seventhe | FINAL FANTASY KISS BATTLE 2021!

holla

Heads up, your post says fills can be anon, but I'm getting a "This account has disabled anonymous posting" message

THANK YOU — can you try now and let me know if it works?

Seems to be working!

FINALLY!

but wait oh damn, i forget how do write smooch

Mate this is the exact process my brain went through too!

*squeals in delight to see you here*

I also forget how do write smooch I GUESS WE MUST JUST PRACTICE there's nothing for it! ♥

*snugs* ♥

Just wanted to let everyone know I asked on Discord if there'd be an AO3 collection, and

lassarina was kind enough to make one. It's here:

https://archiveofourown.org/collections/ffkiss2021

Is there any implicit deadline on these? I am trying but it's slow going.

There is no implicit deadline! We did it in February because tradition/Valentine's, but kisses and joy and friendship are welcome year-round!

That's a relief but I'm now going to pretend I didn't see this and try to finish by the end of the month.

Hello! I just saw this event and I wanna join so bad! my limitation is, I'm only familiar with one of the games (I'm going to play another one soon, but sadly I've been super busy). Would it be okay if I joined, writing for only one of the games so far? I know I'd also write at least one story for others before leaving a prompt myself haha.

Thank you in advance! <3

Hi! You are welcome to write for as many or as few games as you might desire; not everyone here is a multi-fandom person. We're excited to see your contributions!

Thank you very much for your answer! I'll be very happyy to contribute, I am in fact already writing two stories :>
I will also be making an account here, for I'm new to the fandom, and I'm excited to know more people!

Of course! Write whatever you like!!

the discord link is invalid :(

I'm very late (the Kiss Battle was dead when I was last on DW! I stumbled on this while Googling!), but are fills still allowed here?

Fills are welcome year round!

I've spent much of the last couple of hours discovering just how many once-lively DW communities are trapped in amber, so getting such a quick response here was practically a jump scare.

(But thank you!)

all the way back to the beginning

Garland/Sarah, duty

It is a quiet assignment at first. In the highest tower, the princess watches the clouds and the sun rise and the sun set, while he watches the door and escorts her to every happenstance beyond it that might require her presence. Her chambers are elegance, bordering on extravagance, but there’s an emptiness in her heart rivaling that of any Garland has ever seen.

She asks him about the world.

He tells her what the son of a peasant would know – of the earth and its bounty, and the sky from below the palace gates. The desperate warmth of the fire in winter, and the spray of the surf at the edge of a sea where mermaids were once said to frolic but no grown man now would believe in them.

She tells him she wants to see them.

He reminds her how impossible that want is.

Still, summer fades into autumn and the townsfolk celebrate their harvest. When orders and harsh words fail to sway him, Princess Sara begs him – not her father, not her mother, not her tutors who have the king’s ear, but him – to spirit her away from this place, for just one night amidst the glow of the lanterns and the beat of the festival drums.

And there’s now a crack in his armor, because what else can he do?

What else can he ever give her?

She kisses his cheek when he yields.

And again, later, after the dancing and the crowd and the fun of the games has left her breathless, beneath the oldest tree at the border of the city, when she asks to see the ocean and he promises her nothing less than the world, she kisses him like in the softest fairy’s stories.

At the end of the night, when she’s safe again in bed, even knowing what is likely to come, Garland finds that he cannot bring himself to believe it was a mistake.

But even without her finery, the princess is obvious for what she is, and when the king hears of what has transpired, Garland is summarily stripped of his station, though not his rank. It was to be expected: the King’s word is higher than that of his eldest daughter. Still, it leaves as bitter taste in Garland’s mouth as Sara’s kiss was sweet.

And as he guards an outpost on the frontier, from an enemy Coneria no longer has, Garland thinks only of how he once promised a princess the ocean.

fuck oh no my HEART

This is so good, the imbalance between them and the choices he makes in his service and the punishment he takes for them, so obvious and yet so inevitable.

thank you ♥ ;_;

don't mind me, i'm just eternally HE WAS A GOOD KNIGHT, UNTIL... ;~;

F!Fighter/M!Thief - Quit Stealing My Junk!

White Mage/Red Mage/Black Mage - The Ninth Circle of Magic

Arylon/Darryl - Show me your dance moves

Garland/Sara - Broken Promises

Let Emperor Pump-Cup Bowie have your smooches!

Hilda/Leila, thrill

There’s a gasp across the court. Queen Hilda presses her fingers to her mouth, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks, and the guard that seized her drags her back from the throne.

“Let her go,” is all the queen says, with a patient sigh.

But that’s why Leila loves her – one reason, anyway – is that even a brigand such as herself can get away with anything.

The guard hesitates, fingers digging into Leila’s arms. Undaunted, the pirate presses her tongue to her teeth.

“You sure?” she asks, flashing a rakish smile, “‘cause I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

I LOVE IT

Rogue and the queen is always a targeted attack on me and this captures why, so well.

Yee. <3 And I mean, as far as favorite FF rogues go, Leila is gotta be up there on my list for the sheer number of fucks she does not now nor has ever given. XD

The Emperor & Leon - Fealty

Hi, I was pretty eager to fill this prompt for my first partaking! Hope you enjoy it!

fealty

thank~♥ :D

man this game was on so much crack i love it

Sara/Ingus, he calls her by her bare name, not her title

Arc/Alus, ties that bind

Doga/Une - In Your Dreams, The End of Days

includes After Years

Edge/Rydia, electric

https://sevdrag.tumblr.com/post/643022511039299584/final-fantasy-kiss-battle-for-rina-edgerydia

iPad won’t let me embed rn ofc

aaaaaaaaaaaa i love it I love it thank youuuuu

her arm! His mask pulled aside! LIGHTNING BOLTS

squeeeeee

hi, i don't even know anything about ff4 but still loved these two smoochin', they look so PLEASED and SPARK-y!

Cecil/Rosa, familiar

Cecil/Rosa/Kain, wild mountain thyme

Edge/Kain, competitive

"Let's blow this place."

Kain looks up to find Edge lurking in the shadows, arms crossed. In his dark clothes and silent shoes he is scarcely perceptible beyond the dense afternoon sunlight that streams into the hall. Kain looks around at the members of the Eblanese delegation mingling with those of the Baronian court, then looks back. Edge shrugs impatiently.

"I'm bored, you're restless, and neither of us is required for this. Let's get out of here."

"This is in your honor," Kain points out.

"Yeah, I'm duly honored, I said so, and now a bunch of people who actually run my kingdom are going to talk to the people who actually run yours, and eventually Cecil and I will be handed pieces of parchment to sign, and in the meantime, my presence is not required." Edge straightens and unfolds his arms. "I can make it a royal command."

Kain just stares at him.

"I hate that you're as good at that as Gramps is," Edge says, and then his voice takes on a wheedling edge. "You're not doing a very good job of pretending to have a good time."

If Kain learned anything at all on their journey, it is that Edge's stubbornness rivals Cecil's, albeit in a more talkative way. If nothing else, it would behoove him to ensure the King of Eblan does not wander where he ought not and come to harm. He sighs and turns to face Edge fully. "Very well."

"Any reason we can't go outside castle walls?" Edge asks as they walk, not quite shoulder to shoulder, to the exit.

"I suppose not, although Your Majesty should--"

"My majesty is not planning on bringing guards. If you can't keep me safe, what the hell will they do?" Edge keeps walking as though his words have not nearly rooted Kain's feet to the stone floor. He shakes his head and hurries to catch up.

"What did Your Majesty have in mind?" Kain asks when he draws even with the ninja again.

"To start, for you to call me by my name, not my title," Edge says. "To continue.....wanna race?"

Kain blinks. "What?"

"Race. When two or more people run from a starting point to an ending point and see who arrives first?"

"I know what a race is, Your--" He cuts himself off at the eloquent raised eyebrow above the ninja mask. "Edge."

"So let's have one."

"Do you only propose contests you are certain of winning?" As soon as the words are out, Kain winces. He knows better, has been trained better, and whether or not Edge is a friend it is not an appropriate way to speak to a monarch.

"Certainly not," Edge says. "It's no fun if there's no competition."

Kain waits.

Edge sighs. "I'll give you a head start," he offers.

Edge has settled on something he wants to do, and there is no point in arguing. Kain nods assent and Edge whoops loudly enough to draw the attention of the guardsmen at the gate. When they look, he waves cheerfully and strolls across the courtyard to the gate.

"His Majesty desires a walk," Kain says when the guards look to him for direction.

The elder of them frowns, then clearly decides that this is a problem to be handled farther up the chain of command than he is--specifically, by Kain--and waves them through. It is, truthfully, a beautiful day to be outside, with the scent of sun-warmed grass and a cooling breeze to keep the summer's day from becoming oppressive. Kain rolls his shoulders and draws a deep breath. Formal affairs put him on high alert, reminding him of Golbez, and he endures them for Cecil and Rosa's sakes but is never glad of them.

He wonders if Edge knows that.

Edge wanders along the castle wall, avoiding the road that leads into Baron city proper, his eyes narrowed as he surveys the expanse of cleared land between the castle and the forest. "Alright," Edge says abruptly. "From the post there--" He points at a marker for the guards' rounds--"to that oak with the lightning scar there." His arm swings to point at the forest, perhaps a mile distant.

Kain is glad he was not required to wear ceremonial armor to the reception. He wiggles his toes inside his boots. They should do well enough.

"No jumping for you," Edge continues, "and no ninjutsu for me. And since you're more of the muscled stalwart type, I'll give you a thirty-second head start."

Kain only barely contains the urge to splutter and only because it will serve only to encourage Edge. When he has control of himself, he looks at Edge, w ho looks mildly disappointed. "Accepted,," he says.

He can tell Edge is smiling by the crinkling lines at the corners of his eyes. "On my mark," Edge says, strolling toward the post. Kain lines up with him and looks ahead to the goal.

"Ready," Edge says, and lets a pause spin out to a length of pointless drama. "Mark!"

Kain takes off running, the grass thick and cushiony beneath his feet, and counts the seconds in his head. He hears Edge's footsteps behind him right on time, and ducks his head to push himself harder. He has kept in good trim since his return from Mt. Ordeals, but he was never especially fast; Dragoons are, as Edge mockingly noted, a heavy-armor profession, and stamina is more important than speed for them. (He dares not think what Edge would make of that fact.) He hears footsteps drawing closer even as he approaches the forest, and he knows that Edge is choosing to let him hear his approach; he has seen Edge run in silence over sand and gravel to strike an enemy. He sees it for a courtesy, and he is nearly to the trees--

A dark blur whips past him, reaching the storm-split oak when he has several strides to go. He does not slacken his pace, more for pride than anything, and draws to a halt in the cool shade of the trees, turning back to the goal. Edge is breathing deeply but not harshly, fists resting on his hips. He has pulled off the ninja mask and his face is flushed with effort.

"So, not enough of a head start then," Edge says as Kain comes within reach.

"Was that not your intent?"

"Well, I accomplished my goal," Edge says, "which was to get you out of that room and out of your own head." Kain can tell he does not control his expression well enough, because Edge shrugs. "You were standing there like you'd been lashed to a spear to keep upright and trying not to curl in on yourself. Clearly you were miserable. Since, as I've said, there was no point to either of us being in there, I figured I'd give you something better to do."

The welling of gratitude surprises him. He swallows hard. "Your care is appreciated," he says, and it is too formal, but his throat is too tight for more.

"Care," Edge muses aloud, and his gaze is too sharp, sees too much. "That's a way to put it."

He has never been good with words, always better with action. He takes a step closer until he can feel Edge's warmth, close enough to touch. Edge holds his gaze. If he has read wrongly, he is like to find himself filleted by ninja blade, so Kain is slow--very slow--to raise his left hand, curl it behind Edge's neck without quite touching, and lean in until their lips touch. Edge's mouth is warm, the faint scrape of stubble sharp against Kain's lip, and he holds stock-still for a long moment before he digs his hands into Kain's hair, thoroughly disarranging the formal court braid, and yanks Kain full against him, biting sharply at Kain's lower lip and turning to shove him against a tree, where he pins him with more kisses, with his nails sharp on Kain's scalp, with the warm weight of him.

"Is even this a competition with you?" Kain asks, gasping for breath, when Edge finally releases his mouth and starts nipping his way along Kain's jaw.

Edge pauses, then looks up at him, eyes dancing. "Last one naked has to--"

Kain hastens to silence him in the most efficient--and pleasant--way, but they are both laughing as they fall into the sun-warmed grass in a tangle of limbs.

RINA. oh my gods holy hell. This is the first fiction of yours i've ever read, and wow you are beyond good. You paint the setting so well I could SEE everything happening in my head. I loved this!

stamina is more important than speed for them. (He dares not think what Edge would make of that fact.)

This had me sputtering, heh.

I am looking forward to reading more of your work!

ok if you can picture me doing the lalafell panic emote that is exactly what is happening, lol. (Happy panic! but also panic because someone noticed me aaaaaa) Thank you so much! I love writing these two--their banter is never ending entertainment for me--and I'm so happy you liked it. :)

JEKFKGHJKAJWKDLRLFLFKGKGKGKT Y E S

IDIOT BOYS

Cecil/Kain (optional Cecil/Kain/Rosa) — forgivenessz

"I have no intention of begging you to forgive me."

His head was kept down, his eyes fixed on the fine carpet of the king's private sitting room. Too bad he had no reason to be armored, for the helm had the additional benefit of shielding his eyes from view. At least in the presence of the king - even a king who was an old friend, or had been - it was appropriate for him to stand barely inside the door, head bowed.

The king in question sighed faintly. "I wouldn't anyhow - I forgave you years ago."

Kain almost looked up in frustration, but caught himself. "...What I came here about didn't happen years ago, Cecil."

"The beginnings of it did. And I've told you before, I don't blame you. How could I, when I love her too? It's more curious to me that everyone doesn't love her."

"You wouldn't blame me for the thoughts, of course," Kain muttered. "For the desires. Of course you could understand and forgive those. But what you called me here about was an action resulting from those thoughts and desires... That's different."

At the edge of his vision, he could see Cecil shake his head. "Different, but not unforgivable. And if you would not ask for or accept my forgiveness, why did you come?"

"For one, because you called me here, and you are my king." Before Cecil could open his mouth to object, Kain went on. "For another, though I can't ask your forgiveness for myself, I would ask it for Rosa. It was my own selfishness that prompted it, and I would not have you angry at her for my lack of self-control."

"...Kain..." Cecil had been seated at the small tea table, but there was the soft scuffing of wood upon carpet as he pushed his chair back and stood. "...I wasn't angry with you when I called you here, but you're doing a good job of changing that." There was a brief pause, an almost inaudible, bitter chuckle. "You were always good at getting under my skin."

"I'm sorry." For that, and many other things.

"Do you think so little of her," Cecil continued, "that she's so weak as to be helpless before you? You know her better than that. If she hadn't wanted you to kiss her, she wouldn't have let you."

There was some truth to that, Kain had to admit - and it was also true that Rosa had not seemed the slightest bit reluctant when a quiet evening together to "catch up" after his deployment had somehow led to holding hands, leaning in... "I'm sure I took her by surprise," Kain stated, shaking off the memory. "Surely she didn't mean it - it was only an instinctive reaction."

Again there was the slightly bitter chuckle. "Oh, she meant it. She told me herself."

That time Kain looked up. And yes, Cecil was regarding him with a grim expression. "She's no fool, Kain. She's smart, careful, thoughtful. She doesn't just... slip up, like you seem to think she did, and honestly it's insulting that you would even say so."

"That wasn't my intention, I'm sorry," Kain muttered. He'd come here to apologize for kissing his best friend's wife, and now here he was apologizing for inadvertently insulting her, too.

It was almost as if Cecil hadn't heard his apology, for his tone didn't change at all. "Rosa knows what she wants, and who. You didn't overpower her, or surprise her, or confuse her. You offered her something she wanted, and she accepted it."

Kain stopped short. Once he would have been thrilled to hear such a thing, and even now he found a lightness rising in his heart at the thought that... Rosa wanted him? That Rosa had changed her mind? But that fluttering hope was overwhelmed now by shame and guilt. "I'm sorry," he said again.

"For what, Kain? For offering her something she's wanted for years? She'd have let it go further, if you hadn't run off like you did!"

"I'm sorry for causing problems between the two of you," Kain said evenly, despite the frustration apparent in Cecil's rising voice. "Between my two oldest friends. I never meant to do either of you harm, or your marriage."

"And I'm telling you, you haven't!"

Cecil was being absurd, and finally Kain snapped. "How can you say that, when you're practically shouting at me? You're talking as if none of this makes any difference to you at all, but just listen to yourself, Cecil! If you're not angry about this, what the hell are you so angry about?"

"I'm-" Cecil cut off the beginnings of another nearly shouted retort, and managed to swallow some of his obvious anger before completing the thought. "...I'm angry at myself, Kain. Not you."

Despite their rivalries and the differences between them over the years, Cecil was Kain's best friend, and had been since they were children. Kain knew that feeling all too well - anger at oneself over not being good enough, making the wrong decisions, saying the wrong things... being in the wrong place at the right time, simply not measuring up. Failing to win Rosa's heart.

The difference was, Kain was certain that Cecil was mistaken. "...Come on, Cecil," he said reluctantly. "You've always been the better man between us. She loves you. She always has. Look - there are things I can attend to out of town for awhile, even if I'm supposed to be on furlough."

Cecil shook his head - now it was the king standing in his own sitting room, head hung low as if he didn't dare to meet Kain's eyes. "You don't have to do that."

"What would you have me do then?" Kain asked. "Do you want me to talk to her? Because honestly..." And it was honest, no matter how much it hurt his heart to think that he might, after all these years, finally have a chance with the girl he had always loved... and that he might have to turn her down. But for Cecil... "...I would."

"I do want you to talk with her," Cecil said quietly. "I want all three of us to sit down and have a talk. But first, I just wanted to... get some things straight. Just between the two of us."

Kain nodded slightly, as Cecil raised his head again, looking him in the eye. "I owe you that much and more. Whatever you have to say, I'll listen. And answer as best as I can."

"I hope so." The quiet words were not quite a whisper, more like a breath, and then Cecil raised a hand, beckoning to him. "Come over here, will you?"

Kain did as he requested, though somewhat puzzled and more than a little wary. They'd been talking just fine with him standing practically in the doorway all this time. It was possible Cecil wanted to get one good punch in... and Kain supposed he deserved that.

As he'd suspected, Cecil reached out when he came close enough, resting a hand on Kain's shoulder as if to keep him there. There was something... odd about it, though. Cecil looked more worried than angry now - second thoughts?

Well, Kain wouldn't let him back down. "...Go on," he urged Cecil, the hint of a taunt creeping into his voice, just like when they'd been young, fighting with wooden practice swords. "Take your best shot."

From the small curl at the edge of Cecil's lip, Kain thought Cecil must be remembering the same. "Oh... I will." Cecil hesitated only a moment longer before moving abruptly - but not to strike him.

Kain's eyes widened as suddenly Cecil's mouth was pressing against his. Not hard, not demanding - Cecil's kiss was soft and careful. Warmth, Kain thought wonderingly, as his eyes changed their mind and closed absently, but without heat. Not so unusual, for the two of them had never, in all the years they'd known each other, spoken of such possibilities. It was no wonder why Cecil might be cautious. But...

Kain had not quite decided what he thought about that before it was over, Cecil drawing back and letting his shoulder loose, turning his head to the side. "That's what I mean, about being angry with myself. ...She's braver than I, Kain. Braver than either of us, probably."

"...I think I agree." That had been unexpected, and Kain found himself slightly breathless in spite of the kiss having been so soft. Come to think of it, that explained... at least a few moments in their youth that he'd never quite been able to explain before. Both Cecil's behavior, and his own.

And just like that, it was as if the both of them were the same awkward youths again, uncertain how to express what they really meant, what they really wanted. Kain just didn't know what to say, and Cecil was slightly flushed, his eyes averted, as he asked. "So, ah... I don't know if that... did anything for you...?"

As if he was not a man married years now. Kain had somewhat less experience, or so he would have assumed, having mostly lived a life of seclusion for the last while. And he didn't know whether it had or not - he'd been too surprised by it happening at all to determine whether he enjoyed it or not.

So perhaps honesty was, in this case, the best policy. "I'm not sure." And even as Kain spoke, he recognized a small shiver of anticipation. "...Maybe you should try it again."

"Hm." That seemed to reassure Cecil somewhat, and he smiled slightly before once again leaning in. "All right..."

This time Kain was ready, waiting to feel Cecil's lips against his own and truly consider what he thought about it. This time Cecil seemed a bit more confident, for it was more an actual kiss than a brush of the lips, but still gentle, undemanding. Nice, certainly not repulsive to Kain, but merely... nice.

And thus he was not sure what to say when Cecil backed off again, and again asked. "Well...?"

"...Not bad..." Cecil had been wanting this for awhile, Kain realized suddenly, taking his actions and his words into context. Wanting it, and too afraid - where Rosa hadn't been. So of course he still looked wary, of course he still was being gentle, trying not to... scare Kain away? Was that it?

It had to be. But not trying to get the better of him wasn't the Cecil he knew, Kain thought. Hoping he wasn't about to cross the line, Kain let himself smirk slightly. "...But I mean, come on. I've been kissed harder by your wife."

For a moment, Cecil looked stunned, indignant. Then he appeared to recognize what Kain was doing, and a slow grin spread across his face. "You're asking for it, Highwind."

"Yeah, well, I'm ready whenever you are."

Now that was more like it, Kain thought with satisfaction as Cecil's mouth met his again, pressing more firmly, lips parting as Kain's did, as if to drink each other in. Cecil's hand was on his shoulder again, the other wrapping around his waist... but almost gingerly. Kain found his own hand on Cecil's jaw, guiding their mouths together...

"Better," he acknowledged when they again parted, this time not so far, for Cecil's arm was still around his waist, and Kain's other hand had drifted up to take him by the arm. Since that had worked so well... "But I think you're still holding back. Or is that really all you've got?"

Clearly Cecil knew exactly what he was playing at. "...You're right, I was holding back," he muttered, if rather cheerfully.

The next time they parted, Kain was shoved up against the wall. It had been some time since he'd done... anything of this nature. And yes, now he was certain that Cecil's kiss definitely did something for him. As did the sight of Cecil so close against him, panting... but grinning. "Had enough? Or do you want more?"

"...You know," Kain observed, "now I'm going to need to go apologize to Rosa later." And given the way this apology had gone, and what Cecil had had to say about the incident with Rosa... "...And maybe then come apologize to you again."

"I'm going to need to apologize to her too," Cecil pointed out, leaning against Kain's shoulder as he held him up against the wall. "Not that she doesn't know what this meeting was to be about. She suggested if it went well, we might come and... apologize to her... together, later."

Now that was an intriguing thought.

OH MY GODDDDDDDDDD THIS IS PERFECT I WOULD LIKE TEN THANKS

Thank you! ...I have been thinking about writing this OT3 for something like 15 years but I think this is the first time I've ever gotten far enough that all three of them know they're supposed to be an OT3, so thank you for prompting! (I am much better at actually writing things when people are ASKING for them to be written. :D)

gdi, kain, let yourself be loved! XD

Unfortunately my OTP since around 1993 is Kain/self-loathing angst, hahahahah. (But then somewhere in the mid 00s I learned that there is such a thing as OT3 and well... why not both?)

high five, best OTP

OH MY GOD

I LOVE ALL OF THESE IDIOTS

this is glorious, thank you, I love it so much ♥ I'm so in love with Kain being a fucking idiot and Cecil being like "actually" and FUCK YES for Rosa knowing exactly what she wants and going for it, and Cecil being mad about Kain being an idiot about it, and Kain being so caught up in his own self-loathing

YES

GOOD.

Oh, yes. Very good. :D

A fic for you! :D

Edge/Rydia/Kain, any element

Rydia/Kain - Bloodied not broken

Rydia & Mist Dragon - Orphan

Rydia & Bahamut - Irreverence to One's God

Edge/Rydia, home sweet home

Cecil/Kain/Rosa, training

The yard was cleared, and every man and woman in training was padded up in sparring armor and handed a wooden sword dyed with red. And although a wooden sword in the hands of a master could do serious damage, the field was filled with novices and there were white mages on hand to tend any injuries.

The exercise was simple: don't get killed - meaning, slashed hard enough for the dye to sink in - in the free-for-all.

One arm across his chest, Kain was staring at the ground. Cecil elbowed him in the ribs, prompting Kain to look up; it wasn't the instructor that had caught his gaze, but a flit of pink silk ahead of the crowd. Both of them watched as Rosa's light and dainty steps carried her to the instructor's podium.

"...last one standing wins," their instructor finished speaking. The man glanced down to the girl who tugged his sleeve, and for an inaudible sentence or two Rosa held ear. Smiling wryly, he added, "And earns the Lady's favor."

Across the yard, several of the trainees clearly perked up.

Kain stared, raising an incredulous eyebrow. "What... does she think she's doing?"

"Giving us incentive," Cecil glanced around the yard, weight shifting from one foot to the other. "I think."

Rosa had no problem finding them in the crowd. Catching Cecil's eye, she winked.

"On my mark...!"

The pair of them shifted as the rest of their peers braced themselves. They were in the thick of it, and that didn't bode well for either of them.

"Cecil, how far would you trust me?"

"What? Are you joking?" Kain didn't answer, and Cecil sighed harshly. "To the moons and back. Why?"

"Good. Stay at my back, and we're sure to win this."

We.

Cecil nodded.

"I've got your back."

"As I've got yours."

"Fight!" echoed across the yard.

It was a crush, all around them. Many 'fell' within the first few seconds, and many more didn't last to claim any kind of victory worth celebrating. With Kain at his back, and Cecil watching Kain's in turn, they managed to hold back the tide until there were only a handful of combatants left in the challenge.

Then fewer.

Then none, as Kain spun, sword swinging in a backhand grip to slash across the chest of the last who tried to catch Cecil's unguarded shield-arm. It left a bright red stain across the boy's armor.

Silence fell across the yard, and between them as they were left facing one another. Smirking, Kain grabbed for Cecil's hand and raised it - and his own - high in victory. Cecil breathed out a long sigh, before he grinned himself.

"That's cheating," one voice - a mage's son, now seeking the path of the sword for himself - called out.

There was a rumble of agreement, but their instructor shook his head. "Did I say you couldn't make alliances, lad?"

Neither Kain nor Cecil paid as much attention to the lecture that followed, as Rosa jumped down from the podium and ran toward them, stepping between the rest of the some-day warriors - some of whom remained on the ground, others who were in the process of finding their feet again.

The would-be mage didn't say a word, but pulled the scarf from her hair as she reached them. Raising herself up on her toes, she pressed a soft kiss to Cecil's cheek. With a quick pivot, she turned to grant Kain the same, though he didn't smile half as wide.

Beaming at them, she flitted away towards the gate, and they watched her go.

"Highwind! Harvey!" The instructor's voice brought them back down to earth. "Lessons concluded for the day. The rest of you sorry lot..."

Kain caught his eye, and Cecil looked down at the silk scarf tangled in his fingers. Grinning, Cecil shoved it into Kain's hands, leaning over to kiss him, too; blinking, Kain scoffed and gave him a shove.

Cecil darted off to follow Rosa.

Kain rubbed his cheek, and dashed to catch up.

*S H R I E K I N G*

THIS! OMG THIS!!!! 😍😍😍 this met and exceeded all my expectations. Look at all those kisses! Look at those boys teaming up and being badass! Especially love Kain's reaction after Cecil gives him a kiss, like HOW DARE YOU but you know he also loves it. Wow, what an utter delight. Thank you so much for writing this! 💕💕💕💕💕

♥~! :)

~~Accept the affection, Kain!~~

eeeeeeee look at them, so cute! I love the "to the moon and back," and the two of them back to back as they ever were, and yessssssssss this is delicious, thank you for writing it ♥

♥♥♥ :D

Rydia doesn't remember him.

Oh, she does, but in her memory he's like a dream, hazy, made only of shadow and fire and smoke. She doesn't remember him like this, flesh and blood and human, with a quiet, solemn face not terribly different to Cecil's or Rosa's or her own, when she looks in a mirror.

She presses her face right up to his. Kain draws back, eyes narrow, and she searches their depths for all the dark, hidden things he might keep there.

When she refuses to yield, Kain reaches for her hand and clasps her fingers gently. It almost causes her to glance down, but his eyes never leave hers as he raises her knuckles to his lips. She's not quite sure what he means by it, but it's soft for a man who guards his softness so fiercely.

He takes his leave with a small bow of his head, finding another corner of the camp to keep watch from, and she watches him still. She feared fire, once, before she learned how to shape it to her will and it became an ally. In the quiet of her mind, she wonders if men can be shaped likewise.

[it me again, needing to remember when dreamwidth logs me out. XD]

I LOVE THIS. You write such delicious things and hnnnnnnngh I love this pairing, and the references to how Kain guards his softness and the things he hides, and also, fuck yeah, Rydia, you shape him to your will ~~he'll love it~~

♥!

