-Final Fantasy XIII.
Characters/Pairings: No pairings. Lightning and Lieutenant Amodar are the central characters. Mentions Serah.
Word count: 795
Rating/warnings: PG.
Other Notes: De-anon for the UA Provided Words Fic challenge.
LEGAL DISCLAIMER: I do not own FFXIII or the game's characters (imagine that, lolz). They belong to Square-Enix.
She was currently in a race against the clock to finish her first Guardian Corps combat training mission. This was it: her first time on the battlefield.
…And she was definitely blowing it.
The rainy environment outside of Bodhum made her footing slippery. The somewhat familiar terrain looked foreign to her between the weather and her own sense of anxiety: this fight was taking longer than she had planned. It frustratingly wasn‘t going according to her calculations. She was getting tired, sloppy, and irritable.
Her patience was shot to Hell and anger clouded her better judgment. She just wanted this damn fight to be over, and she was annoyed at herself for simply not being better.
Her fingers slipped on the handle of her weapon. A simple, unadorned sword. She wasn’t properly trained in any other weapons currently. Hell, she apparently wasn’t really properly trained with this one.
‘End it quickly. End it now!’
She darted quickly to the left side, ran right towards the animal and swung the sword as forcefully as she could. …The blade broke a split second later, the force causing her to stumble backwards.
She tripped over her own feet and lost her footing entirely on the slippery ground, falling flat on her ass and staring at the beaten animal dead on the floor right in front of her. With pink hair plastered to her face, clothes soaked through with rain and mud and blood…she probably didn’t look anything remotely like a skilled Guardian Corps officer. For some reason, she just couldn’t seem to stop her heavy breathing either.
Looking at the beast for a tactical assessment only served to make her feel even more inadequate: the animal was no Adamantoise. It wasn’t even that big. She had panicked purely out of instinct.
‘…You’re pathetic, you know that?’
“Not bad, Cadet Farron.” She didn’t even bother turning around. She recognized Lieutenant Amodar’s voice and footsteps: “Of course, it wasn’t good either. You have potential though, for a late bloomer.”
Her left fist clenched and she suddenly fought the urge to stand up and punch him in the face.
“You going to hit me?” She saw his uniform out of the corner of her left eye.
“No, sir.”
“I take it you want to though, don’t you?”
“…Yes, sir.” What good would lying do? Everyone already knew about her emotional outbursts, her tendency to react with violence whenever angered or annoyed.
Her fist unclenched, but she stubbornly forced her eyes to remain glaring at the carcass ahead as if it was somehow to blame for her own personal failure, the broken blade of her now useless sword clearly indicating otherwise. It was easier to blame the enemy than herself though, and she really just didn’t want to see Amodar’s face at the moment. ‘Remember this moment as part of your history, always.’
He chuckled as if her inner turmoil was somehow horribly amusing, “You’re talented. Keep that impulsive anger in check and you’ll go far.”
She had to fight down the urge to want to punch him again. So, she thought of her little sister, Serah, instead: “…Yes, sir.”
“You need a different weapon though. Let’s see if we can’t find you something you’re more suited for when we get back.”
She still held the slippery sword handle in her right hand, all but forgotten in her numb fingertips. Letting it fall to the ground in a muddy puddle next to her, she suddenly realized it was still raining. The weather seemed to be getting worse. ‘A storm is coming.’
A large, calloused hand thrust itself into her eyesight: “C’mon, Cadet Farron, let’s get you up.” Amodar’s voice was friendlier than she thought a soldier’s should be, “No need to be so slow on the uptake.”
She didn’t want to appreciate the kind gesture, felt all it did was acknowledge her weakness and failings: “Lieutenant, I will do better next time.”
A grin broke out on Amodar’s broad face as she rudely pushed his hand aside and shakily stood up by herself on her own two feet. Her breathing was still heavy but it was slowly returning to normal. Amodar didn’t say a word as she walked straight past him, heading back to Bodhum as quickly as her pained footsteps would take her: she refused help, refused pity.
Wherever she was going, she’d try to get there on her own. She had to be strong enough for her sister. She had to be strong enough for herself. She’d find a suitable weapon one day, and a more suitable name too.
Lightning flashed silently in the sky ahead: powerful and deadly.
