Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Tell me it’s a lie,” Joshua beseeches. “Tell me you’re playing with me right now.” 

Clive sighs inwardly. He should’ve known it would come down to this. With how overprotective his family is, he expected to be met with some degree of resistance when he decided to bring his fiancé home. He’d just hoped that they could’ve had a civil discussion over tea, or perhaps even dinner. Not whatever makeshift interview they’ve somehow created over the dining table, his family members huddled together on one side, and Clive with his lover, Hugo, on the other.

Clive clears his throat. “It is not a lie. This is the man I wish to spend the rest of my days with.”

Joshua looks like he’s swallowed a carrot whole. “Clive, please, I implore you to see reason. What would Father say?”

“Father does not approve,” chimes in Cid. 

“I wasn’t talking about you,” Joshua hisses at the same time Clive cries, “But daddy, I love him!”

“You love him?” balks Cid, eyes widening.

“You love me?” asks Hugo, eyes sparkling.

Joshua shrieks in outrage. “No! You can’t! This is absurd! What on Valisthea is there to love about this—this— meathead?! ” 

“Joshua,” Clive admonishes.

“He’s got the meat an’ head separate, I reckon,” Mid pipes in. “Can’t be the economic advisor of Dhalmekia if he’s all brawn an’ no brain, aye?”

Hugo nods sagely. “The girl speaks the truth.”

Joshua rounds on her, glaring. “Exactly whose side are you on here?”

Mid shrugs. “Eh, the bloke seems aite to me. He’s promised to fund my tech experiments so that’s a win in me books.”

“Mid, that’s bribery,” Cid points out. 

“Well goodwill’s not paying for me research now is it? It’s a win for you too, Da. Less pennies out of yer pocket an’ all that,” says Mid before she scampers off to find something to tinker with. 

Torgal, who’s currently chewing on the biggest, juiciest elk bone he’s ever laid his paws on, barks in approval. 

Cid scrubs his beard. “Touché.”

Joshua throws his arms up in exasperation. “You lot are useless! You can’t just hand Clive off to whoever the highest bidder is, he’s not for sale!”

“I would gladly lay down all my riches for you, my love,” Hugo says as he lifts a hand to caress Clive’s face. “Money and material mean nothing to me with you by my side.” 

Clive’s eyes flutter in response. “Hugo…”

Joshua screeches at their display of affection. “No! No no no no no! Stop that! Stop that right this instant!” He’s pulling on Hugo’s arm to pry him off, but Hugo doesn’t budge or even seem to notice. Both he and Clive continue to stare dreamily at each other, wrapped in their own little world. 

Their melodramatic scene comes to an abrupt end when the last member at the table suddenly utters a chilling,

“Enough.”

Instantly, everyone jolts to attention. Even Hugo and Clive turn away from one another, feeling oddly chastised.

Jill regards them all silently with her eyes until finally stopping at Joshua, who flinches when she calls out to him. “Joshua. Back to your seat.” There’s a pause before he begrudgingly releases Hugo’s arm and does as he’s told, pouting all the while.

Once he’s seated, Jill turns her focus to Hugo. “Now, Hugo Kupka, was it?”

Hugo straightens in his chair. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You wish to have Clive’s hand in marriage, is that correct?”

“It is, ma’am.”

Jill studies him for a moment. Hugo sweats under her gaze. Eventually, she says, “If Clive wishes for it, then you shall have our blessings.” 

Joshua already has his mouth open to protest, “Jill—”

“But,” Jill adds pointedly, “you should know that if you ever hurt or harm him in any way or form…” The room's temperature suddenly drops, causing all of its occupants (except Jill) to shiver, “the price to pay will be… severe.”

Hugo audibly gulps, but agrees readily enough. “On my head, be it.”

Jill smiles beatifically. “Glad we have an understanding.”

Chapter Text

Clive’s not entirely sure when they started, these apparitions of his. What’s clear is that they began sometime after his battle with Barnabas and having Odin forced upon him, but the exact moment and reasoning for them elude him.

As he lies on the bed in his chambers waiting for sleep to take him, Barnabas stands not far away, watching. It’s not the first time this has happened.  