Wild!Rydia is the most dangerous Rydia but also the best Rydia. ~~Kain will definitely love it.~~

*hits subscribe on this newsletter so fast*

~~now you're giving me ideas~~

*sidles up* ideas you say

smooches for MEN, LADIES, and LADIES WHO DRESS LIKE MEN

Bartz/Gilgamesh, duel

(I AM SHOCKED AT MYSELF for not only actually writing something but being the first to post a fic! Here is a short little something. I hope you like it, and let me know if I should post it on AO3.)

Passion: the essence of wind. These days Bartz often wondered why the wind crystal chose him. He hadn't felt very passionate about anything for a while, not since...

...but that didn't bear thinking about.

It was after the worlds merged, after they had defeated Neo Exdeath, after they had met a year later in the recovering Forest of Moore. It had been good to see Krile, Lenna, and Faris then; they had reminisced over their journey together, laughing over things that only close friends could. Yet Bartz couldn't help feeling like something had been missing from their gathering, and after they had parted ways, he set off with Boko on another adventure, hoping that would spark his passion again.

It didn't.

He spent time at Phoenix Tower first, hoping the challenging enemies there would stir him, but he found himself fighting mechanically and didn't feel a thrill when he won.

He next visited the place where Fork Tower had stood, where he once had an epic battle against Omniscient that had seemed to last hours. But the tower was gone, and besides, it wasn't what he was truly looking for anyway.

He spent some time at the Library of the Ancients, reading book after book. The researchers there would ask him what he was searching for, but he'd never respond. Was it embarrassment, perhaps, that prevented him from answering, "...Exdeath's castle"? He wondered why he should feel embarrassed at that, but the answer didn't come. Instead he read and read, but found nothing to change the knowledge deep in his heart that he knew to be true: that Exdeath's castle did not exist in this merged world.

Finally, he found himself wandering to the castle where the Twelve Legendary Weapons were once sealed. Why he went there, he wasn't sure; it couldn't hold what he was seeking. But he had visited just about everywhere else -- might as well finish the job, he thought.

He climbed the stairs to the chamber of the weapons. The gates to the shrines were open, the weapons gone, as he knew they would be. He was just telling himself this was pointless, it was stupid, when a voice sounded behind him.

"... Bartz?"

Bartz felt his heart skip a beat. He turned slowly. "Gilgamesh", he said. " What are you doing here?"

"I had heard something about legendary weapons. Thought I'd check them out," Gilgamesh replied.

"They're gone. We used them in the fight against Exdeath."

"Oh." Gilgamesh paused. "How are you?"

How am I? Bartz thought. What a totally asinine question, coming from him. But he ignored answering the question, saying instead, "Gilgamesh. You said in the rift you wanted to fight me one more time. Did you mean it?"

"I did."

Bartz drew his weapon. "Then let us fight!"

"Gladly!" Gilgamesh said, and drew his sword.

They clashed together, again and again, and Bartz felt his blood singing as metal rang against metal. *This* was what he had been missing from his life. It wasn't battle in general he had craved, but a duel against him, who seemed to read all his moves as if they shared one mind. Slash, cut, parry, slash again: Gilgamesh met him with each thrust.

He could do this forever.

Except he couldn't. All the passion in the world was no match for the weakness of the flesh. They clashed one last time, swords screaming as their edges caught, faces inches apart, yet Bartz could not hold the position for long.

He found the sword slipping from his grasp. But Gilgamesh was RIGHT THERE, already dropping his arm so as not to hurt Bartz, and some instinct made Bartz reach his hands up to grab Gilgamesh face, and kissed him.

Bartz had expected to hear a soft sound of surprise from the other man, but it didn't come. Instead, Gilgamesh took Bartz in his arms and kissed him back. All the longing Bartz had felt this year slipped away to a sense of rightness.

Perhaps the wind crystal had known what it was doing all along.

*squeals*

*rolls in this*

*squeals more*

I love this oh my god yes please post this to AO3! It is fantastic! I love tying it back to his element, and the places he looks for inspiration, and I love love love LOVE the way the kiss comes after the duel.

THANK YOU!!

Eeeeeeee I'm so glad you like it! It was one of those things that practically wrote themselves, thanks to how familiar I am with FFV due to the Fiesta.

(Incidentally, I *did* battle Omniscient for hours. It was a Fiesta run where I had no mages and no good way to cheese the fight, so I ran out his MP. Do Not Recommend.)

OMG THIS IS LOVELY

Lenna & Faris — familial

The dress was laid out on her bed, pristine as always. Faris glared at it, wondering how long it would be before someone took the bloody hint that she wasn’t about to wear the thing.

“You don’t like it?”

She turned her head to find Reina staring at her, expression as serene as always.

“It belonged to mother,” she said, of the dress.

Well, that explained something of its persistent thorny presence in her life. But Faris wasn’t her mother, and the way everyone else behaved around the castle, she doubted her mother would have been much too proud of her, no matter what she was wearing.

“Do you... remember her at all?”

“Aye,” Faris answered. “I remember her fine. Not so much her wearin’ that.”

“If memory serves, she got it after you...” Reina trailed off, growing quiet. “After.”

Faris dropped into a chair, draping her legs, one of the other over its armrest. She stared at the ceiling. Here, she had an entire kingdom at her fingertips and she felt stifled, like a caged up bird with clipped wings.

“Is there anything I can do?” Reina asked.

Faris flicked her gaze towards her.

She didn’t mean to worry her, or anyone else.

She didn’t belong here.

The thought cut her like a knife. The raw honest truth.

Dragging herself back to her feet, Faris strode across the room to where her sister stood by the door. Taking Reina’s face in her hands, Faris kissed her forehead softly.

“I be fine, lass,” she assured her, “don’t ye trouble y’rself.”

Reina didn’t look convinced, but Faris flashed her a conniving smile. A few moments of quiet contemplation more, and the princess took her leave.

And so did Faris.

Stealing herself right out the bloody window.

yes I love this, the layers of guilt and history and both of them trying, but Faris not willing to compromise herself for anything, including Reina. A+++ ♥

♥♥♥

Faris/Butz - A Daring Rescue

Faris & Syldra - Sea Spray

Whatever he'd dreamed kissing the Pirate King would be like, the reality of it proves so much more.

Faris never does anything in half-measures; her kisses are like fire, searing the air from his lungs. She's warmth and passion and a strange kind of devotion, when it strikes her, and perfectly capable of leading him in this dance.

And if he were to falter...?

Well... he won't think of that.

Instead, Butz keeps up, as deftly as he's able. Touch for touch, move for move; so far, so good.

And when they break apart, breathless both, she studies the depths of his eyes shrewdly. He doesn't so much as flinch; she gives the slightest raise of her chin, then grants him a wicked smile that only makes him love her that much more.

i'm a treasure hunter!

Locke/Celes, stolen kisses

Cyan/Elayne, first time

i regret nothing

.

A wild rose in hand, head full of poetry, he visits her garden after second watch, and the moon keeps its own vigil high above. Flowers are abloom in the moonlight, and there’s a sweetness in the air that captures well what dwells within his heart.

Only his tongue is suddenly forged of lead, and he can’t remember the words he’s written. Elayne listens to him stumble, sighs gently, and relieves him of the rose with an amused smile. She kisses him softly under the moon and stars.

Cyan stammers a gruff pleasant evening, before escaping back into the darkness.

...erm. this was me, not that it matters too much i suppose...

aaaaaah it matters for me to tell you I love it! I love his awkwardness, and her grace, and how he memorized things for her and then forgot. Exactly what I wanted. THANK YOU!

♥

he tries very hard and we (and Elayne) love him for it ok? XD

Ahhhhh he forgot what he was going to say and he was so embarrassed. :D I love it

<3

What is in a knight's heart cannot always be directly translated into a knight's head, Cyan, sometimes you just gotta feel it. :)

OKAY HEY THIS IS EXCELLENT. One of the things I love most about Cyan's character is all the points where it becomes clear that behind all of his considerations of propriety and duty, he is just a massive, awkward dork. He can't remember what he's written. She has to relieve him of the rose. Gah! This is a delight!

thank! :D

Cyan, the world's greatest swordsman.

Also Cyan, "Can we stand next to each other at the King's Court, maybe?"

Edgar/Locke, sly

https://radicarian.tumblr.com/post/643427121932517376/for-the-final-fantasy-kiss-battle-edgarlocke

omg, I love it! I am wheezing with laughter at your captions, too. Does Edgar even know what cash is? If he does, he won't hold on to it for long before Locke sneaks away!

Thank you so much!

aaa those mouths!

A+ Dreamworksesque expressions. A+ everything. The pair of them seem poised and ready to undertake some ill-advised caper if they haven't already done so.

Terra/Celes, opposites attract

Terra/Celes, finding your place in the world together

Celes/Shiva, let me in

...am I crazy or was there a reply here?

Hi, yeah, there was, but in retrospect I started to worry it would read as trolly or bad-faith, and I deleted it. Sorry for the confusion, and I'll see myself out.

-the author of that comment

Fair enough, it was a good ficlet though

Locke/Shadow, not all scars show

Setzer/Daryl/Maria, saying goodnight after the show

"Will you come up tonight?" says Darill, one hand toying with Setzer's cravat, her eyes glinting in the darkness.

Maria wishes she could say yes. Going up, with all the connotations that signifies: rising into the air in a contraption that most people have never dreamt of, let alone built with their own hand; watching the buildings below slowly shrink away and lose all significance, until all she has to concentrate on is what really matters - these two grumpy, passionate geniuses. Maria loves it. She loves them.

But a new show is opening tomorrow, and she has lines to go over.

"We're taking the Blackjack," says Setzer. "So there'll be space to move, at least." He pauses, glances at Darill, and adds, slightly abashed, "We tossed for it."

Darill rolls her eyes, and mouths towards Maria, Men. But she moves her hand up to cup Setzer's chin, and brings her mouth to his for a swift kiss, to make it clear she holds no grudge.

Setzer's gaze is fierce with devotion - he's the youngest of them, and his utter loyalty to both his lovers has an intensity that Maria finds truly thrilling - and when he turns it on her, she briefly thinks, Maybe I know my lines enough? What harm could one evening off do?

But the responsibility of her role comes back to her, and she knows she has to decline. She's only been the leading lady for a short while, and she can't put a foot wrong; and these two know that. They know what it's like to have a dream, and to put everything into realising it. They've always taken her aspirations just as seriously as their own, even though theirs are forged from gears and grease, and hers are of an entirely different nature.

"I'm sorry," she says. "The new show starts tomorrow night - I have to make sure I'm ready."

"That Impresario works you too hard," says Darill. She steps forward, takes a lock of Maria's hair between her fingers, and kisses her softly; Maria feels Darill's eyelashes fluttering against her own. "You were wonderful tonight, darling," Darill murmurs. "As always."

Maria smiles, and brushes her hand against Darill's cheek, until Darill steps back and gives Setzer a jovial nudge. "Your turn," she says teasingly.

Setzer doesn't need telling twice; he stands before Maria, clasps both her hands in his, and meets her with his own kiss, stronger and less refined than Darill's, hungry with desire. Maria matches his passion, pressing her lips against his keenly, until Setzer breaks the connection, now noticeably red in the face, and says in a low voice, "We'll miss you up there."

"Come on," says Darill, before Maria can respond. "We'll leave the lady in peace. Don't get too distracted from your lines, darling" - and she winks at Maria and slips an arm around Setzer's waist, and Maria grins, knowing her face is probably as flushed as Setzer's, and replies, "I'll try not to. Have fun."

"We will," says Darill, and the two of them walk off, hand in hand, Setzer gazing over at Darill with that devoted look on his face once again, and Maria pushes the thought of her lines aside for a moment so she can give the sight her full attention before it vanishes into the darkness.

Yaaaaay :D This is very cute and good and I love how she is just so smitten with both of them.

Glad you liked it! My first attempt at anything remotely resembling poly and I had a great time!

oh, this is delightful. I love the idea of tehir different dreams, pursued as intensely by all of them, and Maria's dedication to her role. So good.

Setzer/Celes, angry kisses

Setzer has never gotten the impression when she kisses him that she is angry at him. It's always something else, hanging over her head and just out of her reach - she has to show a cold and unfeeling face to the world or she will be called overemotional, perhaps, so she hides the anger and grief and only lets it show when she feels comfortable.

It wasn't a bad thing, he mused, kissing her back as happily as he could manage; if nothing else, it meant that she obviously trusted him enough to let him see what she hid from the rest of the world.

I love this!! Especially the idea that Celes can let her guard down around Setzer. *chef's kiss* That's the good stuff right there ♥

ageiahg this was unexpectedly adorable, tyty

This is peak Celes/Setzer content and I'm absolutely here for it 💕

aaaaaaaaaaaaaah YES GOOD this is perfect, especially the undercurrents of hiding/"overemotional" compared with her life/career before the game, YES. good.

I love all the undercurrents at play here: Celes' careful management of her interior life and Setzer's joy in watching her guard slip.

*whistles innocently and leaves this here*

yes yes yes yes yes you got a better comment on AO3 but still many times yes

Terra/Shadow, belonging

Locke/Setzer/Celes, mischief

Cyan/Sabin - first kiss

"You are sure that this is what you want?" Cyan asked him as they stood together, looking over the Veldt. For some reason Sabin would always remember him there first, not when he was broken from Doma and the Phantom Train, but when he was fighting their way through the grasslands, enjoying the hunts that they did as they searched for Gau.

"Absolutely sure. If it would make you feel better, we could always say we're sealing an alliance between our countries," Sabin joked. "That's how I'm planning to explain it to Edgar, anyway."

That made Cyan smile, at least. "Tis not that," he said. "I merely wonder, why is it that I, an old and wizened man, am so often wooed by those my junior? T'would make an observer think I am some manner of predator."

Sabin laughed loudly. "Oh, believe me, no one is ever going to think that about you and me. Ever."

Cyan looked back at him, his brown eyes twinkling. The age difference was there, sure - there were wrinkles on his face, laugh lines around his eyes - but that wasn't what had caught Sabin's eye in the first place. The man was tough and dedicated, he didn't give up. Even after everything he'd been through, trapped in his own mind, he'd fought back. Maybe he'd done some stupid things in the past, like taking on an entire Imperial army camp, but hey, he'd won, hadn't he? With a little help. And Sabin wasn't new to doing stupid things. He might know better now, but he'd been there before, too.

"Mm." Cyan took a deep breath. His head was on Sabin's shoulder; he was a wiry man, toned and darkened by long training sessions and meditations in the wild. His strength was just as much in his body as it was in his technique and the old martial secrets that had been passed down to him. Sabin didn't know much about swordplay but he'd try to learn, if only to make sure that there was someone who could pass down that knowledge. Someday he'd have to help him find an apprentice. "Well. I certainly won't deny what I feel, if you're willing to accept it."

Sabin turned to him. "You wanna know how willing I am? I'll show you," he says, with a broad grin on his face.

Cyan took his chin, fingers brushing through his blonde beard, stroking it gently for a moment before rising and pressing his lips against Sabin's own. Sabin, never one to back down, kissed him back; Cyan had finesse that he didn't have, but what he lacked he made up for in enthusiasm and desire, because for all of his attempts at aestheticism, his body was very insistently reminding him just how much he had been waiting for this.

Finally he pulled away, lips slightly sore from the rough stubble, and smiles. "See? Very willing."

Cyan laughs and pulls him close, resting his head against his chest. "Indeed," he says; he looked so happy in that moment that Sabin wished he had some way to save the picture for later. Maybe his brother had come up with something. He'd have to ask later.

oh my goddddddd this is so adorable, I can't even. I love the joke about diplomacy, and the enthusiasm/asceticism, and what cute nerds omg this is a DELIGHT, thank you for making it.

You are welcome, I do enjoy these two being ridiculous together :D

Aaaahhhh this is so tender and sweet! I love the way you highlighted the age difference between these two, and the respect these two have for each other as warriors and their shared experiences together. And that ending, with Sabin wanting to remember Cyan's happy expression, wanting a camera before one has been invented -- very nice. Love this, thank you!

You are very welcome!

I love this pairing so much, and I love how you've underscored the differences in age, countries of origin, training, etc... between them. I'm also absolutely here for Sabin bothering Edgar into the invention of photography.

It does sound like something Sabin would bug him about. Thank you!

Sabin/Shadow, "Snap out of it!"

Celes/anyone - stage kiss.

Stage kisses for you!

Terra/Celes - Broken Mirror

https://sevdrag.tumblr.com/post/643025412792991744/seventhe-final-fantasy-kiss-battle-2021

SEV OMG THIS IS GORGEOUS

their elements! colors! flowy lines! YES

yeeeeeeeeeeeee! i love them! i love the elements aspect, too! <3

Terra/Locke/Celes - And the sun rose anyway.

It was the worst storm they'd had in months.

Locke was the only one who was above ground for the moment, holed up in one of the old houses and watching the sky for funnel clouds. He was the only one who could see the lightning that flashed, long forked arcs of light from cloud to cloud to ground. The thunder was loud; the children underground would be able to hear that, and were probably huddled in their beds trying to ignore it. Loud noises and flashing lights couldn't have been easy, not with the memories they must still have in the backs of their minds. Terra and Celes were with them, helping them through their fears. Locke would help too, but... sometimes the memories of his own fears were too keen.

He watched the sky, fascinated by the lights; he'd always liked storms, always liked watching them from a safe distance, and that was before he'd realized just how fierce and powerful lightning really was. It wasn't that long ago now, he thought with a certain pang, that he had been able to call power like that, shoot electricity from his fingers as if he were one of Edgar's dynamos. Those days were gone now, and the one who'd lent him that power was resting in peace, his work done. He knew that. Still, he could begin now to understand why so many people throughout the centuries had tried so hard to find magic again; he'd never felt anything else quite like it.

This wasn't magic, of course; this was just the weather, setting its own patterns now that there were no divine or infernal forces to manipulate it. That didn't make it less dangerous. Most of the people in Mobliz still lived underground, and Locke had his own passageway back to the cellar if something did happen. He didn't really need to be up there... he'd just wanted to see the storm, truth be told.

Thank goodness Celes had made it back in time, he thought; he'd been worried since the dark clouds had first appeared in the western sky, that she wouldn't get back from her supply run before the storm hit. But Terra had been calm, had unwaveringly believed that she'd find her way home, or else she'd hear of the storm and hole up in Tzen before coming back. She'd been right; Celes had appeared on the horizon not long after, having somehow gotten her hands on a chocobo-drawn cart to bring everything back. The cart was in one of the houses, hopefully one that would be untouched by the wind, and the chocobo had run off before they could decide what to do with it. Locke hoped it would find a safe place of its own to ride out the storm.

Some time passed. Locke watched the sky, fascinated by the rain and lightning. But the winds, strong as they were, never began to whirl and shape the clouds into a deadly vortex. After a while, when it seemed the worst had passed, he opened the cellar door and started the walk back to their underground home.

Celes heard him coming. She always did. She stepped in front of him, one finger to her lips. Locke nodded in understanding, moving silently - the kids were asleep, he would be quiet. Celes took his arm and led him back to their bedroom, accepting the small kiss he gave the back of her hand with a slight smile. Terra was already there, sitting quietly on their bed.

She smiled as the others came back, gave Locke a kiss on the cheek. "Anything?" she whispered.

"Not yet," he whispered. "How are the kids?"

"They're fine," Celes answered. "A few of them... it took them a while to fall asleep. But they'll be all right."

Locke nodded. He knew which ones - the ones who'd been old enough to remember the Light, young enough to not understand where it had come from and why it was gone now. They'd feel better the next morning, when the sun rose anyway.

Celes joined them on the bed, and Terra gave her a kiss on the forehead, just below her hair. Celes smiled a bit at that, a rare enough sight that only seemed to happen when the three of them were together. "Let's rest while we can," she said. "Before the thunder wakes them again."

"Hoping it won't. Seems like the worst has passed." Still, Locke knows she's right.

The three of them nestle together in the rag-stuffed mattress, covered with quilts made from the remnants of almost any fabric that Terra had been able to scavenge from the destroyed town. Celes had brought back cloth along with the food she'd already brought downstairs, but they'd have to figure out what to do with it later; Locke hoped he remembered enough from his mother and grandfather to put a few things together. Maybe some new clothes for the children... some of them were very quickly growing out of what they had.

It wasn't long before they were all dozing off, Celes' hand warm against his and Terra's head on his shoulder, and his own eyes half-closed as he listened for more thunder. It was going to be all right, he thought. The sun would rise the next morning. The world would still be there when they woke up. Everything was as it should be.

Edited 2021-03-06 15:57 (UTC)

Yeeeeeeee~!

This is such a great little glimpse of safety but not quite safety and survival in the post-Ruin world, and I love the reflections of the past on the present. I love the atmosphere of the storm and on Locke's reflection on magic, and how it blends together.

And I adore the three of them being so comfortable together and the feeling of home here and their working together to take care of it. <3

Thank you~♥

Celes/Sabin, alone together after the end of the world.

By the end of the second day on the road, they’ve run out of things to say to one another.

They’ve spoken of the end of the world, and the world that has come of it, and Sabin has regaled her with tales of what he’s seen in his past year of travels. She’s told him the abridged version of her survival. Once they exhausted that, they try to speak of the years before the fall, but that topic of conversation grows sour quickly between them.

He’s not an unkind man, Celes knows in her heart; he doesn’t hate her for who she is. But he wears his on his sleeve, and there is still the shadow of past allegiances and the thorn of a poisoned king that digs between his ribs.

Still, his presence is a comfort, particularly on cold, empty nights with his back to hers. And he’s not someone who needs to fill the silence, any more than she is.

And as the days stretch on and the nights linger, she wonders what it is about him that she can’t read his thoughts as well as some. And once, only once, she tries to peek into his dreams, only for him to startle awake, his hand around her throat before either of them knows what’s happened.

“Nightmares,” he tells her, trying to shrug it off but obviously shaken. “You’ll probably get them, too.”

After that, she doesn’t even try.

Merely wonders.

There’s no pretext to him. Nothing hidden. And the further they travel, the more deeply his wry smile and occasional laugh warms her from within, as though she didn’t have ice water running through her veins.

They’re sitting by the fire, the only speck of life for miles in any direction on the dead plain, when Celes realizes he’s staring at her, not the flames between them. Has been for hours, for all she knows. Days, could be.

She gets up, and his gaze drifts after her as she stretches her travel-sore muscles. Sabin sighs, snaps the twig of kindling he’s been occupying his hands with, and throws it on the fire.

Gathering his legs beneath him, he stands after her, follows her to the edge of the campfire light, and wraps his arms around her. It’s different to when they first found one another again, when it was simply the joy at seeing a familiar face in an unfamiliar world. There’s an ache, an emptiness that echoes silently all around them.

The feeling that eternity itself has stopped.

That there’s nothing left in the world but the two of them.

Nothing left in the world to lose, but one another.

And maybe that’s even a risk worth taking.

Celes tilts her face up. His eyes crack open in surprise when her lips brush his, and the last thing she sees is how he squeezes them shut again. She doesn’t know what precisely she’s doing or how it’s done, for all that she’s seen others doing it, and he doesn’t seem that practiced himself, or maybe he’s just startled.

His arms tighten around her, and he doesn’t say anything – because between them there’s nothing left to say.

Edited 2021-02-10 08:44 (UTC)

I knew from the first sentence that I was in for a treat; what a wonderful opening!

I really like 'He’s not an unkind man, Celes knows in her heart; he doesn’t hate her for who she is', and 'And he’s not someone who needs to fill the silence, any more than she is', and 'There’s no pretext to him. Nothing hidden'. Seeing Sabin through her eyes.

only for him to startle awake, his hand around her throat before either of them knows what’s happened.
“Nightmares,” he tells her, trying to shrug it off but obviously shaken.

This is fascinating.

And the further they travel, the more deeply his wry smile and occasional laugh warms her from within

I'm very charmed by this. I particularly like it in juxtaposition to the 'his hand around her throat' moment; I love it when a ship can both charm and alarm me in the same fic.

when Celes realizes he’s staring at her, not the flames between them. Has been for hours, for all she knows. Days, could be.
She gets up, and his gaze drifts after her as she stretches her travel-sore muscles. Sabin sighs, snaps the twig of kindling he’s been occupying his hands with, and throws it on the fire.

I really, really love this moment, the realisation that brings tension into their silence.

Thank you so, so much for writing my weird, tiny rarepair! This is a gorgeous little piece.

♥

I... actually remember a spark of thinking they were good together back when I was first playing the game as a kid. In Zozo, if I recall, when they're talking the magic transfusion. That they (can) get stuck together as your first traveling companions in the World of Ruin might've also helped. ;)

...kinda surprising if as I think this is the first time I ever wrote anything for it... XD

Holy shit, this is so good! The tension of their history, the way he's so open and she is so closed, the little snips of her magic and not being able to read him (despite him being so open)--ugh I can't even begin to pick my favorite bit, because they're all my favorite. A++++.

♥!

And he’s not someone who needs to fill the silence, any more than she is.

i love Them...

and just love the atmosphere of this piece overall. so much in a small space! so sparse and tense! love the feeling of warmth-within-a-vast-cold, ty for sharing

<3!

i'm glad you enjoyed it. :)

Celes/Setzer, backstage

Celes/Terra, tell me again

Locke/Celes/Setzer, indulgence and chocolate

Strago/Gungho, losing the trail

Gogo/Absolutely Anybody or Gogo & Absolutely Anybody, what you need to see

"Be Maria," she said, and Gogo was Maria.

Celes had never met Maria, and couldn't assess how well Gogo had captured her likeness. Gogo probably hadn't met her either, unless she'd been much more inclined to vacation inside giant worms than her reputation suggested. Probably Gogo was only matching themself to the portrait on the slipcover of one of those phonograph records Setzer didn't play anymore. Maria as painted there had a full face of stage makeup and an expression Celes found disquieting - she looked passionate, if not about whatever heroic tenor she was singing to, then passionate about the art of counterfeiting it. I would never look like that, she'd thought, indignant. I would never feel that way.

She studied Gogo's likeness of a likeness of this woman she was supposed to resemble, and it didn't help her understand anything. Their features weren't completely dissimilar, but Gogo-as-a-painting-of-Maria had a softer jawline, a rounder face. Under stage lighting it wouldn't matter. It hadn't mattered. "Is this what people think?" she muttered, and Gogo only shrugged.

She turned away. This was pointless. She could just as well ask Gogo to be Rachel, or Daryl, or anyone else's lost love, any of these other women who always seemed to walk where she walked. In uncharitable moments she thought everyone who'd ever looked at her had their choice of other, more congenial faces to lay over hers.

"Be Emperor Gestahl," she said, surprising herself. Surprising, too, that even now she had to clamp her jaw shut on a whole florid string of honorifics. Gestahl gave himself new titles with every conquest, and sometimes just because he felt like it - and he'd had plenty of them even before she had formally entered the military. She remembered a fellow cadet muttering, "Soon his name will take fifteen minutes to say," and the peremptory way that cadet had been clubbed to the ground. At the time she'd thought that a reasonable consequence.

She looked back, at Gogo's entirely passable impression of His Serene Imperial - no. Just Gestahl. Not even that, anymore. Gestahl was no longer a person, but a million disconnected shards of bone, and a symbol of evil. Celes had upheld that symbol a long time, and was still stamped with the mark of its factory.

"Yes," she said, because it felt like something needed saying. "That's what he looked like." Gestahl's eyebrows rose fractionally, and that was all. There was no answer here. A muscle in her forearm was twitching, like her hand wanted her sword. She stilled it. "Gogo," she said, to remind herself the Emperor was dead. "Gogo, please show me the Imperial General Celes Chere."

Gogo hadn't known her back then, but - she had been known, generally. She'd been infamous. Gogo pulled a veil up over Gestahl's face, and straightened. When the fabric came away again there was a woman in dress uniform. Her face was an icicle. Celes stared at her, and neither of them blinked.

Is that what I was? she thought. Is that how I carried myself? Was I ever so certain?

How simple life had been then - how clear. It had been easy, going wherever she was told and killing whoever resisted. There was something contemptible in that. It didn't stop her wanting it back. The knowing. Her throat hurt; her knees threatened to buckle under her, but she didn't let them.

"One last request," she told Gogo. "Be me."

She had hoped for a radical change, or else none at all. But the other Celes shifted just fractionally - her posture marginally less stiff, her face a little older. The other Celes passed a hand over her own brow and left a scar there, where she had struck the rocks. She leached some of the color from her hair. She thawed, but briefly, and refroze much the same.

"You weren't there," said Celes. Her voice surprised her - quiet, too hoarse. "Before. How can you possibly know?"

"How can you know?" Gogo said back to her, in the same voice.

