the trick is to keep breathing

The discord invite is saying that it's expired! I'm enemtosleep#0622 there if someone can invite me directly please ♥

From:

Try this link? it says it will expire in 7 days but should be good for now:

https://discord.gg/P72MhTmG

From:

That seemed to do it!

From:

seventhe

I also just updated it, so thanks for pointing that out!

From:

Are we having an AO3 collection again this year?

From:

lassarina

We do! it is here: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Final_Fantasy_Kiss_Battle_2022

From:

Question!

Last year it looks like Vagrant Story was allowed as part of the FFT universe. Still good this year? I have a few prompt ideas. (And would love to write some, if anyone else has ideas; I wish the fandom was active enough for a kink meme. :D)

From:

lassarina

Go for it!

From:

Eeeheehee. Thanks. I'm waiting on finding out some obscure info (if it exists) for another fill, so might as well do some prompting in the meantime, since I've only made two so far (and I am guessing no one is going to write the FFRK one unless I do it myself, hahah, just had to throw it out there) ;)

From:

threewalls

Not a mod but !!! please do.

From:

Since we got the okay... ;)

(Though at least one idea I had is pretty sketchy in every possible way, hahah. :D)

From:

threewalls

That sounds promising!

From:

seventhe

Introduce yourself!

a sentence or two about you (silly lies encouraged)
FFs you've played / FFs that are your favorites
fave characters and/or ships
other fandoms you're in?
links to your tumblr . AO3 / twitter / interpretive dance website / whatever

From:

seventhe

I'LL GO FIRST

I'm Sev, I'm old, and I love cats and coffee and booze.

I've played nearly every FF game. Favorites remain IV and VI, alongside VII, VIII, X, XII, XIII, and tactics.

I like slightly feral women and men who are snarky and occasionally just Done With It All. Rydia, Terra, Quistis, Irvine, Ashe, LARSA shut up, Lightning, Sazh, etc etc.

I'm currently active in Good Omens and the MCU, while also poking the Witcher fandom with a stick occasionally.

follow me on tumblr (https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sevdrag) or AO3 (https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhe/works) !!

Edited (edited stuff) Date: 2022-02-15 04:07 pm (UTC)

From:

Hi! I'm

althea_valara! I have an About Me sticky in my journal here, but in a nutshell: HUGE Final Fantasy fan; fiber artist; former marathoner; Twitch streamer.

I have played all of the numbered Final Fantasy games, and yes, that includes the MMOs XI and XIV. I'm currently actively playing FFXIV, FFXV, and FFBE. XIV is by far my favorite of the bunch--the characters and stories are AMAZING and I love how they weave in bits from the other Final Fantasy games in a way that doesn't feel like blatant plagiarism but makes sense to XIV's story. It's wonderful.

My favorite character is ♥♥♥ Alisaie ♥♥♥ from Final Fantasy XIV. I enjoy her crush on the player character quite fierce, but I'm not sure I would say I'd ship her and the PC. Another favorite ship is Alphinaud/Estinien from FFXIV, and those two I definitely ship (

lassarina was a big influence there!)

Other fandoms: wait, there are other things besides Final Fantasy?

Links!
* AO3:

xnera
* Twitter:

AltheaValara
* Twitch: https://twitch.tv/altheavalara

WHY YES I AM A STREAMER. A very baby one - I'm lucky when I have two people watching. My current schedule is:

Final Fantasy XV - Mondays & Thursdays, 7:30pm Central - 10:30ish Central
Final Fantasy XIV Sidequests & Shenanigans - Saturdays, 7:30pm Central - 10:30ish Central

From:

Hello! I'm Riona. I made some bad username decisions that made me look like a Squall/Rinoa shipper who can't spell, but in fact I'm more of a Squall/Zell shipper. (I wouldn't say no to Squall/Zell/Rinoa, though!)

I've played and enjoyed VI, VII (original and remake), VIII, IX, X and X-2, XII, the XIII trilogy, XV and a few side games. My favourite game in the series is Final Fantasy VIII, the game with my favourite cast of characters is Final Fantasy XIII, and the game I've written the most fanfiction for is Final Fantasy XV.

My top three Final Fantasy characters are probably Squall, Yuna and Prompto. I ship Squall/Zell, Celes/Sabin, Serah/Hope, and just about everything in Final Fantasy XV.

On my journal, you'll find my extensive rambling about whatever I happen to be playing or watching at the time (mostly videogames, although right now I've fallen hard into Taskmaster). I can't stay in the same fandom for two seconds, but the Final Fantasy series is one I come back to a lot. (Here's my Final Fantasy tag, if you're curious.)

You can also find me on AO3:

Riona

From:

lassarina

HELLO

I am Lassarina, I am a Fandom Ancient and sometimes I may be known to be a cat, I am definitely not a summoner of eldritch beings with ill-chosen glyphs that's just a program that didn't work nothing to see here.

I've played all the FFs except XI and World of FF. My favorites:

IV (Kain!!!!!! Kain/Edge/Rydia in any combination, Kain/Barbariccia, Kain/suffering)
VI (Celes, Locke, Setzer in any combination; is there anyone in this game I DON'T love)
VIII (Seifer/Quistis, Seifer/Irvine, Edea, Quistis in general, Seifer in general)
IX (don't make me choose among my children)
XII (Balthier/Ashe/Al-Cid in any combination, Basch, Fran, LARSA)
XIV (I play obsessively but haven't written much but in this essay I will explain why everyone is the best--)
Tactics (Agrias/Ovelia, yelling at Delita, XIV-inspired weird shitpost ship of Alma/Orran)

Other fandoms: Dragon Age, Mass Effect, Shin Megami Tensei, Persona, assorted JRPGs

Elsewhere:

Lassarina

I run a weekly chatter post for video games on my Dreamwidth!

From:

necrophilia

Hello! I'm Jes. I'm a hobby weightlifter, a voluntary environmentalist/campaign manager, a lover of ghosts and ghostly phenomena, an allergy cocktail in a skinsuit, and sometimes I work in a day job as a construction project manager.

I love Final Fantasy! Quite unsurprisingly. Some faves:
    ● Final Fantasy VIII - Squall, Rinoa, Seifer, Laguna, and Irvine ♥
    ● Final Fantasy XII - Ashe/Balthier is one of my first OTPs! I also love Larsa and the sexy, sexy very well done localisation.
    ● Final Fantasy XV - This game is a mess but IT HURTS ME

I also own Final Fantasy VI and have heard it is the best FF ever made, and am very excited to one day find out for myself.

I'm currently ~20K into an unfinished The Great Ace Attorney fic and am working on, uh, rewriting FFXV (don't judge me I'm obsessed with its potential) when I'm not doing that. I love video games! My other fandoms of preference are Shin Megami Tensei, all things Bioware, some Tales of, and Legend of Zelda. I'm actually quite boring! Why would anyone friend me.

Edited Date: 2022-02-15 11:44 pm (UTC)

From:

samuraiter

Hello. I am ~~the remains of~~ the

samuraiter. Theoretically retired from fandom, but do not tell my army of alts that.

Final Fantasy and I go all the way back to the NES version of FF1 in 1990. I more or less dropped the main series after FF13, but the remakes and spin-offs still draw my attention from time to time. My favorite games tend to be even-numbered, most notably 2, 4, 6, and 8.

Almost too many pairings to list, but I lean towards female / female, these days. If I had one all-time favorite, I would list it as Cloud / Jessie, all the more so in the age of the Remake.

I can be found in quite a number of JRPG fandoms, but my favorites outside Final Fantasy include Shin Megami Tensei and (especially) Fire Emblem.

No links to share. Like I said, I do most of my fan-ing through other accounts, these days.

From:

threewalls

Two truths and a lie: I'm an fandom old cat who likes coffee.

FFXII is the FF of my heart (Balthier/Fran OTP, Basch/Vossler, all four in various permutations, Larsa/Penelo, Ashe/Al-Cid).
FFXV is a hot mess I want to save most of the characters from (Ignis/Noctis, Noctis/Prompto, well, all the chocobros in various frequently queerplatonic permutations, Holly/Cindy and Aranea/Biggs/Wedge). Maybe one days I'll actually play the Insomnia chapter. Maybe.
Vagrant Story is my FF-adjacent first love (Sydney/Hardin OTP).

You could say partnerships are like catnip to me.

I have also played: FFVII (orig), VIII, IX, X, XII:Revenant Wings (and watched playthroughs of XIII's trilogy and FFVII:R and other assorted FFVII side games for which I lack the console.) Remake made me curious about Aerith/Tifa and Cloud/PTSD.

I post little on DW but try to comment more.

You can also find me at

threewalls. Currently, I'm obsessed with Persona 5: The Royal, but my last two stories were for genre fiction books. I've spent the last year trying to write a happy ending sequel to the kiss I wrote for Sydney and Hardin for last year's FFKB. More P5, FFXV and at least that one VS WIP are reasonable bets.

FFXII is the largest chunk of my back-catalogue: over 120 works (of which about 50% are Balthier/&Fran), though most of it is over a decade old.

I'll still also talk about Vagrant Story to anyone who wants that, and that game's more than 20 years old.

From:

skytintedwater

I'm

skytintedwater, aka Skye, and I've been more or less obsessed with Final Fantasy since a now ex-boyfriend made me watch him play FFX. He's well and truly gone, but my love of the series remains.

I have finished IV, X, X-2, XII (this is the best video game ever fight me), XII: Revenant Wings, XIII, XIII-2, XIII: Lightning Returns and FF Tactics: Grimoire of the Rift. I will eventually get around to playing XV.

My favourite characters is a list that's too long to write, so I'll just skip to my OTPs - Fran/Balthier, Vaan/Penelo, Lightning/Snow, Fang/Vanille. I'm pretty open to most pairings though, and these days I lean more towards f/f than anything else.

My AO3 is here.

From:

Ah what the heck. Longtime FF fan here, still have the Nintendo Power FF1 poster on my wall from back in the day, and that kind of snowballed.

Favorite FFs are 4, 5, 8, and 12, and love anything Ivalice. Record Keeper is my mobile game of choice. As for characters, uh, there's a lot. Kain, Rydia, Edward (yes really), all the freaking dorks in 5, Celes, Cyan, Sephiroth, Laguna, Edea, Fujin, Vivi, Basch, Larsa - really the entire cast of 12 too - and Agrias. I have cosplayed (or made a cosplay for someone else to wear) all of those named above except Cyan. Better get cracking.

I'm not much of a shipper and mostly what I do is canon. Laguna/Raine, Celes/Locke, Kain/soul-crushing resentment and self-loathing... But I'm always willing to shake stuff up if someone has a good idea. ;)

Vagrant Story is my forever love, so at least it's FF-adjacent. Chronic illness has left me unable to do much writing or gaming in the last ten years - except for some reason I can still write Vagrant Story, and particularly my OTP of Sydney/Hardin. ...So I write a lot with them. Suikoden is another fandom I've done a lot with, and er, Ace Attorney sort of ate me for a few years awhile back. (Not so much in the fanstuff category, but also daily player of Pokemon Go and Animal Crossing.)

Other places to find me... I'm barely/sporadically around at

pantswarrior, and if you want to read half a million words about the adventures of gay cultists that's over at

pantswarrior.

From:

lassarina

I know we're already friends but I'm absolutely screeching with laughter at "Kain/soul-crushing resentment and self-loathing" because THE MOOD, THE EXPERIENCE.

FF Brave Exvius (one of the mobile games) released an "Atoning Dragoon Kain" unit a few years ago and he has the following abilities, which caused me to text Sev screaming:

Self-Esteem
Boost ATK, DEF, and SPR when HP falls below a certain point

Ready for Redemption
Boost ATK, DEF, MAG, and SPR by 20% and boost limit break damage

(also pride of the dragoons and a bunch of jump skills, but those two were the relevant ones, lol)

From:

HAAAAAHAHHAHAHAH.

Yeah, Kain. That poor boy. Considering the really meh localization of the first incarnation of his game, it's astonishing how so many of us latched onto him as our precious emotional punching bag - and STILL DO THIS. It's been what, 30 years now, and somehow of all the things in the SNES era that don't hold up, Kain's angst still works!

From:

lassarina

Kain just out here living rent-free in my brain, like you do. My favorite chew toy.

From:

allsortsoflicorice

Fandom old who's seen some shit and has no position on the LTD. Living in a francophone country and still struggling with the subjunctive. I love Korean historical dramas.

I have played FFII, III, IV, V, VI, VII and the Compilation, VIII, IX, X, XII, XV
FFVII has a very special place in my heart and life.
I don't really want to rank them in any kind of order; I like rotating through them. Each is special in its own way. The only one I've never wanted to replay is X. Somehow it just didn't do it for me.

Tseng/Rufus is my OTP. I fell in love with Tseng in Crisis Core. Remake Tseng is less interesting, Remake Rufus more so. Fran/Balthier, Zidane/Dagger. I don't ship anyone in FFXV - for a change, I like a game that is all about friendship.

other fandoms you're in? On the edge of Fire Emblem, Dragon Age, Witcher, Attack on Titan, Full Metal Alchemist. Fore Emblem is the only other game series I've ever tried to write fic for.

Tumblr: https://allsortsoflicorice.tumblr.com/

From:

thenicochan

Yo, I'm Nico. I'm an old boy who first fell hard on this series when I was a young boy. I post sporadically. Twice a day, then a month without new content. I clearly never edit my posts so they tend to look like sexy, cinnamon-coated garbage. I love making new friends. ~~Though I'm kinda shy about making the first move in being new friends~~

I've played nearly every FF game, with exception to a few spin-offs and the online-only ones. First was VI, which is still my favorite. Shout out to IX, which is my favorite. They're both my favorite. You could probably make me pick between them via Jigsaw styled torture, but that wouldn't be very nice.

Pretty big multi-shipper, and def willing to consider anything once, but a few of my top favs:

II: Mateus/Hilda

IV: Cecil/Rosa/Kain, Golbez/Torment

VI: Terra/Celes, Sabin/Cyan (w/ Gau as their adopted child), Kefka/Leo

VII: Cloud/Tifa/Aerith, Cid/Vincent, Cloud/Barret, Reno/Rude, Anything Reeve wants because he's a Good Boi. Fun fact: I've been in love with Cid since I was, like, eleven.

VIII: Squall with Rinoa, Zell or Seifer. Seifer/Bad Decisions. General fascination with Sorceresses and how they work.

IX: Zidane/Garnet, Steiner/Beatrix. Kuja is the best antagonist in the series and Vivi is the most precious thing I've ever seen.

X: Tidus/Yuna, Tidus/Wakka, Jecht/Auron/Braska, Paine/Rikku (...and Yuna. Hah)

XII: Balthier with Fran, Ashe or Basch. Basch/Vossler. Larsa/Gabranth(HAH PROBLEMATIC).

XIII: Lightning/Fang/Vanille

XV: Chocobros OT4 in any configuration, Luna/Better treatment by the writers

I've got the attention span of a gnat, so I keep a lot of fandoms. Really into Dead by Daylight and associated horror things, plus the Big Two in comics and Persona.

I occasionally post fic about traumatized ladies dealing with existential dread over at AO3

From:

threewalls

Ah, yes, Luna/better treatment. Also a favourite!

(And Persona 5!)

From:

ajora

Not entirely sure what I'm doing here given I never have time for anything, heh.

Howdy. I'm Ajora or AJ, old enough to know better and jaded enough not to care. I only have time for one fandom-fandom these days and have decided that'll be Final Fantasy (not-fandom interests: history, anthropology, archaeology, geography, and occasionally I'll venture off into med anth/geography). I live in the middle of nowhere and can't stream worth a damn thanks to my only internet connection being my cellphone data, so XI and XIV are right out for me.

My first FF was VI when it came out for SNES and I played when over at a friend's house. After that I played pretty much everything console-based that could be either played on emulator or early Playstations up until PS3 and 4 came out and I couldn't afford them. Am currently slogging through XIII thanks to Steam when I have the time, but mostly spend what time I do have on DFFOO.

Favorite FF is a toss-up between V and Tactics, and after that is... II, III, X, XII, and I don't love the gameplay of XIII but do like the characters and story. Also adore the Ogre series to bits and have been disappointed that it won't continue ever since Quest dissolved.

Just a femslash shipper nowadays. My OTP is one I'm kinda nervous about talking about after some drama on tumblr, but it's not going to be hard to discover with a little digging, heh.

Pretty much everything necessary for stalking purposes can be found in my dreamwidth profile.

(deleted comment)

From:

ajora

Ah, thanks, I'll add back!

