Graceful Dahlia

When Marluxia fought, he was a dancer.
Of course, he needed perfect balance to wield the long, sweeping curves of his scythe, but he always claimed that anybody could thrash the thing around wildly and probably have a good chance of killing something. I couldn't even lift it.
So, a lot of the Organisation laughed at him because it was pink, but I'd have liked to have seen them be on the receiving end of that glinting blade that could slice its way through any material given enough force and momentum. Force and momentum that, deceptively, Marluxia possessed.

Fickle Erica

Every week Marluxia was starting on some new pet project in his garden. A month ago he was getting terribly excited about aeroponics - I'd never even known such a thing existed - then water lilies, parasite plants - and this time he'd been spending hours on end in a new room of his garden growing a small, inextensive, but exquisite orchard. I was told he'd been here for no more than four or five months but already his gardens seemed to be larger than the rest of the entire castle at the World that Never Was, an entire sprawling labyrinth with each room and corridor filled with gorgeous, flourishing plants.
I never know where he's going to be when I'm sent to fetch him from a mission, so all I can do is step blindly in through the great double doors at the entrance, take a mindless left, then a right, then another left and so on until I am completely and utterly lost. And just when I'm ready to give up and go back, after the seventh giant Venus fly trap has tried to pluck my head off, he always simply steps out from behind a tree as though he were always there, smiles, and leads the way back out to the corridors of the castle which are so dull in comparison.

Jilted Anemone

"I can't do it," I wail gently in Vexen's general direction. "I can't. I'll screw everything up. I'll ruin it for him."
The ice mage grabs my shoulder with a chilly hand and shakes me until I am forced to stare through the translucent gauze at his wide, green eyes.
"Are you insane?" He hisses irritably. "What is the single worst way to ruin this for Marluxia? To leave him jilted at the loves you, Larxene, and for that he'll forgive you for any minor slip. Set your fears aside; he's waiting for you."
He relinquishes his hold of my upper arm, leaving a tingling sensation behind from the cold, and pushes me forwards before slipping aside. The double doors swing open of their own accord, and I step through, walk down the aisle past row upon row of smiling faces. Marluxia is waiting in white at the front and when he sees me his eyes glitter as though from the heart as he, too smiles. And I know: I could never, ever, doubt myself with him again.

Proud Amaryllis

I wriggle a little deeper into the ample and soft bedding, and Marluxia digs himself down with me so he can hug me close to his chest. He tucks my head underneath his chin and I don't even need to see his face to sense the little smile of accomplishment resting on his lips.

Mad Safflower

When Marluxia grins, sharp canines glinting as white as untouched snow, he looks completely and utterly unhinged. He makes a good show of being more or less reserved for the majority of the time but occasionally I really do wonder if he's a few petals short of a flower. Or several petals too many.
There's one particular mission that I remember well: we'd spent the best part of an hour fighting the heartless in Deep Jungle when we'd come across a stray Stealth Sneak. Our potion stores and health already depleted, I'd have voted to leave out fighting the thing and just take out the small fry until we'd filled our mission gauge. Marluxia disagreed.
"We can take this down," He said with a savage grin, scythe summoned as his side. It was the only time with him that I was actually scared.

Poor Melissa

The way the others treat Marluxia almost makes me feel sorry for him. Sometimes I feel like I'm the only person who actually knows that he's not as "gay" as he looks. The others find it suiting to torment the poor Nobody about everything from his looks to his affinity for flowers, even the way he walks... He pretends to take it all in his stride but I can see that every remark stings a little, inside.
Occasionally I ask him if he's really okay with being so disrespected by the superior members in the Organisation.
"It's their problem if they can't take the fact that I'm more effeminate than normal men," He always replies with a shrug.