It was a better question than it seemed, and more to the point than she liked to admit. She shook her head. This whole thing was foolish, but she was already committed. Better satisfy her curiosity while she was here, and be cured of the folly. She stepped closer, studying her double's face. It was more than a mirror, and less - Gogo's eyes followed her, but the expression in them didn't change, all calm curiosity. Gogo could have matched her gestures, or her deepening frown, but didn't - only stood still for inspection.

She backed away. "How can you stand it?" she said, finally. "Having so many faces. How do you know what you are?" Her arms folded across her chest, protectively, without her permission.

Gogo's head tilted to one side as if in consideration. It wasn't an attitude copied from Celes, and didn't look natural in her guise - maybe this was a glimpse of the actual Gogo. Or maybe just a riff on someone else, someone Celes had never met.

"Was that... the wrong thing to ask?" she ventured. Gogo was staring at her in silence. "I haven't been in the habit of regarding you as a person. I guess that's hypocritical. You just... do things."

Gogo did something, then. In a gait that was almost like hers, the other Celes approached her - then stopped, and put hands on her shoulders, and lightly kissed her forehead.

Are my lips this dry? she thought. Is this me? Is this Gogo? Is this Gogo's image of me, or someone else's image of my image of myself?

Gogo embraced her - somewhat stiffly, which didn't clear anything up. If she had ever hugged anyone, she could imagine she'd do it awkwardly too.

"I don't understand," she said.

"You don't understand," Gogo agreed - in her own voice, but kind.

This is phenomenal! Oh my God. I love Celes' morbid jaunt through other faces connected to hers, and her experiment as regards "Imperial General Celes Chere" vs. "me" was so incredibly prefect to the character. The moment with the scar was absolutely devastating, and the shift toward the end--where Gogo finally maybe emerges as character in his/her/their/its own right--is amazing. I love the ambiguity of it: the question as to whether the gesture of kindness Celes receives comes from within or without. Gah. Thank you so incredibly much for writing this. This is precisely the sort of introspective weirdness I hoped this prompt would generate.

(Also I just about lost it at "unless she'd been much more inclined to vacation inside giant worms than her reputation suggested")

Thank you, I'm glad you like it! I had been kicking around some thoughts for a while now about what Celes might think of Gogo's approach to identity (or lack thereof), ability to take on different roles, etc... It was an interesting thing to get into! I took a little inspiration from your own vaguely eldritch Gogo takes, too, heh.

Blitz Kiss here. This feels a little like cheating since I wrote it before I knew of this Kiss Battle, but I'm guessing that's ok this late in the game. I'll make up for it by picking up an unfulfilled prompt later.

Terra/Katarin/Duane - More Than Enough - Teen (chortle)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32137441

Includes the Compilation of FFVII-related canons as well as the Remake

Tifa & Aerith, a shared joke

FFVII (all), Barret/Reeve, taking a moment to celebrate

FFVIIr, Tifa/Aerith, learning to dance

I hope you like what I came up with! The fic is posted over here!

VII/VIIR

Cloud/Cloud

"If I could make it through, you can."

Zack/Aerith, unexpected spice

Cloud/Barret, “first ally”

Tifa/Barret & Marlene, flowers

(Somewhat post-AC.)

The two of them take Marlene out for walks every evening that Barret is home, driving out to the meadows and letting her run and play under their watchful eyes. They always come back home with flowers, even if it's just a handful of what others would call weeds - she always offers it them with a big grin and a thank-you, and Barret never fails to smile and take them gratefully, kissing her on the forehead.

They always put the flowers in a vase when they get back, and Tifa keeps them fresh and watered for as long as they'll keep. She's learned a few tricks over the years for keeping flowers alive, and these are a good memory - seeing the people she loves happy, when for so many years she was afraid that they'd all die trying to build that better world.

oh, Tifa ;; She would have fretted about whether they'd make it.

Red XIII & Cloud, a balm for old wounds

Red XIII & Aerith, shared history

"You know," Aerith said, in a teasing, singsong voice, "you could have spoken up sooner."

Red was curled up by the campfire—he'd been dozing, really, and Aerith's voice startled him awake. He'd caught the words, but not their meaning: "Pardon, miss?"

Aerith sat down on the log beside him, still smiling. "Back in the lab," she said. "You could have spoken up sooner in the lab. I thought I was talking to myself the whole time we were locked up together."

Ah, yes. Hojo's lab. When they had first met.

When they'd shoved a woman into the cell beside him, Red thought there must have been some mistake. Hojo only dealt with monsters—and things that looked like monsters, Red guessed, thinking of himself.

The woman was unphased, however, glancing around the room as though she were deciding on the proper furnishings for a cozy new apartment, and not at all like she was locked up behind three layers of guards somewhere in Shinra Tower.

Then, she had finally noticed him with an excited gasp, spotting him through the thin plexiglass wall that divided the two of them: "Oooh, kitty! You're so pretty."

Red had flinched, pulling his lips into an expression of bemusement that, to the untrained eye, probably looked more like a snarl.

"Mm, you're not a kitty at all," she said, her voice dropping a pitch, solemn. "Sorry, Mister..." She searched him for some sign of a name, and found it: "Mister Thirteen. I'm Aerith. Nice to meet you."

Red had almost spoken, then. Despite all the blood-draws and endless measurements the lab's technicians had taken, despite all the things he'd been injected with and monitors he'd been cuffed with and the cameras on every wall—despite all that, this was the first time someone had looked at Red, really looked at him, in weeks. And so, he almost spoke to her.

But then he didn't, and Aerith went on talking, addressing him as Mister Thirteen. She didn't speak like she was talking to a kitten, nor to lab-monster; she just spoke to him like any other person. She told him some stories about the children back in her Sector. She told him about a chatty customer who bought flowers from her. Little things.

Maybe, Red thought, all this chatter was a stratagem for holding her nerves steady. If so, she was doing a fine job. Her voice quavered only rarely, and only a little.

And maybe—maybe, Red realized just then, staring at the same woman now, weeks after their escape, sitting by this fire beneath a starlit sky—maybe she had spoken more than she would have, if she'd known he could understand. Maybe his reticence had led to something like deception. They had been in that lab together for several days, after all. After the first day, she had told him that she'd been here before, in this very lab. That this wasn't her first run-in with Hojo. Later, she talked a little about the church she tended, and a bit about her mother. Red had been able to hazard a guess at what she was, then—Bugenhagen had taught him the planet's history well—and still, he'd kept his silence—

"I apologize," Red said at last, with a little start. "I didn't intend to deceive you."

"It's not something to be sorry about," Aerith said, laughing. "It's just funny."

Red XIII quirked a lip, like it was funny. But then he flicked his tail, and batted one of his ears, because—maybe it wasn't anything to be sorry about, but it still felt unworthy of him, somehow, and it was simple enough to explain—

"I didn't like talking where Hojo might hear."

Aerith tilted her head. It reminded him of a gesture his mother would make sometimes. Interested, but not demanding.

Red smoothed down some fur he hadn't noticed he'd bristled in the first place, and looked back to the fire. "Before you arrived, I'd demanded an audience with Professor Hojo. I thought there had been a misunderstanding, and if he realized that I was no dumb beast, he would have to let me go." Red laughed, once. "If he'd spoken to me, and told me he didn't care, that would've been one thing. But he just said 'impressive' and 'interesting,' no matter what I was saying, as though all my words were just circus tricks. I don't know if he was ignoring me on purpose or if he really couldn't hear, somehow." Red flicked his tail behind him. "I tried appealing to the lab assistants after that. One of them just repeated back at me everything I said, and laughed about it. Like a parrot. Utterly juvenile." He shook his head. "So I stopped bothering."

Aerith nodded. She didn't say I'm sorry, which was good, because he didn't want that. What he wanted was this: the easy understanding they'd been building, those days in the lab, even if one of the hadn't realized it yet. He'd slept pressed against the plexiglass wall, in that lab, the closest thing to a source of warmth in that place—and now here they were, sitting side-by-side, with no wall between them at all.

She didn't say sorry, but she leaned down to kiss his forehead. He purred, and nuzzled his head into her lap, and she stroked her hand through his mane, slowly, steadily, until he at last drifted back asleep.

Ahhhhh. I love this little piece so much. ;-;

Aerith casually poking fun at a miserable, shared experience and Red solemnly thinking about that time is such a good way to show their personalities. Red's demand for an audience with Hojo... ouch. And of course, the smooch at the end is perfect.

<3

eee, so glad you liked it :)

😍😍😍😍😍 this is perfect 😍😍😍😍😍

ahhh, thank you!

;_; I love this. The terrible way Hojo treated his subjects, the way Red struggles as an intelligent creature dealing with humans that don't recognize intelligence in any of its forms, his need to explain because he felt like he deceived her - my heart.

awww, thank you!

Oh, I love this! I just saw a rec for this in another journal and this is utterly perfect. The characterisation is so well done, I love this glimpse into what happened and how they were and are feelings, then and now. Beautiful.

Ah, so nice to see this thing get rec'd lol. Thanks for the kind words; I'm still pretty fond of this lil piece :)

This was a powerful short scene: the horror of Nanaki demanding an audience and having his voice ignored, even mocked, and treated as though he is less than. I love the way you show him expressing these pains of his, and the gentle way that Aerith listens and smiles as she always does. If this is on AO3 I'd love to bookmark it, please.

Thanks so much for the comment!

And it's indeed on AO3, you can find it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29918478

Reno/Elena - Like a punch in the face.

The juice pools on the carpet. The waiter grabs the pitcher before it joins the mess on the floor, but it’s imitation silk, and not-easily dyed though it makes Reno wonder how anyone keeps a clean parlor -- it’s a mess their host won’t appreciate, who invited lovely men and women, not animals. The threat of removal makes him giddy though, if he’s honest. This has been a boring ass party up until now. Should've sent Rude.

He steps backward into a green arm chair and wipes the blur out of his eyes.

The only casualty here is the suit. And cover. And dinner, though Reno took fistfuls of those little mini quiche things, prosciutto and spinach and red pepper flakes and something else he couldn’t name. His fingers are still greasy.

(He wasn’t paying.)

“Looks like your box dye,” Elena says. “What’s it called -- Manic Red? Whatever. Guests have been double-dipping all night.”

Reno’s laugh turns into a grimace. His lips are tingling and his jaw aches when he leers, or tries to, fingers unbuttoning the sticky fabric where it’s trailing water trails down his pants and shoes and dripping in uncomfortable places.

This is easy to salvage. He makes eye contact and holds it; Elena dries her hands with the fabric napkin, the silver of her watch winking in the warm glow of cheap bulbs. Her glass sits empty on the coffee table.

“Woah,” Reno says. “Back-up, honey. Don’t step in it. Don’t get it on your dress.”

Elena drops the napkin in the mess and steps over it, reaching for him.

She’s not considering the options here, nor is she watching their client exit through the front quarters, gently plucking a long brown coat off the brass hook by the double doors. Reno’s hands stop at the top of his pants. He flicks juice into the upholstery.

“You messed up my lipstick. This brand’s expensive. I hate waste.”

“Huh,” Reno says. “Let me see.” He holds his hand out. Elena digs in her purse and drops a heavy black cylinder into his palm. Certified Shinra office girl product, Reno thinks. He’d watched her wipe it off her teeth with a piece of toilet paper from the crack of the bathroom stall thirty minutes ago. Special only to her.

“You,” Reno continues, “like playing dress-up.” He sniffs. “Perfume, too? Man. Kind of nice for women, actually. Grooming’s important.”

“Su Varani. Earthy tones. Not floral. Gives me a headache otherwise. Requested it for this.”

“Aw,” Reno says. “No one likes floral. Same with candles.”

Elena sizes him up from head to toe. “Your clothes are ruined. We can’t stay here,” she announces. “We need to go to the laundromat.”

“Dry-cleaners,” he corrects. “Of course we don’t wash our own clothes, speak the language.” He catches her arm in his and hangs right through the crowd. Guests are only starting to notice the pool on the floor and the waiter is grumpily flooding the spill with water. Reno’s clothes are uncomfortably sticky and where Elena leans against him blooms with warmth.

“I wouldn’t get any ideas,” she says. “I don’t like your suit. Or your mouth. Better closed.”

Reno clicks his teeth. “Heard. Meant no disrespect. Most people like a little tongue. You just had a little something.”

She nods her head.

A pocket of cold air, slick with exhaust wheezes into their faces on the street. VIP lines stretch North, couples in identical pairs stare longingly at their exit. Reno imagines what nest a nervous rat may escape to; I’d walk up the street before taking a taxi. I’d turn off my phone. I’d go lower plate.

“Now,” Reno says. He drops his weight into her shoulders. Rain floods the sidewalk and turns the hems wet. His sketchy appearance winks back. “This isn’t a failure yet, but Tseng will have words for you. Here’s a lesson: don’t get distracted. And don’t distract me.”

Elena pulls an umbrella out of her purse. Cars blow past on the street, headlights streaking into the city. “You just have to show your face,” she says, “for him to know.”

Reno drags his hand over his fat lip, tongues the swelling in his cheek, considers; he saw a chance and he took it. “Maybe Tseng’s into that,” he says. “Shit. Don’t assume things.”

Elena doesn’t even look at him. He holds the umbrella while she reapplies her lip stick with the hand mirror.

“You were watching,” she says. “The best man.”

“Yeah,” Reno answers. He thinks she's asking something else. “Nervous disposition. Around one-hundred-seventy-five centimeters of baloney. Something else spooked him first.” He looks hard at her. “You done? I don’t want to be out in this shit weather.”

“Yes.” Elena inclines her head, hair tilting away from her face. Her mouth’s a smooth red line, even under the miserable awning lights, and Reno’s got to hand it to her -- some of their kind can clean up real nice. It makes him feel weird.

“Clear?”

“Clear,” he says breezily. This is one curiosity he's not sure he wants answered. Maybe later. Maybe never.

They merge into the sidewalk crowd, oil and water and cigarette smoke swirling into the night. Their client won't have a head start for long.

ooo I love this, such a nice atmosphere <3

hehe, thank you <3

ooomph. really should have sent rude, huh. XD

I love how on the job they are. And the attention to detail, even with everything else around them. The cadence and narrative voice is fantastic.

Thank you! <3

I'm so glad you enjoyed!! It was a delight to write, hehe~

hailg;eha;g i would read like eighty more pages of their banter; the way they are with each other here is DELIGHTFUL

jaksdfjdsl \o/ thank you!!

Fill w/o prompt - I wrote this for another ficathon after getting an idea that would fit here too, so I decided to share it.

Title: Crochet
Fandom: FFVII
Characters: Tifa/Barret + Marlene

(Link to original prompt and fill)

---

Tifa isn't sure where Marlene got the idea of learning to knit; she only knew that one day it was all she could talk about, wanting to buy soft yarns and long needles and learn to make all kinds of nice sweaters and scarves for when Papa got cold on his long trips. "Miss Tifa, please?" she would ask again and again. "I promise I'll be careful!"

"I don't know how to knit," Tifa said sadly, and that was true; her mother had known - it was a very practical thing to know up in the mountains - but Tifa had never liked the idea of dealing with the sharp metal needles she'd favored, afraid she'd prick herself. Now she regretted not spending the time she would've needed to learn it with her mother.

"But... we could learn together, right?" Marlene would ask, grinning, and it was very hard for Tifa to resist that sort of grin - except that she knew how worried Barret would be if Marlene pricked herself on a knitting needle, or worse.

"Hmm," she said after a while. "How about a compromise? There's another way to make nice sweaters that we could both learn."

"There is?" Marlene's mouth opened wide. "How??"

They spent the next few weeks while Barret was gone working on their project, finding a few wooden hooks that weren't too sharp and dangerous for a young beginner, and fumbling with large balls of very soft yarn and laughing as they snagged and split strands in their attempts to create a sampler. By the time he came back, Tifa was there to watch Marlene give him a kiss and proudly present him with a small square of fabric, made of the softest and fuzziest yarn they could find. "Look, Papa! Tifa and I are learning to make you a sweater!"

Barret laughed. "Oh, that's really impressive! Yeah, I can see you'll have that done in no time!" he said, even though anyone could see that it would take a massive number of swatches to even begin to cover his massive frame. But the love and pride glittered in his eyes as he gave her a kiss, then grinned at Tifa. "Think you can show me how too, Marlene? Tifa might want a nice sweater someday."

"Sure, Papa! I'll help you make one for her too!"

"You bet. Now, lemme get somethin' to quench my thirst and then we'll talk about dinner, ok?"

"Okay! I'll go get some water!"

His smile when he walks back to Tifa and gives her a big one-armed hug is softer and gentler. "She started goin' on about knitting, huh?"

"Yeah," she said, patting him on the back. "But I thought that crochet would be a better idea to start with."

"Ha! I didn't even think of that when she asked me 'bout learnin' to make a sweater! You're definitely the smart one." He gave her a quick kiss. "Wanna get something delivered? I ain't up to cookin' and I can see you've been busy."

"That sounds great." She smiles - the work hadn't been that hard, but she was happy to let someone else take care of dinner, so that she could spend time with the two of them while Barret was home without any distractions.

Edited 2021-02-06 18:01 (UTC)

Awww, this is really sweet! It caught my eye because I knit and crochet, so of course I had to read it. Thanks for sharing!

Very glad you liked it - I haven't done much with fiber arts in a while, but I do remember being a little kid and wanting to learn to knit, and it seemed like a fun thing to play with. :)

oh, this is so cute and warm and fuzzy!

Aerith & Barret or Aerith / Barret: after saving Marlene

Tseng/Elena, partners

(FFVII Remake meets Dirge of Cerberus)

Shelke/Chadley, innocent (or not so innocent) laboratory experiments

Vincent/Lucrecia, (exasperated noise) "I don't know... You're married."

Lucrecia/Hojo, yet another long day in the lab

None of these results are what you expected.

You've been in the lab all morning, trying to get through this one test. The exhaustion is getting to you. You want to go home and sleep, but there's so much left to be done.

You barely notice your husband walk into the room, until he steps behind you. His hand is steady and reassuring on your back. "Any results from the second run?" he asks you quietly.

"Not yet." You manage a smile. "I'm giving it another ten minutes."

He hums softly, squeezing your shoulder before walking away. It sends a shiver down your spine; he always knows what to do with his hands, no matter what they are doing. It's one of the reasons he does so well in this profession.

He's been almost kind to you ever since your argument with Vincent - a perfect husband, perhaps one day a loving father. You know why, and you know how little it has to do with you, but still... it's comforting, when you spend so much time standing on your feet, staring at tiny displays.

"After this run, we should rest. It's been hours, after all," he says as he comes back from checking another readout. He leans over behind you and kisses you on the temple. His lips are cold and cracked, his eyes gleaming under the harsh lights. He is not good at being romantic and it is strange to see him trying so hard.

Still, she smiles. This was still more than she'd hoped for, when she'd followed her mind instead of her heart. "You're right. Let's go for lunch afterwards."

This was still more than she'd hoped for, when she'd followed her mind instead of her heart fffffffft oh ouch. So good.

I didn't notice I'd changed POVs until after I read this XD But thank you very much.

Aerith/Tseng, It's complicated

(Even after all these years, I have a compulsive urge to fill all the Tserith prompts—glad to see some things stay the same.)

Lucky for Aerith, the Turks are always watching.

Darkness hangs a soft curtain over Sector 5. Street lamps flicker, and Tseng shoots a thug in an alley on his way to the Church. Cleaning up her streets is the least he can do for her. Who knows what kind of refuse could enter her sanctuary if he allowed it.

Peacefully drooling, Aerith sprawls in her bed of flowers, chest rising and falling in gentle sleep. A smudge of soil adorns her cheek. Her nails, as ever, have dirt caked beneath. No matter how many times Tseng scrubs them, Aerith refuses to keep her hands clean. Her hair coils, an elegant snake in the grass. She’s kicked her boots off, and her mismatched socks are more hole than cloth.

Her bed is a sweet invitation Tseng accepts without remorse, stepping out of his shoes. He sits seiza beside her; her chest rises and falls, rises and falls. Like this, she appears almost innocent.

Work has kept him away for the past six days, leaving Reno or Rude to watch over her. Tonight is the first in over a week Tseng hasn’t slept on the couch in his office.

Tseng strips off his gloves to pet over and over her face. Her skin is soft as ever.

She peeks an eye open, squinting against the dark. “T-tseng?” Aerith yawns. “Been awhile, stranger. Miss me?” She smears the drool onto her jacket sleeve without subtlety.

“Aerith.” Tseng tangles his fingers into her hair.

A beat of silence—then she lays her head in his lap, breathing going soft and even once more, eyes closing.

The bracelets Tseng gave her—a gift, after her first successful fire spell during a sparring match with Rude—tinkle merrily, promisingly; Aerith tugs a lock of his hair, yanking him down as though it were a leash. He folds to her, bent nearly into a reverent zarei bow, and he steadies himself with his free hand. Her dry, chapped lips meet his.

Aerith smiles against his mouth, but turns her head when he darts his tongue over her bottom lip. “And here I thought you were a gentleman.”

She doesn’t release him, keeps him folded over her, his breath warm on her cheek. Tseng scrapes his nails over her scalp in reward. “You didn’t,” he corrects.

Aerith laughs, pressing her mouth to his again. His back and thighs ache from the position, but he holds it until she breaks away. Tseng straightens against the tug of his leash. “I guess not,” she says, a soft flush high in her cheeks as she gazes up at him, eyes half-lidded. “Will… will you stay?”

That old, gnarled vine of loneliness tangles deep in her.

As if he could do anything but. Aerith is special—the one who will lead them to the Promised Land and its salvation.

He thumbs over her cheekbone, smudging the dirt there. “Sleep, Aerith.”

Tseng should see her home, but her eyes close and she releases her grip on him—but not her hold over him. Rather than sleep, Tseng watches her without letting go.

The Turks are always with her.

(Also, I had to double check (in my office chair on lunch at work) whether you can bend far enough in seiza position to kiss somebody in your lap. I think nobody saw me.)

Edited (formatting D:) 2021-02-14 18:49 (UTC)

YES. I love this - Tseng's many complicated reasons, Aerith specifically not being pure and perfect, and also the note at the end made me giggle.

Thank you! I love their relationship so much!

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!! OMG this is so Tseng and Aerith! <3 <3 <3

I love when fanfic hones in on Aerith's tricksterish nature. Also, the images/descriptions/details that Tseng notices. So Tseng. So complicated.

The smile on my face while reading this was and still is huge.

Also laughing that you were in your office chair during lunch break, testing if this was possible. ahahahaah! ;D

(eeek! just saw the post date on this -- so sorry to take so long to reply. my notifications were delayed in hitting my email and a power outage hit due to winter storms)

Edited 2021-02-16 09:48 (UTC)

(sorry about my own lateness, rl is rl orz)

Their relationship is one of my favorites, so any chance I get to explore them is such a pleasure. Thanks :)

My soul for more trickster!Aerith fic.

Aerith smiles against his mouth, but turns her head when he darts his tongue over her bottom lip. “And here I thought you were a gentleman.”

She doesn’t release him, keeps him folded over her, his breath warm on her cheek. Tseng scrapes his nails over her scalp in reward. “You didn’t,” he corrects.

haha :P

this was so cute!

Thank you!

Ahhh I love the banter in this so much. I especially love how the tenderness of the moment is shadowed by Tseng's thoughts about Aerith leading them all to the Promised Land; it's clear these moments won't last. ;A;

Ahhh late reply is late, but thank you so much!

Vincent/Yuffie, Ten years after

Tifa/Aerith, dress up

Barret/Rufus, post-AC, on a way to redemption

Veld & Felicia, post-BC, strangers in the night

Felicia/Rufus - stranger than kindness

Vincent/Veld, disco nights - the city in the 1970s

Aerith/Tifa, shenanigans

Cloud/Zack, hold on

(warning for it being the end of crisis core)

When Zack breaks Cloud out of the mako tank and realises just how badly the poison has taken root, his first instinct is to kiss him: to kneel over his lifeless form and suck the mako right out, until his friend's lips glow with life again.

He's groggy and slow and the extra mako that he draws from Cloud's mouth is almost enough to send him back into unconsciousness, but he wills himself to go on, for Cloud's sake.

It has no effect: Cloud remains unresponsive, a dead weight where once there was a vibrant young man. Later, when Zack has regained more of his senses, it occurs to him that getting Cloud out of his mako-drenched clothes might be more productive.

But he tries the kiss again after that anyway; it seems the most immediate way that he might help, and there is something comforting about pressing his lips to Cloud's that reminds him of home, of two country kids off on an adventure that has grown bigger and more solemn than they ever anticipated. Talking to Cloud doesn't seem to be getting him anywhere, but kissing him - connecting the two of them in a way that is so much more intimate - perhaps that can appeal to something in Cloud's subconscious, call out to him deeply enough to break through.

It becomes a ritual. A kiss after they escape Nibelheim, with the Shinra guards taken care of. A kiss in Gongaga, after Cissnei has let them go, clearly trying to disguise her concern. A kiss when Zack returns from under Banora, when the story of Genesis has come to a close: he has never before felt so connected to Cloud. They are alone now, and all they have - all they have ever really had - is each other.

In the truck that will take them to Midgar, Zack kisses Cloud more fervently, more urgently. He can no longer pretend its only purpose is to draw out the mako: now it gives him comfort, helps him remember the friend he once knew, so full of life, so genuine. He wishes he could have kissed Cloud back then, five years ago; he wishes Cloud could have been awake to see in the strength of Zack's kisses how much Zack cares for him, how willing Zack is to protect him over all else.

And then, when it all goes so awfully wrong, Cloud finally comes to, and Zack uses the last of his strength to entrust the Buster Sword to him; and the final sight he can process is Cloud lowering his face towards Zack's with muddled but determined eyes, and the final touch he feels is Cloud's lips against his own.

AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW THE FEEEEEEEEEEEEEELS T^T

Thank you, lovely anon, for this heart-wrenching piece!! I love the progression of Zack's emotions each time he kisses Cloud and how it becomes something much more to him. AND THE IMAGE OF THE LAST THING HE SEES BEING CLOUD GIVING HIM A SMOOCH???? HOW DARE YOU but no really, thank you - I love these delicious angsty feels

Don't mind me as I melt into a puddle after reading this 💕💕💕

Aah thank you so much, I'm so glad you enjoyed it and appreciated the angst! 💛

oh no

Oh Zack. oh, my heart. This is so good and so heartbreaking and the way it turns back at the end--yes. oh. ow. ;_;

Tifa/Rude, one more time

Tseng/Rufus, on the clock

Leslie/Andrea, "for luck"

Tseng/Reno - post-AC, late night conversations

FFVII (OGC or Remake), Cloud/Barret/Tifa, there's only one room and they're fine with that

whatever

Seifer/Squall, across their blades.

Edea & Rinoa — the burden of magic.

Edited 2021-02-03 22:21 (UTC)

Irvine/Rinoa — the Deling City nightlife.

Seifer/Quistis, hidden

Seifer/Irvine, ash and memory

Squall/Seifer, battle

Quistis/Rinoa, sharp

I got a little bit carried away with my response, so I hope you don't mind me linking to it, instead. :)

Everybody Needs Somebody Sometimes

Edited (forgot to put the pertinent info in the subject line) 2021-02-08 07:08 (UTC)

I am approximately five million years late to reading and commenting but I left a comment on AO3 and I just want to say again - this is delightful! Thank you so much!

Thank you for your comment on AO3. I'm so glad you enjoyed this story! :)

Irvine/Selphie, memory

Selphie/Seifer — the thrill of danger

Rinoa & Ellone & Edea — transfer

Edea keeps a garden. It’s hard growing anything on Centra’s clay, she claims mildly, without a touch of - magic. Not flowers, though; vegetables and cocoa, wheat and onions and hops that can be fermented.

Rinoa, who had pictured sunflowers as tall as she was, or azaleas dyed deep blue, can’t quite hide her disappointment.

She’s clumsy with growth, too. “A drop of magic, nothing more,” Edea instructs. Rinoa can’t finesse a drop -- it tumbles from her hands and her soul, a crashing wave. The air crackles with it. They’re lucky it doesn’t attract monsters. The stalks of the infant crops stand too straight in their shock.

Ellone helps. Rinoa can’t help but regard her with a mix of curiosity and envy, wondering about the woman who manages to be special and other even among Sorceresses and wishing that she had grown up as Ellone had: in the company of Squall and the rest. Ellone blows gently on the soil and sends the crops hurtling through their lifespan, blossoming from seeds to shoots in a matter of seconds.

Rinoa merely watches from the stone walls, sometimes with a book or a draft of a letter in her lap. She doesn’t touch the vegetables, even though Edea and Ellone are both too kind to tell her not to. She gets it.

One day, weeks into their “retreat”, she wakes up and the room is filled with uncommonly blue azaleas, peeking out from the slits of dirt between the stone floor. The three do their best to move them to pots, safe and rich soil, but they don’t survive the transition. Death comes harder for them, petals baking and crumbling in the mid-morning light.