The thing I've loved most* about FFV is, there's all this lore that never quite made it in the game and is instead dispersed over multiple books, cards, and so on. Being raised by an archaeologist, I've found the investigation and translation work delightful.

Also, I actually really love DFFOO--it's like all those early 2000s crossover fics that were shamelessly cheesy, with bonus voice acting.

* Besides its tapping into my adolescent love of pirates, dragons, and gnc characters, heh.

From:

deemoyza

I'm Dee, I'm older than I act, and always confused by one thing or another. Sometimes I squee, sometimes I write, and a lot of times I just blather on.

I got into Final Fantasy in 2002 when I snagged a copy of the PC version of FF8 off of Ebay. I fell in love with it, and it remains my favorite FF. I've also played VI, IX, X, and X-2, and really like them all (yes, even X-2! For all its silliness, that game has some great dramatic moments).

Fave FF characters: Rinoa, Relm, Celes, Lulu.
Fave FF ships: Rinoa/Squall, Rinoa/Quistis, DARYL/SETZER, Lulu/Auron

Over the past few years I've dabbled in a few different fandoms, but right now I'm currently obsessed with Transistor and The Blue Castle.

You can also find me on Tumblr and AO3. Y'know, standard fannish stuff. :)

From:

thatguy62

Hi, I'm new here. Came to stretch my writing chops and potentially make a suggestion.

I've deep dived into FF3 so deeply that I think it owns my soul at this point, but I've also beaten 1 and 2 and played a decent chunk of 4 (should probably get back to 5...).

Characterwise, obviously the greatest character ever: Goldor. Oh and also
* Garland,
* Leon, Emperor Mateus,
* Luneth, Sara and Ingus I guess.

No fandoms too deeply, but I'm generally into Nintendo (primarily Mario and Kirby).

My tumblr, where I'm more active. If you into the FF3 remake, you should probably at least check out the first post you see.

My AO3

From:

queenlua

Hi, I'm Lua!

* old enough to run for US senate; not old enough for US president

* I love birds and books and booze and, most importantly, video games

* I've played: FF9, 10, 12, 13, and 15 (and, technically, I've also played 6, 7, and 8, but long enough ago that my memory's a bit fuzzy on those)

* I'm a profligate multishipper and generally pretty omnivorous wrt fic-reading; I'll try anything once, so long as it sounds interesting. But I've got a particular fondness for Noctis/being sad, Noctis/being pissed off, Noctis/Gladio, Prompto/everyone, Al-Cid/everyone, Fang/everyone, FFX/gratuitous backstories and meta and heacanons and such, FFIX/everyone being adorable together, etc

* I also bop around in the lands of Ace Attorneys (<3333 Simon Blackquill) and Fiery Emblems (esp Path of Radiance, Radiant Dawn, and Three Houses)

* I've got the same handle pretty much everywhere. See me here on DW for book reviews and other thinky thoughts, tumblr for pretty art and shitposting, and ao3 for that sweet sweet fanfic

From:

seventhe

IT ALL STARTS HERE

From:

lassarina

Matoya/female black mage, meeting as equals

From:

samuraiter

Fighter / Dr. Unne, "Oh, I've heard of you, all right."

From:

seventhe

CASTLE BLING PIMP-CUP AWAITS

From:

Maria & Leon, sharing your pain

From:

inkysqueed

I'm on my chromebook right now so I'll just post the fic's link here

From:

samuraiter

Maria / Layla, before you set sail.

From:

(Forgive any inconsistencies in spelling - I played a version where her name was spelled Leila, so I might have slipped up somewhere.)

-----

"Layla, wait!"

The pirate captain was halfway down the dock when Maria called out, but she did hear, and halted as she glanced over her shoulder. Layla had an appraising look in her eye - much the same as Maria had seen when they'd first met, and the offer of passage on her ship was made. It left Maria feeling... similarly uneasy, though by now she should have learned that Layla was trustworthy.

And that was the point, wasn't it? That was why Maria had followed when Layla had stated her intention to set out. "Layla, before you set sail," she said, slowing as she came near to where Layla stood, hands on hips, watching her with curiosity - "I wanted to say that I'm sorry."

Layla's eyes squinted at her, her head tilted, as if taken aback. "Sorry, lass? For what?"

"To begin with, I know I was rather suspicious of you when we met..."

"Indeed." Layla smirked. "But were you mistaken?"

...That was a good point. "Yet you've proven to be a strong ally," Maria continued. "We wouldn't be here now without your ship - and all the help you've given us, fighting at our side and strengthening our defenses. And if you hadn't been there when that... thing, the false princess, tried to take Firion..."

Layla chuckled. "Ah, I wager he'd have escaped - that boy's too pure for his own good. Don't know if he can truly be tempted."

Maria bit down on her immediate response to that suggestion, and the implications. "And... about that, too." This was the awkward part. "I meant to apologize for being a bit... protective of him. Or possessive, if it came off that way."

"No need," Layla assured her, her posture and her smirk both relaxing a bit. To Maria's mind, it made her look more earnest. "'Twas a bit of fun, that's all. You've got a fine young man, and you're welcome to him. I find my harbor elsewhere, thank ya very much."

Maria wasn't sure if she was more relieved, or embarrassed. "It's... not quite like that. Firion's like a brother to me."

Layla raised an eyebrow. "That so?"

"It is." At least it had seemed that way most of their lives...

A hint of skepticism had crept into the way Layla was regarding her. "If you say so," Layla said even so, and casually flipped her windblown hair back over her shoulder, looking up at her ship alongside the dock for a moment before glancing back at Maria. "Is there some other fella waitin' for you at home, then?" At the light shake of Maria's head, she laughed quietly. "You're as pure as he, ain't ya?"

"That's..." ...Somewhat humiliating, but true. Even after all they'd been through, Maria couldn't help but feel somewhat small, childish, in the presence of such a wild, self-confident woman as Layla.

Layla waited for a moment for Maria to finish the thought, but then shrugged dismissively. "You're a sweet girl, Maria," Layla told her. "You don't even know what I meant about finding my harbor elsewhere, do you?"

"Of course I do." Maria might have been indignant, if she wasn't distracted by wondering why Layla was stepping closer to her. "You're a pirate, you spend your life on the seas. You wouldn't settle down in one-"

Maria quieted abruptly as Layla's hand rose to cup her cheek. Before Maria could even think of how to ask what Layla was doing, Layla was leaning in, pressing her lips against Maria's.

Taken by surprise, Maria froze. The sound of the wind blowing in off the water was in her ears, and Layla's lips caressed hers like the waves it stirred up. They were soft - unexpectedly gentle, given to whom they belonged.

Before she could think any further about it, Layla had drawn back, her lips once again merely smirking. "...Oh," was all Maria could say.

"You're right, you know," Layla told her with a merry laugh as she turned away, continuing down the dock to board her ship. "I'm not one to settle down. But if you ever think you might like to explore other harbors, just keep your eye out. 'Less the sea swallows me up, I'll come around eventually."

Maria watched Layla walk up the plank, offering no more than a half-wave over her shoulder as she approached her crew, who immediately darted about following her orders. ...Just like Firion, Maria was certain she should not even be entertaining Layla's offer.

From:

lassarina

Aaaaaaah I love thissssssss. Love Maria's earnestness and Layla's kindness under the swagger. A++

From:

Thank you! I, er, have a thing for lady pirates, so I was glad to see this one, though I'd never considered the pairing. ;)

From:

samuraiter

Leila is the most up-to-date spelling of her name, so you are correct. And please forgive the lateness of my reply.

Thank you for this. =) Very warm and fuzzy, in a pirate-y sort of way. Exactly what I wanted to see. =D

From:

lassarina

Maria & Leon, homecoming

From:

seventhe

an entire game of oh. okay

From:

lassarina

Sara/Ingus, come back safe

From:

thatguy62

Notes: Sara’s demeanor is inspired a bit by the Memory of Heroes take (where she’s more outwardly feisty).

The evening skies cloaked Castle Sasune in shades of orange and violet. It was around the point where the night guard would take over and most of the remaining staff would soon retire to their quarters.
Sara Altney stood overlooking the grounds from one of the balconies in wait. She knew it was only a matter of time before-
“Lady Sara. You have requested me?”
Sara turned to meet her visitor. It was Ingus; One of Sasune’s many soldiers and one of the four Warriors of Light.
At this point in time, the Warriors of Light were deep into their journey. Sara knew that they had to be a long ways away by that point, and while she had no idea how far into their quest they were, she knew that they had to be quite busy. It was for that reason that her usual “spontaneous” response to her problem was more hesitant. Compared to ensuring that the world didn’t fall to darkness, her pendant breaking seemed like an extremely minor situation, a personal crisis though it may be. Still, she decided it was worth a shot to ask Ingus to repair it.
While she was hopeful, she certainly didn’t expect the Warriors to return to Sasune for the sole purpose of taking the pendant. Some days later, they returned with Sara’s precious pendant as good as new.
Perhaps it was the emotions that the pendant itself gave her, but Sara practically demanded that the party at least spend the night before resuming their quest.
The Warriors showed surprising, but understandable hesitation. Eventually, they decided that surely Xande won’t finish flooding the world with darkness for at least another day. Besides, they already had three of the crystals awoken. The future is bright.
Still, Sara could not help but worry.
“So. You will be heading out once more soon.” Sara started.
“Yes. We have awakened three of the four crystals now. Once we leave, we shall make our way towards Doga’s Manor. After we retrieve the key to Syrcus Tower, we will go there and confront Xande.” Ingus stated. “I sent a report to his majesty. You can read that for mor-”
“I know about the report!” Sara replied angrily. “I wanted to hear it from you directly!”
Sara huffed and then turned around.
“...Lady Sara, is there something wrong?”
Of course there was. She was here, stuck in this castle while he was out doing who knows what. It was not that Sara hated Sasune; Just some weeks ago she was marching through the Djinn’s cavern to save her people with a tenacity that not even the Warriors of Light could falter. But her opportunities to move outside of the castle were already limited and only grew moreso after the earthquake. Boredom caught up with her quickly and hearing of the Warriors of Light’s adventures through Ingus’ notes and reports only served to pepper in fear and envy with her other feelings.
But she didn’t say any of that.
“Ingus,” Sara paused, quietly considering how to word her next sentence. “I have one command for you.”
“Yes, your highness?” Ingus said, snapping to attention.
“I want you to promise me that you and the others will come back alive.”
“...Lady Sara. I apologize for this, but I cannot in good faith fulfill that command.”
“?! What do you mean?!” Sara asked, her voice torn between frustrated disbelief and unsettled concern.
“It was something Doga told us. He said that the Warriors of Darkness perished in their battle to stop the Flood of Light.” Ingus crossed his arms thoughtfully. “I do not like to dwell upon it either, but to ignore that possibility would also be arrogant. Anything could happen duri-”
Princess Sara was a spontaneous person. She tended to think with her heart first and her head second.
Which is why, as Ingus continued to cast doubts on any assurance of the party’s survival, Sara grabbed him and kissed him.
The stoic soldier went wide-eyed, but made no attempt to break the kiss. Was he shocked? Did he want this as well? Sara did not know and, for the moment, she did not care. She just needed to do something.
Sara pulled away after what felt like an eternity.
“Please. No matter what happens. Just…come back safe.” Sara said quietly.
Ingus did not respond, still in shock.
“Sara…” Ingus said with a quiet vulnerability that Sara had only seen during that night before he left. Ingus settled back into his grim determination and nodded.
“You have my word, Lady Sara. We shall return.” While Ingus’ words earlier cast doubt on the validity of that statement, Sara knew that he meant it; His eyes, always having that sharp quality to them unlike any of the other soldiers, shone with determination to fulfill the princess’ request.
“And one more thing.” Sara continued.
“Yes, your highness?”
“Once you’ve returned, you must make time to show me the surface.” Sara ordered. “I want to see all of it. As much as you can possibly afford to show me.”
Ingus looked shocked for a moment before sighing. Despite this, he seemed to have a ghost of a smile on his face.
“Very well, your highness. I must warn you that the surface is far more vast than even the floating continent.”
Sara smiled.
“Are you trying to dissuade me? Because you are only doing the opposite.”
Sara and Ingus chatted until the wee hours of the morning.

From:

seventhe

Arc/Alus (aged up if necessary), finding your way

From:

Ingus/Luneth, I'll smooth out that GRR-face of yours

(There's a scene in the FFIII DS opening where Luneth is speaking passionately about something and Ingus shoves his shoulder and Luneth gets a GRR face, and I was SO DISAPPOINTED that's not in the actual game anywhere. would love to see this scene!)

From: (Anonymous)

(I had this typed up for a while, getting it in while 2022 is still a thing.)

(tbh that intro’s accurate to their dynamic, just not in the way you’d expect)

“Where do you get off being so damn uptight?!”
Ingus’ dismissive glance did not change as Luneth continued to rant about the soldier’s behavior. In truth, said behavior was in direct response to the silver-haired boy’s behavior; Luneth was rather casual in addressing the soldiers and staff of Castle Sasune. Refia already gave him grief for addressing Princess Sara as if she were a random traveler, although Sara actually seemed rather interested by it. Luneth addressing the king in a similar fashion, however, was what prompted Ingus to pull him aside.

Ingus hadn’t really expected much of a reaction given that Refia’s scoldings seemed to go in one ear and out the other, but he was surprised when Luneth retaliated with his own list of grievances. Ingus started off unamused by Luneth calling him a coward, but over time he seemed somewhat intrigued by Luneth’s yelling.
It was almost adorable.

As if to emphasize his annoyance, Luneth took a few steps forward, gesturing angrily. Ingus wasn’t phased and gave him a light shove backwards. The Sasune soldier was rewarded with a glare from the Ur youth.

”I oughta kick your ass for that.” Luneth pouted. This resulted in a raised eyebrow from Ingus, which made Luneth even more annoyed. “Don’t look at me like that! I will!”

“You are a village boy. I am a trained soldier. I doubt it.”

“That’s not as good as you think. Your moves are too obvious. I would see them coming.”

Ingus paused, as if to process that information.

“...Too obvious, you say?”

“Yeah!” Luneth huffed. “I bet you Sasune guys all fight the same. You’re all trained the same anyway.”

Ingus stared intently at Luneth. He marched over to Luneth and locked eyes with him. Luneth felt himself hesitate under Ingus’ icy blue eyes, but he held his ground and kept his purple eyes trained on his opponent.
There was a long silence. Then, Ingus spoke.

“Very well then. I am going to attack you. Let us see if you can truly predict what I will do.”

“Of course I will!” Luneth boasted. “You’re not so tough.”

If Ingus had a reply, he thought the better of it. Instead, he held his gaze with Luneth. Luneth remained at the ready, ready to intercept any arms or legs that came at him. And yet, Ingus did not move. The staring contest between the two was likely no more than a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity.
Luneth started getting restless. What is this, some sort of psyche? Did Ingus simply want him to walk away? Was he just doing it to waste ti-
Ingus attacked.
In the split-second between the initial movement and the attack, Luneth cursed himself; He hadn’t considered the possibility of Ingus going for a headbutt, since what kind of trained soldier did that? All too late did Luneth notice that Ingus wasn’t going for a headbutt, but actually:

Smooch

The boy from Ur went wide-eyed as drew Ingus back, entertainment in his eyes betraying his stoic disposition. Luneth timidly put a hand to his lips as his face went scarlet.

“W-what was that?!” He said, a little too high-pitched for his liking.

“You said that you could predict what I was going to do.”

“Yeah, b-but that-I mean-that wasn’t-!” Luneth seemed unable to articulate his words before catching himself. He looked at Ingus, a smirk slowly appearing on his face. “Fine, you win. I really wasn’t expecting that. But just you wait! I’ll get you back for that. You won’t even see it coming!”

The boy in the purple sweater turned back to Ingus one last time before leaving. As he moved to follow, the soldier couldn’t help but notice that Luneth’s demeanor seemed to have perked up.

From:

Ingus/Sara, a stolen moment

From:

seventhe

TAKE THAT WHALE TO THE MOON (also includes FFIV: TAY)

From:

lassarina

Edge/Kain, for all the sharp edges there is a kind of safety here

From:

lassarina

Rydia/Shiva, growing closer

From:

Rydia has grown greatly since Leviathan brought her to this place. She's much taller now, stronger both physically and emotionally. The eidolons have ceased to consider her "other", and now regard her as a part of their own family - for who among them is related by mortal blood? Who among their number bears physical resemblance to one another? She too is a unique being, and a valued and trusted friend.

Many of them have become close enough to Rydia that they have offered her their strength, should she need it. Some offered it freely; with others, she asked and they obliged. For someday, she says, she must return to the surface, when she is strong enough to be of help to her human companions.

