Lifeline
Title: Lifeline
Fandom: FFVII: Advent Children
Characters: Tseng, Yazoo, Aeris, Loz, Vincent
Rating: R
Warnings: Torture
Format: One-shot
Status: Complete, unpolished, spellchecked.
Words: 1294
Disclaimer: I don't claim ownership of characters or games, only themes within.
Author's Notes: Cause I'm dum.
Lifeline
It was somewhere between when his shirt was ripped open and when the second knife came out that he drifted off. The metal glimmered slick and cool under the light, matching the identical smile above it.
“This could be easier, if you just spoke now,” Yazoo murmured into his ear, and the knife dug deep into his shoulder, twisting between ligament and bone. He snapped, brain flicking over like a switch, black eyes shifting from smothered rage and pain to careless bliss.
Tseng was gone, leaving his body behind to endure, and he thought, as he wandered away, he could still hear his own muffled noises of protest and agony. It was a trick he'd learned at Veld's side, too many scars and bullet wounds away to count, and with careful patience he'd mastered the art of leaving the here and coming back later when it was over and his body burnt duly with aches but nothing was so overwhelming that it impaired his ability to think.
It's what made him an excellent Turk. It's what made him a terrible captive.
“You came.” She was sitting, face blurred out, but he could see the watered-down features anyway. The field of flowers stretched forever, and he shaded his eyes to try and see them. He swallowed and twisted around to look at her again. Her dress pooled out around her, rushing out like rivers in all directions, and he longed to sink down to his knees and bury himself in her waters. His training held firm though, and he refused to let his guard down.
“It wasn't for you I came here,” he said, shoulders stiff. It felt like blood was running down his skin, slipping down over his chest, and clinging to the lines of muscles. He touched his fingers to his shirt and found... nothing. Not surprising.
Her head tilted up to look at him, and the curls of her long brown ponytail spilt forward over her shoulder. It was nearly his undoing. The lines of her face... he took a few steps forwards, training splintering as lines of heat curved down through his belly and back there kept trying to pull away from this and this place.
“Of course not,” she said, and he could clearly see her smile as she came into focus more. There was a slight dimple beneath her lower lip, one that stretched with the curve of her mouth, and he reached out, brushing his thumb along it. He could feel her breath warm on his hand, and pain blossomed over his heart, and his shirt stuck to his chest, spreading crimson. She put her hand to the side of his face. “Even here you can't escape, though you're trying.” she asked, and as she tilted her head to the side, every single eyelash came into view, snapping into place as he tried to escape his tormentors.
“I'm trying,” he agreed, but his throat felt wet with blood that wasn't there. He turned his face and coughed, red droplets spattering across his hand, staining her dress. Aeris didn't move away, and instead took his hand between hers, her fingers cool and smooth against his calloused skin.
“You're always so stoic,” Aeris said, a small smile gracing her mouth again and he sank to his knees, eyes closing as she helped him lay, his head pillowing in her lap.
“I have to keep trying,” he insisted. Her fingers slid through his hair, combing it gently, distracting him to what the clones were doing to his body a lifetime away. His breathing seized up and he coughed again. Vermillion-red spatters of blood sank into her dress, spreading across the flowing fabric and she ran soothing hands down his back.
“You can stop, if you want, Tseng, you've done enough now.” Her thumb curved over the arch of his brow and he sighed, turning his hand into it. “You've done enough, I think, that you can stop and it's alright. No one would blame you if you broke, not even Rufus.”
He swallowed hard and tried to shake his head, but she held it, her grip firm and strong, her green eyes bright as she looked at him.
“It will never be enough,” he said, and then gasped as he felt ribs break far off. The pain echoed in his chest and he heaved for breath, trying and failing to inhale completely. Her grip became painful, and her nails bit into the sides of his face, digging into the soft skin of his cheeks and then breaking through, leaving little red crescents.
“Giving up is honourable,” she insisted, a frown twisting across her face that turned quickly into a leer. “Giving up and telling us where Mother lies in her slumber is the honourable thing to do,” her voice deepened as she spoke and her face twisted from female, to male, her skirt melting away into nothing but hard rock, her hands becoming Yazoo's as Loz carved out initials into the tender skin of his upper thigh.