Rinoa, who doesn’t want to be the type of Sorceress who commands life and death simply because she’s bored, says as much to Edea over tea.

Edea asks, “Why do you think Ultimecia abandoned me for you?”

She continues, explaining - power. Edea had merely cultivated it; Rinoa was fit to the seams with it, every crevice between bone and sinew hiding impossible volumes. Abandoning a puddle for the ocean; choosing a machete over a butter knife.

“I don’t - ” she starts to say, and then, “ - do you think they should have locked me away?”

Edea’s answer is simple, final. “We cannot solve problems in the past.”

Ellone can, Rinoa thinks - and doesn’t say.

-

Ultimecia keeps a garden. It’s impossible to grow anything on the backs of the dead SeeDs that litter the ground below her castle, she thinks angrily, not without fresh blood to ripen the stone. Not flowers, nor crops. She grows life in frames, a whole world safe and still in gold-touched 20x24. She grows masked sphinxes and giants with armor for flesh, crystal that sings for death and the specters in snail shells.

When time expels her, at the point of a gunblade, the magic remains. All the growth rewinds back to the source, like a universe folding itself back up to the heat energy of the big bang.

It finds the brightest point in time, makes its home there.

-

Sometimes, Rinoa is feverish - claiming it’s because she isn’t used to the salt in the air, the low altitude of the continent. Ellone, who is used to caring for others, is deftly attentive, bringing her cool water and making sure the windows are open.

They sleep in the same bed. The orphanage bunk beds are too small for them.

Ellone never complains, even when Rinoa hogs the blankets or spreads out too far. It’s fine. She’s slept in worse places, on the floor of research labs or against the cold wall of a ship that would not move again until spring’s thaw.

Ellone never lacked for love (and still doesn’t), but there were days when she did not know where her next meal would come from, or if there would be a roof over her head. Rinoa, by contrast, has had too many homes - a train car, a mansion, an academy - but wears her heart on a sleeve in a desperate bid to give it away to the first person who might want it. The younger woman will never accept pity, so Ellone doesn’t feel any. She simply keeps the windows open on hot nights, surrenders most of the blankets, and - listens.

Rinoa, burning like a furnace, ends up in her arms most nights.

-

Edea understands the moment the fever leaves her. Thoughts, cool and composed and utterly her own, take precedence in her own body once more. Her joints feel weakened, barely able to hold herself up (too much weight around her neck, at her eyes - where is she?) -- a puppet, strings cut, having to learn to stand.

She remembers very little. A flash of white, the glow of firelight bouncing off twisting shapes and black light bodypaint - a bullet whistling through the air, a perfect shot right between the eyes - well done, child, but -

A girl she’s never met before; a perpetual spot of light in her peripheral vision, bright enough to burn if gazed at directly.

An embrace, arms incongruous, lips to forehead, to cheeks -

A new horror smashes its way in. Edea refuses to give it succor, forcing herself to think, to rememer: the children - Ellone -

-

Ellone is alive because Rinoa fought for her, despite not knowing her. She knows this.

She brushes some hair out of Rinoa’s face, feeling her sleeping skin, the veins bulging faint at her temple.

Ellone is alive because Rinoa accepted a garden of masked sphinxes and giants with armor for flesh into herself and tucked them into the back of her mind, where they risk growing and growing until only the magic, and not the will or the life, holds the girl’s skin together still.

“Thank you,” she says, again and again, punctuating her gratitude with kisses - at the forehead, at the cheeks, at the lips - until Rinoa is awake again, awake and burning critically warm, not only returning her embrace but clinging to it.

yeah, this definitely got away from me! I don't love the last line but dammit, had to end it somehow 😡

This is beautiful! The pain and power within these women comes across so well, and I particularly like how Edea's and Ellone's experience with and control of magic contrasts so sharply with Rinoa's inexperience as she learns to use and control her own powers.

And Rinoa burning up with all of the power inside of her is both intriguing and heartbreaking to think about.

Thank you very much! Sorceresses in VIII have always fascinated me, so this was a lot of fun to just find a point and dig in.

holy shit this is killer, I love the link between magic and life, the frivolity of Rinoa's garden dreams and the practicality of Edea's, the tension and the links that bind the three of them together, and gardens, always gardens.

this is so fucking good.

Thank you very much! ♥

"Seifer was taunting Squall, just trying to get a reaction from him as always. Squall's not playing anymore."

These boys will never leave me alone.

Edited 2021-02-04 15:47 (UTC)

Laguna/Kiros/Ward, the first time they all ended up in the same bed

Fujin/Zell - okay, sure, it started as a dare, but...

It started out as a dare, sort of. Well, more of a taunt: Seifer might be back in Garden and on his best behaviour on pain of a Lionheart to the face (or some kind of court martial or whatever, Zell's not clear on the details), but he's still just as good at running his mouth as he's always been. He walked in on an embarrassing breakup scene, and he hasn't stopped laughing at Zell since, not that he'd ever stopped laughing at him in the first place.

But the point is, something he said stuck in Zell's mind -- he'd said that if Zell was such a spluttering mess over this librarian, how would he be about someone like Fujin? And he'd smirked, suggested that Fujin would send him running for Ma.

It wasn't to spite him that Zell had said hi to Fujin the next day, but maybe it was a little bit to spite him when he decided to go over and offer to sit with her at lunch in the cafeteria a couple of days after that. The look of shock on her face settled it and put Seifer right out of his mind, though, because it suddenly became blindingly obvious that no one at all would sit with Fujin without Raijin and Seifer around. That, in fact, there was a two-table empty radius around her, like bad taste in friends was catching (in which case Zell feels he must be a lost cause himself by now).

And the thing is -- the thing is, it's easier to talk to Fujin, actually. She's a little stiff and shy at first, but she's straightforward in her answers, and she's amazingly smart, and when you coax her just right and you get her out of her shell, she's funny, partly because she has the most perfect sense of timing. It doesn't matter that she'd give him a run for his money in a fight; that almost makes it better, because he can find himself imagining how their lives might fit together, because he knows that there are things she can understand that someone who stays in Garden doing support might not.

So by the time he actually works up the courage to ask her out, it's not a dare anymore at all, it's nothing to do with that original taunt. It's because he can picture maybe getting a smile out of her, and he wants to know what she'll say on any given subject, and because he knows where he is with her, he always knows, and knows that she'll say yes or no and that'll be that, and they'll be friends either way.

He's not expecting the way she turns to him when he asks, when he offers to take her to dinner, when he clarifies very firmly that it's a date if she wants it to be. But then, part of why he likes her is that directness, and maybe he shouldn't be surprised that her response is a kiss -- clumsy but firm.

"Yes," she says, while Zell's still blinking at her, stunned, and trying not to grin like an idiot.

Seifer is going to hate this. Zell can't wait to see his face when he finds out.

I put it on AO3 because my wife liked it and it seemed more worth it than I'd thought. If any comments can be left there that would be really nice, just for posterity. ♥

A Surprisingly Good Idea

Finally, one of my other secret rare pairs. c:

<3!!!

Raine/Laguna - shut up

For you, my dear!

Ahh, thank you so much for writing this! 💕 (I left a more detailed response on AO3.) This is such a lovely fic for this couple!

Fujin/Seifer - swallow your pride

Julia/Caraway - stolen moments

She finds him braced over the engine of her car, hood fixed overhead, knuckles white.

“How is she - it - looking?”

Men frequently refer to their cars as she. In past relationships, Julia had always tried to follow suit. But Fury is different, he’s always found that little beat of sentimentality ridiculous; and her clumsy correction wins a faint smile - just there, at the very corner of his mouth, where she can see it.

“I’m not sure.” Strong arms brace him, but his brow is creased quite severely, making him look older than he is. “Not road-ready. Can you and Rinoa take the bus tomorrow?”

Julia nods. There’s some silvery grey in his eyebrows and stubble now, she notices.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, eyes not meeting her own.

“Are you okay?” she asks, concerned.

There’s a pause before she gets an answer. He removes the prop rod and closes the hood, crossing his arms over his chest. The garage is one of the few places he’s free to be out of his military uniform, stripped of medals of distinction or full-body armor, weapons far away. Julia likes this better - an ordinary man, one who smiles, with broad arms and an enticing collarbone.

“The Timber insurgence is making noise again,” he tells her. “I leave in two days.”

Julia’s parents were born, raised, and buried in Timber. She doesn’t say anything.

He continues, “I’ve made arrangements to get your sister out. You can’t see her, but she’ll be... safe.”

“Thanks.” Now it’s her turn to be quiet, to murmur her words.

He lifts his face to the sky. “Maybe after this last deployment - it’ll be time to retire. Take a desk job.”

Julia looks at him, surprised.

His shoulders lift in a strong, halfhearted shrug. “I don’t know. It’s only a thought.”

He doesn’t end up retiring that year. A few days after he leaves for Timber, Rinoa has a dangerous fever and needs to be driven to the hospital. Julia, in her panic, forgets all about her husband’s recommendation; the car’s brakes fail during the wrong moment and - and that is that. With his wife gone, he can’t think of a reason to slow down - all the moments that they would have had, could have had, stolen.

But we aren’t there yet, are we? For now, Julia Caraway smiles coquettishly, leaning into his side. “I like that thought.”

This close, the warmth of her body pressing into him, he leans down fractionally, lips brushing against her forehead. “Is that so?”

“Mmhm.” She shifts, closer still. Her hands move - ah. “This shirt is covered in grease. We should—”

“Mom!” A high pitched demand. “Mom, where are you?”

Suppressing a laugh, Julia buries her face into his shoulder. His arm comes around her, affectionate and not too tight, mouth disappearing into her hair once more.

“Mom!” Unseen little feet patter closer.

“I should go take care of that,” Julia smiles up at him.

He releases her.

I always liked Caraway, and wanted to write something simple and normal for them. Hope it suffices!

Ahh, this is amazing! Your take on the prompt, that little glimpse into the future, is the emotional equivalent of a punch to the gut, and colors the rest of the ficlet not only with a touch of melancholy, but also the warmth of fond memories and a genuine enjoyment of the moment.

I also love the relationship between Julia and Caraway here. I've always liked Caraway, too, and I never believed that Julia married him as a replacement for Laguna (I never bought into a romance between those two, either); I like to think she chose Caraway because she liked who he was, and because he was supportive of her and genuinely cared about her.

And, also because I like Caraway, I adore your descriptions of him! ❤ Strong, broad arms, silver-tinged hair...*swoon*! 💕💕💕

Thank you so much for writing this! 💕
(And I love your icon, by the way! :D)

oh, this is good - Caraway at home, relaxed, the little details that add up to the canon we know. And also Caraway silver(ing) fox, A+.

Edited 2021-02-17 00:27 (UTC)

Selphie/Quistis, heat of battle

Quistis/Seifer, I know your secret

Seifer/Rinoa, mirror

Julia & Rinoa, sunshine

The nurse helps her to the chair by the window, and places Rinoa gently in her arms, before withdrawing. Julia holds Rinoa close, touching her tiny fist with the tip of a finger. The morning sunlight streams in, soft warmth, and highlights Rinoa's perfect face and scraps of dark hair. Julia hums experimentally and finds that her voice seems to have recovered, so she sings softly, a wandering melody detailing the hopes she has for this tiny, precious person in her arms, ending with a kiss atop her head. Rinoa sleeps, and Julia dreams of her future in the sun.

Oh, this is beautiful. 💕

Thank you! :)

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I LOVE THIS SO MUCH 😍 baby Rinoa and her mom?!?!?! YESSSSSSSSS!!!! I'm forever a softie with these two and what precious moments they might've had together. This absolutely hits the spot. Thank you!!! 💕💕💕

Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee I'm glad you like it! I wanted to do something soft and gentle and it kept trying to grow past drabble size so then I was cutting it down, and I'm really glad it still works. XD Thank you!

Seifer/Squall, attitude (a la the alternate "whatever" translation of "well excuse me").

Squall/Selphie, things are not always as they seem.

Squall/Fujin, Dreamcatcher - Break The Wall (chorus)

Come on break the wall
That you protected till now
Fight it with all your strength
Defeat those hardships

Caraway/Martine, disgrace can be overcome

(bonus points for trans!Martine)

Zell/Library Girl, curious

Selphie/Wimbly Donner, congratulations

I'm a bit late to the thread, but I saw this prompt and had to write something for it!

Party People on AO3 (because it got a little longer than I anticipated).

As I wrote on Ao3, this is delightful. I was so happy this got filled. :)

Thanks so much for leaving a comment on AO3! I'm so glad you enjoyed this little fic! :D

smooch your canary

garnet/zidane, thespian shenanigans

Beatrix/Garnet, think not of duty

Steiner had sworn his oath of fealty, kneeling and seizing Garnet's hand with enthusiasm, and she had tried not to flinch under the tightness of his grasp before he performed the remaining motions and eventually clanked away, flustered. Now it was Beatrix's turn, and Garnet couldn't suppress the small smile of relief that formed on her approach. The general of the Alexandrian army carried herself as she knew she should, striding briskly towards the dais in a way that reminded Garnet of the admiration she had always felt for her mother's top military commander - her commander, now. An unexpected, but ultimately unsurprising, thrill of anticipation pulsed through her at the thought.

Beatrix approached the throne, bowed low, and began to speak the words of the oath, her one good eye fixed on Garnet's throughout. Garnet let the steady stream of speech wash over her, keeping her own gaze centred on Beatrix's soft hair. She knew why her mother had always surrounded herself with women: Brahne's preferences were common knowledge across the continent, the subject of much gossip and many a raised eyebrow, but never discussed openly. As Beatrix murmured her vow, Garnet felt that she understood her mother more than ever before. Steiner had been an eager puppy as he took his oath, stumbling over his words in his effort to please his new queen and his nervousness about the ceremony's concluding acts, but Beatrix was the picture of grace, calm and dignified - and her hair, thought Garnet, her hair was so soft.

"My queen," Beatrix concluded, and reached for Garnet's hand to bring the ceremony to a close.

Garnet let her take it, but the touch of Beatrix's warm skin unsettled her: it was somehow too familiar, too close to how she had imagined it. To what she had imagined, and perhaps even longed for, not just over the last few minutes, but, Garnet now realised, for some time before that as well. Maybe since Beatrix had defected to their side, all those months ago. Maybe longer, since the time that Beatrix was a teenage knight causing all sorts of stirs in the castle by her rapid ascendance through the ranks of the army, and Garnet was a mere child, noting the impression that Beatrix was making on the court, and falling quite happily under that same spell herself.

"Let's stop this," Garnet said, and Beatrix's eye narrowed in confusion as she held Garnet's hand, suspended in the space between them.

Garnet clarified. She'd meant to say something similar to Steiner earlier, for different reasons, but he'd been so eager to fulfil his duty, and she'd thought it best just to let it happen. "We don't need to keep these traditions," she said. "I'm trying to take the opportunity to modernise things."

"You didn't say that to Steiner," Beatrix replied.

"He's old-fashioned," said Garnet. "I knew he wouldn't hear of it."

"Then," said Beatrix, "surely you cannot deny me the same privilege you allowed him."

"It would be different, coming from you," said Garnet.

Beatrix said nothing, but jerked her uncovered eyebrow questioningly, and Garnet searched for a way to explain herself.

"From you," she began, "it would … it would fool me, perhaps, into thinking it meant something."

"And you would wish to avoid that?"

Garnet tried to understand Beatrix's question, tried to determine which way it leant and what precise inclination it hinted at, but she failed. "I would hate to have to disabuse myself of a false hope," she admitted.

"Then I will let you judge for yourself whether that hope is false," said Beatrix, and she bowed her head to begin the rest of the ceremony.

The first kiss, on the hand: the protector vows to bear weapons on her liege's behalf, and to take up arms against any who would challenge her authority.

Beatrix pressed her lips, just briefly, to the back of Garnet's hand, and Garnet felt their touch, solid and confident and practised, and the brief imprint of warmth they left before Beatrix gently let go and drew closer to her.

The second kiss, on the cheek: the protector vows to defend her liege, to cover those areas where she may be weak, both physically and spiritually.

Garnet felt Beatrix's lips touch her a second time; square in the middle of her right cheek. The bandanna covering Beatrix's missing eye brushed against Garnet's forehead, and she caught a scent of spices, the sweet tang of citrus, a little rosemary; her eyes closed as she drank it in.

"It is not mere duty that has me do this," said Beatrix quietly.

The third kiss, on the lips: the protector acknowledges that she and her liege are of one mind, one soul, and that she has no goals now beyond what her liege desires.

Beatrix's mouth met Garnet's, and she felt her general's lips now in so much more detail: their softness, pressed against her mouth, somehow the exact fit for it; her sweet breath blowing in against Garnet's tongue; and the curl of Beatrix's fingers on Garnet's shoulder. The kiss lingered, more than a purely ceremonial one had any right to, and Garnet knew, now.

"I hope that makes things clear," said Beatrix, once it was over, her face a little flushed, and Garnet nodded, and placed her hand over Beatrix's on her own shoulder, and although the ceremony had finished, neither of them moved.

oh, this is gorgeous, and I love the details of what each kiss means and the allusions to the power of women in Alexandria; I love the way Garnet is trying very carefully to ask without putting it in plain language, and I love the connection between them. Yes, please.

<3 thank you, glad you liked it! I've been meaning to pay more attention to Beatrix/Garnet for some time so this was the perfect excuse!

Freya/Fratley, start anew

Zidane + Freya or Zidane/Freya, always a competition (until it's not)

Edited 2021-02-05 16:04 (UTC)

Beatrix/Freya, Conflict of interest

Beatrix/Steiner, behind closed doors

Beatrix/Garnet, vows

Cid/Hildagarde, don't push your luck

includes X-2

yuna/seymour, bad touch

Auron/Lulu, one more kiss

Yuna/Leblanc — the glamour and thrill of sphere hunting.

Shuyin/Yuna — you're not what I want, but you'll do.

Auron/Lulu, experience

Paine/Nooj, work around the scars

Lulu/Yuna, growing closer

Rikku/Auron — thought you wouldn’t

Auron/Jecht/Braska, the blitzball player gives a hell of a massage

Lulu/Luzzu - grief and guilt

After everyone has gone to sleep, Lulu finds him lingering outside the temple.

“‘You don’t know what it’s like’?”

There’s a single perfectly arched brow arching even higher, skepticism and unkind bewilderment making her voice more severe than it already is.

“That was…” He trails off.

“You don’t have to tell me.”

Maybe she shouldn’t be so gentle with him, but he’s grieving; she can’t add to it. Wakka found gentleness, after all, and managed to let go of his anger. She ought to be able to do the same. But those words bounce around in her mind, the audacity incensing her - you don’t know what it’s like.

Luzzu, standing there, telling them that they don’t know loss.

Her eyelids flicker, just so, and she continues, because it’s clear he won’t.

“We all grew up together. Wakka, Chappu, Yuna, Gatta, Botta, Keepa -- myself, and - you, Luzzu. Our little island never had much defense. We all lost brothers, friends, and parents.”

He endures her little spiel, eyes to the ground. Is he ashamed, contrite? Or does he wish he was anywhere else right now?

Still, she keeps going. “You’re alive. So make something of it.”

He takes a knee, trembling despite the temple’s electricity warming the ground around them. Maybe he just can’t stand anymore. She doesn’t give him the grace of turning a blind eye to his anguish.

“Hm. You really are a weak man, aren’t you?”

He finally answers her, doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

Luzzu reaches for her hands. She doesn’t pull away, even though she wants to. She doesn’t want to be the one who has to offer him absolution after Wakka already did - offended, perhaps, on her long-time friend’s behalf that he wouldn’t be enough -

But it’s Luzzu, who she’s known just as long -

His lips, ice-cold, touch her knuckles as her fingers fold about his. She touches his face, feels the ridge of bone under his eye, cradles his jaw.

Something she thought long dead rises like a tide within her.

Neither of them go inside for a long time.

lulu's voice is a mystery, help

Oh, lovely. :D

Thanks!!

Oh, this is magnificent! You've captured Lulu's character perfectly--her icy demeanor, and the pain and anger that simmers just beneath. And Luzzu, so broken, an idealistic--perhaps even foolhardy--man brought to his knees, literally, by grief, is wonderfully written.

She doesn’t give him the grace of turning a blind eye to his anguish. - God, I love that line!

I also love that Luzzu doesn't try to argue with Lulu, and even admits that he is weak. And that kiss! One of deference, a plea for mercy and understanding that manages to touch Lulu even amid her anger and grief. So, so lovely. Thank you for filling this prompt! 💕

Thank you very much for such a thoughtful comment! I'm really grateful for the positive response.

oh whoa, this totally slapped

like. i love the raw tension you fit into such a tight space; i love the implied contrast between how Wakka handled this and how Lulu did, how different they are, leading up to such an unexpected & lovely conclusion—this was great, thank you for posting

Thank you very much! I'm really glad you liked it.

The line "You're alive. So make something of it" feels so much like Lulu that I felt it in my bones, holy hell. Such a good piece. Lulu/Luzzu would be such an angst fest of a pairing, I love it.

Thanks! That was one of the few lines of dialogue I felt good about.

I love this pairing and I love this take on it. <3 Perfect opening lines.

Edited 2021-02-10 06:50 (UTC)

Thank you!

mmmmm, yes, Lulu's distance and Luzzu's fracturing and the way it's intertwined with their childhood, and with Wakka, and the anger and sorrow wrapped in ice--YES.

Auron/Lulu - improper use of black magic

Auron is sitting outside, quietly, his legs crossed. Behind him the forest stretches out, full of its strange and wonderful sounds, and the others rest. But he cannot rest; existence has become too dark and empty to continue like this, too much like death. He needs to feel something, something that is not gentle.

Lulu's voice is quiet and soft behind him. "You're sure about this?" she asks.

Auron takes a moment to breathe - he doesn't need to, but it helps to remind him of why he's doing this. He has already set his coat and sword aside, along with the sake jug - no need to risk damaging any of his possessions in this folly. "Yes. I am."

"You remember what to say if you want me to stop?"

One word - the place where his dreams had first died. "I remember."

"All right." She kisses him gently on the temple before she steps back - a reminder of how she regards him, outside of this. It's appreciated, although he already knows. He braces, preparing himself.

The sudden, careful lash of flame against him - hot enough to hurt, brief enough to not cause any major damage - makes him cry out, makes him feel alive again.

hhhhhhhhh oh, this hurts the best. I love the care that goes along with it, both in terms of his possessions and her kiss, too. lovely.

Ohhh, yes. Being an unsent must be its own kind of hell, and I love how you described Auron's numbness. And I especially love that moment of tenderness from Lulu before she begins, hinting at a relationship between them that goes beyond friendship and superficial romance, to a kind of care and understanding of the other's pain and needs, and a willingness on Lulu's part to help him deal with his, by whatever means necessary.

A lovely bittersweet scene. Thank you for writing this!

oooof. this hurt in, like, a good way. (i guess same as auron, huh :P)

Wakka/Lulu/Luzzu, a good night's sleep at last

Elma/Lucil, long day

Auron/Braska, what will it take to keep you here

its here

kisses in Archadian pentameter

balthier & fran, going undercover

balthier/basch, "duties upheld; duties abandoned"

Vayne/anyone — a kiss before betraying.

WHUPS, I misread this as "&" instead of "/", and I didn't notice util I finished writing; hope the result is still in your wheelhouse!

Afterwards, Larsa wondered how long Vayne had been plotting his scheme.

No—Larsa did not need to wonder. A child wonders, but an adult sees, studies, and understands. And no Solidor could afford to remain a child for long.

So Larsa made himself understand. After his hasty coronation, with the dust around Rabanastre barely settled, Larsa's first act as emperor was to pull every file from Draklor Laboratory, and gather every scrap of paper that Vayne had ever touched. For a week he poured over the files, reading and rereading, while rebuffing his advisors at every turn, who pleaded that the young emperor's attention was urgently needed elsewhere, that his ministers and ambassadors were desperate to speak with him. Not yet, Larsa said each time, not yet, not yet. Not until he understood the circumstances that had brought him here. (He could ill afford mistakes, in his new role. He could ill afford childishness.)

Vayne's own papers and effects revealed little—his brother was as careful in his correspondence as he was with everything. But Dr. Cid Bunansa's records were illuminating as they were discursive, knotted snarls of words that wound and wove and rambled every which way. But once unwoven, over the course of that laborious week, those words made it a simple matter to construe the beginnings of their joint plot. Certainly, Vayne's choice was made by the time the Empire had invaded Dalmasca. Likely before then, when Dr. Cid had first written in his lab notes, excellent meeting with the Solidor boy today!!!—the other sons had been dead, by then, and Larsa had never spoken to the man. So it could only be Vayne.

Larsa read all these notes, and he wondered: if Vayne had only told him of his scheme, if his brother had let him in rather than holding him afar—might Larsa have seen good sense in it? might he have been swayed by that unreasonable reason, and thrown his own small might behind the cause? The thought made him shudder. It had been a near thing, after all—Dalmasca's salvation. Had he stood aside in that last battle against Vayne, maybe victory would've come too late, and Rabanastre would've been destroyed, along with any hope of peace.

Larsa hoped he wouldn't have, hoped he would've held fast to all the Solidor name stood for, rather than betraying those ideals for bloodshed, but—no. No wondering, no hoping. He'd stood by mute when Vayne pushed to invade Nabradia, after all, and Dalmasca after. How easily Larsa had swallowed those thin justifications! It was for their own protection, Vayne had said, and he'd believed it. Larsa had hardly ventured outside of Archades, at the time, and he'd been a child; how could he have known otherwise?—but Larsa knew that no Solidor remained a child for long.

And furthermore, Larsa knew it wasn't blind trust that had made him complicit, but a particular trust: his trust in Vayne.

It wasn't that Larsa was sanguine about brotherhood in-and-of-itself. From a young age, Larsa had understood his particular place in the Solidor line: that of the unplanned son. Born a full fifteen years after the others, long after the squabbling over heirs had been settled, he was an inconvenience at best and a threat at worst. His oldest brother spoke to him only with contempt. The next-oldest never spoke to him at all.

But Vayne, Vayne alone, had always spoken to him as an equal, as a brother, as one of his own.

So when their oldest brother had been found guilty of treason, the summer that Larsa had turned nine, and when Father asked that Vayne's sword carry out the sentence—Larsa could not bring himself to feel sorry for his oldest brother at all. He was only sorry that Vayne must bloody his hands with someone so unworthy.

Vayne carried out his duty, as he should. But that night, when the rest of the palace was asleep, he'd come to Larsa's room, alone.

Larsa should have been afraid, but he was not. "What is it?" he'd asked, lighting a bedside lamp, wriggling himself out of the sheets, and sitting himself at the end of the bed.

Vayne sat beside him, then, and pulled him close. He kissed his brow and rested his chin on his head, while Larsa sat mute, struck by the presence of something larger than himself, just outside his understanding.

“How was it, brother?” Larsa asked, a little dumbly, because, what else do you say to a brother who wandered into your room, in the middle of the night, after performing an execution? "How are you?" he managed, a little less dumbly.

Vayne’s hug tightened at that, and his fingers dug into Larsa's shoulders. This is unlike you, brother, Larsa had almost said, but he didn't, because he understood that would be a shade too familiar. So he simply sat there, too stricken to move, and too stricken to even hug back.

After a moment, Larsa whispered: "I hope I should never do anything to force your hand against me—"

"You won't," Vayne said, with quiet ferocity. "That won't happen. You are exactly as you should be, Larsa."

Had Vayne already decided on his scheme, by then? Did he even mean what he had said?

Could the answer to both of those questions be yes?

It was the only bit of wondering he would allow himself, Larsa decided, as he put the last papers away. Everything afterwards would be knowing. Thus the new emperor mustered himself, to greet his first dignitaries, and make the Solidor name proud as he was able.

MAKES SO MANY NOISES

This was so good! I love the peek into Solidor family dynamics, and the attention paid to Vayne's past - not excusing it, but contextualising it. Thank you so much for writing this!!

:D you are most welcome!!!

hhhhhhhhhh oh god this is so good, the layers and the complexity of their relationship and how Vayne is a villain but also steadfastly, universally protective of Larsa, and no Solidor remains a child for long my HEART

perfection.

:D thank you! so glad you liked!

This is *chef's kiss*.

Larsa questioning whether Vayne's affection could have been used to manipulate/turn him (had, to an extent, perhaps even unwittingly!) is such a loaded question and really enriches what we know about Vayne as a character. Larsa coming to the conclusion that Vayne was capable of treachery and caring for him is a terrible thing to have to reconcile, but possibly the best illustration of Larsa abandoning the last of his childhood and coming into himself as emperor. The ficlet comes full circle. Lovely. ;;

pssst if you upload any of your fills on AO3, do share, i would love to bookmark!!

ha;glihea;g thank you!!! so glad to hear the ficlet landed so much of what i wanted to get across~

i was vaguely debating whether to crosspost to AO3, and your comment helped me decide, ty :P i threw this one up https://archiveofourown.org/works/29918790 and the nanaki&aerith one; if i get around to uploading anymore i'll post about it on my dw :)

ajdfkljds thank you for the links!! i'm so glad you're posting these elsewhere, they're lovely <3

Basch & Fran — courtly.