‘One day I’ll leave ‘Cadet Farron’ behind, still sitting on the ground shell-shocked and out of breath. …Just watch me, Serah.’
Username: Breyzy (of breyzyyin)
Class: Soldier
Title: Memories of Spira
Summary: A set of five short "Who, What, When, Where, Why" pieces centered around Final Fantasy X and Final Fantasy X-2.
Characters/Pairings: Let's see...characters focused on in the pieces are Shuyin, Yuna, Kimahri, Tidus, and Yunalesca. Mentions Lenne and Auron. Implied Shuyin x Lenne.
Word count: 1000
Rating/warnings: G.
Other Notes: De-anon for the UA "5 W's" Short Fiction Set challenge.
LEGAL DISCLAIMER: I do not own FFX, FFX-2, or their characters. They belong to Square-Enix.
Who: "Shuyin"
It seemed like time had stopped for him. Maybe it had. Or, maybe it had never even flowed for him in the first place. Who was to say? Certainly not him.
He could remember life. His life? He couldn’t say. It seemed brief at times, it seemed tranquil at others. There was laughter, there was love, there was sadness, there was guilt.
…There was Lenne. It always came back to her.
An overwhelming ache, a deep despair. Was that all that his life was reduced to? The sum and the parts constantly replaying, always ending on a painful note. The gunshots. Then Lenne’s eyes looking at him, while he lost all sensation.
She was always there, always within reach. He could never grasp her though. That last scene, their last moments together: they were always stuck on constant repeat.
She probably would have referred to it as the final act right before the curtain fell. His eyes closed as his vision got blurry, her face fading into darkness.
It was cold there, trapped in his guilt. Trapped in his hate. Hate for what? Who could even say?
Shuyin’s hatred grew every time he was reminded that he couldn’t save her.
What: "Sending"
She knew it had to be done. She knew that it was necessary to help those who had passed away, those spirits still lingering in Spira. She knew it was her job as a Summoner to assist those who were unsent.
Yes, Yuna knew it had to be done.
She also knew that there was a difference between knowing something had to be done and actually doing it.
Was she even strong enough? Was she even remotely prepared?
Her feet began to move, her body started the motions. She was going to perform the Sending, not because she necessarily felt strong enough or ready…but because she knew that it was necessary.
She was a Summoner. It was her duty, her sense of obligation that drove her actions now.
It was…sad. Yuna’s eyes began to water, but she couldn’t stop. Not now, not until the spirits were sent to the Farplane.
So she danced with the spirits, willing them to say goodbye…willing them to leave this life behind forever.
Yuna didn’t think she was strong enough. She did it because she had to, because it was necessary.
She did the Sending because those spirits needed the closure more than she did.
When: "Before Besaid"
The Ronso youth had been told by the dying man outside of Bevelle to find her. He had said he was a guardian of the High Summoner Braska, and that the dying man had made a promise to the Summoner that he would take his daughter to a new home, to safety.
She was tiny, like all human children. Her pupils were two different colors. The only other difference between her and other children was her noticeable lack of a smile.
She knew why he was there. She made no effort at communication. They barely said a word to each other. With little information exchanged, they began their travel to Besaid.
The child looked up at him eventually, “You’re tall.”
The Ronso glanced down at her, “Kimahri is small for Ronso.”
The young girl acted like she hadn’t heard, “Your horn is broken.”
Kimahri winced at his very obvious disgrace, “Yes.”
She was watching him still, “That’s okay. We can be broken together.”
She was silently crying, but she smiled anyways. The Ronso felt something akin to a kindred spirit in the little girl, and he decided that he’d try to protect her from anymore pain.
“Kimahri would like that…Yuna.”
Where: "Zanarkand"
It was the night sky, the bright lights that lit up the streets in neon hues. It was the crowds of people pushing and pulling, going in every which direction without any semblance of order. It was movement: alive and pure and free.
It was the sounds of laughter or the clash of differing opinions as they grew louder in the background. It was crazy, it was hectic, and it was breathtaking in the madness.
It was the excitement, the adrenaline. It was the crowd cheering at the blitzball stadium: the fans who wanted more and the athletes who gave their all.
It was the rush of something unpredictable, the drive to achieve something unattainable. It was that energy, that untouchable vibe that seemed to linger in the air.
