![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
I'm sure there will be others, as I can't help but want to write for people whose prompts haven't been hit at all. Anyway, this is all the stuff that actually fit into comments.
Title: Brains?
Fandom: FF7:OGC
Characters/Pairings: Cid/Shera
Rating: PG
Summary: "Captain, I think it wants brains."
"Captain, I think it wants brains."
"Dammit woman, get away from the door!"
How Shera always managed to be calm, even in a situation such at this--where there were undead things scratching at the windows, he'd never know.
"I'm sure if you just gave it the brains, it would go away."
Rocket scientists. Cid was damned glad to be a practical engineer some days, because those ridiculously smart theory sorts like Shera were obviously batshit and disconnected from reality. While she was postumawhatating about giving it brains, he was making a really big club.
"You have to bash its fucking skull in, Shera. That's how you make it go away." Spooky had made him watch all of the Night of the Living Scaryfuck Dead Things last autumn, so he knew a few things about zombies.
"I don't think that's a good idea."
The lock was starting to creak. Oh goddammit, he should have bought a new one after Barret broke it two months ago, but his damn pride in fixing it himself...
Of course, that's when Shera simply opened the door. It was like slow motion when he lept out from under the table, half formed super zombie killer club in his hand. He used his other to knock Shera to the ground, keep her out of the way all heroic-like.
"YER NOT EATIN' THOSE BRAINS, ZOMBIE!"
...Then the zombie started giggling. It was a short zombie, he noticed. A short sneaky ninja zombie.
Shera was brushing dirt off her coat and fixing her hair. "Cidney, there is no such thing as zombies."
"Brains?" Yuffie chirped.
"...I fuckin' disown ALL A' YA."
Shera got up and pecked him on the cheek. "At least you got to pretend you were all manly and heroic, Captain."
Next year, Cid was going to get the last laugh.
Title:Without Grace
Fandom: FFX
Characters/Pairings: Auron, Braska
Rating: PG
Summary: Or how Auron met Braska.
When he met Braska, he was impressed by the man's ability to make himself known.
He'd been sitting in the same place for what seemed like days; Auron was still processing exactly what disgrace meant, not having added it to his vocabulary before then. Disgrace. Without grace. But as a monk he'd always relied on strength instead of grace, why had they taken something that he never had to begin with?
Braska's grace was not something that could be taken away, no matter what anyone said. Because in those first moments, he would not have realized that the man sitting at the other table in the room had in fact fallen farther than he did. Auron noticed him because he was being watched, and he had never much liked that feeling.
Being watched by a Summoner was a lot like being dissected sometimes.
It had taken Auron shifting in his seat and turning away a bit for Braska to approach him. Like he wanted Auron to know ahead of time that he was going to speak to him. It wasn't comforting, for he was unused to speaking with anyone; even Kinoc had taken to avoiding him, proving once again what a better politician he was. Auron was accustomed to the silence of ignorance, of isolation.
This was the silence of studied interest. Was he to be some example for this obviously well off Summoner? Was this the beginning of yet another social dance that he didn't have the desire to join? There was a reason he had become a Monk, not a Summoner.
"What can I do for you, Lord?" Auron only spoke first to break the quiet. He had remembered that when he was particularly young that impatience had always been a point of criticism against his character.
But then he had never expected that he'd be asked to marry someone he didn't wish to. Because... well, the reasons shouldn't have mattered, just that he refused. Auron only had a bitter aftertaste from the power of refusal, though, so he hoped that whatever this Summoner wanted would not bring that up again.
"I think Kinoc was right. You will do."
The flame of protest in his throat was quickly snuffed with just a gesture of the man's hand.
"I am Braska, and I find myself in need of a Guardian. Do you find yourself in need of something to do?"
Auron couldn't say he understood Braska at first, but it was safe to say that he did like him right away. Because every time he thought of a reason to explain his unworthiness, it wouldn't make it out of his lungs. It was as if Braska could slow the world down to his pace, and let anyone he chose to affect look at it through a different lens.
Through Braska's quiet lens, he could see himself as a Guardian, instead of sitting and pitying himself for being incapable of swallowing his pride long enough to stay a Monk.
"I do find myself idle."
"Then we can begin right away? I have a reason to go visit a prison."
After meeting Braska, Auron realized that maybe he had always been disgraced.
Title:Resistence
Fandom: FF8 (1940s AU)
Characters/Pairings: Squall/Rinoa
Rating: PG
Summary: Lieutenant Leonhart for a week and already completely shanghaied.
When the girl in the blue dress grabbed his arm at the train station, he didn't quite know what to think.
"Oh darling, lovely weather, isn't it?"
He'd been Lieutenant Leonhart for just a week now, finally sent out to the Galbadian-Timber front where all the action was. Sargeant Trepe had told him they didn't send the greenhorns out like this, but he'd left an impression. In between the way that the collar tugged at his neck and the way this delusional girl tugged at his arm, leaving an impression was the last thing he wanted to do.