Ashe/Balthier, losing a bet

Basch/Ashe, one last time

Gabranth/Drace, like two wary cats circling each other

Ashe/Penelo, the queen's indulgence

Penelo/Larsa, then be not shy

Ashe/Balthier, despite the thorns

Penelo/Larsa — safety

Fran/Penelo, freedom

Balthier & Fran - For luck, not that you need it.

I'm not great at writing these sky pirates but this prompt was too good to leave unfilled. Hope it's somewhat what you're looking for!

Fran breaks the news as if commenting on some change in the weather. Balthier supposes she is, in a way. Her voice is level, her ruby gaze clear even as she speaks of her immediate departure.

Balthier imagined they would part ways during an ill-fated escapade: a well-aimed bullet plunging through his left breast, or maybe a quick-drawn dagger flashing fast across his throat. Never leaving of their own volition, never the unfathomable thought of Fran dying. He didn’t expect to part so willingly, and on an occasion as unremarkable as this – a routine supplies run in Balfonheim on a day slightly too muggy to call fair.

They stand together, silent in the cockpit, Balthier for once at a loss for words. For a frantic heartbeat, he considers asking her to stay. But it passes, and he understands she is not asking for permission to leave; she is extending him a proper farewell. It’s a courtesy she would not afford a lesser man.

“I won’t begrudge you your freedom, Fran,” he promises; slowly, finally, testing the words against his heart and finding they ring true. To force her stay would pain them both.

“And grateful I will be for it,” she replies in turn.

“The skies will be lonely without a leading lady flying at the helm.”

She is gentle in rebuffing Balthier’s theatrics today. “You are no longer alone as I met you,” Fran reminds him. “Our friends spread Ivalice-wide.”

“Yet none make a sky pirate finer than you.” He sighs in earnest – a partnership like his and Fran’s is unparallelled in all of Ivalice, Balthier is certain. He doubts he can find another partner of her calibre; he cannot be sure he will ever want another partner.

“Fortunate I have been,” Fran muses. “To traverse the realms with a companion unlike any other. Honourable beyond years, steadfast and capable, with folding wings and Jagd-resistant skystone…” She drags a fingernail along the wide sweep of the Strahl’s controls before fixing Balthier with a solemn stare. “And I suppose there was also you, Balthier.” Only the slightest twitch of her nose betrays her jest.

Balthier huffs an incredulous laugh. “Now you find your humour, old girl?”

Fran but tilts her head. Her lips are quirked in a soft, sedate smile. “I will miss you,” is her candid non-answer.

He smiles back. “And I you.”

She nods, then: “The time for my departure draws nigh.”

“To where are you headed?” “Will we ever cross paths?” “What calling tempts you so, to draw you away from my side?”

There are a hundred questions Balthier could ask, and the viera would grace none of them with an answer. This is her way, and he would not have her any different. So instead, Balthier follows until the door and says, “Good luck, Fran.” And as an afterthought: “Not that you need it.”

Already astride the gangplank, Fran peers up at him. Her nose twitches again. “Luck? I never took you as one of such uncertain belief,” she teases.

“I’m not.” Balthier throws his arms out in a shrug. “A lucky man by another name is nought but an opportune fool. Luck means little to we, who have faced the weavers of fate themselves and emerged their betters.”

It’s a testament to the trials they’ve faced, that this is not a boast but a statement of fact. Fran says nothing, but her ears twitch inward in a laugh.

Balthier drops his arms. “But there is a ritual to parting, all the same.”

Fran smiles in acknowledgement, turns to leave. The sight of her disembarking stirs something in Balthier, and he feels the fumbling, desperate hume he was their first meeting.

“Fran, I – ” He coughs; she pauses and moves to face him again. “There will always be a room for you aboard the Strahl, you know that.”

She cocks her right ear in a question and steps closer. He rambles on. “I’ve been… to have found a friend and partner such as you, truly I am the lucky one – ”

Fran closes the remaining distance with a single stride. She presses her lips to his; it’s a chaste kiss, and Balthier knows it to be the first and last they will ever share. Her kiss is suffused with love and a sorrow that burns deep in their marrow, because Fran and Balthier are each other’s best, dearest thing, and they will soon part for an eternity interminable.

Balthier dreamt of this touch when he was still Ffamran wearing a false name, and his affection for the enigmatic viera was by halves adulation and artless lust. He fancied him the luckiest man in the world, he who knew a viera’s lips. Now Balthier would do anything to avoid Fran’s kiss, if only it meant she would stay by his side a minute longer.

She breaks away first, examining him, reading his eyes, perhaps – his mind seems to have hit a spot of Jagd, and his expression is surely unbefitting of a leading man – her nose twitches once more. Does she find him so laughable?

He opens his mouth, and Fran silences him with a raised finger. She traces the planes of his face as she traced the curves of the Strahl: lovingly, reverently, with a tenderness that belies her fierce nails.

“My fool pirate…” she begins, finger ghosting along his cheekbone. “A kiss... for luck,” she continues, following the line of his jaw. “Not that you need it.” She draws back, eyes glimmering, as her thumb runs across his bottom lip. His own eyes have gone inexplicably misty. To have sailed the skies alongside Fran, how opportune a fool he’s been indeed.

Balthier watches her slip away, mingling in the aerodome’s crowds with an uncanny ease for a figure as striking as she. Tall ears bob above the sea of heads – he commits the sight to memory as they surface once, twice, thrice in a flash of ebony-dappled white – then vanish completely as Fran turns out of view.

Ouch! ;~;

This is gorgeous. I hate seeing them separated (I am eternally a sucker for partners in crime, however that shakes down), but if it's gotta be that way then this is, for them, so much better a path than one of them dying and having to carry on. And I love the little echo, and Balthier's whole internalized conflict in between selfishness and knowing better, and Fran~♥, and all the nuances in body language.

it is beautiful, thank you! ♥

!!! This was delightful. Never has a goodbye kiss felt so sweet and lonely and correct all at once. And Balthier's immediate acceptance (knowing there's no point in arguing or fighting the thing), Fran's little joke, it all felt so right, ahh, thank you anon!

Vaan & Rogue Tomato, first time hunts never go as planned

(When I first saw this prompt, I posted it to my journal with a comment like, "OH GODS THIS BETTER GET FILLED." Four months later and it looks like the person filling it is...me! I hope you enjoy!)

------------------------

The gates to the city groaned as they closed behind him, and Vaan stepped out into the Estersand, excitement coursing in his blood.

A hunt mark! Now, this was work. Much better than running errands for Migelo. And Vaan was certain he could do this job. After all, didn't he have plenty of practice killing rats in the sewers? Yes, Vaan was no stranger to killing beasts, and this mark wasn't even a proper beast, but a tomato.

This was going to be a piece of cake.

He found his mark some distance into the desert. It danced around on a cliff edge, oblivious to his approach. Vaan pulled out his daggers and crept as silently as the sand allowed, closer, ever closer...

...but the Rogue Tomato sensed him and turned. Vaan cursed; he'd have no choice but to have a battle with it rather than a quick, easy kill. He darted forward, daggers glimmering in the midday sun, and chanced to land a cut, but the Tomato retaliated with a cut of its own. They continued on, each landing more small cuts but doing no real damage. But the number of scratches must've made it mad, because it suddenly reared back and roared fire at him. Vaan dodged this easily, but it had been a trick; the Tomato suddenly turned and jumped off the cliff.

"Get back here!" Vaan yelled, and jumped off after it, as the cliff wasn't all that high. Yet his landing was not as graceful as the Tomato's own. Vaan stumbled, taking a few steps before pitching forward and landing hard on the ground, face first.

The Tomato darted in and pressed its lips to Vaan's forehead in what was unmistakably a kiss, then scampered away.

Vaan sat up slowly. "What... what just happened?" he said. He was glad Penelo hadn't been here to see this, for he'd never live it down. He stood up, wincing with slight aches from him fall, and resigned himself to Round Two versus the Rogue Tomato.

Vaan sat up slowly. "What... what just happened?" he said. He was glad Penelo hadn't been here to see this, for he'd never live it down. He stood up, wincing with slight aches from him fall, and resigned himself to Round Two versus the Rogue Tomato.

I laughed irl. What a fun fill! Thanks for sharing!

Balthier & Fran OR Balthier/Fran (your pick), awkward pickup lines

Basch/Vossler, old memories

Gabranth/Drace, matters that we should not talk about

Penelo & Gabranth, you're a grade A idiot and I just want you to know that.

Al Cid Margrace &|/ Everyone-EXCEPT-Larsa, diplomacy at its finest is seductive game

set shortly after the final events in FF12

The next time Al-Cid crossed paths with Princess Ashelia was on the eve of Her Majesty's coronation.

He'd nearly been late, due to the Rozarrian Imperial Court's protracted bickering over who to send, and what to say. The war-pavilion was still smarting over the loss of their war—not losing the war, obviously, but at losing their chance to go to war, with its quick promotions and so-called glories. Any talk of ambassadors and diplomacy made them sour.

And while Al-Cid was fairly certain the emperor was only too glad for the peace—the last thing House Margrave needed was greater military meddling—he couldn't say so directly, tempers all around being as frayed as they were.

So in the end, Rozarria sent only Al-Cid, a tenth prince—which should've been an insult, though no one seemed particularly insulted. Certainly Ashe did not, whose eyes brightened the moment he entered the palace's reception on the eve of the coronation, cutting short her conversation with some Dalmascan noble in a rush to greet him.

"My lady," he said, kissing her hand and smiling brilliantly. "Wonderful to see you. Please, don't let me keep you from your duties."

Ashe tilted her head as though she didn't understand.

He nodded toward the gentleman she'd been speaking with just moments prior, who was presently glowering at the two of them. "That is the esteemed Lord Gale, yes?"

Ashe pursed her lips. "That is him, yes. You're well-informed."

He was. Al-Cid grinned. "It would not do, to put off your best choice for finance minister, simply to greet some minor prince from elsewhere. I am going nowhere in a hurry, I assure you; don't let me interrupt."

"It would not do to ignore a friend," Ashe countered, in a voice that brooked no argument.

Al-Cid's lip quirked. He liked this princess. He raised his glass to toast Dalmasca, then toasted Lady Ashe's health, then toasted her lovely eyes—and Ashe laughed and toasted his flatterer's tongue in turn. They went on toasting—the moon, his hair, her toes—until it dissolved into silliness and they both were giggling. He'd hoped for plenty, from this little venture—Al-Cid was the optimistic sort—but even he hadn't expected the pleasant frission between them, how it seemed to warm the air.

What a shame, then, when their glasses at last ran dry, and Lady Ashe was practically dragged away by an attendant, desperate to ensure Her Highness made at least a few of her other rounds. "Let us be sure to speak later," Ashe mouthed, and he tilted his glass at her like a promise.

As the clock struck midnight, and the reception began to peter out, Al-Cid slipped past some caterers and wandered the high halls of the palace alone. He likely knew the layout of this place better than most of the servants—through no fault of their own, mind. He simply had a habit of studying old maps and blueprints to pass the time, and due to a historical quirk, the architect of this palace had been Rozarrian, so it'd been a simple matter to procure those blueprints as reading material for the flight over.

He cut through a hidden passage into the library, which was just as lovely in person as the architect's bare sketches had suggested. The room was high-ceilinged and glass-domed, and it was a clear night: flickers of starlight from above spangled the long shelves with bright drops of light. (Al-Cid kept an empty glass in his hand as he wandered between the stacks—while he had no intention of being seen, if he were unexpectedly spotted, he could feign insobriety easily enough, which made a tidy enough excuse. He was only a tenth prince, after all, probably spoilt and reckless; certainly no one to worry about overmuch.)

From there, Al-Cid ambled toward the hallways that led to the royal chambers. Someone with a keen eye had chosen the paintings in this corridor, and he nodded approvingly—

"Al-Cid?"

And there she was, the Lady Ashe herself, as if on cue. She was a bit bewildered, at seeing him there. But not frightened, and not displeased.

"You said you wished to speak later," Al-Cid said with his easiest smile. "I had hoped this might be late enough...?"

There was the barest beat of silence, and Al-Cid was about to add, only if you are not tired, of course, because it was only an idea, and if Her Majesty was not entirely amenable, then he had no intention to press—

But Ashe's voice was as unerring as the lone bell that tolled at that very moment, striking the hour. "Yes. Yes, it is."

She strode ahead and pushed open the doors to her chambers herself, then turned to gesture him inside.

Well.

When the doors closed behind him, she kissed him in such a hurry that he started laughing. Ashe paused to give him a peevish look, and he laughed again. "My lady, there's no need to rush—"

"Suppose that I should like to rush?"

Al-Cid arched a brow. "Then I am at your service."

Al-Cid was not a man given to hurrying. But it was only manners, to follow the lady's lead. She kissed him again, pausing only to tell him where to touch her and how—hold me closer, she'd whisper, pulling his hand down lower on her back, before kissing him again. Then she'd stop to hiss, like this, pressing down on his hand with her own, until his fingertips pressed hard into her skin, and she hmmed contentedly. "Very particular, aren't you?" he quipped. Ashe answered that by pulling him into her bed.

When they began to strip off each other's clothes, Ashe remained unapologetic in all that she asked for. Not that Al-Cid had expected her to be otherwise, necessarily, but he'd had more women surprise him with sudden reticence than the other way around. Ordinarily, he delighted in how he could make a lover shiver, by kissing his way up their thighs slowly, oh-so-slowly, or down their chest, listening for their quickening breaths, and waiting for them to whisper, more.

It is a new experience altogether, having a lady pull him onto his knees, and then tap his head impatiently when he dithered too long—a different sort of thrill, Al-Cid thought. But no lesser, he decided, as he pressed in close and licked a sudden gasp from her. "Like that," she whispered, knotting her fingers into his hair. And if he detected a bit of bluster behind her commands, some faint compensation for inexperience, well—Al-Cid did not comment. It was only manners. And beside, his tongue was busy elsewhere.

By the time Ashe at last lie spent, and finally told him no more, dawn was threatening to brighten the room. "You should leave soon," she murmured.

"Of course," Al-Cid said, already pulling his own clothes back on. Ordinarily he'd have protested, and would've lain with her a while, while whispering absolutely lovely nonsense into her ear. But Her Majesty's attendants were sure to arrive soon, and it simply wouldn't do, starting a scandal before she'd even technically been made queen.

And what a queen she'd be, he thought to himself. Bluster and inexperience were only temporary things. Shed those, and she'd be fierce in her own right.

He hoped that she'd like him in his own right, by then.

He cracked open a door and peeked into the hall. The coast was clear. "Goodbye, my desert bloom," he called, singsong, and slipped into the last fleeting minutes of the night.

Oooooh, delightful

thank you!!

They're so cute. Their eagerness for each other is wonderful. Of course Al-Cid just happens to make a hobby of studying palace blueprints. Including this palace. On the way over. Of course. Ashe not letting her nerves get in the way of something she wants.

he just has very casual normal hobbies that definitely do not involve an ulterior motive!!! very regular up in here!!!

thanks muchly for reading; glad you liked :)

god, I love this, Ashe's command and her impatience, her bluster, Al-Cid's totally reasonable habit (and the self-deprecating references to tenth princes, indeed, but tenth princes are sufficient for a tiny desert kingdom of no meaningful importance) and the way he bends to her will while still having a very specific goal in mind--I love this. so much.

ahhhh thank you!!! i love them so much lol

Ashe/Balthier/Basch, royalty

Ashe/Basch, unspoken

al-cid &,/ balthier: ruffled feathers

Larsa/Penelo, "My home is in Archadia, but my heart is in the skies"

(a reference to Penelo pursuing being a sky pirate)

vayne &,/ dr. cid, descent [into madness, into darkness, into anything w/e]

Includes the XIII compilation

fang/lightning, spar

this got long OTL. and i won't pretend to know what tenses are anymore lol.

Gran Pulse is lit up in a burst. The horizon line is low and the sun pushes miles at a time like a flash flood. Down in the canyons and the crevices Fang tilts her head back to watch the stars disappear in the skies furthest corners. Then it’s just the gorgonopsids and the wyverns, kicking up dust off of rocks far above, racing across the plains for the thrill of it.

It’s like the internal clock of Guardian Corps is attuned to the ground far below. Even though their suns are different, Lightning is already up, circling around their camp and shaking the sleep out of her limbs. All it takes is a turn of her head for their eyes to meet, a wave of her hand to draw her in, and Fang takes her up the trail where they can talk at ease.

It’s how they always wind up together out here: too much rest puts their nerves in knots.

Striding up the animal trails and following the stream that weaved through camp, the gray stones yield to green foliage, and the endless yellow plains and red rocks up above get closer to kissing distance. Years and years have passed in this dark hole since Fang last went so far astray as the Palisades, and the geography still looks the same -- touched by wind a bit more, and a whole lost dustier without her kind to move the air around. Taejin’s Tower is split in half — which is new — and occupied by a real monster, but so is everywhere else. Pulse didn’t care what happened to her in her absence, and neither did the other fal’cie.

It leaves Fang with the kind of sulky emotions she’s no good at housing, the kind that turn her irrational and prone to shortness: it makes her wonder if Ragnarok could have changed everything.

“No good?”

Fang turns to look at the dirt patch stretching out along their right. Bushes cushion the edges of the cliffs high above and it’s only gently sloped. The sun won’t reach it until midday.

“If you like sitting in a dark hole,” Fang retorts.

Lightning shrugs and they push forward. “Suit yourself.”

Fang knows her kind -- strung so tight a single push causes the band to snap. Military reserves so exhausted from posturing and formalities so gruesome and orchestrated by the fal’cie it makes her eyes roll. Somehow, Lightning’s never fallen into the mold when she’s been watching. She’s just steadfast and reserved. Now that most of the anger has been redirected to their current goal, she’s more amiable than ever.

Lightning takes long strides without slowing, allowing Fang to set the pace, which she makes faster as the steepness increases, urging her legs to throw her up into that volley of sunlight. It's true that the open plains make her feel alive. She'd been shivering in the cold metal of Cocoon, running through tunnels and corridors like a rat.

“You’re wound up this morning,” Lightning pants.

She kicks a large boulder out of the road that one of them would inevitably trip over later. “Am I? Slept a bit weird. My neck’s got a kink. And all sorts of weird body aches.”

“Sorry, but I don’t want to go too far from camp. Pick a spot.”

“Easy, I told the old man we’d be out. Worry about us instead.” She halted in front a section that she knew they could scale. A little dangerous, but they were damn never invincible at this point, right? “No missteps on this part above, alright? It’s slick. Watch my footholds.”

Fang could feel the glare warming her back, nearly as good as the Pulsian sun. None of that Phoenix business, but the real thing, all artificiality and pretense removed. About another ten minutes of this and Lightning would start simmering for real -- when she snapped, it’d be like getting a right hook from a behemoth.

“Tired of the scenic route?” Lightning groused.

“It’s not news to me.” Fang showed her teeth in her answering smile. “Don’t you like a little predator free adventure in the morning?”

“I wouldn’t have minded killing something.”

Fang’s legs didn’t burn easily these days, not for a long time -- the climb was like another daily trifle in her life, just a small uptick in breathing, some careful, fast calculations about her own limits, things she learned to control long ago. Plenty of others she just had to learn to let go of. The real kicker is that slowing down only gets harder. She doesn’t want to spend the time to think about doomed solutions.

At the top of the cliff, they throw themselves over the edge and slide softly in the wet grass. The sun blares in their face like hot iron. It’s enough to make her pause.

“Look at that,” Fang says, “You can see for miles and miles.”

Fang can’t stop grinning, even though she sees three suns every time she blinks, it feels good on her skin. The view is grand at every angle on Gran Pulse -- if this is the world the fal’cie set out to create for their Maker it’s a damn shame he never returned to appreciate it, and what a curse that their time is limited to the time bomb stamped on their bodies.

Lightning’s eyes sweep over the wild, open spaces around them. Taejin’s Tower looks close enough to touch. Giant blossoms protrude on thick, green stalks and the whole canyon gives way to the winding water ways below. Monsters roam everywhere, the only life left in the unforgiving environment. Sullya Springs is just a hop and skip back where they came. The roar of the water never really leaves their ears.

“You must feel vulnerable, out in the open like this. No buildings or machines or corridors to hide in. Does it put you on edge?” Fang shaded her eyes to watch her properly.

“Not really. I can see what’s coming for me. As for the monsters, I just have to be faster.”

“Oh yeah?” Fang prompts. “What would you do if those beasties overpowered you?”

“If I could, I’d run away.”

“And live to see another day,” Fang sang. She rubbed the rest of the sleep out of her eyes before leaping to her feet. She hadn’t been joking about the neck kink, but her limbs were significantly looser than when they’d left, and she cracked joints until Lightning was grimacing at the racket.

Smoothly, she pulls her lance from her back. Her clan’s name glints back at her along the handhold. It doesn’t mean anything anymore. “Ready?”

“I’m game. But you’re going to tell me what this is all about after I beat you.”

Lightning stretches like a cat, gun blade smoothly sliding out of its carrier and unfolding to its full length, lethal and silvery. There’s cold fire in her eyes, the frustration that’s been building making her twitchy and distant. There’s beauty and grace in the gesture, effortless, though the worst fights she likely ever saw before her l’cie days was breaking up groups of monsters or street fights -- now she’s a real killer.

"I’ll decide that." Fang smiled. Then she swung at her.

Fang always did like to get the first hit, but Lightning was faster on her feet.

She dodged under the lance and came up on the other side, blade reaching for her calves. Fang used the momentum of her swing to move out of reach, and they they were both turning to lock weapons, the kind of dance of steel that had her hair standing on end, the only kind of close encounter she knew how to survive the fallout of. She whooped and Lightning flipped back, an answering smile of her own making her face wide open -- she wasn’t above the thrill of whacking someone with sharp objects and that was the sign of a kindred soul.

Minutes feel like hours, and it ends with Lightning pressing her pale knee into her stomach, head back-lit as the sun hovers lovingly over head, the smell of grass and dirt and sweat hanging around like a cloud. There’s a rock digging into the muscles of her back and Lightning’s knees are red and scratched. They’re wheezing like chased animals, eye to eye.

Fang drags her pinned hand away from her side and pats Lightning on the thigh. “You win,” she wheezes. “Nice footwork. But don’t get cocky.”

“I don’t think the sun did you any favors.”

“No. Felt nice though.”

"It does," Lightning says, voice controlled. “Now, will you talk?”

Fang hesitates. “See, the point of smacking each other around like this is so we don’t have to.”

“Fang.”

“It’s just.” She sighed. “It’s a pretty awful feeling seeing how beautiful and meaningless home is now. You think about Bodhum, don’t you? All that water and sand and perfect weather.”

“Sometimes it rained,” Lightning offered.

Fang closed her eyes. “Gran Pulse lives on just fine without us. All of us people? We were the real instruments in all this. You up in that sky would have been a fat sacrifice for the Maker. Me down hear was the fired shot.”

“That won’t happen now.”

“It already almost happened. Ragnarok tried, once. Funny to think it was Cocoon fal’cie pulling our strings down here, too.”

Lightning narrowed her eyes. “You learned something.”

“Doesn’t matter. Point is that we’re gearing up for a tragedy. You’re kind of a do-gooder once you know the facts. I respect that. Doesn’t mean I want to be a part of it.”

“You don’t get to change your mind because you’re feeling nervous. Besides, we might find something in Oerba.”

“No, I don’t think we will. Unless the fal’cie give us a hint, it’ll just be a housewarming call.”

Lightning slipped off to the side. “So you feel like giving up? You don’t care about taking responsibility?”

“Vanille does,” Fang breathed. “So by extension I have to. I have to. See what I’m saying?”

“That’s what’s bothering you?” Lightning folded her gun blade and rose to her knees to sheath it. “If Serah weren’t crystal I’d have taken her far away by now, focus be damned. We’d be dead.”

Fang propped herself up on her elbows. “Two beautiful c’ieth, wandering the world in torment for eternity. At least you’d be together.”

Lightning’s mouth turned down at the corner. She slipped her gloves off and stretched her hands on the hard ground. “--Or I could have decided what I’m doing now. I figure if I die it won’t be from my focus.”

“See, you’re a better thinker than I am. I always make the wrong decisions, and shit gets worse. I thought if I followed the rules, maybe things would work out. That was the promise, right? But something went wrong... and now I’m here to do the same thing twice.”

Lightning inclined her head. “You’re working on a solution though. You’re still here, with all of us, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. Never thought your group would bring me home again. Like a real little family.”

“Then just think about that. It won’t be the end until it is.” Fang stared at her.

Without warning, Lightning reached out to touch her shoulder and Fang sat up all the way. “Your neck,” she said, “where’s the knot you mentioned?”

“Ah, base of my skull.” Cool magic flowed from her finger-tips into the top of her spine. Fang watched her with narrowed eyes, breath as calm as when they started. All the haze was gone from her vision, and she felt lighter, crystal-clear. Getting a beat down always was the best solution for bringing her back to herself.

Fang didn’t doubt that she was right to some extent -- history would repeat itself -- but for now, this moment of calmness made her courageous.

“Hey, Light.”

“What.”

“Come a little closer.”

Lightning held her eyes, then leaned in, cool as wind. She didn’t stop at the halfway mark, just calmly met her mouth with her own, as dry and chapped as bark. To be fair, this would have capitalized on the moment of betrayal, a life time ago, like Fang couldn’t have fallen any lower from her duty, canoodling with Cocoon’s stock and damning her own. But the guilty feeling never came. Lightning’s fingers moved into her hair and stayed there, and Fang sighed, feeling warm from the inside out. She patted Lightning’s cheek.

“Been wanting to do that for a while now,” Fang admitted. “But I didn’t want to get stabbed.”

Lighting smirked but her face was soft. “Could still happen,” she murmured. She pressed another chaste kiss to her mouth then parted. “Who knows what the future holds. I might slip for real in our next fight. Or you may be right about everything.”

“Don’t joke. Lady Luck could leave anytime. Just let me have my frustrations and listen to my complaints and I’ll be right as day after.”

“Sure,” Lightning said. “But don’t make me beat it out of you next time. And remember who you’re really here for.”

“What, it’s not you?”

“Fang.”

“I know,” she said, softer. “Believe me, I know.”

Fang disengaged from her hold, pulling Lighting to her feet after her, and the two of them stood in the early light. The sun moved lazily, or they were slow and languid, but Fang felt a calm settling over her skin. That was something dangerous, and it was hard to believe she wasn’t making another stupid decision -- except fal’cie dreams would only ever lead them to a slow death anyway. She was the one who didn’t believe in anything better anymore.

Taejin’s Tower called out to them. And on the other side of that, Fang hoped Lightning’s prediction would come true.

!!! what a DELIGHT to see this sitting in my inbox ahgelaig

i love your Lightning voice so much? such wonderfully dry humor; I laughed aloud at this:

"You think about Bodhum, don’t you? All that water and sand and perfect weather.” / “Sometimes it rained,” Lightning offered.

and also this:

“Been wanting to do that for a while now,” Fang admitted. “But I didn’t want to get stabbed.” / Lighting smirked but her face was soft. “Could still happen.”

and also: the connection between the two of them, in the sense of, both having someone they care about driving them, Vanielle and Serah—that was such an oof and good angle to press on. and the kiss! Fang's faux-casual casual approach, expecting to feel like she's fallen and just not feeling that, ah! the simultaneous warmth and remove, the sort of push-and-pull just beneath the surface, the thing they both know in the end:

“Sure,” Lightning said. “But don’t make me beat it out of you next time. And remember who you’re really here for.”

“What, it’s not you?”

“Fang.”

“I know,” she said, softer. “Believe me, I know.”

THANK YOU for this fill; i am so thoroughly delighted!

hehe i'm so glad you enjoyed!!! <33

fang{&,/}lightning, while missing someone else

Fang/Vanille — first and last.

[References parts of the FFXIII novel, Episode Zero: Promise. Pre-game.]

“Me, huh?” Vanille laughs.

Fang spins her around, watching the light dapple the furniture and flood the room. Bhakti crowds around her legs in automated jealousy.

“Yep,” Fang says. “You’re a real charmer. Can’t keep my eyes off you.”

“Oh stop.” Fang grins and leans in first, mouth catching hers mischievously, and it’s like the whole future has rolled out before them: days spent riling each other up into unmatched hysterics, mirrors in everything.

Then the war comes. Anima fails them. Their bunk mates leave one by one. The windmills halt as power is redirected. Oerba hollows out as the fal’Cie send them scurrying like ants from a kicked nest.

Fang volunteers as l’Cie and Vanille follows.

Stupid plan.

