Cixalea

The Allies are l'cie on the run. Matthew is captured, and Alfred's despair puts them all in danger. Allies-centric. No FFXIII characters. No pairings. Lots of brotherly/cousinly fluff. One shot. Looking forward to it ------------------------------------------------- "No! Matt! No!" Alfred cried as he pulled himself off of the dirt and launched himself at the thick, stone door, but it closed with a mighty thud before he could reach it. Growling, he set about tearing it open by force, jamming his fingers into the seam between the doors and prying. Ivan watched the frantic blond with an unusually blank expression. He ghosted a large hand over

Francis was not a pirate nor was he a king. He was much more gentle than a sea-crusted scoundrel and neither was he someone that could control with an iron fist and rule over his subjects. Although the adventure and glamour of royalty appealed to him, he preferred to think of himself as a Musketeer: a soldier that could think for his own and advise the king. He was a respected figurehead for the people to look up to, yet he secretly had as much blood on his hands as a pirate. Francis was a Musketeer. Francis entered the restaurant and was immediately karate kicked in the nose by the smell of oriental food. The music playing overhead also brou

Human!AU. Platonic!FACES-centric. Pairings: None Rating: PG Summary: Arthur, Francis, Alfred, Matthew, and Peter are running away. From living in a car to dining and ditching, their journey is recounted from their individual perspectives -through the lenses they use to distort how they view the world. Arthur was a Pirate King. He flew his own colours proudly and ruled the land he lived in. He was a ruthless commander who expected nothing but obedience from his subjects. He had no qualms about dishing out lashings or locking them in the dungeons. He had the gait of a royal, but the sway of a sea dog; the smarts of a noble, and the cunning of

"Pease porridge hot, pease porridge cold" "Do you need help putting any of that medical stuff away?" Matthew stood half-behind the doorframe looking younger than he actually was. Alfred was currently in the other room on the couch, his leg propped up on pillows as his thumb mashed the television remote. Matthew knew that (one) he would have no say in what they ended up watching anyway and (two) that Alfred's quest to find himself an entertaining show that would satisfy those with a short attention span like his own would keep him occupied for the good part of five minutes. So, Matthew decided he would take the opportunity to see what was keep

"Baa. Baa. Black sheep, have you any wool?" It was darker than Alfred remembered. That was the first thing he noticed upon coming to consciousness in his soul room. He knew there was another reason he so adamantly opted to pretend to be the Meister rather than be the Weapon in his and Matthew's little act. Yes, he wasn't physically in a room right now; it was representational. Kind of like how the mind makes dreams to provide visual stimulation while asleep, his mind created this room for him to wait in while he was in his Weapon form. The whole visual of the room was all sourced from his brain -or was it his soul? He was never sure, but he e

Rating: T Pairings: Jeanne of ArcxFrance platonic!FACE centric, no Soul Eater characters Summary: An AU where the world is overrun by kishin eggs, but the ratio of Weapons to Meisters is grossly disproportionate. To survive, the overabundant Meisters will do anything to find a Weapon partner. Anything. I attempted to write this so those who don't know Soul Eater will still understand it. ----------------------------------  "Shoo, Fly. Don't bother me."    “But, please, sir! You have to have some compassion, aru! I’ll give you all the money I have!”    In one of the man’s trembling hands was a fistful of crumple

"I don't see them. I don't!" "You better not have been lying to me about such easy prey." Natalya's feathers ruffled in frustration at the two others. "Will come. Patience." "But hungry! So hungry!" "Raivis! I swear if you keep repeating part of what you've already said at the end of your sentences, I will cut out your tongue with this knife. And that goes for you too, Eduard. You're some sort of genius, but when you don't speak properly you sound like an idiot. The least you could do while living with humans is pick up proper grammar. You don't have any excuses now." Raivis and Eduard tried to hide the fear in their eyes as they had witness

When they returned to the den, they laid their mother down on the soft pile of feathers they had gathered. Their father went immediately to hunt prey to bring to his healing wife -not trusting humans or werewolves in their ability to provide for her properly. The youngest twins were curled up near their mum and fell asleep, tangled within each other's limbs. Dylan returned to his Cat form like Conor, Alistair, and their father had while Arthur remained in his human form. The young Cubs were exhausted from walking to kingdom come and back, not to mention the emotionally expensive couple days it had been. They had their mother back so sleep cam

As the Alpha looked down at the four Werecat Cubs, all of the brothers -even Conor- found themselves looking to Alistair for the go-ahead. He nodded and cued his kin to shift into their human forms as they prepared to follow the Werewolf through the forest and into the human village. It just made the humans uneasy if they were in their first forms while in town. Alistair had brick-red hair, the same color as his pelt, and stood only a few inches taller than Conor who had deep black hair matching a midnight pelt. Alistair and Conor were their mother's first litter and twins by definition. Dylan and Arthur were the second litter, but they were

Dylan had a sort of chip on his shoulder. It wasn't a big chip, but it was still a chip. He didn't mind traveling. He didn't mind seeing his family members. And he was the one that minded the least of Arthur's cold attitude. All in all he wouldn't have minded being the messenger if his family had just told him the message then sent him on his way. However, his family, of course, had been rather rude about it. They bossed him around and ordered him to go like he was their personal servant. If they had just asked him to, he would not have this small but bitter chip on his shoulder. Dylan went anyway because if he were to argue with his famously