Though there has long been a fascination, and they've enjoyed one another's company oft enough now that Rydia is essentially full-grown for her species, Rydia has not yet asked Shiva, and Shiva has not offered. There is yet a distance between them, though at times no more than the layer of thick woven cloak to protect Rydia's frail skin from the chill, or the glove that permits her hands to linger longer than would otherwise be safe. Of late there is an awkwardness as well. The silences in the midst of their conversations feel hesitant.

At last it is Shiva who asks, late in the evening while the two of them are lazing in Rydia's dwelling, with the young human woman wrapped in a blanket within Shiva's arms, a warm drink in her hands. "Think not that I begrudge our time together," Shiva begins, stroking Rydia's shoulder through the blanket. "Nor that I wish for more. Yet I am curious." Rydia lifts her head from where it was settled against Shiva's shoulder, now curious as well. "All our other kin have granted you permission to summon them in the Above. All but myself, and never have you asked..."

"Ahh..." Rydia looks slightly sheepish, but smiles. "You'll think it's silly."

"Perhaps." Shiva smiles in return, in what she hopes is comforting fashion; she knows that many humans find her frightening, though Rydia has ever been bold, or she would not be here, like this. "At times, you are indeed quite silly, and I find it endearing."

Rydia laughs softly, like the tinkling of bells, Shiva thinks. She does find many of Rydia's human aspects endearing. "Well, then," Rydia begins as she settles back. "I intended to ask, some time ago. I thought I would, once I knew you better. But as we grew closer, it just... never seemed like the right time. There always seemed to be something more interesting to say - or do - and I didn't want you to think that... that was why I wanted to be close to you."

"I see," Shiva muses. "You feared the appearance of coersion?"

"Yes, that's it exactly," Rydia agrees, and snuggles a little deeper into Shiva's embrace, heedless of the cold. "And eventually I stopped worrying about it. To be honest, I have all I could want from you - far more than I ever expected."

"...I believe you." It is not a strange thing to Shiva to be admired, lusted after. It is only strange when she returns it, a favor she has shown few throughout the ages, and none other among the humans; she and Rydia share a unique intimacy. And thus there is no hesitancy in the offer she now makes: "Even so - if it pleases you to have just a bit more, then you are welcome to call upon me whenever you wish."

Clearly it does please her, from the smile that widens across Rydia's face when she looks up again. Shiva recognizes the motion as her neck cranes upwards, her eyes closing, and lowers her own head for a kiss.

Perhaps this time they have lingered a bit too long, for Rydia hurriedly takes a sip of her drink when they part, and even afterward her smile seems slightly stiff, as if her lips are numb - but regardless, her happiness and gratitude for that extra step, that additional closeness above what they already share, shines through.

From:

seventhe

Rydia &/ Rosa, familiarity

From:

seventhe

Edge/Kain, death wish

From:

seventhe

Rydia/Edge/Kain, first times

From:

Palom & Porom, relief

From:

seventhe

She isn't expecting to wake up.

For the longest time it's a sensation in her brain, and the only thing she can compare it to is the time she stood with Palom and watched his first Blizzard spell melt to nothing in the Mysidian heat. It isn't until she's nearly restored that she realizes it's her thawing from a state she never meant to wake up from.

She tastes the magic of the Elder on her tongue in the same moment she moves her tired hands. It tastes like sand, and fresh water, and the comfort of a good bed.

Porom opens her eyes. Her palms are still pressed against the wall; she lowers them slowly and stares down into them, as if they can tell her all the things that have happened.

--then she hears the voice that's more dear to her than anything, croaking as if it hasn't spoken in weeks: "Yo, bro, good to see ya. What the hells is going on?"

Porom turns, joy bubbling in her chest.

The Elder lowers his hands; his smile is beatific as they come to rest within his robes as usual. "Your magics are unfamiliar to everyone but me. I was able to undo them, since it was your will that did it."

Porom isn't listening. She's staring across the short distance of Baron Castle's hallways at the most precious thing she knows.

It isn't easy to explain it to people who aren't twins. When your twin is gone it's like half your heart stops beating. It's like something has cored out your bones and left them hollow and shallow. But now she's looking at her obnoxious brother with his ridiculous ponytail and the stupid way he stands with both hands on his hips as if he can stand up against anything.

He looks over at her and the relief on his face is the echo of hers. "Porom!" he cries, and then they're hugging, with no time inbetween.

"Ah," says the Elder, and he backs away from the scene.

Palom is babbling something into her breastbone and Porom takes a moment to bury her face in his hair, breathing in the familiar scent of sweaty boy and charred wood, the residue of his magic. She can't do much except pull him in closer, her lips pressing on his head in the kind of affection she never shows this brainless, ridiculous twit anywhere.

"I missed you," she breathes, and Palom goes silent for a few valuable moments.

From:

anonne

so adorable 💖

From:

lassarina

wails and hugs them both close

I love the scents and tastes of magic here, the reason the Elder is able to reverse the petrification because he knows their magic, ugh, you are so good at this

From:

YESSSSSSSSSSSSS! Just what I imagined. ♥ Thank you! This is perfect.

From:

anonne

Cecil/Kain, equals

From:

samuraiter

Edward / Anna, a kiss before eloping.

From:

lassarina

Anna crept from her bed. The stone floor didn't creak, but the door hinge did; she paused for a long moment, counting the regular grinding snores from her father's room (even through two closed doors, he was audible, if barely). She opened the door and eased it just far enough, stopping before the creak could let out its ear-shattering yowl. She waited, but her father's snores didn't change.

The bag she had packed was tucked into the bottom of the armoire, which did not creak. She fetched it and slipped into the hallway on silent bare feet, her boots in her other hand. The stone floor of the hallway was cold. She made her silent way past her father's room and into the main room. There was enough of a gap between the shutters for her to see that Madam Epiphylla had also, finally, gone to bed, or at least blown out her lamps. Their next-door neighbor was kindly to her, but she spent more time tending the flowering cacti she'd been named for than the plants required, mostly to observe the goings-on in this part of Kaipo. When it was too hot for gardening, Madam Epiphylla sat at her window, sewing and watching with an eagle eye. Anna wouldn't put it past her to stay up most of the night to catch neighbors' daughters (or neighbors themselves) sneaking out.

She sat down to put on her socks and boots--the desert was cold at night, and she had a long walk ahead of her. The chair creaked when she stood up and she froze.

Her father's snores didn't waver.

She felt around on the mantelpiece behind a pile of her father's books and found the note she'd written him. She left it sitting on the armchair to the left of the fireplace, where she always sat. Her basket of mending sat beside it. She'd finished her father's coat just this evening, stitching much later into the night than usual and straining her eyes in the firelight to make sure it was done.

She plucked the cape she'd mended last week from underneath her father's coat and fastened it, pulling up the hood, and looked around one last time. "I love you," she whispered to the room, and to her father, still snoring.

The front door didn't creak because Lerovon, down the street, had fixed it for them last week. He said it was the neighborly thing to do, but everyone knew he meant it as an opening gesture in a courtship. Her father approved of Lerovon, who was a quiet and steady journeyman carpenter. Anna liked him well enough, but he didn't make her heart flutter like Edward did. She shut the door carefully behind her and checked the street. It was silent. The greater moon, half full, gave enough light for her to make sure she didn't step in anything unfortunate as she made her way through town. She kept to side streets just in case. The town gate was open, as it always was in peaceful times, because sensible travelers used the cool of night to cross the desert.

The moonlight muted all colors, but even so, Edward's orange cape was visible. Anna hummed softly, a few bars of the last song he'd written for her, so she wouldn't startle him into a louder noise. He turned swiftly, and his smile warmed her heart.

"I was worried for you," he murmured. He had been waiting a while, she realized guiltily, judging by how cold his hands were.

"Father stayed up late reading," she explained.

She was a half-handspan taller than he was; he looked up to search her face. "Are you sure, Anna?"

She leaned in for a kiss, a soft brush of lips. Their first kiss, too, had been in the moonlight; it seemed right. "I'm sure."

He took her hand and they walked through the Kaipo gate. The moons glowed silver above, the greater at half and the lesser a thin slice in the velvet depths of the sky. The sand shimmered in their light.

They set off for Damcyan, hand in hand.

From:

<3 <3 <3 ...I don't even know what to say except all of this mirrors my own thoughts so well I want to go back to writing my own fic about them, hahah. Needless to say, love it!

From:

lassarina

Thank you so much! I am glad you enjoyed. They are so good. (And sad.)

From:

samuraiter

(Please forgive the lateness of my reply. If thoughts were butterflies, I would need a net about me at all times, I swear.)

Thank you. =D This is lovely – a little sad, knowing the context and eventual outcome, but lovely. And I like the idea of Anna being a bit taller than our resident bard.

From:

lassarina

Kain (& or /) Rosa, forgive yourself

From:

seventhe

a thread for MEN and LADIES and LADIES WHO DRESS LIKE MEN

From:

lassarina

Faris & Syldra, goodbye

From:

Summoning didn't come naturally to Faris. She'd done plenty of fighting before this little jaunt to save the world; she was a good shot with a bow, handy with a sword, and in a real pinch her fists had done well enough. Magic? A useful thing to have on your side, and she knew a little, but Faris could do just fine without it.

But that changed after the ghostly apparition that appeared in the underground cavern, just where Syldra always used to settle down for rest between their voyages.

The girl, she was a natural at summoning. Not like her grand-dad, who had gifted her all his strength - he too was more a man of action, like Faris. Krile was a fast learner, though, and good with animals, so quick enough it was she who was calling magical creatures from... wherever they came from... to aid their battles.

It was the most logical arrangement, true, but Faris had to admit she'd become a mite jealous of late. Good as it was to see Syldra again, if only for mere moments, all she saw was Syldra rampaging against their opponent, then vanishing again. And Faris had no say whatsoever about it.

So then - she would just have to practice. Wasn't in her nature, wielding a rod instead of a sword, but channeling the magic through it did make the summoning a little easier - and it also meant she wasn't tempted to actually fight the way she was accustomed to, and was forced to learn.

Gradually it got easier. Faris learned to summon small creatures first, then the larger, though at first for only a split second at a time, hardly enough time to join in the fight. It might have been just a little bit embarrassing, taking advice and getting encouragement from a kid, but Krile was good at that sort of thing, and not a bad instructor for her age...

Also intuitive. She never said it straight, but Faris was pretty sure Krile knew what this was about, and why even after successfully calling on such a large beast as Leviathan for the first time, Faris still hadn't tried one of the creatures who had pledged to fight with them. Impatient as she was ordinarily, Faris wanted to do it right - and Krile, bless her heart, never mentioned it.

In a strange way, Faris started to think maybe she was putting it off. She'd practiced plenty on lesser and greater beasts, could unleash some of them for quite some time, until they'd done plenty of damage in battle. She was certainly ready. She just wasn't... ready.

But she had to do it sometime, and finally the opportunity came.

The four of them were near the old hideout about the time the sky was growing dark, so why not spend the night? It would give her a chance to catch up with her crew, besides. And after she'd done so, tossed back a drink or two with her men while her sister and Bartz and Krile settled down in the barracks, Faris excused herself, heading for the cove rather than her bed.

It wasn't like her to rely on magic, and it wasn't like her to be anxious either. Yet there she was, standing on the rocky shore, looking out at the eerily calm waters. Barely a ripple - not like in years past. Faris took a deep breath, held it... and used it to call for her old friend.

Maybe she was recognized, for never before had Syldra appeared so quickly and calmly when it was Krile doing the summoning. The sea began to stir, waves crashing against the wall of the cavern and streaming over Faris's boots where she stood - just the way it should be, for there before her was that great scaly head, still and staring up at her out of the dark water. Faris could've cried with relief.

But they didn't have much time. Faris had gotten better at summoning, to be sure, but with each second that passed, it took more energy and willpower to maintain. Faris stepped forward to the very edge of the rocks as Syldra's head lifted to greet her, and stretched out her arms as wide as she could as it nuzzled against her.

The sea dragon's scales were slick and cool and wet as always, as if she'd simply been down there waiting the whole time. Nothing else felt like Syldra in all the world, as far as Faris knew - her world, or the other world, or the new world the two of them had become. Syldra made a quiet purring sound at Faris's touch - stroking the snout, rubbing a hand up between the eyes that lulled closed. Faris laughed quietly, for just in that moment, it was as if all of it had never happened at all.

But it had, and she couldn't just sit there petting Syldra forever, as much as she wanted to. She had to be quick. "Oy, Syldra! I just wanted to say..." Her voice was shaky, and it choked on what she'd been about to say. ...All right, Faris conceded, so she was crying a little after all. Couldn't be blamed, could she?

She shook her head, leaning against Syldra's outstretched neck, stroking above the gigantic fins. "Y'know what? I'm just going to say thank you," she said after a moment, trying to sound cheerful. Likely failing. "'Cause you're still with us. Still fighting at my side. I might've found a sister - but you and I, we'll always be brothers, aye?"

And with each moment, she could feel her control slipping away, the bond between summoned and summoner that allowed them to share the same world growing more tenuous. She couldn't hold it for much longer, especially with her concentration shaken by all she felt at this reunion, all too brief.

Syldra must have felt it too, for she crooned quietly and nudged Faris away, back onto the rocks proper. No one was there to hold Faris back this time as Syldra began to retreat into the water, but they didn't need to. "W...We'll see each other again, real soon," Faris told the sea dragon, kneeling before the water's edge. Her hands still rested upon the snout that poked up over the rocks, and before Syldra could withdraw completely, Faris leaned forward and pressed her mouth against the smooth scales in a fond kiss. "I swear it," she added in a fierce near-whisper as Syldra's form began to fade into transparency. "This isn't really..."

Syldra shimmered, then disappeared, leaving the water calm once more. Faris was left alone in the cavern once again, saltwater on her cheeks and her lips to prove her dearest friend had indeed been there.

...Goodbye.

From:

When I was coming up with prompts before Kiss Battle launched, I came up with a prompt that was almost identical to this one so I didn't bother to post it. I'm glad to see someone filled it!

This is beautiful. ♥ I loved how she worked hard on becoming a summoner just for this moment. That's such a nice touch. Thank you for writing this!

From:

lassarina

*wails softly* oh, heartbreaking in just the right way. I love the references to Krile's abilities and inheriting Galuf's place, and the connection between her and Syldra, holding the summon for longer through practice--aaaaaaaaaaaah yes please. Thank you so much. ♥

From:

seventhe

Faris & Lenna, growing

From:

Galuf & Krile, precious granddaughter

From:

Posting now because I am probably going to be offline for most of tomorrow. Maybe a title will come to me during that time...

For posterity, it seems that basically nothing is known about Krile's parents, including whether Galuf is her paternal or maternal grandfather, just the barest outline of the circumstances of their disappearance. So I am straight up making things up. :P

There was no other creature with a cry like the wind drake - Galuf remembered it even after so long. Indeed, rising from his chair to part the curtains, he saw the great shape silhouetted against the sky in the distance, gliding down from the higher altitude. With a chuckle, he turned to regard the small child who had ceased in her play on the floor, looking up at him curiously. "Well, my dear, it seems your parents were successful!" he told her, and bent down to scoop her up as she raised her short arms in wordless expectation. "Shall we go to greet them?"

Judging by those who met him along the way, many of the servants too had heard the cry, and soon a small crowd had assembled on the balcony before the wind drake's tower where the crown prince and princess of Bal would soon be landing. Though their eyes were fixed on the drake's approach, Galuf spared some of his attention for the girl balanced on his hip; a wind drake was, after all, a very large, loud animal - and his granddaughter a very small, quiet one. Yet she showed no sign of fear, even as the drake's wings began to beat to slow its descent, buffeting them with bursts of wind from above which grew stronger as it drew closer.

Close enough for Galuf to see that it had no rider.

At first he'd thought he must be mistaken, that he had forgotten how large a wind drake could be, and it was still too far away for him to make them out against the glare of the bright sky. But now the servants, too, had noticed, and were looking about amongst themselves with worry.

Yet even without a rider, the wind drake seemed to understand what it was to do in this place, and settled on top of the tower to fold its wings with a flutter. It would have been an awesome sight to behold - it still was, Galuf could not deny it - but now confusion ran through the assembly as the drake simply perched there, with no one to disembark.

When Galuf lowered his eyes, some of the servants were now looking to him, anxious and uncertain. "Well? We've been preparing for the beast's arrival, haven't we?" he asked, nearly barking the orders in his tension. "Get it some feed! It must be hungry, after flying all this way!"