The train shrieks its protests in carrying its occupants to their final destination. Fang waits by the terminal, twisting her lance into the top of her sandals. She thinks, is this all we’re allowed to have?

Cocoon hangs above like a second moon, solitary and cold. Fang hates it. They'll hate her more.

“We'll come back,” Vanille says, and kisses her free hand. She sounds unsure.

“We stay together, alright? Whatever craziness happens, you stay close, understood?”

“I will.”

They don’t.

OUCH.

I mean that in the best way possible! ♥

Glad you enjoyed!! :D

"Oh stop." Ah I love their easy banter; I hear their voices so well here—

Stupid plan. *oof*. I heard that one too.

Fang waits by the terminal, twisting her lance into the top of her sandals. She thinks, is this all we’re allowed to have? OOF what good, sharp detail; i really loved this ficlet!

thank you so much! <3

oh my god, ow, ow. I want to cuddle them close and give them blankets and tea. (So good.)

yeah these two have had it rough ;a; i'm glad you enjoyed~!!

Fang/Vanille, familiarity need not breed contempt

Lightning/Fang, don't go easy on me

Lightning/Sazh or Lightning & Sazh — the weight of experience

(set during the beginning of the Gran Pulse section [Chapter 11] of FF13)

They'll have to split up, Lightning announces, if they're going to scout Pulse properly. They'll form three teams of two people each, and they'll meet back here in the evening.

Sazh notices the way Hope stares at Lightning, while she splits them up into teams—and he notices the disappointed flicker on the kid's face, when she puts him on a different team than her. Sazh thinks suddenly, painfully, of Dajh. He hopes Lightning knows what she's doing.

Hope and Snow head north, and Fang and Vanielle go south, which leaves—

"You're with me," Lightning says, nodding at Sazh.

He follows her east without complaint. But as soon as the others are out of earshot, he whispers to her: "That kid looks up to you, you know. Hope."

Lightning frowns, like he's reminded her of something she was trying to forget. Sazh thinks she's about to deny it, or else she'll say that the kid needs to toughen up, get over it, something like that—

But instead she says: "I don't think anyone really stays a kid, after everything we've gone through."

"Is that so." Sazh hmms, skeptical.

There's a flash of annoyance on Lightning's face: "What?"

"I'm just saying—compared to me, all of you are basically kids."

Her face tells him that she doesn't agree, but that she also knows arguing would only prove his point. So she settles for a scowl, and walks faster.

It's funny. Sazh laughs. "It's nothing personal," he says, jogging to catch up, "it's just, I mean, c'mon, how old are you?"

"Twenty-one," she says, without turning her head.

Sazh nods. "See, when I was your age, I wasn't even due to meet my wife for another ten years. And I'm not sure how much anything before then counted."

That catches Lightning's attention—she tilts her head, though she still doesn't turn to face him. "Ten years? Really."

"Really. What? Is that so surprising?"

Lightning is counting something out on her fingers. Then: "You look pretty good, for how old you must be."

Oh. Ha. "I will choose to take that as a compliment," he says, with a mock-magnanimous bow.

They've reached a spot on the path where the only way forward is up, one long rocky scramble that's rather more vertical than Sazh cares for. East is where all those reddish cliffs loomed in the distance, wasn't it? He should've protested, earlier, and said, let's go scout some other direction—but it's too late for that, now.

Lightning bounds onto the next ledge, a full ten feet above them, in one graceful leap. Sazh's back is still sore from their crash-landing, the day before; he can't jump like that, l'Cie powers or no. He sighs and heaves himself a little ways up the craggiest section of the wall. At least Lightning's not ditching people, anymore—she's leaning over the ledge with an outstretched hand, waiting to pull him up. They make their way up together, just like that, an easy rhythm—Lightning leaping, then waiting, while Sazh clambers after.

Once they reach the top of the cliff, they pause to catch their breath—well, Sazh catches his breath, mostly, while Lightning watches. He wonders if her gaze has always looked so sharp, or if it's something they taught her in the Guardian Corps. So sharp, and yet her voice is almost soft when she asks him:

"So what were you doing, when you were my age? If you weren't meeting your wife."

"I sure wasn't a soldier or anything fancy like that," he says, slowly, not really wanting to get into specifics. "I was, well, hell. Kind of a drifter. Working this job and that, you know. I was probably was more of a kid than you. No reason to grow up if you haven't got any real responsibilities."

"So you were like Snow," Lightning says dryly.

Sazh laughs—he laughs so hard that he feels a little bad about it. Once he manages to catch his breath, he's still smiling, but he tells her, "You're kinda hard on him, don't you think?"

Lightning purses her lips thoughtfully. "I might be." Then she grins, like they're sharing some delightful secret: "But you still laughed."

He laughs again. "I said you were hard on him. I didn't say you were wrong."

Her smile fades, bit by bit, into something more pensive. "He just didn't have to grow up as fast as some people. Which is how it is, sometimes, I guess."

Something in her tone catches strangely, in a way that makes Sazh think, maybe Lightning isn't just jumped-up newly-minted-soldier I've-got-a-gun bluster. Maybe there's something more to her, underneath all that. Sazh is old enough to know that joining the Sanctum isn't the kind of thing that makes you responsible or grown-up, all on its own. But something else might be.

He wonders what that something was, for Lightning.

But instead of asking her, he takes a swig from the dinged-up water bottle they're sharing. Lightning watches him drink. He doesn't have to say when he's ready to go. She knows, from how closely she's watching him, and she simply stands up and starts walking again, right when he'd been about to say, Let's go.

They walk in silence for another hour before Lightning speaks again:

"So where is your wife now?" When Sazh blinks, confused, she adds, "The one you met when you thirty-one."

Right, right. He had mentioned that. "She passed away."

Lightning's face softens. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine. It's been a few years."

"Still."

Silence again. Silence for a long while, this time. They make their way through a narrow canyon pass, a pass so narrow that Sazh keeps almost tripping over Lightning's feet, from how the walls press them in together. (Lightning, of course, never falters in her step once. The more he watches her work, the more he wonders at her. How'd the Sanctum ever let someone this good this slip away?)

They'll have to turn back soon, Lightning says (whispering, because otherwise her words will echo in these walls). They need to make it back by nightfall. But she wants to get just a little bit farther, see just a little bit more—

They round a bend, and the path climbs rapidly. Moments later, they're standing atop a cliff, a cliff that seems to overlook the whole world, as far as Sazh can tell—red canyons stretch on beneath them, for miles, as far as the eye can see.

"Nice view," he says, with a low whistle. Even Lightning's got to hmm in agreement at that one.

They stand there for a long while, side-by-side, just staring. A wyvern circles lazily overhead, then drifts away on a breeze.

Then Lightning slips her hand slips into his—and it takes every ounce of composure that Sazh has ever built, over every year he's been a pilot, to not shout in surprise. Not that it's bad, or anything, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't intrigued, but—

She sidles closer. She angles her shoulders toward him. He feels her lean closer and—

"Ah, nah, no no," he says, backing up a step and wagging a finger, "none of that. Not until you tell me what we're doin', here."

She arches an eyebrow. "Sazh. We could all be turned into cie'th tomorrow. It doesn't have to be more complicated than that." She closes the distance between them with a single step.

Well. When she puts it like that. "Fair enough," he says, and he wraps his arms around her back to pull her close. She tips her chin up to kiss him, and the Pulse sun blazes bright on the red rock around them all the while.

I love their dynamic and comfortable camaraderie here. Sazh's quiet observance too of what makes Lightning tick, of why she makes the decisions / says the things she does, maybe Lightning isn't just jumped-up newly-minted-soldier I've-got-a-gun bluster is just nice. And Lightning's pragmatism is simply the best, haha.

thank you!!! it was very fun writing the vibe between these two~

aaaaaaaa this is so amazing, I love the voices you have for them here <3

thank you! i love Them, sighs into hands

FUCK YES aaaaaaaaa this is so good, the ways they both grew up at different times, the way everyone else is growing up around them and how that circles into their dynamic, how it both is and isn't at all complicated between them - they have so much in common and I love, love, love, love it.

when I was refreshing myself on the FF13 script, I was SO SURPRISED these two don't have more scenes together, because, yeah, they vibe so well together! so glad you liked~

Fang & Snow, you have a lot of heart

Fang/Vanille, thrill of a hunt

Lightning/Snow, "you lost me with your type of stupidity but blew my mind with your total commitment to it."

Serah/Vanille, can't find the words

snow &,/ fang: look what the cat dragged in

includes both expansions -- label for spoilers please!

Beatin/Gairhard, Beatin shows Gairhard his wood

Lyse/Alisaie, the best things are shared

Windy is replaying Stormblood now, and so I see why you prompted this couple! Okay, okay, I am still firmly in the Alisaie/WoL camp but Lyse/Alisaie *are* cute, and I wanted to write you something nice 'cause you could use something nice, so here you go! I am not sure it really fits your prompt but it's what came out tonight...

-------------------------

The memory of that moment haunts Alisaie.

She had just finished dispatching the Red Kojin after the Warrior of Light defeated Susano, and was now striding up the beach to where Lyse and the Warrior waited. Alisaie could hear the two of them talking. Was that panic in Lyse's voice? Lyse was demanding to go after Alisaie, rather insistently.

With a bemused smile, Alisaie announced her presence. To her surprise, Lyse enveloped her in a big hug. Alisaie sputtered and protested, but her body couldn't help thinking that this hug felt, well, nice.

Uncomfortably nice.

Since then, Alisaie thinks of the memory of Lyse's arms around her far too often.

--In the morning, still half asleep, when she's not sure if the memory is real or a dream.

--After lunch, when she's out on patrol. The memory sneaks in and she curses and tries to push it away, for she knows she needs to stay focused, because to not do so is to risk death. And yet she can't quite manage to banish the memory from her thoughts, so instead she gives in to it in her own way, imagining Lyse beside her, dancing on her toes the way she does when she's about to attack.

--At dinner, when Alphinaud is blathering on about how to fix the aetheryte. Alisaie's forced to ask him to repeat himself at times, earning her a frown, which she just waves off and asks, "You were saying?"

--At night, when she's lying awake in bed. The memory comes on the strongest, and she sighs and finds herself praying to the gods that Lyse is alright, wherever she is in the Azim Steppe.

It's too long until Lyse and the others return, but they finally do, and Alisaie forces herself to act normal when she first spots them, but her heart lurches at the sight of Lyse who lifts her hand in that little wave she does. "Oh, you've got it bad, girl", she mutters under her breath, but her twin's standing beside her and he asks, "What was that?" Alisaie startles and quickly says, "Nothing. Just some idle thought of no import," but fears her cheeks may be blushing.

Everyone's busy the next few days, including Alisaie who for once doesn't find herself so distracted, but perhaps that is because the object of her distraction is close at hand. She revels in the time she steals with Lyse. They share a meal, and Alisaie listens in rapture as Lyse tells her all about the trial of the Mol and the tests from the Orinir.

And then Lyse sits up taller and says, "Oh! And another thing..." and Alisaie can't help it, she bursts into a girlish giggle, prompting Lyse to ask, "What?"

"Nothing. You're just so... you," Alisaie responds.

"Well, of course I am," Lyse says in that matter-of-fact way she has. "Who else would I be?" And then Lyse plunges on with her story, and Alisaie smiles and continues eating but she's thinking, I've got to do something about this.

A moment later Alisaie can't bear it any longer. "Lyse. Shut up," she says, gently.

She expects Lyse to look hurt, but the other girl just looks confused a second, and then her eyes widen as Alisaie cups Lyse's face with her hands and kisses her softly. Alisaie sits back a bit and Lyse says, "Oh! That was unexpected."

"But not unwelcome?" Alisaie asks, hopefully.

"No, of course not," Lyse says, grinning, and then she leans forward and kisses Alisaie back.

aaaaaaah Alisaie you nerd. I love it! I love Lyse's energy and Alisaei's interactions - especially with Alphinaud. What a delight. Thank you!! ♥

You're very welcome, and I'm glad you liked it! I think I captured their voices pretty well. Thanks for the prompt, it was fun writing again!

Alphinaud/Estinien, admiration comes in many forms

The first time Estinien curled his lip, Alphinaud's breath hitched.

Alphinaud prayed the dragoon hadn't noticed. So he had a physical attraction to the man. So what? It was normal. Healthy, even. But he didn't have time now to chase fantasies. No, he was busy trying to revive the Scions.

Besides, Alphinaud had always assumed that when he did find love, it would be with someone, shall we say, more cerebral, given his own love of parlay.

But then Estinien asked to travel with Alphinaud and the Warrior of Light in search of Iceheart. Alphinaud couldn't refuse, but internally he thought, "This could get interesting."

And oh, it did.

Alphinaud found he couldn't take his eyes off Estinien. The dragoon had a way of moving that appealed to his senses: his long strides, the forceful thrust of his lance. That was just lust, though, something Alphinaud could squash.

What he couldn't squash, though, was being impressed.

It was after they had fought the heretics at Snowcloak, when Estinien relayed the tale of the Dreaming Dragon and suggested visiting the Convictor's camp. That was a sound suggestion. Alphinaud even admitted it aloud. Perhaps there was more to the dragoon than just brawn.

As their journey continued, Alphinaud came to appreciate Estinien's knowledge and counsel. But it wasn't until Zenith that he realized his feelings had grown and now included a healthy dose of respect.

Ysayle and Estinien were bickering again. Alphinaud sat by the fire, legs crossed and drawn up to his chest, bemused, and shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. Estinien was speaking passionately and with conviction.

Alphinaud knew conviction. Was it not that which had led him to form the Crystal Braves? To believe only he could save the realm from impending Calamity? It had all fallen apart, of course, but Alphinaud was determined to put things right again. And he couldn't help but respect this same sort of conviction he now saw in Estinien.

Watching their squabble, Alphinaud had to admit that Ysayle had conviction, too. But Alphinaud didn't want to kiss her.

Oh, dear. Things had got interesting.

* * *

That night, Estinien lay on his back, staring at the stars. Thinking of Alphinaud.

He'd felt the younger man's eyes on him time and again. It was amusing, to be honest. Apparently Alphinaud wasn't aware of how obvious he was being.

Then came that damned wood.

It was when they were to light a signal fire in an attempt to draw out Iceheart. It was... endearing, really... how Alphinaud hadn't a clue what kind of firewood to gather. Alphinaud may have complained of scrabbling in the snow, but he took Estinien's advice readily, and Estinien had to respect that.

What he also had to respect was Alphinaud's selflessness. After all, Alphinaud had volunteered to help stop the Dravanians from advancing, even though the younger man was trying to rebuild the Scions. And Alphinaud cared about others. Why, he had positively fretted when the Warrior of Light went up against the Gnathic deity with only Ysayle's help. Estinien couldn't help wondering just what Alphinaud felt for the hero in their midst...

Sighing, Estinien turned on his side, looking across the fire at where Alphinaud lay slumbering. Alphinaud's features had softened in sleep, and Estinien idly wondered if the younger man's lips would be as soft...

....No. He was not having such thoughts.

With a grumble, Estinien stood abruptly and marched off away from the campfire. He relieved himself, then slowly walked back to camp.

Alphinaud had awakened, and was now sitting up, staring at the fire.

Estinien cleared his throat. Alphinaud turned his head towards him, then held a finger up to his lips and pointed to their sleeping companions. Estinien gave a nod, then moved to join Alphinaud by the fire.

He heard Alphinaud's breath hitch as he took a seat not across the fire, but directly next to Alphinaud.

I am not going to have such thoughts, Estinien told himself fiercely.

But apparently he was having such thoughts, because his hand -- of its own accord, it felt like -- moved to Alphinaud's knee.

Alphinaud turned to face him. The younger Elezen's eyes had dilated, enticing. Estinien leaned in and pressed his lips to Alphinaud's. Alphinaud parted his lips in surprise, and Estinien couldn't resist darting his tongue into Alphinaud's mouth. He felt Alphinaud sigh and melt into him, their tongues dueling.

Here was another thing they could respect about each other: they were both good kissers.

*happy squeaks and rolling*

oh, I love this. (even though I am unforgivably late in commenting!) I love their respect for each other's strength of will, the way they are Definitely Not doing the thing, and also because I'm five I giggled at the double entendres. The thrust of his lance, indeed!

Thank you SO much! ♥

including related extras

ignis {&,/} (any of the Road Trip Gang), ignis notices things that others don't

Ignis/Aranea — Sightless hope.

Lunafreya/Nyx — Drift compatibility.

Lunafreya/Gentiana — unquestioning loyalty from the divine.

The girl stands clad in white surrounded by fields of her childhood. The new growth is a herald of that which will soon blossom, blossom and wither, left for winter to consume the dry leaves.

This transience is worthy of worship, sacrifice that the gods cannot make. Sorrow that they cannot know forms the tears that spill over the budding flowers. She will be gone before the blossoms fall.

She is sacred and mortal, and must be handled like spun glass. She has turned the ice in Gentiana's chest to meltwater, taken a goddess apart at the seams. She does not resist the finger that reaches for her jawline, set in determination, still, but not passive. Her choice and will resonates in every action. They mirror, curve into each other, mortal and divine, light and shadow. The kiss is as light as the touch of a petal, as brief as the fall of a snowflake. It, too, shall resonate in eternity.

Ahh, that's so lovely! What a spectacular finishing line. Thank you so much. ♥

her jawline, set in determination, still, but not passive. Her choice and will resonates in every action.

got a little chill, reading this. what a lovely distillation of what makes Lunafreya so compelling. thank you for this!

Edited 2021-02-09 10:35 (UTC)

This is so gorgeous and atmospheric, hell yes. I love it.

Goooorgeous <3 And I love the idea of the sacrifice gods can't make, and Luna's agency coming through so strongly.

Ignis/Noctis — unspoken

Looking back on it now, Ignis realized that there had never been a word for what he was to Noctis.

He was going to be his friend, King Regis had said, when he'd first introduced the two of them. He was an advisor, Ignis's father had said, glowering at him over a pair of spectacles, and shoving a pile of political books him, which he hadn't yet memorized to his father's satisfaction. He was a guard, his mother had told him, when she first pressed a throwing-knife into his hand, and started teaching him the art that would keep His Highness safe. He was a tutor, most people seemed to think, with how much he helped His Highness with his homework over the years—

That one happened almost by accident. When Ignis and Noctis had first met as kids, their only directive had been, get to know each other. They wound up spending a long summer afternoon rambling around the edges of the pond on the royal grounds, trying and failing to skip rocks across the surface. This was before Noct had his injury, when Noct had been more outgoing, happy to chatter away for hours and hours. He asked Ignis absolutely everything about himself—what did he like, which of the Six was the coolest, why did he need glasses, did he like the palace, what was it like outside the palace, did he have any pets? Then Noctis moved on to just asking questions about everything: "Why is grass green, anyway?" he asked, as they waded through some stamped-down grass at the pond's edge. "Why not purple or something?"

"Well," Ignis said, reflexively, because he'd just finished reading a science book the night before, and his eidetic memory made recall easy, "it's because grass contains a pigment called chlorophyll, which absorbs every wavelength of light except green, which allows it to intake a very large portion of the sun's energy. Though, if the question is, why isn't grass black, which would absorb every wavelength, that's a matter of debate among scientists who study botanical evolution, with a number of plausible hypotheses."

For a moment Noctis just stared at Ignis blankly. Ignis felt himself waver. Had he said something incorrect? Then Noctis broke into a grin: "I didn't understand all that but it sounded cool. Tell me more."

So Ignis did, at length, reciting back page after page of that chapter, until Noct started giggling too hard to hear him. "You're cool," he said, which gave Ignis a little thrill. He'd been called studious, diligent, hard-working, but never cool. He wasn't sure the Scientia family knew the word. It was new. It felt nice.

And from there on out, Ignis simply never stopped teaching Noctis about this and that, sometimes while hunched over books, but also sometimes while they roamed the palace grounds, catching crickets and climbing trees and lounging in the shade. After a while, Ignis noticed that Noct sometimes asked him about things he couldn't possibly be interested in, things chosen for the sake of obscurity or as some sort of test—"I'm not an encyclopedia, Your Highness," Ignis would say, peevish. A pause. And then he would tell Noct the answer anyway, because he knew it, and Noct knew he knew it, and Noct would laugh.

A few years later, Noctis turned seven, and entered the local public school. It was important that His Highness have as normal a life as possible, the King had apparently insisted, which meant going to school like any normal child in Insomnia. The same did not hold for Ignis, however; the Scientias had already arranged for a set of private tutors at home, so as to minimize distractions. Already old beyond his years, Ignis understood the good sense in this—but still, he had to choke down the childish impulse to whine: Why does he get to go to school and I don't?

Noctis took it in stride, at least—he seemed to like having something new to tell Ignis about every day, and liked chatting on about his classmates. (The injury wouldn't happen for another year.) The other children sounded rather silly to Ignis—and some of their behavior was downright appalling—but, well, appalling could be interesting, too.

For instance. Take this one little tale Noctis told Ignis out of nowhere, when they'd been walking together by the lake after school: "Cato and Tanya got married today."

"Pardon?"

"So there's this big wooden tent thing on the playground, that you're supposed to climb on, okay? Well, Kent said he thought this big wooden tent thing looked like a chapel. So he folded a priest hat out of paper, and he started holding weddings for anyone who wanted them. And since Cato and Tanya like-like each other, they picked all the flowers around the tent thing, and got married and had the kiss and everything, right there."

It was absurd, ridiculous—and intriguing. "What happened then?" Ignis asked.

"Oh, then Mrs. Metellus saw and broke them up and told the whole class that you can't kiss each other at school."

Ignis snorted a laugh. A fitting end.

But Noctis had a funny look on his face, faraway, fidgeting with the hem of his jacket. "I wonder what kissing is like," he murmured, after a moment.

"What kissing is like?"

"Yeah."

Ignis, who was never uncertain, confessed: "I'm not sure."

"It must be something, right? For everyone to make such a big deal out of it?"

They'd gone out of book entirely, Ignis thought. He'd never read anything describing what it was like. But the part of him that always wanted to answer everything Noctis asked, very suddenly wanted to answer this question too, and the only way to answer was—

"We could try it, if you want to find out what it's like," Ignis blurted. "Just as friends," he added, because Noctis was giving him a funny look, and because he wasn't really sure what it meant to like-like someone, or when you normally kissed. He just knew he wanted to please his friend, and also, now he had started wondering the same thing—what it was like?

"Sure," Noctis said, with a slow nod. "Let's try it, then. Just to find out."

They were standing on the far edge of the royal grounds, now, where the trees grew the thickest. No one else was around. No one could see them.

So they lined up to face each other. Then they burst into nervous laughter, as soon as they had, because it felt so silly. When they'd straightened out again, Noctis hummed the first few notes of a wedding march, which made them both laugh again.

"Okay, okay," Noctis said. "For real now." They straightened out one last time, and then—they kissed. A short peck, to start with, and Noctis frowned. "That was hardly anything," he said, pouting, leaning in again, and well, what else was there to do? Ignis leaned in to meet him, they pressed their lips together, and for all the dozens of books he'd memorized, Ignis wasn't sure what came next, so he was just stood there—

Noctis ventured a little, though. He pulled back for a moment and tried again, from a different angle, but it didn't quite seem to fit. Noctis tried again, this time pressing his lips around Ignis's bottom lip, with a bit of pressure, and—that felt right. It was new, strange. Intriguing. Ignis was intrigued. Maybe it was even nice.

But then, Noctis pulled away. "Weird," he said, with a laugh that was not unkind. "So that's it, huh." He wiped his lips off with the back off his hand, still smiling.

Ignis's face felt hot. He hoped he wasn't blushing.

"Let's go skip rocks on the pond," Noct said, in a hurry, like he was trying to change the subject, and Ignis followed him mutely.

Maybe Noctis had sensed the same thing Ignis had—that maybe they shouldn't have done that. Friend, advisor, guard, tutor—none of those roles seemed to include "kissing lessons" in the bargain. It made sense at the time, it had felt right, but—he imagined trying to explain if his father had found out, if the king had found out, and he felt himself blanch. Maybe that had been a breach of trust, unworthy of the Scientia name.

But they'd been children, Ignis thought now with stiff remove, over a decade later. It had only happened one time. They'd never spoken of it again. It meant nothing. Probably Noctis had forgotten the whole thing entirely.

Or so Ignis had thought.

Tonight, the four of them were camping somewhere between the Alstor Slough and Lestallum. The stars were out, and they'd already eaten—so, while Ignis was cleaning up the cookware, Prompto instigated some sort of truth-or-dare game around the campfire. Ignis was only half-listening attention as it went along. There was a hot-sauce eating dare, which was foolish on Prompto's part; Gladio won those handily every time. Gladio returned fire by demanding to know the truth about Prompto's first kiss (it had been at band camp; yes Prompto had been to band camp, because he'd kind of been a loser freshman year; it was a long time ago, he didn't like to talk about it, and he muttered something indecipherable).

Then:

"Gladio, same question to you," Prompto said, with renewed vigor. "Who was your first kiss?"

Gladio didn't bother to look up from the book he was reading. "Cynthia Gabinus, behind the bleachers at a soccer game. We were thirteen."

"Wait, Crownsguard Cynthia? Cynthia the Kickass? Literally-won-that-huge-fencing-tournament-last-year Cynthia?"

Gladio smirked. "The very same." He flipped a page. "It was fun."

"Yeah. I'll bet." Prompto gave a low whistle, then turned to Noctis: "Well, okay, what about you? Who was your first kiss?"

Ignis looked up from the pot he'd been scrubbing. And in that fraction of a second, Noct met Ignis's eyes. Ignis wanted to think he was imagining it, but—no. A lifetime of watching His Highness meant that Ignis imagined nothing, and missed nothing. Noctis indeed looked directly at him, so briefly that no one would ever notice but the two of them. Which was maybe the point.

Then Noctis turned to Prompto. "What, you really think I'd kiss and tell?"

"Aw, c'mon man! I told you!"

"Yeah, well, that sounds like your problem."

"And Gladio told us about his!" Prompto considered this for a moment. "Actually, wait, nevermind, don't tell me. If it's anyone half as cool as Cynthia I'm just gonna die on the spot."

Noctis met Ignis's eyes again. Ignis wished he hadn't; his stomach felt like it'd been flipped upside down.

Then Noct turned to Prompto again. "Yeah," he said, with an exaggerated drawl, "in that case, I'd definitely better keep my mouth shut."

"Duuuuude!" Prompto wailed. "Is it better than Cynthia? Have you been holding out on me?"

Gladio folded his book shut and playfully knocked it against the side of Prompto's head. "This has been fun, but I'm heading to bed, loverboy. You should too, before you get yourself all worked up. We've gotta get up early tomorrow."

Prompto groaned, not in protest, but with resignation. He cast Noct one last peevish look before he rose, and followed Gladio to the tent.

Which left Noctis and Ignis alone. Alone by the campfire. Ignis stood on one side, stirring and extinguishing its last embers and flames. And on the other side—Noctis sat in a fold-out camping chair, watching him. The stars were bright tonight, so Ignis could see the prince's face perfectly. For the third time tonight, their eyes met.

"What are you thinking, Iggy?" Noctis asked, his voice quiet ,and carefully level.

All his life, Ignis had been so careful to only see what was there, not what he might've—hoped. Was that an error?

"I think," Ignis said slowly, "maybe I never properly answered your question. How did you put it? 'What is kissing like?'"

Noctis barked a laugh. "Yeah. I mean, we were like, seven, so."

Silence. Noctis had to stop looking him in the eyes like that, Ignis thought helplessly. They were too focused, too bright, almost hungry. That gaze made Ignis feel like he was the only other person in the whole world. That gaze made his chest so tight he could hardly breathe. And if Noct didn't look away now, Ignis was going to—

—step across the fire, lean over Noct, and whisper: "Let's try again now, then."

"I thought you'd never ask."

Then their lips touched, and the fire's last ember hissed, and Noctis smiled into their second-ever kiss.

Edited 2021-02-10 12:34 (UTC)

*incoherent joyous squeaking noises*

*flapping hands of enthusiasm*

*more joyous squeaking*

aaaaaaaaah I love this! I love Ignis being like "I'm not an encyclopedia" and the extremely fucked up nature of his and Gladio's service that you allude to with how the family introduces him to Noctis, and Gladio and Prompto and the game, and aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa yes good good good

:DDDD so glad you liked, tyty!

This was wonderful! I loved the look into their childhood interactions

Thank you! Glad you enjoyed~

I missed this one last year but wanted to say - this is so good. I love how these two kisses here punctuated what a long and entwined history they have before we meet them in the game.

thank you!!! i love the history between these two, in general, all messy and entwined and understated and such—glad you enjoyed it here!

Noctis/Prompto - There's no wrong way to love a chocobo.

Lunafreya/Aranea, this country has gone to the dogs

Noctis/Ignis, watching you in the rear view mirror

Ignis is the first to break the silence. "I watched you watching me," he says. "In the rearview mirror."