Tragic Allium

Only once has Marluxia ever been truly distraught. We'd been dating for what? A week or so? when we returned from a mission to find his garden had been torched to the ground. The wide, sweeping boughs of the trees lining the first room were now nothing more than crumbling shells of ash; burned stalks and sooty remains of delicate, once so vivid petals lay scattered on the floor. I always knew that Marluxia had a tendency to talk to his plants, but only now did I truly appreciate just how close he was to them. As I stood, stunned, in the doorway, he stumbled forwards a few steps then fell to his knees, cradling one charred flower in his hands.
"They're weeping," He murmured, voice strained and so quiet I barely even heard. Then he tugged himself to his feet again. "Months of work. Ruined by a single careless action. How could he?"
For several silent minutes we watched the already crumbling ruins seemingly degrade even further, before Marluxia tensed, fists clenching.
"Step back."
I complied, walking backwards until I felt the solid click of my heels against the tiles of the corridor floor. Marluxia raised both arms in one dramatic gesture, and then suddenly there was a rush of power, so strong as flowers around his feet sprouted, blossomed, bore fruit, spreading solidly in an arc around him. Vines grew around the twisted ashen tree trunks, and when they slipped away white flowers were blooming from the branches, then falling down in a torrent around him, landing to plant snowdrops that in turn gave birth to other plants, each more exotic and spectacular, with names I wouldn't even have been able to pronounce, let alone recall.
As the shock wave of regenerate life shot down the room, Marluxia began to shake a little with the sheer expenditure of energy on regrowing the plants. But still they continued to form, sprout and bloom until I couldn't even see the curve of the border between the plants and the dust any more.
And then, he passed out.

Mournful Cineraria

Marluxia can be melodramatic when he likes.
He is also a master of the "sad puppy" look, enough to rival even Demyx. Whether it's "Larxene, can I sleep in your bed tonight? I'm cold," or "Larxene, you know you want to help me put this pizza in the oven because apparently I'm incapable of doing so unsupervised without blowing things up..." or "Larxene, could you just help me lift this dead body so I can feed my giant man-eating Venus Fly Trap?", he does it constantly, incessantly, and without shame.
The worst thing is, he gets away with it.

Pseudo Silene

When we're alone, it's easy to forget from the way that he acts that Marluxia is just as much a heartless Nobody as the rest of us. He's always so natural around me; the way he talks to me, sympathises with my every problem, holds me close every time that I trick myself into thinking I'm upset that sometimes I can almost swear that somebody made a mistake, and there's his heart, beating softly beneath warm skin pressed close to my ear.
The others we know have their little quirks and we pay them no attention but we agree, largely, on how they should be dealt with. Innocents? That's another story.
When Marluxia levels his scythe to some poor local's face I realise that everything about him, all the warm smiles, the laughter, the empathy he so supposedly feels, is fake. He kills them, without mercy, or respite. To him, they are mere tools to a goal.
It sickens me right in the core of my non-existent being until I realise I'm doing the same, and we take the corridor back the the World that Never Was and cuddle and pretend that we're normal again and forget all about it. We're hollow.

Faithless Digitalis

"Kingdom Hearts" is something of a taboo word with Marluxia. In meetings, when Xemnas rants endlessly on about the pale, bloated moon that hangs over us in the sky, Marluxia will sigh and roll his eyes. If anybody brings it up at the dinner table, or in idle conversation, his eyes will narrow and his lips draw together in a thin, tight, line. If I mention it, when we're alone, he laughs.
"Why?" I hound him one day as we cuddle in the alcoves of the Beast's Castle. "If you don't even believe in Kingdom Hearts, then why are you even in the Organisation?"
"It whiles away the time, I suppose," He murmurs. "The Organisation's goals were once noble," He continues after I glare at him for a moment. "But Xemnas' lust for power has made him blind. It needs... realignment,"
I don't like his tone and my frown deepens. He sighs in the direction of the world at large.
"The truth is I lost faith in the Organisation a long time ago. I'd have simply left, but..." He trails off.
"But what?" I demand, prodding the tense muscles in his arm with my gloved finger.
"But things changed when I found somebody that my heart would love."

Docile Vallota

Idle, lazy Sunday mornings are the best.
Seriously.
When the warm sunlight - fake though it may be - streams in through the cracks in the windows, I feel almost like I have a heart again. And there's Marluxia, breathing slowly and deeply at my side, arm wrapped securely around my shoulders like I'm the one single thing that matters to him most.
I playfully hook one leg around his and pull myself onto his bare chest and he makes a kind of surprised-half asleep grunt and cracks one eye open.
"Larxene."
I toy with his hair a little and he just sighs and leans back into the pillows. I wriggle restlessly and he tucks his hand under my arms and pulls me up in one simple movement to sit on his chest. So I lean down to touch my nose to his and he smiles, reaching up for a gentle, lackadaisical kiss.
We have all the time in the world.