Tseng choked on a cry and shook his head, wrenching it from Yazoo's grip as the Lifestream faded away from around him and he was back, back with his captors as they leaned close and whispered that they were going to do to him what they had done to Elena before.
“Giving up is never honourable,” he ground out and ripped one red-raw wrist from Yazoo's grip, his hand flying up to wrap around the clone's throat. Loz made a noise of surprise and looked up as Yazoo made a choked sound, flailing a little before trying to grapple with Tseng.
“Get him under control, brother,” Yazoo snapped in a whining, gasping breath and Loz snarled back;
“If you had not lost him, we would have found out where Mother is!”
It gave Tseng the chance he needed, and with a moan of pain he broke from their grip, rolling away, the blood he was spattered with picking up dirt from the cold floor. He struggled to his feet and swallowed a mouthful of blood, feeling his stomach churn. The two clones argued for a few more moments before two sets of burning eyes turned on him. He took a step back, shaking legs barely holding him up. He was going into shock, he knew the signs well enough to recognize them in himself.
He tried to think of Aeris, to reclaim the place beyond this world, but his mind rejected the dream of the Lifestream. It had all been a lie anyway. Loz smirked and adjusted one glove and then the other.
“He is weak, let us take him now,” Loz said and Yazoo nodded, a smirk sliding across the thin, pointed face that was almost identical in its cruelty.
Tseng braced himself as they charged him, arms up and determined that he would not break then, or ever. The impact of their bodies on his made his vision flash inky-red and he stumbled backwards into a rough wall, and he felt arms slide around his waist.
The world twisted, and twin cries of shock and outrage pierced the air as he was high up above, and then down on the ground. The world twisted and shook, one arm wrapped tight around his waist, the only thing steady as he seemed to move without moving. He looked up, expecting to see green eyes and was met with a blood-red gaze and the icy stare of someone he had known far too long ago.
“Hang on,” Vincent said, a grim smile on his face as his gun whipped out and bullets sprayed through the air. “You do not have time to be drifting on the Lifestream just quite yet.”
Fandom: FFVII: Advent Children
Characters: Tseng, Yazoo, Aeris, Loz, Vincent
Rating: R
Warnings: Torture
Format: One-shot
Status: Complete, unpolished, spellchecked.
Words: 1294
Disclaimer: I don't claim ownership of characters or games, only themes within.
Author's Notes: Cause I'm dum.
Lifeline
It was somewhere between when his shirt was ripped open and when the second knife came out that he drifted off. The metal glimmered slick and cool under the light, matching the identical smile above it.
“This could be easier, if you just spoke now,” Yazoo murmured into his ear, and the knife dug deep into his shoulder, twisting between ligament and bone. He snapped, brain flicking over like a switch, black eyes shifting from smothered rage and pain to careless bliss.
Tseng was gone, leaving his body behind to endure, and he thought, as he wandered away, he could still hear his own muffled noises of protest and agony. It was a trick he'd learned at Veld's side, too many scars and bullet wounds away to count, and with careful patience he'd mastered the art of leaving the here and coming back later when it was over and his body burnt duly with aches but nothing was so overwhelming that it impaired his ability to think.
It's what made him an excellent Turk. It's what made him a terrible captive.
“You came.” She was sitting, face blurred out, but he could see the watered-down features anyway. The field of flowers stretched forever, and he shaded his eyes to try and see them. He swallowed and twisted around to look at her again. Her dress pooled out around her, rushing out like rivers in all directions, and he longed to sink down to his knees and bury himself in her waters. His training held firm though, and he refused to let his guard down.
“It wasn't for you I came here,” he said, shoulders stiff. It felt like blood was running down his skin, slipping down over his chest, and clinging to the lines of muscles. He touched his fingers to his shirt and found... nothing. Not surprising.
Her head tilted up to look at him, and the curls of her long brown ponytail spilt forward over her shoulder. It was nearly his undoing. The lines of her face... he took a few steps forwards, training splintering as lines of heat curved down through his belly and back there kept trying to pull away from this and this place.