"Watching you?" Noctis asks, more because he doesn't know what else to say than because he has any real thought of managing to deny it. Ignis just looks at him, and he sighs. "Fine, yeah, I was watching you. So?"

For a moment, they just sit, the sound of Gladio's off-key humming in the shower making it slightly less uncomfortable, somehow. Then Ignis gets up and walks over to Noctis, meeting his eyes steadily. "I know that you still intend to marry Lady Lunafreya, despite these setbacks, but -- it strikes me that we'll be on the road a little longer. And that there are... burdens on you. And that while we are your companions, you're still very much alone with what you have to do."

Noctis swallows hard, tries to find some words even though his throat is suddenly strangling-tight. He looks away, but Ignis isn't finished.

"I know it's been some time since you and I... decided to end our liaison. But I don't think that we did so for any lack of desire, or feeling. And it -- frankly, it hurts, to see you bearing this alone. Can I offer you any... closer companionship? Will you allow me to do so?"

"Luna -- "

"Would understand, I think," Ignis says, quietly. "I'm sure she knows what she means to you... and what I mean to you, also. There's room for both in your life."

He reaches out, then, puts his gloved fingers lightly under Noctis' chin and nudges his head up. For a moment he just looks at him, and then his fingers drift up and he gentle presses his fingertips to Noctis' lips. It's a kind of kiss without being a kiss, a reminder of past kisses shared and words said and all the things they've done together.

"Think about it," he says, and Noctis is not sure whether he's going to be able to do anything else.

"I will," he says, because Ignis deserves an answer, and then because Ignis deserves the truth: "No. I can't."

He can't bear to look at him, but then Ignis touches his shoulder and he can't help glancing up, almost in reflex. He's surprised to find Ignis smiling.

"I expected that," he says. "But I had to offer. Noct, Lady Lunafreya is very lucky. But so have I been. Please don't forget that I think so."

There's a bang in the bathroom and the shower stops. At almost the same moment, they can hear Prompto's voice in the hallway, sing-songing about many fries he's going to eat. Noctis can't help but smile, and Ignis smiles a little more too, and steps away, and despite everything...

Despite everything, Noctis finds himself comforted.

Same here, wife thought it was worthwhile so I put it on AO3 and it would be my slight preference to have any comments there... but if that's too much fuss, don't worry!

"A Kind of Kiss" on AO3

boys why are you in here breaking my heart like this ;_;

prompto/gladio, lonely

gladio & iris: like brother, like sister

includes Tactics 2, Tactics Advance, Vagrant Story, etc -- Ivalice Unite

Edited 2021-02-03 17:33 (UTC)

Valmafra/Ovelia, to keep you safe

(Who is kept safe and how ended up going in a lot of directions.)

There was a conspicuous silence at first when Valmafra found herself alone with the queen, and it was clear whose absence gave way to it. Ovelia was used to being spoken for; Valmafra with letting others speak. If they were together with only one another, it was because they were waiting for a third to join them; there never seemed time or cause for conversation.

It was quite unanticipated when Ovelia should be the one to break with this. Spring had begun to stretch into the long days of summer, and the Southern Sky despaired at retaking the capital. Delita Heiral found himself drawn often and unexpectedly into the Duke's war room, and there were few people on hand to accompany Her Highness to the meadows and ruins she so loved. Valmafra was never bade do so. Valmafra did so anyway. It was late into a muggy Cancer evening when Ovelia asked her a dangerous question:

"Is it true you are a witch?"

Valmafra said nothing, and it was its own kind of answer.

Later, as they made their way back to the castle, they stopped to rest near one of the rolling hills just within sight of the southern wall, where they could just make out the blighted spring barley in the fields stretching below--a tangle of yellow against the green. Ovelia was winded; Valmafra merely pensive.

"What is it you think witches do?" she asked, looking out towards the sunset. "Do you worry I'll knot your hair and steal your breath at night?"

"Oh I didn't mean--"

Valmafra turned her gaze sharply from the reddening sky to the reddening face of her interlocutor. Ovelia's eyes were very wide, and it seemed she wanted to ask something not befitting maids raised up behind abbey walls. Valmafra laughed.

"Or are you in want of some witchcraft yourself, Highness?" She knelt to where Ovelia sat. "An amulet? A fortune? A ward?" She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "A love potion?"

Ovelia no longer blushed. She was pale now as the bleached ruins from which they had just departed.

"Can you do such things?" she asked in the barest flutter of a whisper. "Could you shield a person against harm?"

Ovelia remained still as a statue when Valmafra leaned over to kiss her soft on the forehead and thereafter on both of her eyes with a ritual deliberation. The sky was darkening quickly, and she could not see how tightly the little queen's fists were balled into the fabric of her gown. When she caught her face in her hands and moved to plant a final kiss on her mouth, however, Valmafra felt the racing gallop of Ovelia's pulse.

They parted, Valmafra pulling them both to standing thereafter. She said a few words in a very old language and did not explain them.

"Will that protect me, then?" Ovelia asked as they walked towards the path they had taken.

The fireflies were out now, and there was not enough light for either woman to read the other's expression.

"Let that set a seal on whom you kiss, your highness, and I think we shall all be safer for it."

~~~

The ironies of that first encounter were uncovered and multiplied with time. In the hot days of war-making that followed, the queen still wanted for company, and became increasingly companionable. By gradual degrees the two of them grew closer, and the change was felt even if they spoke little. It was when Ser Heiral rode with the Thundergod for Dugeura that Ovelia found occasion to have her lips once more warded--to make it clear what maids reared behind abbey walls already knew.

Valmafra had no quips then; nor were there spells or ritae she would speak.

"Can one ever replace a seal once broken, Valmafra," Ovelia had asked, fidgeting nervously over a very dull piece of embroidery, "or else draw back an ensorcellment once cast?"

Her voice was soft. Her pale eyelashes seemed to burn in the sun.

There had been a moment wherein both could pretend her meaning was unclear. Perhaps, it was; perhaps, she was mistaken. When they inclined towards one another next, Valmafra could not tell who moved the other--whether she kissed the queen or the queen kissed her. There was no ceremony with eyes or brows this time, and Valmafra found herself thinking little about any absent body between them.

How their course continued then seemed inevitable, although Valmafra marveled at every moment that a creature she'd thought made all out of trembling should suddenly be so firm. They found themselves eventually in private chambers, lips locking again and again until their limbs were a hopeless tangle. It was dangerous. It ran counter to caution and any good sense. I upended the principles of good storytelling.

How should it be that a queen embraced a witch and not a knight? How should it come out that Ovelia was the one tangling hair and stealing breath?

They continued regardless of it. They carried on until Delita returned, and after that, they carried on discreetly. Valmafra's reports to the High Confessor grew more terse as Ovelia's meetings with Ser Heiral inevitably grew longer. When they met in those gaps between meeting with others, Valmafra tried without jealousy to imagine another mouth against Ovelia's mouth--to consider other hands tracing the curve of her waist or the outline of her jaw. It almost worked, and she persisted well into the winter without minding how the atmosphere of somebody else clung to them. It was a common enough form of witchery to banish ill spirits; In the compass of a featherbed, there was little magic needed to exorcise Delita from the both of them.

It was only when daggers were drawn that she understood her foolishness.

In that instant--in that little room between the rising hero and a fallen astrologer--Valmafra knew she had been outwitched. It had been one thing to sever thoughts of Delita from the realities of Ovelia; to invert the process quite another. She shook when he mocked her, furious that the man should have such a high estimation of himself to think her smitten. She clasped her blade tight--too tight. Her arm did not move.

She was thinking then of who might have last kissed his sneering face before and who would weep to kiss his cold corpse after. It was as though there were a stamp remaining upon him, and it was a talisman she could not thwart.

~~~

When Ovelia came to her for the last time, neither asked the other any question. There were no greetings between them, and they took care that their tears were silent. Even in the dark of Zeltennia's lowest dungeons, both women knew there were eyes and ears set to catch them.

Valmafra remained still as a statue when Ovelia leaned to kissed her. Save for a slight hiss of breath, she made no acknowledgement of the metal key that passed into her mouth. They looked to each other then, and for some time they did not move, hung there like two shadows caught in the torchlight.

She did not speak of it after--not when Orran awoke and asked her from whom she had parted, not when he needled her later on the long road west, not even when he bowed himself over a grave and claimed their escape as the charity of a pure-hearted king. That final meeting of lips was a far better seal than the first, and throughout all the tragedies of the years that followed, she did not break with it, letting it lie heavy like a cold weight upon her tongue.

This is fantastic! There's little enough Valmafra for my liking, and she and Ovelia here and how that entangles with the overall everything and just yes~♥!

:D Thanks! I love writing about entanglements and things being made messier by them.

I keep trying to come up with more of a detailed response than "I love this" but that's what I've got. the weight, the tension, the secrets, the bond between them - yes.

I'm glad you loved it, then! This wasn't a pairing I'd really considered until I saw your prompt, and I'm glad you liked what I did with it. :)

Agrias/Ovelia or Agrias & Ovelia: sharp as a blade

"Highness..."

Agrias closes her eyes. A darkened cloud of emotion wars across her face; the rent in her heart between her sensibilities and her honour growing deeper.

"I am not allowed to be Queen, I am not allowed to safeguard my people. Yet more, because of what I still could be, am I not allowed to love whom I love?"

Her knight stands perfectly still. Ovelia touches her cheek.

"I was born to serve this world. Am I allowed not even the smallest part of it?"

The softest brush of their lips, and Agrias' arm is steady around her waist.

I love how this little scene feels simultaneously muted and intense. The initial sharpness of the rent in Agrias heart contrasts so well with the softness of their eventual kiss. Also:

"I was born to serve this world. Am I allowed not even the smallest part of it?"

Such an on-the-nose FFT sentiment.

♥!

oh

oh ;_;

;~;\/

Agrias/Meliadoul — kindred

Agrias/Ovelia - Rules No Longer Apply

Agrias/Mustadio - Alchemy

Agrias/Orlandu - Swordbreak

Since I was encouraged...

Vagrant Story
Callo[/or&]anyone, make them speak more freely

Edited 2021-02-11 13:18 (UTC)

Vagrant Story
Ashley/Tia, fantasy or reality

Vagrant Story

Sydney/Hardin, partners...?

"Last light," Hardin finally calls. Beside him, Sydney nods to Daniel and Matthias, who thrust their torches into the wood piled high in the courtyard's centre.

In Müllenkamp's time, to be the one who proclaimed the sun's fall beneath the horizon at the very height of summer was a rare honour. Leá Monde's sons competed to be the one who climbed to the city's highest vantage point, the highest tower of the Great Temple of Kiltia, or so Sydney was told as a child. He only remembers staring at the temple ceiling, impatient and overly tired, waiting for one of his father's friends to announce the sunset seen only with the eyes of his soul.

Sydney took up the responsibility when he revived the practice for his Müllenkamp, the lone scryer in their number. They need not fear the priests now, but nor can they trust a body to the Cathedral's crumbling architecture, or their reduced numbers to what remains of the Temple beneath it. At least in the keep's courtyard they can see the sky, and it is a large enough space for the revelry that comes as they celebrate the lengthening nights.

Under the cover of darkness and merriment, Sydney steps close behind Hardin, a careful grip on his shoulders lest Hardin's body should lose its balance as his soul returns.

"Are you well?" Sydney asks.

"Well enough," Hardin says, one hand kneading the back of his own neck. "I am stubborn but not fool-hardy."

The Cardinal's activities this Yuletide past cost them a score of souls they will not see again, but you would not guess it were so from the tide of shouts that have taken up Hardin's call of "last light" around the growing fire. Sydney told them to not spare the wood this year, or the wine. At this year's end, the revelry is much needed.

"You are the strongest among us, but you do not need to take it all on yourself. You have a partner," Hardin says, laying his hand upon Sydney's metal one. "Though you may need another if you wish to join the dancing. You could not last year, and I wanted..."

Neither man moves to join the dancers wreathing the fire.

...Partners, Sydney thinks, like a question he has never thought to ask. He and Hardin do not put names to what they are. Or so he thought.

"The Duke is ailing. He will not keep the legacy from you much longer." Hardin's weight is warm against Sydney's chest. Without the support, he would be swaying on his feet. "This may have been my last chance."

When you have need of me, Hardin's heart whispers, your Phantom Soul will be true and fast.

Sydney's heart stops.

It is true that a would-be successor must cede his Phantom Soul to the Dark. It is true that the Duke's succession from his own father cost him his first wife. But the legacy remains no longer with the Duke. Sydney thought the lie fitting, once upon a time, that Hardin should not assume he could ingratiate himself and so become Sydney's successor.

They have not always been friends, or lovers, or... partners. Their history is built layers of lies on half-truths, too many to excavate in the short time they have left together. Not if that lie is the rock beneath Hardin's loyalty.

Not if it may not yet be a lie. There is little indeed that Sydney will not sacrifice for his father's plans.

He has not told Hardin that his gift can no longer see ahead to another winter. That he cannot see ahead to the next turning of the leaves. Instead of a thousand possibilities, Sydney now dreams of only one death, in fire and blood. And alone.

Sydney presses his lips to the arch of Hardin's neck. "The dancing I have in mind is best in private."

Hardin's teeth are bright as he laughs. "I am well enough for that."

---

...Much darker/more dysfunctional sequel pending?

Ahahahahah thank you - clearly you know what I like, my sadistic soul is pleased. :D Not just the lines drawn towards inevitable tragedy, trust and devotion that doesn't hurt Hardin as much as it hurts Sydney (yet), but... ancient traditions and rituals! Hints at still more tragic backstory! (Which gets me thinking, some topics I had not yet explored myself. Hmm...) And of course Sydney having gotten himself in way over his head. The inevitable comparison to Samantha, unknowing, taken by surprise and betrayed... Hardin, knowing (or thinking he does) and being ready and willing... Ouch. In the best possible way. :D

And dark, dysfunctional, and sequels are all welcome here, of course. Very very much so. Not that I expect that to be surprising. ;)

Thank you! I'm so glad you enjoyed this!

Somehow in all these decades, I'd never stopped to really think about what Hardin must have thought would happen in Lea Monde and once I had the idea I was charmed.

R&G seem to think Hardin expects to be Sydney's successor, but the more I looked at it, the more it looked like Hardin thought Sydney would be the Duke's successor. (And yes, noticing that Guildenstern is very clear he needs Samantha's soul *and* that he loves her, at that point you mentioned... it doesn't make sense that Merlose would know about the Phantom Soul needing to be 'true and fast' when she apparently knows little else about the ritual, but we know she can see John's heart and... yeah, it's not hard to imagine what Hardin might have thought his role would be, is it?)

I love a Sydney who is both fiercely pleased by Hardin's devotion and a little guilty about it at the same time. Not guilty enough to take advantage of it, though, clearly.

The sequel/continuation is: well, Sydney may believe that they won't survive long enough for Hardin to find out and call him on lying about this but... what if they did? (Sequel will have more kissing, less canonical character death, but also more kink that will require #consentissues as a tag, so I'll probably link here and post on AO3.)

...That sounds VERY intriguing. :D And, uh, markedly different from my own "less canonical death" AU, aside from... they're going to have to address that. (And note, that is one of two times I can think of where a character I was writing made me tear up. Both times, Sydney. :P) Sounds like a much messier take, and hardly comes as a surprise I like things messed up. :D

And yeah, agreeing on your plot points here. Hardin clearly was thinking they were trying to wrest control of the city from the Duke, and then Callo asks what Sydney will do with that power and his soul has no answer to give. Oof. Meanwhile Rosencrantz can't imagine why a man would be loyal to anyone unless he was going to get something out of it, and Guildenstern might be able to wrap his head around it if it ever occurred to him that Sydney's "flock" is just as loyal to Sydney as Guildenstern's men are to him and the cardinal. Or, you know, not unlike Samantha. So of course they'd assume Hardin is the obvious choice. (Heck, in one of my fics the entire rest of the sect thinks Hardin's going to be his successor, and when it comes up Hardin's like "wtf NO.")

This got me thinking a lot about what Sydney might have told Hardin immediately before canon about what exactly he claimed the plot was. Because mostly when I have tried to get anything out of Hardin about that siege, what he gives me is "You want me to kidnap a little boy? I mean, yes, I would protect him with my life and it's likely better than what will happen to the rest of his household, but I am to kidnap a child and take him into Leá Monde?!" No idea if anything will come of it other than scene fragments I may or may not work into something though. =)

Vagrant Story

Merlose&/Riot, you promised me a rare vintage.

Edited 2021-02-11 18:49 (UTC)

omg I haven't written anyone but Sydney and Hardin (in any fandom whatsoever) for six years, please forgive the inevitable awkwardness, but this sparked something. -_-

------

In the aftermath, after all he had been through and the revelations about himself that had been uncovered, Ashley wondered if it was strange that he was still able to think so calmly about what must be done.

The most important thing, Ashley recognized in the moments immediately following, was to get away. The ruined city being well and truly beyond anyone's reach now, soon the area would be overwhelmed by more representatives of all the involved factions, coming to see what had become of so many of their agents and pawns and officers, when none of them returned. Including, for the moment, himself and Merlose. They had paused only a moment to take stock of the immediate situation before she took up the boy in her arms and Ashley hefted Sydney again to his shoulder, and they retreated some distance into the mountains to pause and regroup.

She was holding up rather well for what she had experienced, he thought. No emotional scene at his appearing, no running to his arms, only the widening of her eyes at the unexpected burden across his shoulders when he emerged from the cellar, and the observation upon letting down that burden to reveal another he now bore. There was the curious tilt of her head as she noted that he had... changed... and then, as she was an inquisitor, the questions he could not answer until Sydney regained consciousness to explain it to him.

VKP training, no doubt, though not so brutal as his own. He wasn't sure why he was surprised that she remained calm and analytical. Perhaps it was only that he had underestimated her, to his shame, for the simple fact that she was a woman. Ashley had very little experience with women. ...Perhaps none whatsoever, and he had only invented what little he thought he recalled.

And neither that small bit of trivia, nor his fellow agent's gender, mattered at all, for they both recognized that the situation was complex, fragile, and they needed to determine their next actions before it grew more so.

Ashley had some idea of what his next actions would not be, if the burning sensation on his back meant what he assumed it did. Merlose had confirmed it visually, though with a strange difference; when Sydney woke, he could explain more. And if he did not offer an explanation voluntarily, Ashley would gladly pull it from him by whatever means he could. His suspicion was that he now had more means at his disposal with which to do so.

For the time being, Sydney was still unconscious. Merlose too was taking much needed rest, sleeping with Joshua curled up at her side, as Ashley sat keeping watch. Settling down beneath the cover and shade of a tree made perfect logical sense - Ashley would spot anyone else coming before they were spotted - but with nothing to do but think and nothing to see but those around him sleeping...

It was... disquieting. On one side, a woman and child sleeping peacefully under his guard, in the shade of a tree. Yet the woman's hair was dark, and the boy's was light - and if Ashley looked to the other side, there was a blonde covered in blood. Both close enough, yet just different enough, from a memory and a dream, and he could not be certain which was which.

It was actually a relief when Sydney woke, and was willing to answer his questions. ...Silently, at that, so that Merlose and Joshua might remain in peaceful slumber. Which Ashley did not have to look upon or think upon any longer, for the thoughts and memories it roused within him.

Sydney confirmed what he had suspected, and thus Ashley was certain. The four of them must part ways. Ashley could no longer serve the VKP, nor any mortal faction. And he had to admit, deep in what was left of his shattered soul, it was a frightening prospect. To think that he could not simply drift on, waiting to inevitably receive the mission that would end his life - that he no longer was permitted the comforting justification of just following orders, but now he must find his own path, make his own judgments. Whichever set of memories was closest to the truth, it seemed to Ashley that he had done a rather poor job of it thus far.

It was Merlose who set his mind at ease on that point, when she woke and they put some distance between themselves and the sleeping boy to speak quietly of Ashley's plans, or rather the lack thereof beyond not going back. "Admittedly, we have not known each other for so long, but I was told you have survived many missions as a Riskbreaker," she observed, in that cool, detached way she had. "So I assume you must excel at making the correct decisions in difficult circumstances. Sydney is a heartseer, perhaps the strongest living with that talent, given what I learned from his second. He believes that your heart is good enough and strong enough - and would anyone know better then he what this role requires?"

Ashley supposed she had a point, and he appreciated the logic. Though he also was a bit irritated with himself, for he should have found such answers on his own.

"Sometimes we need a different perspective, a vantage point beyond our eyes, before we can see ourselves clearly," she assured him. "It isn't so unusual."

...Yes, he had momentarily forgotten that she too was now among those they called "heartseers". He wasn't sure why that left him more unsettled in her case than in Sydney's. Not that it mattered, for momentarily they would be parting ways, and his suspicion was that they would never meet again.

Indeed, there could be no other path for him. For Merlose, there were options. She was a professional, like himself - she might take the report to their superiors as had been intended all along. She might tell the whole truth about what they had seen, or she might hold back. His impression of her, when he had seen through her eyes, was that she calculated the significance of her advantages and how to use them. She knew not to show her whole hand at once. Her newly awakened talent might serve her well in her role as inquisitor, with none the wiser as to how she managed to find what she sought every time.

Or she might leave it all behind and disappear with the boy, who was soon to become orphaned, and presumably a ward of the state. He would find no carefree childhood in such a position, given the prominence of his family and the importance of his bloodline. Perhaps she might go to what remained of his brother's other family, who would gladly take them in even if Merlose did not tell him who Joshua was, and they could likely help her to learn more of the powers she now possessed. Someday, Ashley might be ready to join with them, but he did not believe his own path as Rood-bearer would resemble Sydney's, surrounded by devoted followers. The thought of anyone looking to him for wisdom, willing to sacrifice on his behalf, was absurd, and honestly disturbing.

For the moment, his intention was to learn as much from Sydney as he could before helping Sydney to finish what he and the duke had begun. And then... he would go nowhere and everywhere, seeking something that he could not put a name to, and which even Sydney was unable to fully articulate.

And this was why, when she asked, he had no answer to give. It explained the disappointed look in her eye, he thought, for even his heart could not betray his silence by speaking when it did not know the words.

Or it could be that the disappointed look was for a different reason, as she called out after him, "Riot, wait!" When he looked back, the disappointment had turned to mild distress.

"Riot..." she said again, walking to catch up with him. "I... had something I wanted to ask you. Of no importance, I suppose, not now, under these circumstances."

"Then why ask?" It was rude, he immediately realized, but it was not in his nature to deal in unnecessary conversation - and it was unlike what he knew of her as well.

At any rate, she did not seem offended by his brusque response. "Because I want to know." She looked up to meet his eyes, a serious expression on her face. "When we arrived at Leá Monde, you said I would be a liability. And indeed, although I was told to partner with you, I was only an intelligence agent - I had nothing to do with your mission beyond informing you of the finer details. And your mission turned out to be... far more significant than either of us expected."

That was true. And yet it made little sense in context for her to say so. "None of this is a question," he pointed out.

"I suppose it isn't." She paused a moment. "With all that was at stake, with all the other lives lost in this incident - why were you so intent on ensuring my safety? Even after I told you not to bother, to fulfill your mission?"

That was a question. And a rather good one. It had several possible answers, and perhaps fortunately for him, Ashley wasn't sure which was the correct one. It meant that once again, his heart could not betray him by answering without his consent.

But when he opened his mouth to say so, he realized that her heart was not so loyal, for it betrayed her through her eyes.

It made his own options for answering all the more uncertain. For it could be only that she - that both of them, if he were to be honest - had been under great strain during the events of the last day. That the two of them had experienced something strange and terrible and amazing, memories that neither of them would share with anyone else among the living. That might be all it was, the bond of shared trauma.

Or it might be something else. He had seen much of what had unfolded through her eyes - "a like rhythm", Rosencrantz had said. During his time within Leá Monde, his eyes had been fixed on her, and through her. They knew one another better than the time they had known each other should have allowed for.

And whether there was a right or a wrong answer, it mattered not at all when Ashley already knew what must be done.

But because it did not matter one way or the other, he took a step closer, lifted a hand to cautiously rest it against her face, cupping her cheek. When her only response was to turn her face upwards, still with that curiosity in the pursing of her lips, he dared to lean in and kiss them. Only briefly, softly. Just to see.

She was too surprised to even react in kind before he drew back. ...And he still was not sure.

And still it did not matter. "Wherever you choose to go," he muttered, "may whichever of these 'gods', if any of them truly exist, see you there safely."

As he turned away once more, she remained silent behind him, still stunned. Then again, "Agent Riot... Ashley...!"

"There is nothing more to say," he stated, starting on his way back to where Sydney was waiting for him, so that they might depart.

"You're wrong." Her quiet laughter sounded slightly shaky. "One more order of business. In the cellar, before all of this started... You promised me a rare vintage, did you not?"

No, he was right. She asked not because the wine of Leá Monde held any interest to her, but because she wished him to linger, even if only for the space of a sentence, perhaps the length of a cup. He paused; he might grant her such meager comfort as the first, if he could think of something more to say than a blunt yes or no as was his habit.

"...And it has been given you," he said finally, turning back once again, but not quite looking her in the eye. "Rare indeed - I could not say for certain whether any has drunk of it before. And it seems unlikely that any should do so again." Again he paused, but truly there was nothing more to be said between them. "Farewell, Callo."

This time she seemed to agree, if reluctantly so, and she said nothing more as he departed.

You're so good to me! I too have always wondered why Ashley becomes so very intent on saving Merlose. He's known her less than 24 hours! He's intensely anti-social at best! He insists riskbreakers work alone! AND YET

I love that they're both professionals, too used to dealing with terrible things, so their response is a lot of planning. AND YET

Merlose wants to talk about feelings-- and/or she's good enough at drawing people out that she gets... if not an answer, at least Ashley trying to give her one. (I have to admit I've always seen Ashley as a bit ace, so his ... kissing, hmm, who knows if he likes this hit those same notes for me.)

He calls her Callo!!! And who knows what the future might bring, certainly not Ashley Riot, not at that point. (And Merlose's plans are a mystery, and I can't think that's not intentional on her part.)

:D Glad you enjoyed! ...I mean we really do seem to think a lot along the same lines here. I've always figured Ashley was somewhere on the sexual attraction spectrum that there were definitely no words for in the equivalent to their time period, somewhere between regular ace and gray-ace. (Yeaaaah I really need to write that one about what I decided actually happened with Tia.) And indeed, the bit towards the end where he's all like "Keep your city, where's Merlose?" ...The first part is a no-brainer, sure, but the last?

But there could be... not Stockholm syndrome exactly, but something akin to it. They've both had horrible trauma inflicted on them in this situation, so even if they don't actually know each other, beyond sort of being shoved into each other's heads... there could be a bond there. Definitely not love, but something that could perhaps turn into that if they had a chance. Which Ashley definitely wouldn't have given them otherwise.

...And at the beginning, she said "please, call me Cal", and maybe he's not ready to go that far, but he can go a little further than "Merlose". At least in this moment.

Vagrant Story
Sydney/Ashley - sharp edges

Vagrant Story
Samantha & or / anyone not Romeo - leave no trace

Alma/Ovelia, a crown for you

Their days are filled with studies. Of histories, in praise of long-dead lords and kings. Of the words of Saint Ajora, and the promise of Eternal Light.

Their nights are spent in cloistered chambers, 'neath tapestries depicting lives far more glorious than theirs, and that do little to stem the drafts that creep through cold stone.

Only within the in-betweens, the evenings after supper and the afternoons of holy days, are they allowed the freedom of the garden, where Alma crafts her princess crowns of flowers and kisses her with far more reverence than any retainer Ovelia has ever known.

This is delightful! I had a lot of ideas of what crowns might constitute when I prompted for this, and a flower crown was definitely one of them! I love love love the distinction you've created between the austerity of study, the glories of history, and the intimate moments the two girls share in the "in-betweens." :)

<3!

I may have a weakness for flower crowns in particular. ;)

Edited (addition) 2021-02-28 04:26 (UTC)

oh.

♥

♥♥♥

Orlandu/Balbanes, if and when we die...

Zalbag/Grissom OR Zalbag & Grissom, rites and remembrances

(Posting here instead of crossovers as FFT apparently covers VS)

this game was surprisingly good

Seven/Rem, I'll keep you safe

OH FUCK YOU

infinite crossover potential!

even more crossover potential!

Lasswell/Rain/Fina, IT'S ABOUT TIME ALREADY

cat on my lap who dis

Holly/Barras - kiss my boot

anyone remember this

Jane/Neil - For old time's sake

Jane/Ryan - First Time Meeting Again Since the Academy Days

Ryan/Neil - I'm lonely and you're kinda hot in uniform.

Jane/Aki - For Science!

Dimensions? Kingdom Hearts? Crystal Chronicles? List the canon in the comment title so we know what's what!

Gilgamesh. Anyone/Gilgamesh.

Sarah/Garland - kiss on the hand.

Yay I get to request my rare canon OTP.