Grim Muscari

"This is it."
Marluxia's face is sordid as we pack to move from the Castle that Never Was to Castle Oblivion in the World Between Worlds.
"Yeah," I reply, stuffing one last pair of lacy underpants into my bag. What we don't say is "This is our only chance," or "If we fail, the Superior will kill us a hundred times over."
When our eyes meet, we never utter the words that are ringing clear in both our minds:
"When we return, we'll be the Superiors."

Fair Helanthius

When the sun shines on Marluxia's face, he is gorgeous. His skin is pale but flawless, the highlights of his hair a silky halo around his head, his eyes bright and deep and a perfect shade of royal blue. No wonder he's so vain.

Solemn Magnolia

Paying respect to the dead isn't something that Nobodies do, and yet here we are. There's some ghost of emotion that has compelled Marluxia to drag me here, in the light, penetrating drizzle, to stand in front of a modest grave no more than three or four feet long.
He sighs a little as I scan the gravestone. The name of a girl. Dates that, to me, mean nothing.
"She was my little sister," Marluxia says quietly. "My parents never thought they'd bear their own child - and when I was ten, a miracle was born -" He ghosts a hand over the fading epitaph, "But she always was living on borrowed time."
He steps back, and closes his eyers. A moment later, the gravestone cracks clean in half as a sprout pushes its way up through the soil like a double speed movie clip, leaves uncurling, buds flowering and blooming... When he opens his eyes again the tree towers above both of us, huge flowers hanging heavily above the tiny grave.
Marluxia turns, into the driving rain. "Let's go."

Stirring Ladle

Marluxia cannot cook. He's wonderful, really, but he's a disaster on legs in the kitchen. None of us are quite sure why, but he seems completely incapable of going near any kind of kitchen utensil without breaking it, burning it or blowing it up. No wonder that back when we were in the Organisation he was banned from the kitchens, after the infamous "pizza incident".
It's crazy, really; he comes from a world where crockery occasionally talks, and still he seems to have no concept of cooking food until it's edible and not until it's black. Or indeed the simple fact that there are some types of food you do not mix.
Still. I love him anyway. I think. Just as long as he keeps away from the saffron.

Dainty Bellflowers

When Marluxia creeps up behind me, he is so light footed that I never hear him until he has literally swept me, screaming, off my feet. I've lost count of the number of times that I have very nearly lethally electrocuted him, thinking he was a pervert, or a Heartless. Luckily enough for him, he gets away with it because he's both.
Occasionally he has the audacity to fling me over his shoulder and parade me around as though I'm nothing more than a toy. But where he takes me after that - that's another matter.

Quiet Belladonna

Marluxia is contemplating. I'm tempted to sneak up behind him and hang a "Do Not Disturb" sign around his neck but I don't because, although he'd not hold it against me, the chances are that he'd take twice as long to formulate whatever plan or scheme or idle philosophy he'd been thinking about and then we'd never get anything done.
Marluxia says that one of the differences between him and me is that he thinks, and I don't. Whether he meant this to be offensive or not, I'm not sure, but I can see where he's coming from. I live each day as it comes. I do what I like. Who cares. He meticulously calculates every little detail, plans himself ahead days, weeks, even years to reach his ultimate goals. I start afresh every time I wake up. He's always living in the past, learning from his experiences and mistakes, gauging risks from previous encounters. He's nostalgic by nature. That's not to say that he's any more or less intelligent than I. But a mind like that does make him extremely good at chess.

Vindicative Thistle

I think Marluxia's been having a bad week.
Training with Demyx is always hilarious, but today Marluxia's really taking it all out on the poor guy as he throws swing after relentless swing of his scythe at the Nocturne without even giving him a single moment to dance his fingers across his sitar and play a few notes so summon a wobbling water clone. We usually grin and cackle with laughter when Demyx is in the arena - but this time Marluxia's mouth is set in a hard, tight line. Slash, slash, slash. Demyx is sent flying backwards and lands, hard, on his butt.
"What did I do?" He exclaims helplessly as he scrabbles to his feet, Marluxia already advancing again. Columns of water appear from nowhere but Marluxia dodges them with ease. "Hey, Mar, ease up. You beat him fair and square," I call from the sidelines, and he stops and foolishly turns around to face me, banishing his scythe.
"Fine."
He doesn't notice Demyx creeping stealthily up behind him until a split second too late- or not. I blink and suddenly Demyx is on the floor with a rather large, pink scythe in his face. He grins a little hopefully.
"H-hey. Okay, you beat me. We knew that from the beginning."
Marluxia smiles, petals claiming his signature weapon once again.
"Good boy."