There were stablehands at the ready, and at their lord's order, they rushed to do exactly that. But others present were household livery, having expected to receive the royal couple upon their return with anything they required; they had nothing to do but stare, either at the drake above or the increasingly worried king of Bal. "...They must have sent it on ahead," Galuf muttered. After all, somehow it knew to come to the castle - how would it have known if it had not been directed somehow? "Probably they decided to return with the rest of their expedition, more slowly," he added. "They wouldn't all have fit on its back." Yes, that must be it...

A small, chubby hand found its way into his line of sight as he gazed upwards again - Krile reaching her hand out toward the drake above. It turned to look down at her, almost as if it recognized the gesture, and tilted its head in almost curious fashion, uttering a softer honking sound.

Something in Galuf's heart sank when the little girl in his arms abruptly began to cry. "All right - enough of this," Galuf ordered those around him, striding back towards the castle proper. "They'll be along soon, no need to fret. In the meantime, there are other things to be done. Let's be about it!"

As for himself, his responsibility for the moment was to calm Krile. One of the nurses seemed to think it was her responsibility, but Galuf waved her away. "There, there," he told Krile softly when he'd returned to his chambers, bouncing her lightly, pressing his lips against the wispy blond hair atop her head in a gentle kiss. "It's a large beast, yes, but it's safe. Its family and our family worked together for generations - and we will do so again. Everything's fine, just fine."

But Krile would not stop crying. Though it was hardly unusual for such a small child to cry, somehow the sound made his heart ache, as if both it and the girl knew something he did not - or did not want to admit.

-----

The expedition to the desert in the northeast had been gone longer than planned already. But seeing as the wind drake had only just arrived, surely that meant their mission to find it had taken longer than they anticipated. There was no real cause for concern yet.

Days went by. Galuf was growing snappish at the servants' questions, and at the awkward silences when they obviously wanted to ask but dared not. It was reasonable, he thought, to send some of his men out to meet them along the way - as they surely would, for they must be returning now, with their mission accomplished. A wind drake was swifter than any other means of travel, so it was no wonder they were a bit behind.

More days went by. The men Galuf had sent returned, with some of those who had accompanied the prince and princess on the expedition. They had in fact met with Galuf's envoy on their way back - for they had been coming to report that the last they knew, the young royal couple had not returned after setting out into the furthest reaches of the desert alone. Some had remained at the edge of the desert to wait and watch for them, while some were returning to bring word to Galuf.

If it were up to Galuf, he would have jumped on the wind drake at once upon hearing the news - likely sooner - to begin his own search for his daughter and her husband, by now as dear to Galuf as if he was his son by birth. Unfortunately, though the drake was tame and showed no animosity towards humans, it did not know Galuf well, and still shied away from his approach.

And then there was Krile. Dear, innocent Krile who was far too young to understand, clinging to him, fussing when he was elsewhere, crying if she woke to find him gone. The nurses were at a loss, apologizing to their king repeatedly for burdening him with what should have been their responsibility. At this he scoffed. Krile was his granddaughter, not a burden - and therefore his responsibility as much as theirs.

And to be honest, often enough he could feel his resolute hope dwindling, slipping away with the days that passed without word. It was a comfort for him as well to look after Krile - to murmur quiet words of reassurance and feel her calm in his arms as he held her close. Very much like his dear daughter, when she had been a child... something of his daughter, and the man she loved so much. Perhaps...

Galuf refused to let himself think that perhaps Krile was all he had left of either of them.

Early one morning, Galuf found himself walking with her on the balcony below the drake's tower, hoping that the light of dawn would settle Krile from whatever dream had woken her wailing. Indeed, she had quieted as he paced back and forth, idly looking up at the beast preening nonchalantly above them. What had he been thinking, he wondered in a surge of frustration, allowing his daughter to go off chasing this damned creature? It would have been of great benefit to bring the wind drakes back in service to the kingdom of Bal, true. But it was not worth losing her, and her husband besides.

Suddenly he stopped short, as the drake turned its head to look down at him, and then began to lean down.

Given how the drake had reacted to his attempts to approach in the past, Galuf took a step back, turning away to put his own body between the beast's great head and Krile in his arms. Yet as he turned to look over his shoulder, he saw Krile's hand once more stretched out towards the rapidly approaching creature...

...Which slowed and stopped short, bowing its head before her small hand, which reached out further to pat it clumsily. In his ear, Galuf heard her giggle for the first time in weeks.

His daughter had always had a way with animals, ever since she was a little girl. Uncanny, at times, the way she seemed to understand them and they seemed to understand her. Never had she been afraid of the beasts of the field, or the most irritable chocobo, but instinctively knew how to approach them as a friend. It had been a long-awaited dream that sent her with her husband to the desert - not to bring back the wind drakes as beasts of burden for the sake of the kingdom, but as a rekindling of an old friendship.

It seemed her daughter followed in her footsteps, for the drake made a faint crooning sound at Krile's touch, nearly pushing Galuf over as it nuzzled closer. Krile squealed with delight, reaching both arms over Galuf's shoulder - as if she could embrace such a large creature.

Galuf couldn't help but smile in wonder himself, though the tears rose to his eyes as he turned towards the drake, allowing Krile to reach out and feel the scales, the smooth horns, as the drake closed its eyes in what was unmistakably bliss. Somehow he knew now, deep in his aching heart, what he had been denying... But she had achieved what she had dreamed of, and her daughter was here to continue where she had left off.

He laughed, helplessly, as he too stroked the drake's head, as it had finally seen fit to accept him. Her doing, no doubt, and he kissed Krile's cheek, holding her tight against him. "My dear Krile," he whispered, as his eyes overflowed with tears of grief and gratitude. "My precious, precious granddaughter..."

From:

(titles are the devil, aren't they? I'm still trying to come up with a title for my last fic myself)

Awww... sad but sweet. Thank you! I really enjoyed this.

From:

Thank you! I'm not sure exactly how my brain went from a simple cute prompt to something bittersweet, so glad it was acceptable. =)

(And yep. I'm trying to do my weekly round-up post and want to post it to AO3 so I can include it but... needs a title. And then there's those fics where I had a title when I started writing but then it went off the rails and by the time I'm done the title doesn't work anymore... D: :D)

From:

lassarina

;_;

Oh, this is so lovely, and I love the obvious connection between Galuf and Krile, and how it pulls in her "speaks to animals" vibe. *hugs everyone*

From:

Thanks! Upon researching, apparently her parents disappeared not long after she was born (really? you have a tiny kid and run off into the desert chasing dragons?) so it's hard to see how it could have happened the way it did without someone being able to communicate with animals (and empathetically/telepathically in general...?). Except Krile's still too young to tell her grandfather what they're talking about, so he hasn't the slightest idea.

(I may be a sucker for genetically-inherited psychic abilities...)

From:

Lenna/Bartz or Lenna & Bartz, your cluelessness is adorable

From:

samuraiter

Bartz / Lenna, save a boat, kiss a Cannoneer!

From:

seventhe

I'LL KISS MY MAMAS THROAT FOR A NICKEL--- wait what

From:

lassarina

Setzer/Celes, longing

From:

seventhe

Terra/Celes, it was strange back then

(deleted comment)

From:

lassarina

oh. Oh, the two of them, and Celes remembering and Terra not - this is gorgeous and hurts my heart and I love it and them.

From:

seventhe

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA OMG THIS IS SO PERFECT FOR THEM. Terra's memory problems and then the way it just fits despite that I'm. howling. In my house. THIs is GREAT THANKS

From:

queenlua

Even if Terra's mind had no access to those memories, her body was still the same, still grasping Celes' arms with the same strength, and Celes felt her own body mould to it as if those months when they had been apart had never taken place

this is the bit where i started "d'awwww"ing really hard

this was so gentle and soft and sweet, really enjoyed it

From:

seventhe

Terra/Shadow, what could have been

From:

Terra & Katarin's baby, so this is love

From:

samuraiter

Setzer / Darill, spin the wheel and win a prize.

From:

lassarina

Celes/Locke, sharp

From:

lassarina

Setzer/Locke/Celes, stolen

From: (Anonymous)

Setzer/Daryl/Maria, dancing in the moonlight

From:

seventhe

THIS THREAD ARE SICK (includes all of the extensive VII compilation -- if you're requesting a specific canon, please mention it!)

From:

seventhe

Tifa/Aeris, dreams

From:

seventhe

Reno &/ Rude, mistakes were made

From:

Cloud & Any (comfort)

(deleted comment)

From:

OMG it took me a second to place the character hahaha but I love what you came up with! Will leave a more coherent comment on AO3 when I get there in my inbox ♥

From:

queenlua

oh my gosh. i love the choice of Holzoff here, love the coziness of this scene, and all the little details—Holzoff's fingers, Barret's evasive and gruffly-considerate "glad to be out of the cold", the embarrassment of having a stranger watching Cloud being Like That, the friendship... this was delightful, thanks for sharing it!

From:

Barret & Marlene

From:

Cloud/Zack confusing feelings

From:

Aerith & Tifa, precious friends

(deleted comment)

From:

seventhe

When they go out on these missions and he doesn't follow, Tseng stays in his office and goes through the massive reams of paperwork that keeps the Turks in business. When things are urgent he never bothers with the filing - Reeve will do it for him - but whenever he's stuck here with downtime the only thing that can pull his attention away from the mental image of all his Turks dying is the monotony of paperwork.

There's still a part of Tseng, young and untouched, that makes the child's bargain: if I can fill out all these forms in time, they'll all come home unscathed. If I register every single one of Reno's Uncleared Weapons Expenditures, he'll be fine. Once I sign off on Rude's stack of Unexpected Civilian Injury forms, he'll also be fine. Tseng's brain works in these strange bargains, but only in the hours between mission launch and mission complete.

And it works this time, as it has worked before. The first sign is Elena throwing the door wide open, gun in one hand and the other pressed to her shoulder; there's blood down her shirt, but if she's walking, it's curable. Behind her is Rude, with bloody knuckles and a wide grin on his face.

Behind them comes Reno - the bait for this specific trap - still mostly in drag with his Magrod over his shoulder. The dress is unfairly flattering to his skinny frame, despite the chest hair, and the boots suit him in the worst way. Tseng scoffs, but he's already moving forward.

His hands catch Elena first, cupping her shoulders to watch her response and gauge how bad the wounds are. He catches Rude next, with a fake punch to the chest that Rude dodges easily enough to show Tseng he's uninjured.

Behind him, Reno does am abhorrently accurate curtsey, and then blows Tseng a kiss. There's bloodspray on his cheek and the black dress looks suspiciously wet in this light, but Tseng's heart lifts at the knowledge that his team has come home safe.

"Go shower," he hears himself say. "Drinks at the Aster, I'm buying, but only when you don't smell like a fight.""

From:

threewalls

I wondered how so reserved Tseng would be involved in a kiss, but of course - Reno.

All that paperwork must work! Everyone's home safe (or safe enough).

From:

This is too sweet, I can't. ♥

From:

lassarina

BABIES

(babies who can murder me but babies nonetheless)

From:

queenlua

now desperately consumed by thoughts of Reno in drag, thank you for every glorious one of them

also i belly-laughed at the different types of forms, "Unexpected Civilian Injury" pfffft

my turks!!! love them!!! love this!!!

From:

vriddy

Awww, this is just so wonderful and heartwarming and I love everything about everyone's dynamic and silent conversations here!!! So much caring. Awesome piece :D

From:

Sephiroth/Cloud, idolize

From:

Tifa/Aerith, friend date turned real date

From:

threewalls

Definitely Remake-flavoured Aerti here, though post what we've currently seen in the Remake universe.

Aerith had had plans for tonight. Carefully orchestrated plans so that she and Tifa wouldn't be interrupted, and they haven't been. They haven't seen anyone else they know tonight. Aerith's just never quite found the right moment to make her move.

She'd ordered a delicious dessert to share, but Tifa had asked the server for two spoons and to cut it in half, so no feeding each other. She'd tried to win a cute little toy for Tifa, but those crane catcher games were much harder than they looked!

After that, the gondola over the Golden Saucer had seemed like a perfect romantic setting to get the evening back on track, but that was the problem. It was too romantic! Nothing could beat the one-two combinations of Tifa's hands warm in Aerith's own and Tifa's eyes and hair sparkling all colours of light! The way Tifa kept pointing with their joined hands, the way she said "Look, Aerith!" so eager to share her delight. As if Aerith could look at anything but her.

"I had a great time tonight, Tifa."

"I'm glad. Me, too."

Now they're back at the hotel. Aerith knows she's running out of time, but Tifa is still holding her hands. Tifa is smiling at her.

She gets why Zack used so many corny lines. Faced with a really cute girl, Aerith feels impressed she can even remember corny lines. Or words. Or her own name.

"So... are you going to invite me in?"

"Oh! Of course!" Tifa says, letting go and searching in her pocket for the key to their room.

The creepy décor in their room had been good for Tifa clutching at Aerith's arm earlier, but that's not how Aerith wants to do this. That's not the mood she's looking for.

She doesn't think she's imagined the looks Tifa's given her. But maybe tonight's still not the night. Tifa worked in a bar. There's no way she hasn't heard lines like this, and worse. If she's going to act like none of Aerith's lines are lines, well...

"Thanks, Aerith," Tifa says, right beside her, "for tonight."

Aerith looks up, just as Tifa leans down and--kisses her.

"You said it was a date!" Tifa explains, while Aerith's vocabulary is temporarily down to 'soft' and 'warm' and 'lips'. "And sure, some people talk about 'friend-dates', but you said D-A-T-E, so I thought we were..."

"All night, I've been thinking about the right time to kiss you."

"Now?" Tifa suggests, and then looks up and over Aerith's head, flushing so prettily at her own boldness. "If that's all you wanted, we didn't need to leave the room."

That's part of why Aerith wanted to ask Tifa out tonight. She really wants to kiss the other woman (and more besides), but she wants Tifa to know Aerith thinks she's worth more than just kissing. She's worth time and attention, too. She's worth making plans for.

"Oh? I thought you had fun tonight?"

"I did!" Tifa insists.

Tifa catches her weight when Aerith steps on tip-toe, boosted by her hands on Tifa's shoulders. She's as strong as Aerith knew she would be.

It's not too late to make good memories. The future isn't set in stone.

(On Ao3)

Edited (Adding AO3 link) Date: 2022-02-20 05:38 pm (UTC)

From:

THIS IS ADORABLE. I love flustered Aerith (and I love blushing Tifa), and I love that THIS is the date the happens at the Gold Saucer. ♥

From:

threewalls

Turns out that Aerith wasn't the only one trying to make a move!

From:

lassarina

They are adorable.

From:

threewalls

Thank you!

From:

queenlua

oh my GOSH

been a while since i read something so unabashedly cute with someone so openly, entirely(, deviously!) smitten. i was grinning ear-to-ear the whole time; thank you for sharing this!

From:

threewalls

Thank you!

My reaction to Aerith and Tifa interacting in FFVII:R was very much that they meet and think 'oh no, she's cute'. And Aerith is not that subtle about it.

From:

Aerith/Nanaki, hallowed ground

From:

samuraiter

Cloud / Jessie, 110% ignoring that warning from Biggs in Remake.

From:

seventhe

SOMETHING SOMETHING ROMANTIC DREAM

From:

lassarina

Edea/Cid, comfort

From:

shanaqui

When Edea wakes, it's barely dawn outside. The bed beside her is empty. For a moment she feels it all: the horror, the shame, the knowledge of something coming to tear the world apart, coming through her to tear her children asunder. And then she hears something clink -- a spoon against a mug -- and she remembers.

The worst already happened. And here she is. Whole.

She gets up, finds her slippers beside the bed, and goes to sit at her mirror and brush out her hair in long, careful strokes. She can hear the noises in the kitchen, the sound of plates quietly clattering and a hiss as Cid burns his fingers on the toast. She keeps brushing, letting the repetitive motion bring her back to herself, to safety, to home.

"I meant to bring you breakfast in bed," he says, from the doorway, and she looks up. Doesn't stop brushing her hair, tugging the brush gently through a tangle. He comes over to her, kisses the top of her head and puts his hand on her shoulder. "But perhaps we could go out and eat in the garden."

He does not need to ask, Did you dream?

He knows that she did. And here he is to combat it, her knight, her bulwark against the world and against memory. He couldn't prevent it all, in the end, but he's here again now it's over, driving away the dark. Reminding her that there's a life left to live.

Edea puts her hand over his. "I'd like that."

now on AO3

Edited Date: 2022-02-16 12:18 am (UTC)

From:

anonne

I love the gentleness of this!