In some ways, it was all of these things and none of these things at the same time. It was life, free-flowing and unrelenting. The residents didn’t ask questions, they just continued their routines.
Did it even exist outside of legends, beyond history? It was like a vague dream or a distant memory: close one’s eyes and it might be totally gone.
It was Zanarkand.
And, to Tidus, it was home.
Why: "Final Summoning"
She never wonders if she is wrong in her actions.
Perhaps she once did, in the past. But that life was so long ago, that past so distant that she can barely recall the memories as anything more than shadows. Vague and without form, they offer her no clues.
Memories of who she once was give her no comfort. They provide her no solace and one will find no answers in them.
Yunalesca isn’t even searching for answers to begin with: she truly has no questions to ask.
She was providing hope to Spira. The tradition of the Final Summoning that she began lifetimes ago must be upheld.
It was an unfair cycle to the Summoners of past, present, and future. She knew that well: she still had vague recollections of her own fears and sadness that were numbed over the years. She had transformed those feelings into a constant reminder of her purpose: the Calm provided a break from the sorrow brought on by Sin.
It was necessary. Her purpose wasn’t wrong, she didn‘t view her goals as evil. In her unsent mind, the ends justified the means.
Yunalesca knew her reasoning and that was the only motivation she needed.
_________
Username: Breyzy (of breyzyyin)
Class: Soldier
Title: An Uneasy Feeling
Summary: Reks and Vaan talk prior to the start of Final Fantasy XII.
Characters/Pairings: No pairings. Reks and Vaan are the central characters.
Word count: 500
Rating/warnings: G.
Other Notes: De-anon for the UA Quotations challenge.
LEGAL DISCLAIMER: I do not own FFXII or the game's characters. They belong to Square-Enix.
The door shut tightly behind him, with the light of the hallway replaced entirely by the darkness of the tiny room. He tried to remember what day of the week it was and failed. So many days he spent simply following the same routine: get up early, try to find something to eat, training, then back to his quarters late in the night.
It was familiar, this routine. To some it may have been considered boring, but not to the youth. He welcomed the routine. He found that it made him feel safe and secure.
His eyes adjusted to the dark as he peered into the room. The outside light from the window reflected a silvery mist into the room. Not enough to truly see by, but just enough to illuminate the area.
He looked to the left side of the room and saw his little brother already in bed, although he doubted he was truly asleep. No…Vaan was probably pretending, like always: he often feigned sleep when Reks returned home from training, not wanting his older brother to know he had stayed up for him.
Reks didn’t have the heart to wake him, so he always allowed the deception…assuming it would hurt Vaan’s pride to believe otherwise. It had always been like this between them: this constant worrying about safety, about feelings, about…well, just about everything. They were the only family they had left. They both just wanted to protect the other in their own ways.
Walking over to his bed, Reks removed a single piece of paper from his person. The military orders he received just that day: his first assignment under Captain Basch‘s command. A nervous, uneasy feeling settled into his stomach…it couldn‘t be ignored.
Lying on the bed, Reks glanced up at the ceiling…breathing deep to calm his nerves. Speaking quietly to himself so that he didn’t wake Vaan. he muttered: “It is not how long you live, but what you make of the time you have in this world.” (Doga, Final Fantasy III)
…He knew it to be true, but it did little to stop the uneasy feeling as he tried to fall asleep. His tossing and turning must have been too much for Vaan to pretend to ignore.
“You don't have to endure it.” (Queen, Final Fantasy Type-0)
Reks simply stared at the ceiling, choosing his words carefully: “If you look on the bright side, we’ve got a good future going for us.” (Jack, Final Fantasy Type-0)
“You‘re kidding, right?" (Snow, Final Fantasy XIII) Vaan asked in an exasperated tone.
Reks sighed and thought back as to why he joined the military. He could endure the training, endure whatever was around the corner if it meant his brother would be safe.
Reks looked over to Vaan’s bed and saw his face illuminated by the moonlight. He smiled reassuringly, hoping his brother could see: “It’s not a question of can or can’t. There are some things in life you just do.” (Lightning, Final Fantasy XIII)
_________
Username: Breyzy (of breyzyyin)
Class: Soldier
Title: Before the Storm
Summary: Cadet Farron during her first training mission. Pre-Final Fantasy XIII.
Characters/Pairings: No pairings. Lightning and Lieutenant Amodar are the central characters. Mentions Serah.
