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seleniasA collection of FFXVI ficlets below for ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
threesentenceficathon. There will definitely be more, these are so pleasant to write.
Characters/pairing: Anabella, Dion/Terence, Jill/Clive/Cid, Clive/Joshua, and Dion & Olivier.
Rating(s) and warning(s): gen, canon-typical violence, and incest.
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any, any, the post-divorce freedom high / FFXVI, Anabella
Anabella weaves between two men in stale imperial armor and considers the pink-tinged horizon from beneath the edge of her shawl. Phoenix Gate swells up overlooking a cavernous hill and smells like iron and smoke and waste where bodies still lay steaming, the remnants of Elwin’s loyal men who cowed and ducked their eyes away from her righteous form. But Anabella knows success is born from sacrifice like Joshua was born from this miserable courtship, and if Elwin couldn’t see the ruin he was leading his nation toward it brought her joy to have at last seen him delivered into it.
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any, any, the absolute worst time to discover you have a praise kink / FFXVI, Dion/Terence
Leather and steel plate groan as Terence hustles the last man out of his prince’s tent, drawing the flaps forward and the cord tight against the evening, sick of tired soldiers incapable of resisting a giving man. Behind him Terence hears Dion stand and shuffle parchment on the table, imagines him slotting away plans to give everyone a decent death tomorrow. “You’ve more mercy than I, thank you Terence,” he calls softly, and he pivots in time to see his name fall from his lord’s curved mouth and into his blood.
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any, any OT3+, sleeping arrangements / FFXVI, Jill/Clive/Cid
“It’s going to be cramped,” Cid warns and slots himself against the wall and strewn up papers, tucking his legs under the edges of the blankets and heaving a tremendous sigh. Clive turns to her as if for permission or assurance and kneels on the mattress, no longer a boy looking to impress but a man who doesn’t know what he wants — maybe this, maybe to leave if she does. Jill blows out the candle after he settles and feels her way forward against the dark, listening to the men breathe, hearing plates and laughter filter dimly beneath the door of Cid’s solar as if under water; she grips Clive’s warm hand where it lays limp at his side, warm with magic he’s scared to have, and holds fast.
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any, any, a kiss of peace / FFXVI, Dion/Terence
Dion’s lips are dry and tremble when they press chastely over his, chapped from summer and illness and the tug and pull on his body that Greagor pulls from him like a citrus peel. Terence murmurs and cups his prince’s face between his hands and feels the bones press into the meat of his palms, the warmth of him, alive and warring; Terence brushes his mouth across the peaks of his face, his nose, his cheek, his eyebrows, drawn low and serious and beautiful. “The day is over,” Terence says, releasing him, but Dion pushes him back into his bed, mouth crooked and face adoring, believing in the sincerity of his words the way he doesn’t trust in much else.
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any, any, Love was when he came to me / Begging on his bended knees / FFXVI, Dion/Terence
“I swear to you,” Terence promises, hushed and trembling at Dion’s knees; it’s not for Greagor that he kneels, it’s not for Sanbreque and her righteous warden, it’s for the child soldier turned man blustering and pacing like a coeurl at his own indiscretion, with faith Terence realizes may be less than his own.
“I know your sincerity,” Dion says, bending to meet him at last, face rigid in remorse, “but forgive me if I wonder if you had a choice.”
Terence reaches out to touch him, steadying his sway, watching the dip of his brow, the defeat that he’s brought Terence close only to strangle him with his wants; “Not at all, my prince,” Terence says mercilessly, “I wanted you,” and kisses him with his teeth.
-
any, any, intense pining / FFXVI, Clive/Joshua
Joshua does not know if he wants Clive, or if he wants to be him. His brother has always been staged at his shoulder, positioned to draw his blade or pull Joshua away from danger and transform the pain that he could not endure into impossible action. Bleeding out in Origin’s cold rooms, knowing the touch that secures his final thread in this world to be the one he’s pursued doggedly all his life, he’s never wanted Clive more as he gives to him the fire that cored him in his youth and feels relief that his answer can be both.
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any, any, brother doesn't mean 'my father's son' / FFXVI, Dion & Olivier
Dion tries not to look at Olivier too often because he can see their similarities, and it’s uncanny that their bloodline shows in their body, in their face and their disposition to brood.
Once, Dion empathizes and thinks of asking him what he sees in father, if he’s believes Dion an honorable brother for being away for so long, killing people across a strait that hate them in turn, if he likes reading, or the council men and how they speak gently to him like a child and not an adult like Dion always had to be, if he wants to know him like Dion considers he wants to know him, even if knowing means an exchanging of selves, of becoming the other son.
But they cannot be similar or close, he concludes; there’s an emptiness in Olivier that makes him unreal, makes him foreign, an enemy of his efforts, and spitefully, Dion thinks he was conceived by Anabella alone, for no brother of his or a son of his father would refuse the fullness of his cup and pointedly upturn it to splatter like blood on the marbled floor.
threesentenceficathon. There will definitely be more, these are so pleasant to write.Characters/pairing: Anabella, Dion/Terence, Jill/Clive/Cid, Clive/Joshua, and Dion & Olivier.