From:

shanaqui

Thank you, that's definitely the tone I was going for!

From:

lassarina

*wails softly* oh, I love it. I love it.

From:

shanaqui

♥ Thank you!

From:

seventhe

perfect and lovely!

From:

shanaqui

Thank you!

From:

Eeeeee, love these two, and love THIS. :D

From:

shanaqui

Thank you!!

From:

lassarina

Seifer/Rinoa, warm summer dreams

From:

lassarina

Seifer/Quistis, lost

From:

seventhe

Quistis/Rinoa, in the garden

From:

seventhe

Laguna/Quistis, (im)maturity

From:

shanaqui

Seifer/Squall, familiar.

From:

Fujin/Raijin, inseparable

From:

necrophilia

Seifer/Ultimecia-as-Edea - Spark igniting into a flame

From:

I am delighted that we both prompted exactly the same alarming pairing at exactly the same time.

From:

necrophilia

I saw your comment right below mine and was like OH OF COURSE

From:

shanaqui

She's not Matron, really. Have you worked that out yet, Squall? Or don't you remember anything about her? Have they even told you what's going on?

Matron. Mother. I'd have called her that, given the chance. Maybe I should have called her that. And just as I think that, here comes the voice, the grating intrusion in my skull that says nasty things and makes me want them, says kind things that are the worst of its poison. You kan kall me Mother, if you like, she says, silently, and she lifts her hand, Matron's hand, to my shoulder. There's no one here to see, just a private moment between sorceress and knight before we get up on the float and go out there -- Mother and son? the voice offers, and it leaves me feeling sick -- and she kisses my forehead like I'm a kid again.

I could never have been this cruel. I could goad and sting but I was an amateur. I couldn't tear into you, Squall. Maybe a little longer and she'll teach me how, so I can mock you for your fear of being alone and then you'll look at me, you won't be able to ignore me. I can tear you down and be the one offering the hand up, and you'll hate me and you'll need me. I can learn to make you all need me, like I need her.

"Are you ready?" She speaks aloud now, in Matron's voice. A mother's voice. Sounds kind, but I can hear the words behind it, the soundtrack in my head like a chainsaw: Are you going to screw this up? Half her voice and half my own. She plants her seeds and whispers her kindnesses and every spark becomes a flame. I'm indispensable and worthless all at once, and either way I'm totally at her mercy.

Are you ready, Squall?

Her hand squeezes my shoulder again. Reassuring, you'd think, but her nails bite in even through my trenchcoat, leave more of her marks on me.

You have no idea the shit we're all in, I know. You're just here on orders, aren't you? I know you'll be here somewhere, watching from the crowd. Watching my moment of triumph, ready to cut me down. You have to do it, Squall. I'll hate you for it, I'll fight you for it, but you have to win. I need you to hate me enough. I need you to do this.

"Worthless pup," that voice says in my head. "Show me what you kan do."

So I'm straightening up, blade easy in my hand, and I'm ready to do whatever she asks. You'd better be ready, because I won't be holding back. She needs me. Matron needs me.

Fuck, Squall, we need you. You better know what you're doing.

(now on AO3)

Also, sorry I couldn't make it Ultimecia/Seifer, it just wouldn't go even though I tried to get it in there. My Seifer voice just didn't want to make it explicit to Squall that that was part of this too. But the prompt is what set me off, so I hope you like it anyway.

Edited Date: 2022-02-23 12:11 am (UTC)

From:

lassarina

I could never have been this cruel. I could goad and sting but I was an amateur. It's fine I didn't need that heart anyway ;;

From:

shanaqui

Poor fucked up little boy, he is. *pats him*

From:

queenlua

+1 that amateur line hurts

and just love the voice here without, so pointed and desperate and furious all at once.

wonderful stuff; thanks for posting!

From:

shanaqui

Thank you! Poor thing's so messed up he can barely tell up from down.

From:

necrophilia

It didn't take me almost a month to respond to this, absolutely not...

This was so good! The first person POV gives a very brittle sort of intimacy with Seifer, in all his anger and pride.

From:

shanaqui

Thank you! And hahaha, life happens. ♥ I'm just glad you did enjoy it.

From:

Edea/Seifer, under her control

From:

necrophilia

His spine bends as blood pools inside his lower lip. He’s cut it, somehow, in the flurry of slashes and ripostes and heavy breaths left by Squall’s gunblade. Underneath his feet, the float continues to move along its prescribed path through Deling’s lit-up streets.

Baleful acknowledgement of his failure travels from the midpoint of his spine down to his knees. His throat feels clotted, his breathing slow and heavy. He hates to admit it, but he’s exhausted.

Over his head, she lifts her arm –

(And he hates himself for the moments he spends admiring the line created by the curve of her back extending into the crook of her underarm, past the swell of her cleavage and toward her unfairly firm jawline.)

– lifts her arm, ice; it strikes.

His blood pressure is so high, he can barely see the scene play out around him. Panic, a flurry of blue, fabric he remembers holding between his fingers, teasingly -

No matter.

Right, he breathes. It doesn’t matter. The cries of his old life are drowned under the roaring of the parade-goers, a crescendo that rises and rises until it fills every part of him.

Come here, she beckons. Words through unmoving lips. She’s several feet away but he can already feel her nails on his back, drawing downward, leaving marks. He’s exhausted, his lungs burning; but he makes it to her regardless, panting, bowed at her feet like a dog waiting, pricked ears and all, for a single utterance of adulation.

Victory wears itself on her face like nothing, no fuller than a crater in the moon.

With a shudder, he buries his blood-touched lips into her ankles, her knees, her hips, on and up and on - trembling arms wound desperately around her until she allows him to stand once more.

--

1. I knew as soon as we simul-prompted that I had to write this for you.
2. My original vision had him kissing her boot, but a quick Google-assisted refresher of her hemline had me wondering, does Edea even have feet? And, you know, there is at least one (1) Sorceress in FF8 with a snake tail instead of legs, so I decided not to chance it.
3. The song I was listening to on repeat as I was writing. I know no one asked. Shut up.

Edited Date: 2022-02-17 01:31 am (UTC)

From:

Bless you. I was so excited when I saw this notification.

I really like 'in the flurry of slashes and ripostes and heavy breaths left by Squall’s gunblade'.

'His throat feels clotted' is very evocative.

a flurry of blue, fabric he remembers holding between his fingers, teasingly -
No matter.

yesssss, keep telling yourself you don't care, Seifer

The cries of his old life are drowned under the roaring of the parade-goers, a crescendo that rises and rises until it fills every part of him.

I love this line as well. You've packed this little ficlet so densely with great lines and phrases.

Thank you so much for this! Magnificent work.

From:

necrophilia

You're very welcome! I'm so glad you like it.

From:

lassarina

hnnnnnnnnnnngh

my beloved mind controlled disaster boy

From:

necrophilia

such a disaster boy

From:

threewalls

Oh, the way he can almost but not quite remember who he was. Who he is if not her Knight.

"...until she allows him to stand once more." Great last line.

From:

necrophilia

Thank you!!

From:

shanaqui

until she allows him to stand once more

Emphasis mine for AAAAH.

From:

necrophilia

I'm glad you liked it!!

From:

queenlua

there is something so visceral and relentless with how you describe things in pieces like this; this one left me totally entranced.

and that flash of self-hatred as he's admiring her! his bloody face in her lap! amazing, unsettling, love it

also, banger song, tyty

From:

necrophilia

I'm glad you enjoyed it! ♥

From:

necrophilia

Rinoa & Ultimecia - Ouroboros

From:

shanaqui

Seifer/Squall, as adults.

From:

samuraiter

Quistis / Fujin, not trying very hard to escape.

From:

shanaqui

Irvine/Squall, distraction.

From:

deemoyza

Julia/Caraway, with armor spent

From:

Julia/Raine, "went there once, just for the weekend..."

(userpic so very appropriate here)

From:

deemoyza

My fic for this got a little out of hand, and a little smutty. I hope you don't mind.

"Flowers and Salt" on AO3

Edited (edited to appropriately fill in the header) Date: 2022-02-21 03:00 pm (UTC)

From:

...So I got the comment notification this morning while I was working and connected to my job's VPN. Could not wait for 5pm so I could disconnect from their network, hahahah.

SO WORTH IT. I gushed a bit in comments at AO3 but I will say it again. Thank you for this wonderful fic. :D

From:

deemoyza

You're very welcome! I'm so glad you liked it. :D

From:

shanaqui

Feint, block, twist away. Drive home an attack and find yourself vulnerable, and the first round goes to him, the flat of his blade thudding into your side even as he turns it and pulls the blow.

He's good. He's the best he's ever been and getting better, you're -- well. You're the loser, the sore loser who wouldn't just admit he was beaten and crawl away. Came crawling back instead, to Garden. To him. To Squall Leonhart, the hero.

Feint, parry, slide inside his guard. He's already backing off, already interposing his blade where his body was just a moment before, but he's breathing faster now. His pupils are wide, too, and you know by the look of him that he gets just as high off fight-or-flight as you do. He never looked like this during the war, not when you were dancing to her tune, but now --

Now you attack faster, force him back a step. Two steps. For a moment you have the upper hand, but he smacks your blade aside and you're dead. Would be dead, if this were real.

You want to think it meant something, that he never killed you when he could. But that's just not something a hero does, is it?

Best of three, and you always go for the third round no matter who scored points. One last chance to salvage some pride. You go even faster this time and he falls into your rhythm, and for a moment it's a dance and the ring of steel on steel is the percussion, driving you both faster and faster. You're alive like you've only ever been when you fight, when you fight with him. He's smiling, in the midst of it all, fucking smiling, and the moment you notice that is the moment you lose.

He presses home his advantage, gains ground. His attacks are clinical now, and each clash of blades is one you lose. He's fast.

One last block. Your blade locks with his, close to your body, and he's pushed you back almost to the wall. He leans into it, making you strain, and then -- then he leans across the blades like it's nothing, presses a kiss to your mouth that sends a jolt right through you. Head to toes, bzzzt, and that's it, you feel alive again, every cell of you humming with energy. The last thing you want is to push him away, but the last thing you want now is to lose this fucking fight, so you use the moment to push him back again, spin free, raise your blade again.

He's smirking at you.

"Are you done with the self-pity yet?" he asks, and damn him, you just might be.

"Best of five," you say, and bring your blade up once more, flick it past his guard and touch it to the side of his neck. One to you.

(now on AO3)

Edited Date: 2022-02-23 12:49 am (UTC)

From:

lassarina

YES

HNNNNNNNNGH

YES.

From:

shanaqui

😁 Well that sounds like the reaction I was aiming for.

From:

queenlua

gosh, i loved the in-your-face sense of rhythm in this, and that obnoxious lil smirk at the end... so good!

From:

shanaqui

Thank you! In my head I was trying for something of the rhythm from their fight in the FFVIII opening, though my memory is probably way too fuzzy by now. :D

From:

wallwalker

Squall/Rinoa/Quistis/Zell/Selphie/Irvine, less complicated than it sounds

From:

seventhe

INSERT TAIL JOKE

From:

lassarina

Kuja & Hilda, courtesy

From:

Garnet & Eiko, recognition

From:

shinon

Bobby Corwen & anyone, preening

From:

samuraiter

Quina & Vivi, curiosity almost killed the Black Mage.

From:

queenlua

eiko & any black mage, too many questions

From:

queenlua

zidane [&,/] steiner, calm down

From:

queenlua

freya [&,/] garnet: weight of the world

From:

queenlua

freya [&,/] zidane: scheme

From:

seventhe

HA HA HA HA HA-- (includes X-2)

From:

lassarina

Lulu/Yuna, yearn

From:

Yuna/Any, confessions

From:

Braska & Yuna, shared destiny

(deleted comment)

From:

Oh man, the way this hurts knowing how long she's known her fate (even before she fully knows what it all means).

From:

♥♥♥♥♥

Beautifully written, and pretty much what I envisioned when I made the prompt, but written much better than I could have done it myself. Thank you!

From:

lassarina

*soft wailing*

oh. Oh, this hurts, the idea that so many summoners are of a family line, and baby Yuna caring about people's sorrow and hurts. ow.

From:

queenlua

charmed to death by this little glimpse into Spiran life—the way the others in Yuna's life gossip about her dad, the way that of course school has beaten her dad to The Talk TM (no, the other one)... and love (in an "ouch") way the insinuation of this being generational, a helpless drive that starts so young Braska knows about it before he's even left... oof. wonderful; thanks for sharing!

From:

necrophilia

Yuna/Beclem - memories

From:

necrophilia

Yuna/Baralai - Moving forward

From:

necrophilia

Dona/Yuna/Isaaru - Succumbing to the pressure

From:

samuraiter

Auron / Lulu, stealing a moment in the shadows of Macalania Woods.

From:

shanaqui

Gippal/Baralai, goodbye.

(deleted comment)

From:

This was such a cute little moment (and I love the friendly interruption).

From:

lassarina

Ahhhhhhh this is delightful, their teasing and teamwork and the undercurrents and relationships. I love it!

From:

shanaqui

Aaah, just what I wanted! And making me want to replay the game alreadyyy.

From:

shanaqui

Jecht/Auron, not gently.

(deleted comment)

From:

queenlua

oof. that disappearance at the end is wrenching.

<3

From:

threewalls

Excellent tragic setup - just when I'd forgotten where this must end, just when Jecht has convinced Auron he's really there... Jecht's no longer there.

Ouch.

From:

deemoyza

Lulu/Ginnem, I'll be your sinner in secret

From:

queenlua

Tidus [&,/] Lulu: dream on

From:

queenlua

Kimahri [&,/] Yuna: bitterness

From:

queenlua

Yuna [&/,] Rikku: ladies' night

From:

seventhe

THE REALMS ARE ALIVE

From:

seventhe

PAINTED ABS AND POTHOLDER ASIDE,,,

From:

lassarina

Balthier/Ashe, stolen

From:

seventhe

Larsa/Penelo, trust

From:

necrophilia

i give you mY WORD

From:

seventhe

BLESS AND THANK

From:

lassarina

To slip away from his guards was more challenging now that he was Emperor than it had been when he was merely the spare, but commensurately so was his need to do so. Larsa left all the trappings of his position, save only his signet ring, in his chamber and dressed in such attire as any nobleman of Archades might wear, before climbing over the balcony railing and sneaking through the gardens as the crimson of twilight cast long shadows across the grounds. His father and brothers would have been apoplectic at both his action and its reasons, but they were not here, and he was, and in any event he had it on good authority that the Queen of Dalmasca behaved similarly from time to time.

At least he was not the only ruler with a mind for this sort of scandal.

The carefully tended formal gardens gave way to a swathe of wooded area where emperors, princes, and senators might hunt small game without the tedium of a trip outside the city. Today Larsa hunted a different quarry--one which intended to be found.

Still, he started when she emerged from the trees and laid a gentle hand on his arm. She had grown tall since he ascended the throne, and it still surprised him to be able to embrace her and tuck her head beneath his chin. She smelled of engine grease and Rozarrian flowers and herself. The feathers in her hair tickled his nose. She pressed her lips to his throat. His arms tightened around her until she gave a gasping laugh.

"Fled your keepers?" she asked, tilting her head back to look up at him. It was dark enough now that he couldn't see the color of her eyes, but he would know the scent of her, the feel of her in his arms, anywhere.

"I trust to my safety in your company," he told her, and she laughed and stretched up to kiss him on the lips this time. He cupped his hand around the back of her head, careful not to dislodge the beads in her braids, and savored this moment, when he need not be Emperor but only Larsa.

Too soon, she stepped back, but reached for his hand. "Let's go," she said, and led the way to a hover-bike she had hidden nearby. He slid into the seat behind her, his hands on her hips, and she kicked the pedal that started the engine.

They soared into the sky and to a few precious hours of freedom.

From:

seventhe

YESSSS MY BELOVEDS. KIDNAP THAT GUY

From:

lassarina

♥

From:

queenlua

in any event he had it on good authority that the Queen of Dalmasca behaved similarly from time to time.

LOL

god now i want the scene where Larsa and Ashe trade notes on their sneaking-away strategies :P

(and also this was very d'awww and charming; thanks for sharing!)

From:

lassarina

oh no, now I want to WRITE that scene. *adds it to the never-ending list*

Thank you so much! ♥

From:

Balthier/Fran, high stakes situations

From:

threewalls

Fran's unresponsive to her name, to Balthier's hands on her shoulders, her legs, searching for injuries that would explain her collapse. Too much burning Mist, he'll wager, too soon after the Sun-Cryst, though the fortress falling down around them can't have helped. Archadian-made just isn't what it used to be.