“Of course not,” she said, and he could clearly see her smile as she came into focus more. There was a slight dimple beneath her lower lip, one that stretched with the curve of her mouth, and he reached out, brushing his thumb along it. He could feel her breath warm on his hand, and pain blossomed over his heart, and his shirt stuck to his chest, spreading crimson. She put her hand to the side of his face. “Even here you can't escape, though you're trying.” she asked, and as she tilted her head to the side, every single eyelash came into view, snapping into place as he tried to escape his tormentors.
“I'm trying,” he agreed, but his throat felt wet with blood that wasn't there. He turned his face and coughed, red droplets spattering across his hand, staining her dress. Aeris didn't move away, and instead took his hand between hers, her fingers cool and smooth against his calloused skin.
“You're always so stoic,” Aeris said, a small smile gracing her mouth again and he sank to his knees, eyes closing as she helped him lay, his head pillowing in her lap.
“I have to keep trying,” he insisted. Her fingers slid through his hair, combing it gently, distracting him to what the clones were doing to his body a lifetime away. His breathing seized up and he coughed again. Vermillion-red spatters of blood sank into her dress, spreading across the flowing fabric and she ran soothing hands down his back.
“You can stop, if you want, Tseng, you've done enough now.” Her thumb curved over the arch of his brow and he sighed, turning his hand into it. “You've done enough, I think, that you can stop and it's alright. No one would blame you if you broke, not even Rufus.”
He swallowed hard and tried to shake his head, but she held it, her grip firm and strong, her green eyes bright as she looked at him.
“It will never be enough,” he said, and then gasped as he felt ribs break far off. The pain echoed in his chest and he heaved for breath, trying and failing to inhale completely. Her grip became painful, and her nails bit into the sides of his face, digging into the soft skin of his cheeks and then breaking through, leaving little red crescents.
“Giving up is honourable,” she insisted, a frown twisting across her face that turned quickly into a leer. “Giving up and telling us where Mother lies in her slumber is the honourable thing to do,” her voice deepened as she spoke and her face twisted from female, to male, her skirt melting away into nothing but hard rock, her hands becoming Yazoo's as Loz carved out initials into the tender skin of his upper thigh.
Tseng choked on a cry and shook his head, wrenching it from Yazoo's grip as the Lifestream faded away from around him and he was back, back with his captors as they leaned close and whispered that they were going to do to him what they had done to Elena before.
“Giving up is never honourable,” he ground out and ripped one red-raw wrist from Yazoo's grip, his hand flying up to wrap around the clone's throat. Loz made a noise of surprise and looked up as Yazoo made a choked sound, flailing a little before trying to grapple with Tseng.
“Get him under control, brother,” Yazoo snapped in a whining, gasping breath and Loz snarled back;
“If you had not lost him, we would have found out where Mother is!”
It gave Tseng the chance he needed, and with a moan of pain he broke from their grip, rolling away, the blood he was spattered with picking up dirt from the cold floor. He struggled to his feet and swallowed a mouthful of blood, feeling his stomach churn. The two clones argued for a few more moments before two sets of burning eyes turned on him. He took a step back, shaking legs barely holding him up. He was going into shock, he knew the signs well enough to recognize them in himself.
He tried to think of Aeris, to reclaim the place beyond this world, but his mind rejected the dream of the Lifestream. It had all been a lie anyway. Loz smirked and adjusted one glove and then the other.
“He is weak, let us take him now,” Loz said and Yazoo nodded, a smirk sliding across the thin, pointed face that was almost identical in its cruelty.
Tseng braced himself as they charged him, arms up and determined that he would not break then, or ever. The impact of their bodies on his made his vision flash inky-red and he stumbled backwards into a rough wall, and he felt arms slide around his waist.
The world twisted, and twin cries of shock and outrage pierced the air as he was high up above, and then down on the ground. The world twisted and shook, one arm wrapped tight around his waist, the only thing steady as he seemed to move without moving. He looked up, expecting to see green eyes and was met with a blood-red gaze and the icy stare of someone he had known far too long ago.
“Hang on,” Vincent said, a grim smile on his face as his gun whipped out and bullets sprayed through the air. “You do not have time to be drifting on the Lifestream just quite yet.”