"...Darling?"
She looked directly at him with a surprising amount of seriousness in her eyes even as she smiled. "Just play along," she whispered, surprisingly harsh. He didn't suspect that frivilous looking girls with clingy blue dresses could be that harsh.
"Uh, hi."
"Well at least you're back, I've missed you."
A squeeze of the arm this time... some kind of hug? He was supposed to be reporting in to the barracks, and his bag was starting to dig into the shoulder that the girl wasn't pressed against. He'd spent the entire train ride hoping that the blonde Corporal with the conspicious tattoo would just shut up and he'd be in Timber already.
"Shouldn't we get off the platform, ah, dear?"
But she was already clipping along in her sturdy heels, pulling him in the opposite direction of where he was supposed to be going. If he were the type of guy to care about such things, he'd have to say she was pretty as far as obviously troublesome forces of nature sorts of girls went.
He stopped focusing on her and how she was starting to annoy him, and instead looked around. This was the first time he'd been out of Balamb, first time in a bona fide war zone. It didn't really look like one on the surface; Timber looked an awful lot like Balamb, only there was no scent of the ocean. That had been replaced by pine and dirt and just a little bit of coal. Timber was an aptly named logger town, really nothing more than a speck on the map. If he'd really made an impression he'd be with the force on its way to Deling City and the heart of the enemy territory.
Lieutenant Leonhart for a week and already completely shanghaied.
Buildings other than the lonely train station were getting closer, but she wasn't taking him anywhere near the town center. He thought about jerking his arm back and bidding her a good day, but he was already late for the check in, and there was some growing suspicion that she was running from something. Maybe he could stop and tell her to call the cops.
She paused in front of a toy store, and then stopped completely, taking both his hands like they'd been familiar for years. He cringed.
"I just remembered, I need to pick up something for Biggs. New train part for his model. Could you go to the grocer for me?"
"...Sure."
He was happy with the impression that she was letting him go and whatever crazy game she was playing was over. But she pulled him close and the light girlish smell of her perfume was working its way into his uniform and memory. He stiffened.
She whispered in his ear, "Thanks for helping the Timber Resistence, soldier boy." And kissed him.
Now he'd certainly not expected that. That was the sort of thing that only happened in the Talkies, and Resistence fighters didn't walk around in such nice dresses and perfectly distracting seamed stockings. And he certainly didn't linger to watch her go into the toy store, only leaving when he couldn't see her pinned up dark hair anymore.
And he certainly wasn't disappointed that she didn't tell him her name.
Title: Brains?
Fandom: FF7:OGC
Characters/Pairings: Cid/Shera
Rating: PG
Summary: "Captain, I think it wants brains."
"Captain, I think it wants brains."
"Dammit woman, get away from the door!"
How Shera always managed to be calm, even in a situation such at this--where there were undead things scratching at the windows, he'd never know.
"I'm sure if you just gave it the brains, it would go away."
Rocket scientists. Cid was damned glad to be a practical engineer some days, because those ridiculously smart theory sorts like Shera were obviously batshit and disconnected from reality. While she was postumawhatating about giving it brains, he was making a really big club.
"You have to bash its fucking skull in, Shera. That's how you make it go away." Spooky had made him watch all of the Night of the Living Scaryfuck Dead Things last autumn, so he knew a few things about zombies.
"I don't think that's a good idea."
The lock was starting to creak. Oh goddammit, he should have bought a new one after Barret broke it two months ago, but his damn pride in fixing it himself...
Of course, that's when Shera simply opened the door. It was like slow motion when he lept out from under the table, half formed super zombie killer club in his hand. He used his other to knock Shera to the ground, keep her out of the way all heroic-like.
"YER NOT EATIN' THOSE BRAINS, ZOMBIE!"
...Then the zombie started giggling. It was a short zombie, he noticed. A short sneaky ninja zombie.
Shera was brushing dirt off her coat and fixing her hair. "Cidney, there is no such thing as zombies."
"Brains?" Yuffie chirped.
"...I fuckin' disown ALL A' YA."
Shera got up and pecked him on the cheek. "At least you got to pretend you were all manly and heroic, Captain."
Next year, Cid was going to get the last laugh.
Title:Without Grace
Fandom: FFX
Characters/Pairings: Auron, Braska
Rating: PG
Summary: Or how Auron met Braska.
When he met Braska, he was impressed by the man's ability to make himself known.
He'd been sitting in the same place for what seemed like days; Auron was still processing exactly what disgrace meant, not having added it to his vocabulary before then. Disgrace. Without grace. But as a monk he'd always relied on strength instead of grace, why had they taken something that he never had to begin with?
Braska's grace was not something that could be taken away, no matter what anyone said. Because in those first moments, he would not have realized that the man sitting at the other table in the room had in fact fallen farther than he did. Auron noticed him because he was being watched, and he had never much liked that feeling.