On the first occurrence, Clive had let out an unholy scream that alerted not only Joshua and Jill who came rushing into his quarters, but half the occupants of the Hideaway. 

After an awkward moment of trying and failing to point out the very obvious trespasser that came in the shape of one Barnabas Tharmr, (who should’ve been very much dead and not idling like a wandering spirit in his room, thank you very much —) it dawned on Clive that he was the only one who could see the man. Even Torgal, with his sharp senses, had merely tilted his head in confusion. 

Gav chalked it up to fear and paranoia, insisting that Clive couldn’t be blamed for it since he had to go up against the Mad King of all people. Tarja made a concoction out of ground herbs to help soothe his nerves and aid his sleep. Jill and Joshua had actually been willing to listen to him, promising they’d help however they could, but Clive didn’t want to worry them so he passed it all off as a nightmare. Joshua had looked sceptical, but reluctantly allowed the topic to slide when Clive claimed he was just sleep-deprived. 

Now, after having seen Barnabas lurking in his solar for the umpteenth time in the last moon alone, Clive can say for certain that this isn’t a vision born due to lack of sleep. 

He sighs aloud and rubs a hand over his face tiredly. “Barnabas. Why are you here?”

The silence stretches on for so long that Clive thinks he’s not going to get a reply, until, “A strange question. Does a bird question why it is able to fly? Or a coeurl, why it consumes meat?”

Clive inhales deeply. Of course he wouldn’t get a straight answer. What was he thinking? “Is this some… lingering attachment thing? Are you a ghost? Do I have to do something to get you to leav—rest?”

“I would have thought you old enough to have outgrown the childish belief in ghosts, Clive Rosfield.” Barnabas eyes him with a look that leaves Clive feeling thoroughly judged, which—rude. They can’t all have the wisdom of being 70 summers old. 

“Well if there’s nothing you need…” Clive gestures to the window, hoping Barnabas will take the hint. 

Barnabas just stares at him, uncomprehending. 

“You can leave?” Clive says encouragingly. “You should probably go home.”

“But I am already home,” says Barnabas without missing a beat. 

“Wait, what.” Clive uprights himself to look at Barnabas properly. “What do you mean by that?”

“I do not enjoy repeating myself. That much should be apparent.”

“No no no no no, what do you mean you’re already home?” Clive asks, frazzled. “Your home is in Waloed. This is the Hideaway, this is my home.”

“The location is not important. It is you, Clive Rosfield. Where you go, I shall follow.

Clive gapes at him, horrified. “ Why ? Is this a curse? Oh fuck, you went and cursed me before you died, didn’t you?”

Barnabas looks wholly unimpressed. “You are truly lacking if you believe this to be the symptom of a curse. No, this is just part of the inevitable. The moment you took Odin in—”

“You forced him into me, you mean,” Clive interjects bitterly.

Barnabas ignores him. “—my remnants became one with your being. For all intent and purposes, you are my home now, Clive Rosfield.”

Clive stares, stunned. He remains like that for a long time, letting the information sink in, till he eventually flops back down onto his bed and stares straight up at the ceiling instead. 

Of all the Dominants to get stuck with in his head, it just had to be the insane, genocidal zealot that only ever spoke in riddles.

Clive presses the palm of hands to his eyes and with emotion, breathes out a heavy,  “Fuck.”

Chapter Text

Let it be known that Joshua is, in fact, the best little brother in all of Valisthea. Scratch that–he’s the best sibling in the universe. After all, no one else but him would be caught dead in this particular situation, familial love or not.

Said situation being: lying on a single bed together with the Last King of Waloed, notorious mass murderer and former (or so he claims) religious extremist, Barnabas Tharmr.

Joshua is definitely questioning his life choices.

But first, let’s explain how this all started, shall we?

After successfully thwarting Ultima’s apocalyptic plans for the world, the Dominants that had previously perished under Clive and Ultima’s thumbs miraculously came back to life. No one seemed to know how or why it happened, but Clive wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He’d been so devastated by Cid’s and Joshua’s passing that he desperately clung onto the second chance he was given, reasons be damned. Joshua had also dropped the issue, if only for his brother’s peace of mind. There were more pressing issues at hand, like reshaping the world that no longer had crystals or magic. 