Parting Ipheion

There's a little note on my bedside shelf one morning, written in neat, upright calligraphy that is both beautiful and almost completely illegible, a bit like its owner.
Larxene
He's never been one for pet names ever since I kept tagging "less" onto the end of his sentences every time he tried to call me sweetheart.
Mansex has decided to torture me once again;
He always was rather long winded, even when writing notes.
In short: Vexen. Atlantica. Two weeks. Hell.
...Occasionally.
Don't be naughty while I'm gone! I'll feel so betrayed if you leave me out of all the fun!
It's easy to forget from his serene outer personality that Marluxia is just as mischievous as me, and sometimes even more petty.
Three perfect little love hearts complete the note. They glitter.
Pompous bastard.
I pick the thing up - with the accompanying rose, which I drop into a conveniently placed vase - and file it away in my posterity box. Marluxia doesn't know I have one. I'm not supposed to be sentimental.

Noble Peony

Marluxia holds himself like a true Prince. He is always perfectly, elegantly poised, body upright and chin tilted just so that he radiates an air of regal power that yields to a time gone by. When he smiles, he smiles softly, always composed.
Me, I lounge and drape myself over chairs, beds, people. Occasionally Marluxia laughs at me and tells me I'm a cat for the way I'll stretch out or curl up on anything. I think we're both cats. I'm lazy; he's the smug kind.
The only time his back isn't perfectly arched is when we lie in bed together, and he tucks me into a little nook created in his chest and curls around me so his body literally becomes a nest. He says its comfortable but it can't be; he's just doing it because he knows I like it. He's noble like that.

Lofty Gerbera

Marluxia treats me differently to the others. I'm the only one he actually respects, the only one whose company he enjoys. The others are worth little to him; they are no more than tools in his eyes. Me? I'm special.

Gallant Achilla

There's this funny thing that Marluxia and I share. As far as we know, we're the only ones that do. I'm not just talking about a bed - what we share is trust.
When we're out fighting, I know I can relax a little and go all out because Marluxia's there, watching my back. If either of us drop too low on health we have trust in the fact that the other will donate a potion. That's why we're so successful together - we've discovered the secret teamwork.
Marluxia began it at the start, I think. At first I found it intensely irritating that he'd always gallantly rush to my rescue if my health fell even anywhere near the critical line. But then I grew accustomed to his favours, then grateful; now it's a thing both of us take for granted.

Fearsome Anise

We've been fighting the small fry for hours, and Marluxia's health is running perilously low. More are on the way and for a moment he lets them hoard around him, clawing at his body and then -
For a split second he's surrounded by a ring of glowing pink-on-black and then one perfectly timed swing of the scythe later, the Heartless are Hearts instead, fading gently into the sky.
Marluxia banishes the Graceful Dahlia and places his hands on his knees, gasping for break. His health gauge is flashing red.
"Potion?" He croaks hopefully.

Hallowed Lotus

The simple fact is, I think as I watch him sleep one morning, Marluxia is amazing. Even as a somebody, I never knew anybody with whom I simply clicked. He's perfect.
The first thing he does when he wakes a few minutes later is smile and peck my lips in a gentle kiss before rolling over with a rustle of silk to trap me in his arms.
"Sleep well?"
"Yeah." I reply sleepily as I tug him down so he's a heavy weight on my chest, and bury my face into his hair. Today it smells a little of strawberries. "Why are you so perfect?"
He chuckles deeply next to my ear, but doesn't reply, hands gently falling down to stroke my hips. I relax completely. One of the many charms Marluxia possesses is the fact that when he touches me it's where he knows I'll like it, and not purely for his own pleasure.
I ask him about it and he sighs softly.
"You'll laugh," He murmurs.
"I always laugh at you. C'mon."
"It's your reactions," He says quietly. "When you smile. At me - it's almost as though..." He pauses, sighing again. "Almost as though I still had a heart,"

Happy 1211 Day! :D

I had an idea for a fanfic like this ever since I saw the names of Marluxia's weapons in KH:358/2Days, and when it came to 1211 day this just fitted perfectly.

Interestingly, another name for the Proud Amaryllis is naked lady; Fair Helanthius's other name is a sunflower, and Faithless Digitalis is a foxglove, which is why Larxene pokes Marluxia.