Balthier produces a pocket mirror he'd only replaced the other night. How vividly he recalls Fran pointing it out from the displayed wares, teasing "you like shiny things, don't you?" Now, it only fogs with her inaudible breath.

Potion, then, not a phoenix down. Excellent. He's only carrying two of the latter from their stores, and they still have a ship crashing on their afternoon's dance cards.

Balthier hefts Fran under her arms, her head lolling back alarmingly over his shoulder. Potion and its derivatives can be taken topically but it's only passing effective when there's no open wound. He uncaps the bottle, and uses his distaff hand to hold Fran's head steady.

Would the magic wake her before the potion drowns her? Balthier's a pirate, not a gambler.

The potion lights up his mouth.

One sip, two, and all his aches of battle ease; Fran's lips remain slack against the medicated press of his own. Three and four and his mouth begins to burn, his skin prickling beneath his clothes everywhere her warm, heavy body weighs upon his.

Fran could be sleeping. Balthier is hyper-aware that she is not.

After years of shared close quarters, sharing a ship, sharing tents, he knows how light a sleeper Fran is. He knows the range of those long-plumed ears. After last night--how can it have only been last night?--Balthier also knows how Fran feels sleeping in his arms.

With every breath, every burning mouthful, he thinks, hopes, begs: Now.

Now, Fran's eyes will open and she'll tease him mistaking her for some silvan nymph to be woken with a kiss. About resting on his laurels. Resting on the job.

Those who say the viera are always silent have never been found worthy of their wit.

Any moment now, Fran's eyes will dip to his lap and she'll chide him for celebrating too soon. She'll tease him about making her swallow, wiping spilled potion from her chin and neck. (Half the bottle gone now, and as much in his mouth as hers.)

So much has changed between them since yesterday. Not more than ten minutes ago, Balthier would have said anything would be better than a repeat of their exchange atop the Pharos, but even that would be better than this.

"I don't have to remind you to hold on, do I, Fran?"

Her arm taut about his back shocks Balthier silent, breath caught as Fran's dark eyes blink up at him. She licks her lips, and raises an eyebrow; he grins back and passes her potion bottle to finish.

"Waiting for your cue?"

"They call for you."

As first words go, disappointingly practical, but Fran has a point. Balthier is still on speaker with the combined fleets of three nations, their tinny status updates competing over shrieks of metal. Sweeter words can wait for privacy and somewhat lower stakes.

"You know how it is," Balthier says, sliding his free arm under her legs to lift. "The leading man's always in demand."

Fran makes a thoughtful noise, tucking her face into his neck. "I'd say you're in more of a supporting role."

Now, that's the Fran he knows.

From:

...I am too tired for coherence so I will just say EEEEEEEE.

(Your Balthier voice is fantastic. :D)

From:

threewalls

Thank you!

It turns out I very much miss writing Balthier-voice.

From:

SCREECH

This is so perfectly them, and so perfectly in that moment, and this line:

Those who say the viera are always silent have never been found worthy of their wit.

PERFECT

From:

threewalls

Thank you!

I love them so much!

From:

threewalls

Now on AO3!

From:

queenlua

!!!! squealing noises keysmash etc!!!

love the way you write these too—Baltheir's headspace, never out of options, so brisk and focused on doing even when of course things are frantic as heck... hoping and begging now... and this total banger of a line

Those who say the viera are always silent have never been found worthy of their wit.

this was a delight, i'm delighted, tytyty

From:

threewalls

The leading man likes to act like he has everything under control (he knows panic won't help Fran).

I like the 'supporting role' line from Fran *so* much, that I just have to have Balthier loving it, too.

From:

Balthier/Any, silver tongue

From:

queenlua

[Set about 5 years before the start of the game.]

There is a little game Al-Cid Margrace plays with one of his brothers at the Grand Salon every fortnight: find the thief.

On those days, House Margrace throws open their doors to the public at their home at Highmont, inviting them to view their galleries, drink in their gardens, and discuss philosophy in their parlors. Rozarria is not an egalitarian place, exactly, but they like the veneer of egalitarianism. Let the merchants and tailors and bookkeepers come in from their shops and offices and stalls, let them rub shoulders with the highborn... and then, by sunset, send them safely away.

All this carrying on, of course, lures in the thieves as well.

So Al-Cid and his brother Alfonso lurk on the balcony over the great hall, while the guests mill about below, and together they try and spot whichever jewel thief or cutpurse has slipped in alongside the crowds this week. The fun is to try and find them before the guards do, and the guards always do find them—no fortune lasts in Rozarria without proper vigilance, and House Margrace's fortune is considerable.

Today, Al-Cid's eyes alight on a young man who's trying to look older than he actually is. Which is not so unusual on its own. Young men come here adorned in all kinds of puffery, vying for attention and respect in equal turn. What's striking is that it's working. It's in the young man's carriage, Al-Cid thinks: poised and thoughtlessly confident, as though he's walked in finer halls hundreds of times. It's the kind of poise that's hard to fake.

Ordinary behavior for a courtier, perhaps. Yet, if he were a courtier, Al-Cid would recognize him: he never forgets a face. Maybe tonight's thief? or something else entirely?

Al-Cid's always liked a mystery.

He looks over at Alfonso; he is exchanging courtesies with one of the ladies of House Zargoza. So his brother has not glimpsed this man yet.

Al-Cid takes his chance, then, slipping away, down the stairs to where this mysterious stranger stands in front of the oil paintings at the far end of the hall. He lurks for a moment, watching as the man chats with a lady whose own poise looks strikingly familiar—

Ah, Lady Helene! Beauty incarnate. She is listening to this man most intently.

Which broadens the space of possibilities: perhaps this man is some rakish knave, ranging wildly in pursuit of the fairer sex, and if so, he has certainly found one of the fairest. Helene is laughing, so he must be charming enough. Al-Cid gets close enough to overhear the barest snatch of words:

"...had a walk along the Junil today, lovely weather..."

Hm. The accent places this man north. Far north, somewhere in Archadia, and a city boy as well. The blurry vowels and heavy rs give it away. Which only deepens this little mystery. Petty thieves do not wander across whole continents to find their jewels; and master thieves would know better than to keep the accent.

Betwixt, between. Time to get in the middle of this.

"Lady Helene," Al-Cid calls, with delighted recognition, and her eyes brighten in return. They kiss cheeks, and then he turns to the stranger as though noticing him for the first time. "Ah, I don't mean to intrude..."

"You do, of course," Helene says, with an amused arch of her brows, "but that's perfectly fine."

Al-Cid's smile widens. "I only meant to tell you that Alfonso was looking for you."

Helene gives a dismissive toss of her head. "Alfonso can look all he likes." Helene knows precisely how beautiful she is, the way a cat knows precisely the height of his jump and the length of his stride. This annoys some men of the court, and has them calling Helene vain and unscrupulous. Al-Cid, however, thinks such keen self-awareness only makes her more beautiful.

"Of course," Al-Cid says, "but Alfonso seemed, if I might be so bold as to surmise, more than a touch distressed. Is there any chance of urgency, do you think?"

A flicker of unease. She has always been friendly with Alfonso, very friendly. "There's nothing that I'm aware of, but..."

She casts her new friend an anxious look. He gives a little gesture like run along now. "That's quite alright. Go check in on the good fellow."

Al-Cid watches Helene go. Alfonso will cover for him, Al-Cid knows. Ordinarily, Al-Cid does not like to lie, not to a lady as fine as her, but—well, this stranger is just so very curious.

Al-Cid turns to the stranger with his best bland smile. "A friend of Helene's must surely be a friend of mine. You are...?"

"New here," the stranger says. The set of his jaw is stubborn, his tone a touch flat. He knows a bloodhound when he sees one, then, even one so disguised as himself.

Which stirs something else in Al-Cid's mind—something else entirely.
Months ago, a little bird told him a most interesting tale: a rumor that one of the Empire's great prodigies had gone missing. Prodigy into prodigal; a judge at sixteen and disappeared not a year later.

The accent fits. The age fits. And a judge would know something about pursuit, would know the scents that cling to the intrigue of the highborn. He could fit.

"Wonderful," Al-Cid purrs. "Welcome to Highmont. What brings you among us this fine—?"

The other man cuts in with an unfriendly quickness: "Pardon, but do you know where I might find a privy?"

Already looking for an exit. "In a moment," Al-Cid says, grabbing the man by the arm and pulling him closer to the wall, "I must ask you this one thing." He gestures to the oil-painted landscape there. "What do you make of this painting?"

Balthier glances at it for maybe half a second. "I'm hardly one to judge. More of an ear for music. Now, I must—"

"Really? I ask because you seem a... judicious sort. If you'll allow the phrasing."

The hitch in his shoulders tells Al-Cid right off that he's hit the mark. The scowl that comes after shows that he knows that gave it away. He could've talked his way out of it with a silver tongue, if only he hadn't flinched, but, alas.

"What do you want?" the man asks slowly—not quite speaking at him, eying him only sidelong.

"Oh, a great many things. The regard of a beautiful lady, a spot of wine, a seaside villa... what?"

His new friend is glowering. "From me, man, what is it you want from me?"

Al-Cid swirls the drink in his glass as though he's considering, though he'd already decided before he hared over here. "A kiss, I think."

The flush in those cheeks! This man must be very bashful indeed. "Be serious."

Al-Cid arches an eyebrow. "I assure you, though I am many things, I am always sincere."

"You don't waltz up to someone with something like that..." He's looking around, being oblique, keeping his voice low. "...unless you want something serious. Let's hear it."

"Are kisses so unserious?"

"You're mad."

"Or enamored. Though those are much the same thing, no?"

The man's looking him over—really looking, now, trying to get the measure of him. Then—with a brief eyeroll like he can't believe this, like he's been dragged by the ear into this, instead of indulging a most mild and pleasant request—he pulls Al-Cid into a kiss. The crowd throngs thick around them; no one pays any mind to yet another young couple being young. It's furtive and forceful, and it would be quick, except, Al-Cid ghosts a hand around the back of the other man's head, and pulls him back in just when he tries to jerk away. Relax, Al-Cid thinks, and blinks when the man actually seems to do just that—a little teasing touch of the tongue, a new energy that is very much the opposite of resignation. It's fun, even, and Al-Cid's pleased to feel it. As they kiss, Al-Cid reaches out, tracing a finger along the man's chin, then along his jaw, and along the curve at the front of his neck—and ah, how he relishes the feel of the little shiver there. When his finger reaches his collarbone, he pulls it away, then slackens his lips, and, at length, lets him go.

The young judge looks peevish. Or, rather, like he's trying to look peevish, without much heat to back it up. "Satisfied?" he asks.

"Never," Al-Cid says, smiling sweetly. "But your secret is safe with me."

As it happens, he is telling the truth. But a Rozarrian would know not to trust that; a Rozarrian would know that knowledge is a currency more potent than any jewel. It is safe only because Al-Cid is a magpie, when it comes to his treasures. He stows them away in crooks of trees and little burrows, and pulls them out only when the time is right, and only ever for himself.

The young judge is eying him with bright skepticism. He's thinking like a Rozarrian, too. Then he sighs like he hasn't got much of a choice. Which he hasn't, Al-Cid supposes; he'll have to let his silence be his bond.

"I would advise you keep your hands off the finery here at Highmont, however," Al-Cid adds, eyes flickering over some of the treasures on display. "Perhaps you've had good fortune elsewhere—" his eyes flicker over the gaudy-bright rings on his hand; it's hard to tell if he brought those with him on the run, or picked them up elsewhere "—but our guards notice such things."

He raises an eyebrow. "Are they good as you?"

"Better."

The man snorts like that's hard to believe.

"I could recommend some other houses, however," Al-Cid ventures, "if you'd like some more suitable targets—"

"Now that," the man interrupts, "sounds like a sure way to owe you a favor." He flashes a sardonic smile. It's a good smile. He may well be quite fetching, given a few years. "I've rather too many debts, as of late. I'd rather get on without such 'help', if it's all the same to you, ah... who were you, again?"

"I never said." Al Cid's already walking away, but as he passes, he lights a hand on the man's shoulder and adds with a whisper: "Take care, Ffamran."

Another hitch of his shoulders. Al-Cid uses a mirror at the far end of the room to keep an eye on his new friend, without needing to turn around. In that reflection, he can see the man's scowl, the shake of his head, and the eyes following Al-Cid's steps, watching overlong. He even lifts a hand to his lips, then pulls it away fast.

Good. If the little runaway runs back home, he'll remember at least one face from his little venture. And if their paths should cross some other way, somewhere in the that glittering distant place called the future... flustered is a better place to start from than threatened. Honey, not vinegar.

Al-Cid smiles.

From:

YAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSS (it's been ... a week here, but this is fantastic).

From:

queenlua

:D! ty, glad it hit the spot! (and haha, no worries, i totally get how some weeks (sometimes many weeks in a row!) are Like That TM :P)

From:

Balthier/anyone, taking charge

From:

“Going somewhere, princess? I’m afraid you’ve tried this tact before. Your request now repudiated, you turn instead to thieving a thief.” Balthier leans against the landing gear of the Strahl, casually checking the state of his cuticles. “I’ve come to expect a certain savvy of Dalmasca’s royal heir that this plan verily lacks. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Ashe doesn’t deign to look at him as she continues to struggle with the aerodome moorings.

“Would you care for some assistance, highness?”

At that, she whirls to face him, slamming her fists against the very tops of her thighs. “That is all I’ve been asking of late.”

She crosses her arms tightly and meets his gaze. Her eyes are glossy, as though on the verge of tears. He waves his hand, encouraging her to continue.

“First Uncle Halim, now Rozarria. Even the damn skypirates. Each of them demanding that I give to their desires, to their goals. Do they not see they mean to squeeze magicks from an expended stone? Who else but I desires my kingdom to prosper autonomous and whole?” She waves her hands around her at the empty hangar, gesturing to an audience of none. “Who else will take action before Vayne takes all choice from us?”

“So, we go,” Balthier says as he rights himself. “Now—to head him off before he breeches the Estersand. You can empty the local shoppe of their therapeutics whilst I rouse our crew.” He presses a leather money pouch into her palm.

“But don’t we—“

Balthier leans in and presses his lips to hers, quieting her.

“Don’t forget, dear Ashe: I am the leading man in this tale.” He grins down at her. “Hurry now, we’ve a sky fortress to catch.”

Edited Date: 2022-02-16 01:31 am (UTC)

From:

♥!

I love fic that allows me to SEE the scene in my head, and this one did! The dialogue is really great, too. Thank you!

From:

Yay! I try where I can to make things immersive and steeped in canon flavors. I'm glad you liked it :D

From:

anonne

Ah the dialogue! ❤️ Anyone who has to spend time with Balthier deserves a medal.

From:

Balthier is An Experience (and a snack) and his dialogue is so very tricky to pin down. xD Thanks!

From:

Shined up on AO3

From:

lassarina

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSS I love him *_*

From:

SAME ♥

From:

anonne

Ashe/Basch, relief

From:

necrophilia

Ashe & Zargabaath - Surprising chivalry, dinged armor

From:

necrophilia

Ashe & any Esper - hot blooded vengeance

From:

(if you tell me your AO3 I can gift this to you on there when I repost, if you’d like)

“Take cover!” Fran shouts.

The sky darkens red around them at the zenith of the Mosphoran Highwaste. It’s a menacing last resort, but a threat nonetheless. The thin air wails in rising tones as large bricks of celestial bodies rain down on the party with fiery fury. Ashe ducks down behind bare rock with only Basch to shield her. The explosions echo in a deafening discordance as the floating island rocks against its vine tethers.

For a moment, all she hears is the ringing of her own ears—but then there is a voice, muffled at the start, until it rises in volume and clarity.

“Now, princess!”

The skypirate. Balthier.

She wields her katana, freshly purchased from a merchant at the Babbling Vale, and races out from her hideaway. The esper still levitates in its golden chariot, though it seems tired now, its posture almost that of a man down on his knee in surrender. She lifts the blade in a deadly downward curve, her stance steady.

“Yield,” she commands. “Grant me thy power.”

The esper looks up at her. The long white beard, golden horned helm, deep violet pauldrons: all trappings of a hume noble, yet this being is no hume. No, this is creature is like the Dynast King’s gigas, unmatched in power by those born of Ivalice.

“Yield.”

The air around her vanishes in a breath as the world around her vanishes to white nothingness. She tightens her grip on the hilt of her sword, but soon finds she must breathe. She can’t breathe. She grasps at her closing throat with one hand as the blade drops to her side, her stance faltering. She looks back to the esper, now wreathed in blinding light as it hovers proudly before her.