And, as it turns out, Clive’s pet project, also known as Humanising Barnabas Tharmr. 

You see, the dead rising isn’t the only strange issue they’ve had to deal with. Half a moon after Ultima had fallen, Tharmr showed up at the Hideaway’s doorstep with treasures and a gift basket, seeking out Clive. 

To their bewilderment, Tharmr prostrated himself when Clive appeared, claiming that he had been wrong and that the True God was Clive all along. He thanked Clive for ‘returning his will and his mortal flesh’, and vowed to serve Clive for the rest of his days. 

Clive, naturally, was repulsed by the idea. Still is, most likely. But, benevolent soul that he is, he’d allowed Tharmr into the Hideaway despite the many protests he got (especially so from Cid and Joshua), and decided to help the man become… somewhat human again. (Joshua doesn’t believe it possible, but Clive’s puppy eyes had been too difficult to say no to, damn it all)

They’d started out with simpler things, like partaking in meals regularly. Having been Akashic for so long, Tharmr seemed to have forgotten the basic needs for a human body, such as eating and drinking. 

A week later, Clive spotted the man nearly plonking himself headfirst into a bowl of stew. Tharmr then confessed to not sleeping well, too accustomed to forgoing the action after not needing to do so for nearly 30 years.

In an effort to reacclimatise Tharmr to human norms, Clive suggested for him to try sleeping next to another person’s warmth. His reasoning being that that was what helped Joshua in falling asleep when he was a young, inconsolable infant.

And it’s what led Joshua to his current predicament of sharing a bed with the King of Waloed-the exercise of recalibrating Tharmr to become more human again.

More like an exercise in restraint, Joshua thinks disdainfully. For murder.

The only reason he’s agreed to it at all is because the alternative would’ve been allowing Clive to share a bed with Tharmr. Which. No. Just no. 

At present, Joshua and Tharmr lie back-to-back on the same mattress, the inches between them acting as an invisible boundary. Tharmr barely moves, as still as stone. Joshua cannot even hear him breathing. It’s rather eerie, actually. It’s like he’s lying next to a corpse. 

“Just so you’re aware, I’m doing this for my brother,” Joshua says into the darkness. “I still don’t like or trust you.”

Tharmr lets out a snort. “Fear not, Phoenix. I do not delude myself into believing that you are doing this for my benefit.”

Yet you deluded yourself into believing Ultima was saving and not killing all of humanity, Joshua thinks but does not say. He's promised Clive to be on his best behaviour, even if he has his limits. “Good. Then you should also know not to get any funny ideas, even if Clive’s been giving you a lot of attention lately.”

“I know not what classifies as your definition of ‘funny’. You ought to be more specific.”

Right. It’s best to be direct with this one, isn’t it? “Sex. I’m telling you not to think of having sex with my brother. Are we clear?”

There’s silence for a moment before Tharmr says in a tone so palpably disgusted, “You insult me. What sort of depraved mortal would ask a God to fulfil their carnal desires?”

Well then. Perhaps being overzealous has its perks. Joshua finds himself relaxing somewhat. “A very sick one, indeed. Glad we agree.”

They both stop talking. Neither of them get any sleep that night, but Joshua doesn’t mind Tharmr’s presence quite as much after, and acquiesces to help again. It’s a start.

Chapter Text

As Clive kneels aboard the deck of the Einherjar, surrounded by blades and hands cuffed behind him, he laments that this is not how he expected his day to go.

The trip was meant to be a short and fairly safe one, just a quick stopover at Mysidia for Clive to visit his godson Waljas before regrouping at Oriflamme to prepare for the return home. Who would have thought that on the way back they’d be ambushed by the infamous Barnabas Tharmr and his crew of all things?

Clive only wishes he hadn’t brought Joshua out on this excursion, even if it was at his brother’s behest. Joshua kneels not far from him with a scowl on his face, disgruntled by the rough treatment. It’ll be alright , Clive wants to say. His arms and legs may be incapacitated but he’ll do anything in his power to keep Joshua safe, even if it means dislocating his shoulders or fighting with his teeth.