Word count: 795
Rating/warnings: PG.
Other Notes: De-anon for the UA Provided Words Fic challenge.
LEGAL DISCLAIMER: I do not own FFXIII or the game's characters (imagine that, lolz). They belong to Square-Enix.
She was currently in a race against the clock to finish her first Guardian Corps combat training mission. This was it: her first time on the battlefield.
…And she was definitely blowing it.
The rainy environment outside of Bodhum made her footing slippery. The somewhat familiar terrain looked foreign to her between the weather and her own sense of anxiety: this fight was taking longer than she had planned. It frustratingly wasn‘t going according to her calculations. She was getting tired, sloppy, and irritable.
Her patience was shot to Hell and anger clouded her better judgment. She just wanted this damn fight to be over, and she was annoyed at herself for simply not being better.
Her fingers slipped on the handle of her weapon. A simple, unadorned sword. She wasn’t properly trained in any other weapons currently. Hell, she apparently wasn’t really properly trained with this one.
‘End it quickly. End it now!’
She darted quickly to the left side, ran right towards the animal and swung the sword as forcefully as she could. …The blade broke a split second later, the force causing her to stumble backwards.
She tripped over her own feet and lost her footing entirely on the slippery ground, falling flat on her ass and staring at the beaten animal dead on the floor right in front of her. With pink hair plastered to her face, clothes soaked through with rain and mud and blood…she probably didn’t look anything remotely like a skilled Guardian Corps officer. For some reason, she just couldn’t seem to stop her heavy breathing either.
Looking at the beast for a tactical assessment only served to make her feel even more inadequate: the animal was no Adamantoise. It wasn’t even that big. She had panicked purely out of instinct.
‘…You’re pathetic, you know that?’
“Not bad, Cadet Farron.” She didn’t even bother turning around. She recognized Lieutenant Amodar’s voice and footsteps: “Of course, it wasn’t good either. You have potential though, for a late bloomer.”
Her left fist clenched and she suddenly fought the urge to stand up and punch him in the face.
“You going to hit me?” She saw his uniform out of the corner of her left eye.
“No, sir.”
“I take it you want to though, don’t you?”
“…Yes, sir.” What good would lying do? Everyone already knew about her emotional outbursts, her tendency to react with violence whenever angered or annoyed.
Her fist unclenched, but she stubbornly forced her eyes to remain glaring at the carcass ahead as if it was somehow to blame for her own personal failure, the broken blade of her now useless sword clearly indicating otherwise. It was easier to blame the enemy than herself though, and she really just didn’t want to see Amodar’s face at the moment. ‘Remember this moment as part of your history, always.’
He chuckled as if her inner turmoil was somehow horribly amusing, “You’re talented. Keep that impulsive anger in check and you’ll go far.”
She had to fight down the urge to want to punch him again. So, she thought of her little sister, Serah, instead: “…Yes, sir.”
“You need a different weapon though. Let’s see if we can’t find you something you’re more suited for when we get back.”
She still held the slippery sword handle in her right hand, all but forgotten in her numb fingertips. Letting it fall to the ground in a muddy puddle next to her, she suddenly realized it was still raining. The weather seemed to be getting worse. ‘A storm is coming.’
A large, calloused hand thrust itself into her eyesight: “C’mon, Cadet Farron, let’s get you up.” Amodar’s voice was friendlier than she thought a soldier’s should be, “No need to be so slow on the uptake.”
She didn’t want to appreciate the kind gesture, felt all it did was acknowledge her weakness and failings: “Lieutenant, I will do better next time.”
A grin broke out on Amodar’s broad face as she rudely pushed his hand aside and shakily stood up by herself on her own two feet. Her breathing was still heavy but it was slowly returning to normal. Amodar didn’t say a word as she walked straight past him, heading back to Bodhum as quickly as her pained footsteps would take her: she refused help, refused pity.
Wherever she was going, she’d try to get there on her own. She had to be strong enough for her sister. She had to be strong enough for herself. She’d find a suitable weapon one day, and a more suitable name too.
Lightning flashed silently in the sky ahead: powerful and deadly.
‘One day I’ll leave ‘Cadet Farron’ behind, still sitting on the ground shell-shocked and out of breath. …Just watch me, Serah.’