“Yield,” she coughs weakly, keeping her gaze locked with her foe.

Instantly, everything goes dark.

At first, she wonders if this is what death is; she’d had small tastes of this along the way, but she’d always been magicked back before her next breath. This void, this plain vacuum, it felt heavy and infinite, and yet it felt like nothing at all. This could not be her end. It couldn’t. She was fine with giving her life to save her kingdom, absolutely, but not until the end. Not until it was safe. She still had so far to go.

Hume child.

The words are in her head, powerful enough to rattle her very skull.

Why do you seek this power?

She opens her eyes against the thrall reverberating inside her. There, in a gentle white light is the esper, golden and glittering as its cloaks float gently in a non-existant breeze.

“I seek the power necessary to save my people, the people of Dalmasca.”

I care not for the fate of humes.

“I seek the power necessary to save my kingdom from the powers of Archades.”

The mortal factions of Ivalice matter not. The rise and fall of humes is left to the will of the Occuria.

She can feel her face burning as the salt of tears sting at the corners of her eyes. She has given so much already, has traveled so far, and for what? At every turn, Dalmasca’s needs are discarded, deemed trivial in the light of imperial war. Save for this band of outsiders, who else should Ashe turn to for aid? Are her people simply doomed, then, to perish the way of Nabudis as Vayne surely wills it?

“Please, Judge-Sal, lend us your power.” She barely hears her own voice as the first hot tear pours down her cheek.

The pit of her stomach drops violently as her entire body is pulled forward at impossible speeds. At first, there is the same black nothing from before, but then in the distance … there is a forest, vast and verdant. The Salikawood. She knows as she zooms over the edges of the Mosphoran Waste, then over the lush Salika trees. In the distance grows a kingdom. Nabradia. Her chest aches at the sight of it here, whole. She has seen it many times before as it was the homeland of her dear late husband, Rasler. She reaches out her hand as her body comes to a jolting stop at the edges of the wood, the royal city of Nabudis sparkling in the near distance.

In an instant, it is gone.

The explosion is immense, the heat of it washing over the borders of the Salikawood itself. She can feel the searing heat of it scorch her skin, hotter than any arcane flame. After the flash, it is gone. Everything is gone, burned to ashe in a crater larger than her eyes can see.

The power of the Occuria is not a toy for humes. Such power is meant for the Dynast King.

“I am Raithwall’s heir,” Ashe spits with venom. “My name is Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca. I am to whom the Dawn Shard was entrusted, and I seek the power to protect the Dynast King’s legacy.”

At that, she is once again face to face with the esper.

“Lend me your power, and I shall see to it that the enemies of Raithwall are laid to waste. Archades, Vayne Solidor, seek to use the nethicite for their own gain. I seek only to protect the people.”

Dissenter Vayne Solidor. That name is known to the servants of the Occuria. I, Judge Exodus, will join with you to put rights the will of my masters.

The esper bows low, and on instinct Ashe offers her hand, to which it gently grasps.

“Thank you, Exodus, Judge-Sal of the Occuria. Together, we will see an end to Vayne’s tyranny.”

Exodus places and kiss to her knuckles, its piercing golden eyes alight with vengeance.

From:

necrophilia

Ahh, this was so good! Your prose was lovely without being crowded and I really felt Ashe's desperation here.

(And thank you for the kind offer! My AO3 username is propast.)

From:

FF12 is so tricky to write sometimes, at least in matching the verbiage and tone of the English script. I'm really glad you liked it!

From:

Now on AO3 with typos removed

From:

lassarina

Ashe's determination!! aaaaaaaa hell yes, I love this line in particular:

At every turn, Dalmasca’s needs are discarded, deemed trivial in the light of imperial war.

From:

She is so FED UP by the later parts of the game, I really feel for her in wanting to get something done so she can know Dalmasca is safe. This was such a fun prompt!

From:

Basch/Vossler, nostalgia

From:

threewalls

How do you feel about something miserable for this prompt?

From:

PLEASE DO

From:

skytintedwater

Fran/Balthier, first meeting

From:

(if you’d like to tell me your AO3, I can gift this to you there when I clean up and repost).

Fran is still unused to the clamor of cities.

She’d taken for granted the graceful quiet of the Wood, her people, and how easy it had been to keep from prying eyes. While she had never truly fit in, it took far less effort to try. Despite her efforts, she now seems to draw attention to herself at every pass. The staring, the whispers: she hasn’t yet learned to ignore it. What she’d hoped for was a quiet life of bounty hunting, to exist in fringes without the whole of Ivalice watching her every move … or so she’d believed.

It would be fair to point out that in the whole of her long life, she has hardly been away the Wood, and that she has integrated this far into the world of humes so quickly and on her own might actually be an accomplishment—but she still questions what it is she’s seeking. She has coin and a room to stay, but this city doesn’t call to her. The closest she’s felt to belonging since abandoning the village was the time she briefly aided an overwhelmed hunting party against a ring wyrm. They had been grateful, inviting her to join their number. She’d declined of course, but the conversation over roasted meat had been familiar in ways she laments.

“If it’s airships you’d like to see, my family has a humble number in their employ.” His eyes leave her face to trace down her long legs. “I even have a private hangar of my own.”

The man who sits across from her at the small bar table in an olive-skinned hume with dark hair that covers his exposed chest and arms. His face is shaved bare, and his long hair is tied back in a low tail. It’s difficult to guess his age, or at least it is for Fran, though she supposes he is somewhere in his prime. He runs the ports of this city, both air and sea, or at least he keeps boasting as much. If she is to reach the skies, it is to him she must show favor, as the guard for each port had been many in number. Perhaps this is the way of humes: false flattery and accruing power in the form of favor. She should try to keep hold of his name, then.

“The airships would be of interest to me,” she says, lifting her cup and draining the last of it.

“I say, did you happen to notice the speeder out front?”

“The hover with the crimson dual seats?”

“Yes! That’s the one. Fastest personal hovercraft of her generation, if you’ll believe that.” She can smell the sweat forming under his shirt. It reeks of arousal.

“I would.”

“Perhaps after this, I could take you for a spin?”

She bites down on her cheek and breathes heavily out through her nose. “Perhaps.”

He’s going on about the aerodome he owns again. Something about personal crafts. She is hardly listening to a word he says, but so far he either does not notice or simply does not care as he bolsters on about the things he has acquired and the means he's used to fold this city under his wing. She’s learned that in this world, if you want to get anywhere, you need coin, but also influence. She’s not sure she cares for either, but that speeder that was tucked into the garage out front? That is something she would very much like to have. In her village, such a resource would belong to all its people, but she knows that is not true here. She knows also the feel of manacles and chains, little good they have done to hold her. Still, if she wishes to acquire it, she will need to do so discreetly.

“If you’ll excuse me but for a moment.” The man rises from his seat and offers a small bow. “This liquor has run its course, as they say.”

The man reaches for her hand on the table as he stands, and she fights the urge to pull it away. His senses are far too dull to notice, thankfully.

_______________

Balthier has only seen two other viera in his time, but she is different somehow. He can feel it from here. He hears the bar goer’s attempts to woo her and scoffs. Balthier knows he himself is charming. He’s used that to his advantage many a time, but only to ease the burden of their purses, and only those eager to be relieved. He can tell this man’s advances toward her are unwelcome, and so when the patron rises from their private table and heads for the water closet, Balthier orders two more shots of the spiced brown liquor he’s been enjoying, and walks with purpose across the bar.

“If you find your previous company lacking, perhaps you would consider instead sharing a drink with me? The name is Balthier.”

He slides one shot glass across the table toward her, lifting his own in cheers. She does not move at all save for her fierce copper eyes that tracked the glass as it moved.

“I find most company to be lacking. How would yours differ, Balthier?” The weight she gives his name is that of mocking, and he finds he quite likes the sound of it on her tongue.

“Well, for starters,” he says, taking a seat across from her at the table, “I think you’ll find there are few men as charming conversationalists as me. I’ve also been told I am quite handsome, though truly, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

“Is this when you tell me that you also find me beautiful? Because every hume who has bothered me has said as much.”

“It would be untrue to say that you aren’t, but I was actually more inclined to know what brings you past the deserts? There are no viera Woods in the east of Rozarria I’ve heard tale of, and I’ve heard many a tale: you’ve come a long way, my dear. What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t.” She pauses. “I have traveled far; that is true.”

“Alone?”

She stares coolly, saying nothing.

“Sisters. I’d met two sisters who’d left the Lashwe Hollow some years ago.” Ah, that got her attention. “There are few viera who venture to the cities, and fewer still who travel alone—at least, if their stories rang of truth.” He takes a deep sip of his cup. “What about you?”

“I was called to leave my Wood some time ago.” She pauses, then picks up the shot glass, which looks smaller still in her large claws. “I have yet to decipher why.” She absently turns the glass in her hand, seemingly watching the liquid slosh inside.

“Leaving one’s birthplace is never easy,” he says gently. “I should know: I done it myself.”

She turns her velveteen ears toward him and meets his eye. For the first time in this short meeting, her expression seems softer. There is a curiosity there. He takes his cue and continues.

“Our present audience is somewhat large to share the particulars, but what I can say is that the journey has been a long one, and I have only yet begun. Having an airship helps, of course.” He raises his glass again, and this time she does join him in drinking, crinkling her nose as she sips. “Ordalian spiced rum.”

“It burns,” she says in a small cough, “but it is good.” She raises the glass again and tosses the rest of it back in one fell swoop.

“Cheers to that,” he laughs, and does the same.

As he places his glass back on the table, she moves with a speed unnatural to humes, wrapping her clawed fingers into the collar of his shirt. “Fran,” she says quietly, “my name, it is.”

Then, she kisses him.

It’s as forceful as it is sudden, the strength of her grasp nearly lifting him from his seat. He kisses her back, naturally; the taste of rum on her lips burns with notes of cinnamon. He reaches up with one hand and finds her hairline, the base of her ear, and slowly, he weaves his fingers into the long hair beneath her small helm. His other hand comes to rest gently on the hand that holds his collar, and even like this he can tell the relative smallness of it compared to hers.

When she pulls away from him, he has to fight himself to stop from whining. He looks up at her, as now she is standing, her full height more exaggerated from this view. The other patron has returned, and judging by the look of him, is processing the kiss himself.

“I will take my leave now,” Fran says. “Come, Balthier.”

Balthier doesn’t waste a moment; he stands and bows to the other man. “May the rest of your evening prove more fruitful than the start.”

Fran grabs his forearm, her fingers fully wrapping around his forearm, and she pulls him away. He follows, winking to the bartender on their way past. She marches the pair of them all the way to the street before relinquishing her hold on him, though truthfully, her hold had already dug far deeper than what anyone could see.

“Well,” he said, testing the waters, “that was unexpected.”

“I needed the time to acquire his speeder keys. Have you ever driven one? I’ve wanted to learn for some time, now.”

“There is nothing I would love more than to teach you, dear Fran. Let us make way before he sours in his cups and realizes his pockets have been levied.”

From:

threewalls

What a first meeting! I do enjoy Balthier following Fran's cues since he's wandered into her con-- and helped provide an excuse for Fran to exit now that she's got the keys. (And the small intimacies of Balthier indicating that he pays attention to how viera move through the world and Fran acknowledges this with her name, and something of how she left the Wood, and then his own measured mention of also having left his home...)

They're clearly going to work well together.

From:

I love these two so much. They way they play off each other so subtly (and so naturally) in game only makes me MORE desperate to know how they found each other!

From:

threewalls

Me, too. They're so wonderful!

From:

This is wonderful work! I could really believe it as their first meeting. Even at this early stage you can see the foundations of their respect for each other; both Balthier and the man at the bar are interested in Fran, but their approaches feel fundamentally different because Balthier views her as an equal.

I also enjoy that Balthier basically goes 'there's the potential for an interesting conversation here, I'm not necessarily on the pull, but it's not like I'm not going to kiss back'.

It would be untrue to say that you aren’t

Loved this. Very smooth, very Balthier.

“May the rest of your evening prove more fruitful than the start.”

This, meanwhile, is cracking me up. Balthier, you little shit.

From:

Fran is like a grumpy cat: you have to let her come to you!

I do think Balthier is genuinely more interested in the potential for conversation (and that if she'd told him to fuck off, he would have), but he's certainly open to other opportunities should they present themselves. He's a pirate, after all. ;D

It was really fun to wind back the clock and imagine what their early beginnings might have looked like. So glad you think it rings true to their dynamic!

From:

lassarina

OH, this is marvelous; I love the way Balthier approaches her, and the details like Fran's sense of smell, and also Fran doing crime before Balthier even gets there. So good.

From:

Thank you! I love working on stories where a character isn't human (and how their physicality and their culture inform their POV and actions). Fran doing crime is so close to my heart, haha.

From:

skytintedwater

This story is PERFECT and I love it thank you!

From:

I'm so glad you like it! ♥

From:

Polished and posted on AO3

From:

queenlua

al-cid [&,/] balthier: learn your manners

From:

queenlua

al-cid [&,/] any: how will you make it worth my while

Edited Date: 2022-02-23 12:21 am (UTC)

From:

queenlua

al-cid [&,/] vayne: mask

From:

Well, this one got away from me. o_o The idea got in my head and snowballed, hahah.

Never let it be said that Al-Cid was a late bloomer, in any sense of the word. From a young age, he had learned his responsibilities as a son of his house, the assessment of the many possibilities that lay before him - and as well, he had come to learn his own inclinations. A formal masquerade ball attended by the nobles of many of the nations and factions of Ivalice, an attempt to grow a sense of camaraderie rather than competition, was in a sense a nexus of all three; a chance to prove himself worthy in pursuit of the most desired possibilities, and an opportunity to... indulge some of those inclinations.

As only a minor among House Margrace, still of an age that none were as of yet appraising his potential to rise to prominence, few paid much attention to his doings as he moved about the crowd, his wandering eyes all but hidden behind a pale mask overlaid with a fine silver and gold filigree, a spray of white feathers crowning. Indeed, few likely could have told him apart from his brothers in such dress - but for his mannerisms and his courtesy, which he was pleased to bestow upon many a young woman in attendance. Not one to play favorites - not yet - he shared no more than a bit of conversation and the space of a dance with each, then took his leave with a respectful bow. It was good, he thought, to leave as many options open as he was able.

He had just bid farewell to another dance partner and was intending to pause for a drink - so much chatting and dancing over the course of the warm summer evening had left him somewhat parched - when he saw her among the tables. Tall, perhaps as tall as himself, with long dark hair cascading over her shoulders in casual curls, for her back was turned. Atop those lovely locks, presumably rising upward from her own mask, were a pair of dark horns, matching the protrusions from the ornate shoulder pieces on the garment she wore.

The very picture of temptation, Al-Cid imagined. He picked up a glass and sipped at some cider, eyeing her over the rim. He hadn't the slightest idea who the young woman might be, but he very much wanted to run his hands through those curls, let his fingers become entangled...

But first, the game must be played. She seemed to be doing no more than having a drink herself, and so Al-Cid stepped around the table between them, setting his empty glass aside as he passed. "If I may beg your pardon," he began, and she turned, revealing a firm yet graceful mouth and a sharp chin - all Al-Cid could see beyond the horned black mask that covered her face from nose to hairline. More handsome than pretty, Al-Cid thought, but nonetheless fascinating. He bowed, taking her gloved hand to bring it to his lips and kiss lightly. "Might I ask the name by which I may call such beauty?"

There was no immediate response, whether the giggle of delight Al-Cid so often received or an answer, and so he looked up. He found those fine lips smirking before they parted in response. "Vayne Carudas Solidor," replied a deeper voice than he had expected, if still young. "Third son of Emperor Gramis of Archadia. And you are...?"

Al-Cid was very relieved for his own mask at that moment; it covered the widening of his eyes and the rise of his eyebrows. Also the faint blush of warmth he could feel in his cheeks as he realized that indeed - the "young woman" before him wore trousers rather than an elaborate gown like to those worn by most of the ladies, and his eyes had simply not looked away from the fascinating hair and face before he had spoken. This was, by far, the largest blunder he had made in a state setting to this point...

And although he almost began to apologize, it occurred to him that perhaps he need not do so. "Al-Cid Margrace," he replied, relinquishing the other young man's hand and straightening again. "Considering the conflict between our nations, perhaps it is fortunate that I am but one of many, and you a third son, lest our meeting be considered of great import."

"And your mistake be considered Rozarria's insult to Archadia?" Still Vayne smirked behind his mask.