“Cap’n’s arriving!” someone yells. 

The crew members part, revealing a man who looks like the Reaper himself. It’s Barnabas Tharmr. Clive instinctively moves to shield Joshua from the man’s line of sight, ignoring the hiss of disapproval that his brother gives him. No harm shall come to Joshua while he’s still breathing.

His worries for his brother turn out to be unfounded, because Barnabas takes one look at Clive, inhales sharply, and then strides straight towards him. The captain doesn’t even spare Joshua a single glance.

“It’s you,” Barnabas says cryptically. “After all these years… you have come to me.” 

Clive doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but then Barnabas lifts an arm, and an eerie blue glow suddenly surrounds them. Clive thinks he hears Joshua screaming from behind, but it’s difficult to tell when his consciousness is already fading.

Barnabas smiles. “Welcome home, Mythos.”

Chapter Text

Barnabas Tharmr stands idly on the deck of The Enterprise, waiting. 

There’s a man with reddish blonde hair watching him warily nearby. Probably to ensure he doesn’t try to escape, but Barnabas has no intentions of doing so. The cuffs on his hands and feet may make him look like a prisoner, but it would take little to no effort to free himself if he so chooses. He’s here on his own volition, and exactly where he wants to be.

His patience is finally rewarded when a man rises from the cabin.

Mythos, his mind supplies.

Barnabas watches with bated breath as Mythos approaches, his brows furrowed and eyes filled with confusion. A rush of excitement shoots up Barnabas’s spine as he basks in the joy of being under the man’s scrutiny. 

The red-haired man from earlier speaks up when Mythos is but a stone’s throw away. “You stand in the presence of the captain. Kneel.”

Barnabas goes down willingly. Both Mythos and Red Hair stare in open shock, presumably at his lack of resistance.

Mythos recovers himself first. “You boarded our vessel, yet you and your men immediately laid down your weapons. Why?”

Barnabas licks his lips in anticipation. “For you. I would have you be my master.”

“What?” says Mythos at the same time Red Hair goes, “Absolutely not.”

Barnabas ignores Red Hair and proceeds to make his appeal. “I shall be your humble servant, forever at your beck and call. Should you wish it, I would level mountains and cleave oceans for you. You need but say the word.”

Mythos’s surprise is evident by the brows shooting high above his hairline, but Red Hair remains wholly unimpressed. “Brother, we should just throw him off board,” he says scathingly. “Clearly the man is deranged.”

Mythos grimaces. “Joshua. How many times do I have to tell you that we can’t just go around killing people? It’s not right.”

“ I can be the blade that cuts down your enemies in your stead,” Barnabas pipes in opportunistically. “My sword skills are second to none. This holds true for both violence and pleasure. I would gladly assist you in either.” 

Both Mythos and Red Hair (or Joshua, as Mythos calls him) turn back to him. Joshua appears to be seconds away from ripping Barnabas’s head off his shoulders, whilst Mythos just looks at him pityingly.

Mythos sighs. “On second thoughts, prepare the plank.” 

Chapter Text

Not for the first time, Clive feels the urge to strangle Cid. Albeit playfully, the man’s been snarking at him and pushing his buttons the whole morning. It’s starting to irritate him. “Really, Cid,” he huffs. “Sometimes I feel like you want to get hit.”

Cid smirks at him. “By you? Most certainly.”

Clive splutters back. The expectant look Cid’s giving him makes him pause, and a thought comes to him, unbidden. Surely, it cannot be, but… “Cid, are you—are you flirting with me?”

From the corner of the mess, someone groans loudly. Clive turns to see that it’s Gav, who’s pressing his palms against his eyes. “Fucking finally!” he yells. 

There’s a chorus of agreement all around, to Clive’s bewilderment. Even Harpocrates is nodding along.

“I… what?” Clive glances left and right, looking for answers. No one seems inclined to help, their heads ducked in conversation in their own respective groups. He hears little whispers of ‘thought it would take longer’ and ‘fuck there goes my gil’ but he gets zero explanation. 

Cid takes pity on him and nudges his head towards the exit, beckoning him to follow. “Come walk with me, lad.”