Being watched by a Summoner was a lot like being dissected sometimes.
It had taken Auron shifting in his seat and turning away a bit for Braska to approach him. Like he wanted Auron to know ahead of time that he was going to speak to him. It wasn't comforting, for he was unused to speaking with anyone; even Kinoc had taken to avoiding him, proving once again what a better politician he was. Auron was accustomed to the silence of ignorance, of isolation.
This was the silence of studied interest. Was he to be some example for this obviously well off Summoner? Was this the beginning of yet another social dance that he didn't have the desire to join? There was a reason he had become a Monk, not a Summoner.
"What can I do for you, Lord?" Auron only spoke first to break the quiet. He had remembered that when he was particularly young that impatience had always been a point of criticism against his character.
But then he had never expected that he'd be asked to marry someone he didn't wish to. Because... well, the reasons shouldn't have mattered, just that he refused. Auron only had a bitter aftertaste from the power of refusal, though, so he hoped that whatever this Summoner wanted would not bring that up again.
"I think Kinoc was right. You will do."
The flame of protest in his throat was quickly snuffed with just a gesture of the man's hand.
"I am Braska, and I find myself in need of a Guardian. Do you find yourself in need of something to do?"
Auron couldn't say he understood Braska at first, but it was safe to say that he did like him right away. Because every time he thought of a reason to explain his unworthiness, it wouldn't make it out of his lungs. It was as if Braska could slow the world down to his pace, and let anyone he chose to affect look at it through a different lens.
Through Braska's quiet lens, he could see himself as a Guardian, instead of sitting and pitying himself for being incapable of swallowing his pride long enough to stay a Monk.
"I do find myself idle."
"Then we can begin right away? I have a reason to go visit a prison."
After meeting Braska, Auron realized that maybe he had always been disgraced.
Title:Resistence
Fandom: FF8 (1940s AU)
Characters/Pairings: Squall/Rinoa
Rating: PG
Summary: Lieutenant Leonhart for a week and already completely shanghaied.
When the girl in the blue dress grabbed his arm at the train station, he didn't quite know what to think.
"Oh darling, lovely weather, isn't it?"
He'd been Lieutenant Leonhart for just a week now, finally sent out to the Galbadian-Timber front where all the action was. Sargeant Trepe had told him they didn't send the greenhorns out like this, but he'd left an impression. In between the way that the collar tugged at his neck and the way this delusional girl tugged at his arm, leaving an impression was the last thing he wanted to do.
"...Darling?"
She looked directly at him with a surprising amount of seriousness in her eyes even as she smiled. "Just play along," she whispered, surprisingly harsh. He didn't suspect that frivilous looking girls with clingy blue dresses could be that harsh.
"Uh, hi."
"Well at least you're back, I've missed you."
A squeeze of the arm this time... some kind of hug? He was supposed to be reporting in to the barracks, and his bag was starting to dig into the shoulder that the girl wasn't pressed against. He'd spent the entire train ride hoping that the blonde Corporal with the conspicious tattoo would just shut up and he'd be in Timber already.
"Shouldn't we get off the platform, ah, dear?"
But she was already clipping along in her sturdy heels, pulling him in the opposite direction of where he was supposed to be going. If he were the type of guy to care about such things, he'd have to say she was pretty as far as obviously troublesome forces of nature sorts of girls went.
He stopped focusing on her and how she was starting to annoy him, and instead looked around. This was the first time he'd been out of Balamb, first time in a bona fide war zone. It didn't really look like one on the surface; Timber looked an awful lot like Balamb, only there was no scent of the ocean. That had been replaced by pine and dirt and just a little bit of coal. Timber was an aptly named logger town, really nothing more than a speck on the map. If he'd really made an impression he'd be with the force on its way to Deling City and the heart of the enemy territory.
Lieutenant Leonhart for a week and already completely shanghaied.
Buildings other than the lonely train station were getting closer, but she wasn't taking him anywhere near the town center. He thought about jerking his arm back and bidding her a good day, but he was already late for the check in, and there was some growing suspicion that she was running from something. Maybe he could stop and tell her to call the cops.
She paused in front of a toy store, and then stopped completely, taking both his hands like they'd been familiar for years. He cringed.
"I just remembered, I need to pick up something for Biggs. New train part for his model. Could you go to the grocer for me?"
"...Sure."
He was happy with the impression that she was letting him go and whatever crazy game she was playing was over. But she pulled him close and the light girlish smell of her perfume was working its way into his uniform and memory. He stiffened.
She whispered in his ear, "Thanks for helping the Timber Resistence, soldier boy." And kissed him.
Now he'd certainly not expected that. That was the sort of thing that only happened in the Talkies, and Resistence fighters didn't walk around in such nice dresses and perfectly distracting seamed stockings. And he certainly didn't linger to watch her go into the toy store, only leaving when he couldn't see her pinned up dark hair anymore.
And he certainly wasn't disappointed that she didn't tell him her name.
From:
no subject