Rating(s) and warning(s): gen, canon-typical violence, and incest.
-
any, any, the post-divorce freedom high / FFXVI, Anabella
Anabella weaves between two men in stale imperial armor and considers the pink-tinged horizon from beneath the edge of her shawl. Phoenix Gate swells up overlooking a cavernous hill and smells like iron and smoke and waste where bodies still lay steaming, the remnants of Elwin’s loyal men who cowed and ducked their eyes away from her righteous form. But Anabella knows success is born from sacrifice like Joshua was born from this miserable courtship, and if Elwin couldn’t see the ruin he was leading his nation toward it brought her joy to have at last seen him delivered into it.
-
any, any, the absolute worst time to discover you have a praise kink / FFXVI, Dion/Terence
Leather and steel plate groan as Terence hustles the last man out of his prince’s tent, drawing the flaps forward and the cord tight against the evening, sick of tired soldiers incapable of resisting a giving man. Behind him Terence hears Dion stand and shuffle parchment on the table, imagines him slotting away plans to give everyone a decent death tomorrow. “You’ve more mercy than I, thank you Terence,” he calls softly, and he pivots in time to see his name fall from his lord’s curved mouth and into his blood.
-
any, any OT3+, sleeping arrangements / FFXVI, Jill/Clive/Cid
“It’s going to be cramped,” Cid warns and slots himself against the wall and strewn up papers, tucking his legs under the edges of the blankets and heaving a tremendous sigh. Clive turns to her as if for permission or assurance and kneels on the mattress, no longer a boy looking to impress but a man who doesn’t know what he wants — maybe this, maybe to leave if she does. Jill blows out the candle after he settles and feels her way forward against the dark, listening to the men breathe, hearing plates and laughter filter dimly beneath the door of Cid’s solar as if under water; she grips Clive’s warm hand where it lays limp at his side, warm with magic he’s scared to have, and holds fast.
-
any, any, a kiss of peace / FFXVI, Dion/Terence
Dion’s lips are dry and tremble when they press chastely over his, chapped from summer and illness and the tug and pull on his body that Greagor pulls from him like a citrus peel. Terence murmurs and cups his prince’s face between his hands and feels the bones press into the meat of his palms, the warmth of him, alive and warring; Terence brushes his mouth across the peaks of his face, his nose, his cheek, his eyebrows, drawn low and serious and beautiful. “The day is over,” Terence says, releasing him, but Dion pushes him back into his bed, mouth crooked and face adoring, believing in the sincerity of his words the way he doesn’t trust in much else.
-
any, any, Love was when he came to me / Begging on his bended knees / FFXVI, Dion/Terence
“I swear to you,” Terence promises, hushed and trembling at Dion’s knees; it’s not for Greagor that he kneels, it’s not for Sanbreque and her righteous warden, it’s for the child soldier turned man blustering and pacing like a coeurl at his own indiscretion, with faith Terence realizes may be less than his own.
“I know your sincerity,” Dion says, bending to meet him at last, face rigid in remorse, “but forgive me if I wonder if you had a choice.”
Terence reaches out to touch him, steadying his sway, watching the dip of his brow, the defeat that he’s brought Terence close only to strangle him with his wants; “Not at all, my prince,” Terence says mercilessly, “I wanted you,” and kisses him with his teeth.
-
any, any, intense pining / FFXVI, Clive/Joshua
Joshua does not know if he wants Clive, or if he wants to be him. His brother has always been staged at his shoulder, positioned to draw his blade or pull Joshua away from danger and transform the pain that he could not endure into impossible action. Bleeding out in Origin’s cold rooms, knowing the touch that secures his final thread in this world to be the one he’s pursued doggedly all his life, he’s never wanted Clive more as he gives to him the fire that cored him in his youth and feels relief that his answer can be both.
-
any, any, brother doesn't mean 'my father's son' / FFXVI, Dion & Olivier
Dion tries not to look at Olivier too often because he can see their similarities, and it’s uncanny that their bloodline shows in their body, in their face and their disposition to brood.
Once, Dion empathizes and thinks of asking him what he sees in father, if he’s believes Dion an honorable brother for being away for so long, killing people across a strait that hate them in turn, if he likes reading, or the council men and how they speak gently to him like a child and not an adult like Dion always had to be, if he wants to know him like Dion considers he wants to know him, even if knowing means an exchanging of selves, of becoming the other son.
But they cannot be similar or close, he concludes; there’s an emptiness in Olivier that makes him unreal, makes him foreign, an enemy of his efforts, and spitefully, Dion thinks he was conceived by Anabella alone, for no brother of his or a son of his father would refuse the fullness of his cup and pointedly upturn it to splatter like blood on the marbled floor.