Edited (Oops, hit enter too early) 2021-02-05 10:43 (UTC)

Aqua/any FF character, lucky I found you here

includes both FF canon crossovers and external canon crossovers!

Quistis/Larsa — this is just to cause Sev pain.

Caius Ballad/Kain Highwind, carrying the weight of another's sins

Lightning/Kain, what scars you will keep alive

Lightning & Noctis - teach you how to kill your gods

Rydia/Yuna, hero worship

Rydia/Yuna, rest

Faris/Rydia, washed ashore

okay but this is an awesome prompt. my brain went in a slightly strange direction with it, but i hope it suits it all the same!

*

It's strange, she thinks, that she can't now remember having been at sea. Yet here she stands, on a craggy shore soaked to the skin, as the illusory beast that carried her safely over the waves vanishes into sea foam. It isn't hers, the sword she finds herself inexplicably holding, and so it falls from her stiffened fingers to clatter sheathed amidst the rocks.

She staggers on.

Away from the ocean, and all its deeps and its mysteries and its fury, and into an unknown inland. The bushes and trees grow thicker as she moves further from the water's edge. Within her heart, there is no fear.

There is no great witch that cannot survive the wilds, and Rydia is no exception.

She walks for an untold measure of time, and there is no end to the wilderness, but following the sounds of trickling water she stumbles across a small glade. An oasis of grass and sunlight and sheer rock jutting from the earth amidst the tall trees. She finds a crystalline pool of fresh water, flowing slowly amidst the bare rock, and drinks her fill.

Once the water again grows still, Rydia stares in wonder at its mirror-like surface.

The face that stares back is her reflection, but not her own.

Rydia stares, not in fear but bewilderment.

Her face is all wrong. Her clothes...

A shard of crystal, tethered around her neck, slips free of her tunic; catching it, she blinks, feeling it pulse with unearthly power beneath her fingertips.

Again, she looks to her reflection; a stranger stares back.

Rydia licks her cracked lips.

Like in a fairy tale, she braces herself and leans down to kiss the woman in the pool. It is a soft kiss that touches,the surface of the water, and Rydia feels herself falling...

...and Faris awakens with an ungainly splash, at the edge of a pool hewn an age ago into rock. No storm in sight, nor the ocean for that matter. Her hand still clutched tight around the crystal shard, that allows her to summon Syldra from the darkness.

!!!!!!!!!!!!! HOLY CRAP THIS IS AMAZING!!!

What a beautifully unique take on the prompt! I'm absolutely in love 😍 and I'm such a sucker for dream sequences and this fits that oh-so well. And that kiss! *squees* I love the thought you put into this along with the direction you took it in! Ahhhh now I'm going to imagine what other dreams they share together 🥰 thank you so much! 💕💕💕

♥~

I kept trying to think how to bring them together, and then my brain went "!" and off we went. I'm glad you liked it. :D

OH this is fantastic! I love Rydia as a witch surviving in the wild, and the way that the summon ability passes between them. Heck yeah!

thank ♥

(cannot but think they would be amazing together, cannot lie.)

Fang & Red XIII - old friends

Dissidia

Squall(VIII)/Yuna(X), any rating frankly.

Prompt: Something on your mind?

Celes/Quistis, thaw

Looking for FF friends? Talk to us about:

your fandom name / pronouns
other social accounts you'd like to share (tumblr, AO3, insta, etc)
FFs you're familiar with
fandoms you're active in at the moment
favorite FF characters or ships
something fun or witty idk how do people make friends

and anything else you'd like to share! Feel free to comment on each other's entries and get to know the crew!

Edited 2021-02-03 17:17 (UTC)

What a cool idea you two are doing! I would love more FF friends!

My name is althea_valara, also known around some parts as Althea Valara. Pronouns are she/her

xnera, AltheaValara

I am familiar with the following: FFI, FFII, FFIII, FFIV (haven't played After Years), FFV, FFVI, FFVII (haven't finished Remake yet), FFVII:Crisis Core, Advent Children, FFVIII, FFIX, FFX, FFXI (my former love), FFXII, FFXIII & XIII-2, FFXIV (my current love), FFXV, FFBE, FF:The Spirits Within

I'm not really active in fandom, to be honest, but I'm thinking of changing that this year. I do post screenshots of XIV and FFBE at my twitter account (AltheaValara) and I do make FF fan art in the form of knitting/crochet, some of which is posted at xnera

Favorite ships: well, I don't read fanfic (yet: this might change this year) so I don't have any strong ships, but I do like the idea of Lasswell/Rain/Fina from FFBE. I am very much enjoying the Alisaie/Warrior of Light innuendos in XIV, and am convinced Beatin & Gairhard from the XIV Carpenter quests are lovers. *nods*

So, my journal is one part squeeing over video games, one part writing about therapy sessions, and one part everyday life stuff. I have various mental illnesses but I've been stable for the past few years. Still, I wanted to warn any potential new friends that I do a lot of working through my neuroses in my journal.

* hi i'm Lua and i'm a lady

* i'm queenlua pretty much everywhere: here on DW, also on tumblr, also on AO3

* i'm most familiar with FF9, 10, 12, 13, and 15, but i'm reasonably familiar with 6, 7, and 8 as well, and i adore them all

* currently i'm into the Ace Attorney games & also Fire Emblem: Three Houses, but i'm down to talk about basically any of my fandoms at any time, lol

* idk if i "ship" much in the conventional sense; i will ship anything and everything that brings out interesting dynamics between characters; tbh any really messed-up or messy relationship is bound to get its hooks in me

that being said: i would die on a battlefield for the entire cast of FF9. i'm never going to be able to get over how ridiculously attractive FF13 Fang is. i think it's impossible to play FF15 without shipping basically all the dudes with each other, in every permutation, at some point. FF8 cracks me up because they're all fuckin serious business soldiers and shit but they're all also like 17 and act it. god all these canons are so good sighs into hands

* if you follow me on DW, it'll be mostly book reviews and sometimes video game reviews and very occasionally pretentious bullshit. if you follow me on Tumblr it'll be shitposting and birds and snark. you're welcome to lurk or say hi or whatever, i'm just here to vibe yaknow (that and rewrite the same fuckin FFXV fic over and over for years while crying, you know, very normal fanfic author moods)

I'm Jes (although I also answer to Jesjes or Kes), she/her.

propast is where my fanfic live in the rare occasion I'm able to get my fifteen hundred gdocs into something publishable. I'm also at sonnenschez but that's just fanart and politics retweets.

My faves: FF8, FF10, FF12!
Slightly less than faves: FF15, FF4, FF6.
I really want to play but haven't yet for no great reason, my shame is great: FF9.

I'm aggressively into Persona, Ace Attorney, and Mass Effect. I also enjoy Fire Emblem, Legend of Zelda, Discworld, Star Wars, certain aspects of the MCU, and all of Mike Flanagan's works. My current TV obsessions are WandaVision, Snowpiercer, and Riverdale (god help me).

Favourite chars are everyone in FF12! What a splendid cast. I'd also die for Squall Leonhart and have a deep, deep weakness for Ignis Scientia. Favourite pairings are Lunafreya/Nyx and Fang/Vanille — but really I just am a multishipper with no conflicts in my heart.

I relate deeply, who's with me

Edited 2021-02-20 23:04 (UTC)

fandom name and pronouns: Lassarina, she/her

other socials: Uhhh I'm

Lassarina,

LassarinaAthyn, I technically have a Twitter and Tumblr but don't use them.

FFs: all of them except 11, pretty much. My faves are FF6, {The Ivalice Alliance}, FF4, FF9, FF14, and then the rest wobble around in some order below that.

Fandoms: FF generally, Marvel, Dragon Age, Mass Effect, Shin Megami Tensei, Persona (yes they're separate)

Favorite Characters and Ships: Kain, Celes, Balthier, Locke/Celes, Kain/kicking with pointy boots, Balthier/Ashe (but only with sharp edges), Auron/Lulu, Seifer/Quistis, Seifer/Irvine

other: my journal has a weekly post for chatting about games we're playing! I talk about writing and my life and yell about tech stuff sometimes. I love to read books as well as fanfic. I'm terrible at watching TV shows and movies unless it's Marvel and even then it's hard. I love suffering and knights and history and I am like a kitten: enthusiasm and energy in bursts and then I fall over.

Hello, you seem cool, you like FF and SMT (and Persona), and your journal has interesting things. Mind if I friend?

Hello new friend! Lovely to meet you! :)

Popping in a little bit late, but that's pretty much standard for me. :)

Anyway, hello, everyone! :D

- My fandom name is Dee Moyza, or just Dee (she/her)

- You can also find me on AO3 (

dee_moyza) and Tumblr (

deemoyza)

- I'm familiar with FFs 6, 8, 9, and 10, my favorite among them being 8.

- The fandoms I'm active in, at the moment, are FF8, FFX, FF6, and Transistor

- My favorite FF characters are Rinoa, Selphie, Quistis, Lulu, Celes, Terra, Eiko, and Vivi.

- I'm not a particularly shippy fan, but my favorite FF ships are Rinoa/Squall, Selphie & Irvine (platonic), and Lulu/Auron.

- My brain is a repository of useless trivia, needlessly complicated fandom headcanons, and stupid fanwork ideas, the latter of which I am becoming increasingly less hesitant about ~~foisting upon~~ sharing with others. Fair warning. ;)

Hello! I've really enjoyed your comments and your prompts. And needlessly complicated fandom headcanons are always welcome. Is it alright if I add you?

Absolutely. :)

your fandom name / pronouns: KJ, she/her
other social accounts you'd like to share (tumblr, AO3, insta, etc): iamkj, owlmoose, formerly lifeofkj and then owlmoose95 on tumblr but I'm never over there anymore
FFs you're familiar with: actively fannish about: FFX & X-2, FFXII; played and really enjoyed: FFIV, FFVIII, FFIX; have also played: FFV, FFVII (og only), FFXIII; started but never finished: FFVI, FFXIII-2, FFXV. Also most of the KH games.
fandoms you're active in at the moment: Dragon Age and Critical Role are the main ones. But FFX/X-2 and XII are always lurking, waiting to come back to life. I also pop in and out of the MCU fandom (mainly Captain America, Agent Carter, and adjacent properties)
favorite FF characters or ships: If you know me at all, you know my OTPs are Paine/Nooj and Ashe/Balthier (with a side of Al-Cid/Ashe/Balthier), and you probably associate me with one, the other, or both. Other best beloved characters include Auron, Yuna, Baralai, Penelo, and Larsa.
something fun or witty idk how do people make friends: IDK either but come say hi! I'm not as active as I want to be but I'm also always looking for a way back in

Edited 2021-02-10 07:04 (UTC)

i'm Sev! she/her or they/them, im not picky
sevdrag on tumblr which i use more frequently and more shitpostingly; find everything else on my carrd including Ko-Fi if youre rich
i'm familiar with like every FF out there except XV (own it; havent played) and the really obscure ones.
I'm active right now in MCU and Good Omens, but i haven't abandoned older fandoms!
my favorite games are IV, VI, VIII, X/X2, and XII. oh and XIII. and V. okay fuck I like them all and you can see my favorite chars/ships in what I'm prompting and filling the list is too long
im dumb and a mess but i like friends

Runic here (they/them)
I'm active here, Tumblr, and AO3: runicmagitek runicmagitek runicmagitek
I'm familiar with 1 through 12 in the main series to varying degrees. Also played X-2 and VII Remake.
I'm mostly active in video game fandoms, especially Final Fantasy VI and anything by Supergiant Games. I do enjoy reading books and sometimes watching TV shows/movies, but I'm not really fannish about them.
Now for faves. Bold means I really love the character.
- IV - Edge/Rydia; Cecil/Kain/Rosa
- VI - Celes/Setzer; Celes/Terra; Setzer/Darill
- VII - Cloud/Zack; Aerith/Tifa; Barret/Tifa; Rude/Tifa; Tseng/Rufus
- VIII - Rinoa/Squall; Rinoa/Seifer
- IX - Beatrix/Garnet; Beatrix/Steiner
- X - Auron/Lulu
- XII - Ashe/Basch; Ashe/Balthier; Ashe/Basch/Balthier
I talk about a random assortment of stuff, from writing fanfics to video games to being queer to living with chronic illness. I'm cool with anyone stopping by to say hello or add me or whatever makes you happy!

I go by Wallwalker or Wally most of the time.

Other sites:

theoreticalconstruct ,

Wallwalker,

personalapocalypse

Final Fantasy things I know: FFVI, FFIV (still haven't played TAY,) FFV, FFVI, FFVII (including AC and FFVIIr,) FFVIII, FFIX, FFX, FFXIII... there are so many I still need to get caught up on.

Active-ish non-FF fandoms: Star Wars: The Old Republic, Disco Elysium

(Some) Favorite FF characters: Edward, Setzer, Barret, Quistis, Freya, Rikku

(Some) Favorite FF ships: Barret/Tifa (OTP forever), Setzer/Daryl, Freya/Amarant, Quistis/Rinoa and more... also a whole bunch of OT3s because I ship so many of those.

Anyway I'm far more active on Tumblr because their format is just easier for me, as I'm working 12+ hours a day including weekends at times. Very little time to write long posts and whatnot. But I do hang out and try to read here, when I can. :)

Screw it. More FF ships I like... there are just too many.

FFIV: Edward/Rydia, Cecil/Rosa/Kain, Kain/Barbariccia
FFVI: Setzer/Daryl, Setzer/Daryl/Maria, Terra/Celes, Terra/Locke/Celes, Locke/Celes/Setzer, Sabin/Shadow
FFVII: Barret/Tifa, Cloud/Barret, Cloud/Barret/Tifa, Tifa/Aerith, Cloud/Tifa/Aerith, Cloud/Zack/Aerith, Cloud/Yuffie, Vincent/Aerith, Barret/Reeve
FFVIII: Squall/Rinoa, Squall/Rinoa/Quistis, Quistis/Rinoa, Squall/Rinoa/Zell, Squall/Fujin, Seifer/Fujin, Zell/Selphie/Irvine, Julia/Caraway, Laguna/Raine, Laguna/Kiros/Ward, Cid/Edea, Martine/Caraway
FFIX: Zidane/Garnet, Beatrix/Garnet, Zidane/Freya, Steiner/Beatrix, Beatrix/Freya, Freya/Amarant, Zidane/Freya/Amarant
FFX: Tidus/Yuna, Tidus/Rikku, Wakka/Rikku, Lulu/Wakka/Luzzu, Dona/Bartello, Yuna/Lulu, Auron/Braska/Jecht, Yuna/Baralai, Nooj/Paine
FFXIII: Fang/Vanille, Lightning/Sazh, Lightning/Snow/Serah

Edited 2021-02-11 15:44 (UTC)

When I first played FFIV, I didn't ship Edward and Rydia. But then I read some amazing fanfics on this pairing and I got really into them! <3 Also started to see Rydia's thought bubbles (when she re-appears as an adult, and remembers Edward a couple of times) in a different light, haha. Still sad the game didn't include a scene of them reuniting after the ship sink! Because I'm sure it would've been fluff and hugs galore :')

Listen. Quistis/Rinoa has been growing on me and I accidentally left it out on my FF8 pairings because I forgot. LOL But yes. I love them so much, together.

I also followed you on my tumblr! I'm not nearly as active on there as I used to be, but I wouldn't mind poking around and seeing how you're doing on there if it's fine! c:

Hi there! My fandom name is SapientesGladio on AO3. I had a tumblr with that name but because it's 2-FA is locked under an old phone number, I have no access to that account anymore. You're definitely free to look at it. It's a relic of the past considering the layout has Ditto from Drakengard 3.

bahamuts_

is my twitter. I am a shit poster, live tweeting and chaotic person on there. If you're interested in chatting there, you're more than welcome to! I want more Dreamwidth friends tho. LOL

My pronouns are she/her & they/them! I don't mind either, frankly.

FFs I'm familiar with: I'm taking this from a lore and writing wise perspective, otherwise I've played FFs (II, IV, VI-X-2, XII, XIII & XIII-2, XV, Tactics/WOTL, Crisis Core, Dissidia [PSP & Opera Omnia] & Bravely Default). I'm most familiar with VII, VIII, XII, XV, and Dissidia. Presently most of my content has been FF8 related but I'm shifting towards Apex Legends (momentarily, I need a break from my other projects).

Currently active fandoms: 13 Sentinels, FF8, Dissidia, and Apex Legends for the moment. I'm enjoying reminiscing with people that know where the namesake of my fandom name comes from. Haha

Fav FF characters: Zack, Ramza, Delita, Fang, Aranea, Zidane, Squall and Selphie.

My favorite ships of all time are:

IV: Cecil/Kain/Rosa, Cecil/Kain, Kain/Rosa

VII: GainsHart/AerTi (Aerith/Tifa) & Valenwind (Cid/Vincent)

VIII: Lion's Rapture (Squall/Selphie), Burning Lion's Wall (Squall/Selphie/Zell - Timber Trio), Romantic Dream (Seifer/Rinoa), Laguna/Raine, Julia/Caraway & Laguna/Kiros

IX: Garnet/Zidane (

XII: Larnelo (Larsa/Penelo)

Dissidia: 589/59/58/89 (Bartz/Squall/Zidane and their pairing variants - Dissidia) 2/4 (Firion/Kain) 8/10 (Squall/Yuna)

There's probably more but.... I don't remember them and these are the ones that come to mind.

I am a strange creature. LOL If you're into homeskillets just trying to vibe and also creating chaos, I'm that gal!

Edited (I didn't like how my ships looked cluttered so I separated them a bit lmfao.) 2021-02-13 22:47 (UTC)

your fandom name / pronouns: FireEye / any

other social accounts you'd like to share (tumblr, AO3, insta, etc): I'm twistedsinews on Tumblr, which is where you can find me most often. FireEye on AO3. I have a Discord account, but I have a difficult time keeping up with it for some reason I'll just forget to turn it on forever and a week. Streamlining my online presence is actually on my list of projects for this year, but who knows if I get to it. I'm also on the fic exchange circuit pretty regularly.

FFs you're familiar with: I-X, IV: TAY, X-2, XII, Tactics, Tactics Advance, Crystal Chronicles, Mystic Quest; Legend of the Crystals, The Spirits Within, Unlimited... and I know I'm missing at least one, but I mostly hang around in I-VI and Tactics these days. (I'm probably going to give XIII and XV a shot one of these days, and I am sorely tempted by XIV because apparently young Doga & Une??)

fandoms you're active in at the moment: At any given time, I mind find reason to write (random old game/movie/series/book I love). These include a bunch of other Square and Enix titles. Other than that, I'm currently trapped in Cyberpunk 2077 'ow, fuck you game, why in eternity's name was i born with feelings??' hell.

favorite FF characters or ships: phew... a lot. too many!

Top Fave Characters: Arylon, Leila, Elia, Rydia, Faris, Terra, Agrias

Top Pairings: Light Warriors/Light Warriors, Leila/Paul, Doga/Une, Rydia/Kain, Faris/Butz, Terra/Locke/Celes, Agrias/Mustadio/Orlandu

...for real, I multiship and polyship and routinely go, 'hey I like that character and this character what would hapPEN IF I MAKE THEM KISS' for... you know, science.

something fun or witty idk how do people make friends: idk either sev i am over here trying to convince the fictional characters kiss what more do you want from me

Warning Label: I can and will swear like a sailor. I have a fun mixture of anxiety rolling around in my brain, including the social kind. I can be pretty quiet and terrible at staying in contact, maybe as a result idk, but I am making more of an effort these days. I can and will send virtual hugs for no reason whatsoever.

(hi yes give XIV a shot, I love new players and will bring you cookies and go with you in any dungeons you may want, and yes, also, Doga and Une, it's true and a real thing.)

WELL THEN, I AM GOING TO HAVE TO AREN'T I? XD

...it may take me a bit, i have cyberpunk writing to do while it's still fresh in my brain and *grumble, grumble* life this and that, but i will definitely hit you up when i am near enough to sitting my ass down and playing for real. <3

i do not know why i am fixated on doga and une in particular but that was one of the first things i learned about XIV completely by accident because i was plotting fic or something and wanted to make sure i had a small detail right and suddenly "wait what are these renders from??? :O". :P

TOTALLY UNDERSTAND. Just hit me up whenever! ♥

(there is such a rich collection of stories in XIV, I love it so)

Ello!

My fandom name: Cyd i have been known in the past as hecatesbrat/Hecate's Brat. My pronouns are They/Them.

Here on DW:

cydling, On LJ: gargoule, on IJ: hecatesbrat and hecatesmuse (that's where i have a lot of previous fic). on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hecatesbrat

FF i'm familiar with: ff7, ff8, fftactics, ff...errr the one with Celes. a bit of ff12.

fandoms i'm active in: ...i'm a lurker as of late. I did RP for both ff7 and ff8. a bit of FFtactics. non FF related: Lore Olympus, Prodigal Son. i'm sure there are more. >.>

ff characters that are fave? ......tis a list!! Celes, Setzer, Sabin, Ultros, Gau, Kefka, Cid Highwind, Tifa, Rude, Tseng, Vincent Valentine, Seifer Almasy, Fuu, Raijin, Ultimecia, Adel, Laguna Loire, Zell, Selphie, Quistis, Balthier, Penelo, Delita, Ramza, Ashley.... long list is still going.
my ships: Cid/Shera. that is by far, hands down, my fave. i'm still sort of a Seifer/Squall shipper. I also ship Laguna/Seifer. I'm sure i have more...

something fun or witty?? errrr i have ff8 tattoos. i'm an awkward penguin hiding in a meatsuit. taadaa

Hello fellow awkward penguin! May I add you? I recall quite enjoying your FF8 fic and you have a very tasty list of favorite characters. :)

Hi! Hihihi.
Please do!

Awww, thank you! I'm sure i have more faves, and pairings, and stuffs. lol

Coming late to this entire party, but here I am.

fandom name and pronouns: CorpseBrigadier, they/them

other socials: You can find me at

CorpseBrigadier,

Corpsebrigadier, and

Corpsebrigadier. I also have this NeoCities page where you can sign my guestbook.

FFs: I'm familiar with FFIV, FFV, FFVI, FFVII (OG and Advent Children Only), FFVIII, FFIX, FFTactics, Vagrant Story. Also Kingsglaive (but nothing else really from FFXV). My current faves are VI, Tactics, and VIII.

Fandoms: I really like nineteenth-century gothic literature (Ask me about Wuthering Heights and/or Dracula) and old PC games (Ultima and Sierra's quest series in particular).

Some FF Characters I Like: Faris, Celes, Cyan, Gau, Shadow, Hojo, Vincent, Reeve, Seifer, Laguna, Fujin, Selphie, Freya, Beatrix, Zalbag, Dycedarg, Wiegraf, Miluda, Izlude, Ruvelia, Alma, Grissom, Nyx

Some FF Ships I Like:
- FF6: Cyan/Sabin, Pretty Much Any Configuration That Involves at least one Figaro Brother
- FF7: Hojo/Vincent, Hojo/Any Other Person Who Shouldn't Have Hojo Happen to Them
- FF8: Edea/Seifer, Laguna/Seifer
- FFT: Wiegraf/Zalbag, Dycedarg/Ruvelia, Wiegraf/Izlude, Delita/Izlude, Alma/Ovelia, Pretty Much Any Configuration That Leads to Characters Being Miserable, Gaffgarion/Dorter Thief Who Throws His Hat on the Ground.
- Really though, I'm just devoted to weird rarepairs in general, and I love putting together characters that one wouldn't normally consider putting together.

other: I made a cake in the shape of Ashley Riot's butt recently, and I feel that this speaks to my character.

Hi! I'm excited to meet other final fantasy fans!
Fandom name: Inky
Pronouns: she/her

Socials:

inkysqueed (my main twitter!)

4tramento (my art twitter!)

atramento

I'm most familiar with FFT and FFIX-- I've seen friends play FFVII and FFVII, as well as general familiarity with other titles. I hope to play more of the games but admittedly I do like to stay in my corner of sad noseless pixel people (FFT is a very good game in my humble opinion). I also play Opera Omnia! I'm bad at it, but I play it!

Active Fandoms: Final Fantasy, Dishonored, Legend of Dragoon, Elder Scrolls, and Pokemon to name the biggest, longest lasting interests ;D

Fave FF Characters: ok here we go, tier list time!
Absolute Faves- Ramza, Delita, Mustadio, Argath (yes you read that right), Laguna, Yuna, Tidus
Yeah they're cool~- Cait Sith, Steiner, Kain (put here for a friend YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE), the Figaro brothers, Zell, and honorary mention Hat Guy
Opera Omnia-induced Faves- Machina, Prishe, Vayne, Y'shtola, and Warrior of Light.

Fave FF Ships: ohhhhh boyyy i can generally ship a LOT but these are off the top of my head
YES! tier- Yuna/Tidus, any combination of Ramza/Delita/Argath, Dycedarg/Ruvelia (you can blame

corpsebrigadier for this one), Zalbag/Wiegraf (and this one), Cid/Shera (I like fics exploring their relationship and I have a friend who writes a very nice Cid...)
Sure why not?- Argath/Tietra, Ovelia/Valmafra & Ovelia/Agrias, Mustadio/Roguish Mischief (Mustadio/Ovelia or Mustadio/Ramza, alternatively), and light-hearted and one-sided Relm/Edgar (puppy crush... this one is 'fresh off the presses' new and I'm not sure how I feel about thinking it's cute)

Extra credit: As a fan that hasn't actually played TOO many of the games, I'm open to suggestions of where to go! Currently I'm going to try and play my copy of FFIII I got a few years ago!

Legend of Dragoon hot damn it's been a minute but I was hard into that fandom when it was new. XD Hi! may I add? (Opera Omnia, man. I played it really hard for a while and then got burnt out. KAIN!~)

I unfortunately have never left from the moment I picked it up in my brothers' game cases hehehe. And of course! My Opera Omnia ID is 956680176 :D

Oh, I meant on Dreamwidth! oops, I was unclear. XD

Oh! Sure! I'd like that :D

yay!

Aaaaah this is so nice!! I'm really new into FF, so totally leaving a post here, but I'm planning to play as many of the games as my time allows me to ^^
I've also found this super late ;; but hey! sharing still.

your fandom name / pronouns: Notho or Ñire! (She/Them)
other social accounts you'd like to share
twitter: https://twitter.com/FFNotho
AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nothofagus_antarctica/
I have a Deviantart too, but most of my art there is animal/nature themed: https://www.deviantart.com/nothofagus-obliqua

FFs you're familiar with I'm an old person, but very much a baby FF fan still ;; FFIV+Interlude+After years, Opera Omnia (albeit I fell very behind with this one), soon FFVII and others!

fandoms you're active in at the moment Not really active nowadays! But I used to be deep into the Saint Seiya/The Lost Canvas one. Right now I wanna focus on FF, I have SO much content yet to discover!

favorite FF characters or ships I adore everybody from FF4. They're all precious sweet children. My top favourite is Edward, but I also adore Cecil, Kain. Tellah, Golbez, Rosa, Rydia and others!

I also really enjoyed characters from other games in OO, but I'd love to play their original games as well!

Fav pairing? CecilxEdward
Sad sweet traumatised bois who need and deserve many many hugs.

(but I honestly have a LOT of ships! xD even bizarre ones. And I also ship everybodyxEdward basically, as I adore this child like there's no tomorrow)

something fun or witty idk how do people make friends
I don't consider myself a very good writer, but I pour a lot of love into my stories. I'm very much nature oriented, for they're related to my main hobbies (hiking+wildlife watching+botanics) so some of this nerdism will most likely show up somehow. I enjoy all styles, from fluff to angst to slice of life and slash.

Also, I'm always eager to met new people, I'm a bit shy at first but very talkaltive and really fond of leaving comments to stories and fanarts!

Edited 2021-03-16 00:40 (UTC)

Hi everyone!

* Please call me Duncan or Bravo, either is fine for me. I'm a cishet guy (he/him), so I kinda feel like a unicorn in this space. In a good way, I guess.
* I'm Bravo_Figaro on AO3, @ MasterDuncan7 on Twitter, and master-duncan on tumblr
* I've played FF6-FF12, but FF6 is the only one that really took root in my mind. I waste time and money on the various FF mobile games, so I've got a passing familiarity with nearly everything.
* I've just picked up the idea of participating in fandom a few months back. I'm only here for FF6 at the moment.
* It's so tricky to pick a favorite from FF6 - after the Figaros, of course. I thought I didn't ship anyone in particular, but my Terra/Sabin fic got me on board for them.
* Fun Fact! As a child I first had access to the Japanese Famicom FF6 game. Somehow played through and beat that (knowing no Japanese). It was wonderful to play FF3 a year or two later and learn what it was that I already loved.

Edit: seems that discord invite expired. I'd love to join if that's okay :)

Edited 2021-08-08 19:19 (UTC)

FINAL FANTASY KISS BATTLE 2021!

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AO3 Collection

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