Clive makes his way out of the dining hall with Cid, still baffled.

In the privacy of his solar, Cid confesses, “I’ve been flirting with you for some time now, Clive. The folks have an ongoing betting pool on when you’d finally notice.”

Clive’s jaw drops. “What?”  

“Gav’s been begging me to tone it down, to be honest. Says he still hasn’t recovered from the last time I spoke about the many ways I can beat your sword,” Cid says with a waggle of his eyebrows. 

Clive’s cheeks flare up as he finally catches the sly innuendo, weeks late. “I thought we were talking about actual sword fighting!”

“Course ya did.” There isn’t even a hint of sarcasm in Cid’s words. Somehow, that makes it worse. 

“How long has this been going on for?” Clive chokes out. 

Cid pauses to think. “Three moons, give or take? 

Clive stares at him, horrified.

Cid just shrugs. “Anyways. My advances have been getting increasingly obvious. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought you were playing dumb on purpose—but you’re a shit liar. Worst one I’ve met yet.”

“Hey—”

Cid ignores his attempt to protest, barrelling on. “Figures it’d be the hitting comment that would get through to you. Perhaps you have the makings of a masochist, lad. Or a sadist? Did you want to hit me that badly?” 

“Cid!” Clive cries, scandalised. 

Cid winks at him, completely unruffled. “Well, it’s all laid out now. Bet’s over, and my intentions are out in the open. What say you, Clive?”

Clive’s heart sinks at the reminder of the betting pool. “Is… is that why you did it? For the bets and… entertainment?”

“No,” Cid says without hesitation, expression turning serious. “I want you, Clive. I’ve wanted you for a while now. And if we’re being completely honest… I’ve wanted to rip you out of that corset since you came back in it.” 

The bold statement makes Clive’s heart race, but he’s not fully convinced. “I… I thought you said I wasn’t your type.”

Cid visibly winces. “That was… I wasn’t completely with it, at the time. Benna—Benedikta—had just died. Instead of feeling sad about it, I found myself more concerned for you. Felt like a real prick. I’d known her for years, but I couldn’t even mourn her properly.” Cid sighs and sweeps a hand through his hair, agitated. “I took it out on you and—I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” Clive drops his gaze, feeling somewhat disappointed. “But… You don’t have to apologise to me, Cid. It’s okay if I’m not your type.” 

Cid laughs, but it sounds hollow. “That’s where you’re wrong, lad. I lied. You are very much my type. I don’t think it’s possible for you not to be a person’s type. Have you seen yourself? It’s like you were sculpted by the gods themselves.” 

Clive’s gaze is lifted as Cid hooks a finger under his chin to tilt it upwards. Their eyes meet, and the sincerity he sees in Cid’s eyes makes his chest warm and hope bloom from within.

“But that’s not the only reason why I want you. You’re a good man, Clive—kind, thoughtful, honest to a fault. Greagor knows I don’t deserve you, but… if you’re open to the idea, I’d like you to be mine.”  

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Clive asks. “Why bother with this flirting game at all?"

Cid gives him a cheeky grin. “With you strutting around like that, I had to call dibs somehow, didn’t I? The betting pool came about when everyone else saw my attempts at staking my claim—they couldn’t believe how dense you were towards my obvious affections. But as for why I didn’t say it outright…” Cid’s smile gentles as he strokes a thumb against Clive’s stubble. “I didn’t want to pressure you. You’ve been through enough already. If my efforts weren’t getting through to you, then I figured you weren’t ready yet. I was willing to wait.”

The admission makes Clive breathless. No one’s ever thought of him quite like this, and he’s never allowed himself to dream that someone would. He watches with bated breath as Cid closes the distance between them. A hand is curled around his neck as Cid presses their foreheads together.

“Clive, will you be mine?” 

Clive feels like his heart is about to beat its way out of his chest. They’re so close that Clive can see Cid’s face in great detail—the way his eyelashes flutter, the way his mouth trembles as he lets out a shaky breath. When Clive wets his lips, he sees Cid’s eyes track the movement, pupils widening with desire and—

He wants.

Clive presses their lips together in response.

Yes.