"I cannot see why it should be considered an insult at all," Al-Cid replied easily. "Here in my homeland, it is a compliment to be found beautiful, whether male or female."

"I suppose it is." Though the mask largely hid Vayne's expression, he did pause to regard Al-Cid for a moment. "And so you do not intend to retract your remarks?"

"I would never go back on my word, nor willingly speak an untruth," Al-Cid stated, with a smirk of his own. "If I have said something, then it is said."

Vayne laughed quietly. It was very much the response Al-Cid had been hoping for. "You are... interesting, Al-Cid Margrace," Vayne observed. "And your charm considerable. I expect it will serve you well."

"And I will take that as a compliment."

Vayne's smirk now appeared more an honest smile. "As it was intended."

When Al-Cid offered his hand again, Vayne hesitated a moment, then shook firmly. "Perhaps, as the circumstances of our births permit us to go unnoticed - we might, indeed, go unnoticed."

It might have been Al-Cid's imagination, the way Vayne's gloved hand seemed to linger, sliding along his own as he withdrew. Or... it might not. "Are you not enjoying yourself?"

"I seldom enjoy such affairs, but they do occasionally present useful opportunities. I'm certain you understand."

"All too well," Al-Cid agreed with a nod.

Vayne still held his own glass in the left hand, and drained it before setting it aside. "The drinks, if nothing else, are exquisite," he added. "But this ball has otherwise been quite dry, until your approach made it more amusing."

"Then I am glad to have done so," Al-Cid told him, with a slight bow. And if he was reading Vayne correctly... "If leaving this assembly is what you wish, then it would be my pleasure to further amuse you."

Vayne lifted a hand, gesturing in the direction of one of the great archways at the end of the ballroom, with the darkness of night visible beyond. "Very well - shall we?"

It was indeed quite dark in the ornamental garden outside in spite of the season; the ball had begun before dusk, but already had lasted for hours. And perhaps because of the season, once they were far enough out among the maze of perfectly trimmed hedges that the chatter and music of the ball had faded, Vayne reached to his throat, loosening the collar of the ornate jacket he wore. "Forgive me if I offend," he remarked, "but seldom do we experience such heat in Archades. I feel I may be somewhat overdressed."

An interesting suggestion. "I am certain that I am," Al-Cid agreed, doing likewise. "Though I am accustomed to the heat. When not hosting formal events for international visitors, Rozarrians tend to wear considerably less."

Another low chuckle from Vayne. "Though I believe we've already established that our conversation has no bearing on the relations between our homelands, I would ask, lest I insult you personally - I know that you said you would not go back on your word. Do you still stand behind it...?"

Much as Al-Cid had suspected - and in a sense, hoped, for Vayne was graceful, well-spoken... intriguing. "I do," he said with a nod. "I am capable of appreciating beauty in both women and men." He suspected he did not need to ask.

And he was correct. "In that case," Vayne said, stopping where he was on the path to turn to Al-Cid, "I will suggest you wear as little as makes you comfortable in my presence."

"Hmmm..." Al-Cid smiled. Already he was accomplished at reading opportunities, and this seemed to be a particularly entertaining one. "And you are welcome to remove as much clothing as you wish."

"My own...?" Vayne inquired, sounding almost innocent. "Or yours?"

That was a very, very clever line, Vayne's delivery of it impeccable, and Al-Cid was not sure he could think of a better answer than to take Vayne by the hand and pull him through a gap in the hedges, leading him away from the walking path and further along the wall of the palace, where few would have reason to wander on such a night of celebration. Behind him, he heard Vayne laugh again, this time a bit louder.

The laughter ceased, however, when Al-Cid came to a shadowy corner beyond a protruding tower, and pressed Vayne up against the wall, covering Vayne's lips with his own. An approving hum came from Vayne's throat, and at last, Al-Cid's fingers could stroke through those coveted curls.

After a moment of simply enjoying what may have been the most passionate kiss Al-Cid had experienced to date, he suddenly found himself against the wall, Vayne pinning him, a knee between his thighs. He could not quite keep himself from moaning quietly when Vayne drew back. "You never answered my question," Vayne reminded him, "about the removal of clothing."

"Hah..." Al-Cid grinned. "Whatever you do not remove... I will see to."

"That seems a fair arrangement," Vayne murmured, before leaning in to nearly smother him with another kiss as hot and damp as the night air. "But one suggestion," he added as an afterthought. "To keep this interesting... why not keep the masks on?"

"I cannot imagine how this could become uninteresting," Al-Cid panted. "Yet it is a masquerade..."

"Precisely," Vayne stated. "A bit of fun - of no lasting consequence."

And it was by far the most memorable masquerade Al-Cid had attended thus far - a distinction that would hold for the rest of his life.

-----

Yet only a few years later, Al-Cid had the chance to see Vayne Solidor again, and under very different circumstances. An envoy was sent to Archades in hopes of negotiating a treaty - and quietly investigating the rumors regarding the demise of Emperor Gramis's two eldest sons. Given the nature of the rumors, Al-Cid opted not to give his name, nor to remove his dark glasses when the party was ushered in to meet with the Archadian Empire's representatives.

It was the first time he had seen Vayne's face unmasked, looked him in the eye from behind his own dubious camouflage - and what he saw there told him that the rumors were true. The way Vayne's cold eyes lingered, the hint of a smirk at the corner of his mouth, suggested that he was recognized - and it made Al-Cid's blood run cold. All the more so as Vayne simply moved on, saying nothing, and made no attempt to speak with him for the duration of the visit.

For after all, that night truly had been a night of no consequence.

From:

threewalls

I love how the opening description rolls and rolls, very much the flavour of Al-Cid in its decorative flourishes. What a party, for gracious young things to enjoy themselves at.

And then the cutting epilogue, where they're both older and Al-Cid knows better about who Vayne really is, how differently they both see 'a bit of fun' (though they're also both still wearing masks, of a fashion).

From:

Thank you!

I imagine them being around 16-18 at this point (I didn't realize until I looked it up that they're actually the same age), still young enough for a little impulsive carelessness in spite of being so self-aware. (And Al-Cid, like Sydney, apparently already turns the prose purple when he gets the POV, which just FIGURES. XD)

I almost didn't want to add the epilogue, but well. Otherwise this would have ended with the impression that they actually were fond of each other, which doesn't exactly track ten years later during canon.

From:

HELLO YES. I love the playful Al-Cid POV and how he charms his way through this encounter (and the detached sort of way Vayne indulges himself, as he always does). It's a really lovely scene that shows their personalities so well while teasing at the futures we see for them in game. If you're posting to AO3 please let me know so I can bookmark this.

From:

Thank you! I'm not sure I've written Al-Cid before in more than a drabble or two, but he's fun. (...I think sometime I need to write him and Balthier trying to out-charm each other...) And Vayne is fun in a whole other way. Charming also, but more subdued and somehow kind of creepy in the process...

And yes - I did my weekly round-up post yesterday so I uploaded my Kiss Battle stuff to the collection for easy reading. Right this way. :D

From:

queenlua

(1) apologies for my being appallingly late in noticing this; missed the notif while i was on vacation, and

(2) i made the LOUDEST screech when i saw this had been filled, i was so hype, you have no idea

(3) this is so 100% delightful. love Al-Cid's fixation on Vayne's hair (he just wants to run his fingers through it... you and me both, Al-Cid, you and me both...), love his casual ease in recovering from his misapprehension, and it's such an interesting look at Vayne, too—younger, and without a pressing need to orate/stand-on-ceremony/etc, he's as good at witty banter as even Al-Cid. truly a dangerous kinda guy, heh.

and i'm kind of in love with that epilogue, too, gosh, the clenching cold from running into someone again in such different circumstance... just in love with the tension between what they show and what's buried beneath.

thank you so much for filling it; if this is what "out of hand" is then i very much approve!

From:

queenlua

larsa [&,/] any: born into the trouble

From:

queenlua

ashe [&,/] any: unconventional

From:

Al-Cid & or / Larsa: tongue in cheek

From:

Al-Cid & or / Gabranth: you're not supposed to be here

From:

Al-Cid & or / Ashe: a familiar face in a crowded place

From:

Al-Cid & or / Fran (can also be a trio of Fran/Balthier, honestly any combo of those three): wit and whimsy

From:

Al-Cid Margrace/Fran

Prompt: Unrequited once, requited for the night

From:

Al-Cid Margrace/Vossler York Azelas

Prompt: Mischievous foray

From:

Al-Cid Margrace & Larsa Ferrinas Solidor

Prompt: Useful information for later

From:

seventhe

SAZH JUST WANTS A NAP (includes the rest of the XIII compilation)

From:

lassarina

Fang/Vanille, familiar

From:

Fang/Vanille, anticipation

From:

Noel/Serah, after all we've been through together

From:

Serah/Hope (FFXIII-2), loneliness

From:

requiems

i was driveby-ing this post and saw this prompt and had a whole Feeling about it so here you go!! ♥ (i'll probably put this on ao3 later when i think of an actual title.)

-

It's safe.

He's been nothing but a gentleman from the moment they got here, these ten small years into the future that he's had to slowly walk by himself, her the last one to leave; smiling when she talks, offering his hand to help her up. He's still the same. Still thoughtful, still harbouring a burden that isn't the one she passed to him, but it is what's led both of them here.

She knows how hard having to be strong in defiance of fate is.

It's like no time has passed at all, and for her, it hasn't. But she was alone when she left, and he's been entirely alone since.

It's safe, and it's familiar, Serah supposes. Because he doesn't press her, doesn't ask. They're both supposed to be asleep but they're not, and distantly she thinks of Snow, because it's the same level of attentiveness with which Hope regards this kiss, that, the next. All quiet. Maybe he's thinking of Alyssa, his assistant. Maybe he's thinking of her sister. Maybe he's just thinking of only her, that it's come to this – and that here, now, they can both pretend that the twisting knife isn't there.

It's just another meeting, another departure. The loneliness is inevitable. Come morning they likely won't speak of this, and that's to assume they'll say anything at all as she kisses him a little more fiercely, sincerely, because he's real and not gone, and his fingers lace securely between hers and she sniffs.

"We can stop if you like," Hope says softly. Wanting to spare her it, as they all always have. It shatters any illusion she has, brings the reality crashing back. That if this ends it'll be just another night spent worrying: her journey's barely started, but she has so much to carry. They both do.

She could talk to Noel, who lived at the end of days. He could talk to Alyssa, who dreams her own death.

But they don't understand. Not like they do. Not after everything the seven of them went through, now just two.

"No," Serah says. Gentle, breaking. "I don't want to be alone."

His smile is bare. Neither does he.

She's here now. And this time, as he kisses her, he's Hope.

From:

My tiny rarepair!! Thank you so much! I have so many feelings about the fact that they're the only ones who still share that connection to the events of the first game, now that everyone else is missing.

I love the way you've phrased 'these ten small years into the future that he's had to slowly walk by himself'.

smiling when she talks, offering his hand to help her up.

Aww, I can see this so well.

But she was alone when she left, and he's been entirely alone since.

Hope's situation just breaks my heart. He's so excited when he first sees Serah again, and then he gets embarrassed about being excited! I love her implied guilt for leaving in this line.

Maybe he's thinking of Alyssa, his assistant. Maybe he's thinking of her sister. Maybe he's just thinking of only her, that it's come to this – and that here, now, they can both pretend that the twisting knife isn't there.

Perfect. I love that it takes a moment for the possibility that he isn't thinking of someone else to even occur to her.

Come morning they likely won't speak of this

I love this!

"No," Serah says. Gentle, breaking. "I don't want to be alone."
His smile is bare. Neither does he.

This is a wonderful piece. Exactly what I needed for these two. Thank you so much.

From:

requiems

:D you're very very welcome!! i'm so glad you enjoyed it. thank you for giving me an opportunity to get out a little of my own feelings for them, it's an interesting ship to work with for that bond alone.

From:

This hits all the right notes for these two, pulled together through timelines as it all slowly falls apart around them.

From:

requiems

thank you!

it's the kind of separation that would drive people mad, i can absolutely see them drifting together because of it.

From:

lassarina

;_;

ow

so good.

From:

requiems

:D

angst is my specialty

From:

lassarina

Mine too XD characters make excellent chew toys.

From:

requiems

update: ao3 link!

From:

Lightning (& or /) Hope, trustfall

From:

queenlua

[My knowledge of “official” canon post-FF13 is fuzzy, so consider this a canon-divergent AU where Lightning doesn’t disappear after Cocoon’s near-fall.]

The first time Hope sees Lightning, two months after—well, the whole l’Cie thing, all of that—she comes to his family’s home in Felix Heights for dinner.

It’s awful. He tries to tell his dad he’s just going to hang out with a friend, but his dad asks all these questions—before, the sudden interest in his life would’ve just annoyed him, but now, he sees the worried lines on his brow and just feels tired—and when his dad realizes that the friend is that Lightning, Lightning Farron, Lightning-who-saved-his-life (his assumption; Hope’s never talked about it), he insists on making a whole thing of it. Insists on hosting her at their place, has their cook make a whole five-course meal, lays out all the nice china, and probably says to Lightning “thank you for everything” like fifteen times. Lightning keeps staring at the forks like she’s expecting one of them to be booby-trapped. All he wants to talk about is their time as l’Cie, but he can’t, not with his dad there, but he can’t stand the idea of inane banter about school and family and the neighborhood either, not with Lightning there. So mostly his dad blathers and the other two say very little and very often lapse into silence.

The only moment they’re alone is when Lightning’s on her way out. Hope slips through the door after her, stops her just outside the far gate on the other end of the garden, and says, “Sorry about all that.”

Lightning gives him a funny look. “Don’t know why you’re sorry.” She tips her chin toward the house. “I’m glad he made it.”

Then she’s gone.

After that he doesn’t see her for two years. And why would he? She’s a soldier again, after all, and soldiers have got plenty to keep themselves busy these days: with the fal’Cie gone, everyone’s scrambling to build new sources of fuel, till new fields, find some way to make Cocoon thrive. And that’s the easy work, relatively speaking—carving out a place in Pulse is a lot of monster-slaying and brick-laying, from the sound of it. He can imagine Lightning doing that. Can imagine her being good at it.

He thinks about joining the Corps himself. He knows he’s good in a fight. But with his eidolon and his magic gone, well… not that good. Without a l’Cie brand, he knows exactly what he looks like: some kid. Come back in a few years. We’re not that desperate yet.

So he goes to school. Because his dad wants him to (and his dad looks so worried; sometimes it’s like Hope’s caring for him instead of the other way around), and because he doesn’t know what else he can do. He goes even though it feels fake, compared to life on the run. He’d never exactly been a social butterfly, but now, whenever a classmate’s going on about some teacher’s fashion faux pas or the latest on who-likes-who, it just washes over him completely. Once he wonders if his hearing is going, when some girl has to repeat the same thing three times just for him to understand. But his ears are fine. He just doesn’t care about whatever she’s saying.

His grades improve, though. Why had he struggled with this stuff before? You just sit down and do it. (Not a question of can or can't. Lightning's words.)

So the schoolwork’s not bad, exactly. It’s just that it doesn’t feel real. He says as much to his dad, once, when his head’s feeling full and foggy and he’s trying to explain, and his dad’s face gets all tight and he asks if he’d like to talk to someone, and that question is so horrible and awkward and loaded that he never brings it up again.

He thinks about trying to get everyone back together again, for—what? a reunion? and it sounds stupid even as he thinks it. If he were older, he guesses he could meet up with them at a bar after work, or something, however adults hang out—maybe they’re already doing that.

(Except, even then, maybe it wouldn’t be so easy. Maybe Lightning went back to hating Snow’s guts. Maybe without Vanille holding everyone together, they’d be all prickly to be in the same room for more than five minutes. Maybe they were only ever meant to be a team for those few short days. But when Hope thinks about that, his throat gets all tight, and he firmly decides to stop thinking about that for a while.)

Two years later he’s finally able to drop out. Well, graduate early, rather, to become a junior researcher at the Academy. Not that he has the credentials for that kind of job, exactly—he’s the youngest one on the staff by years—but, well, his dad’s got connections. Calls in a favor. (Hope hates using that. But he hates the sleepwalking feeling of school even more. And maybe his dad senses that, too, because he’s the one who suggests it. All Hope has to do is say “yes,” and it’s done.)

He makes up for his inexperience with “the kind of work ethic I thought kids didn’t have anymore,” as his PI so gracelessly puts it. He doesn’t really think of it that way—work ethic implies there’s some kind of principle behind it, rather than a sort of blindly-chugging-forward-on-the-rails—but on the surface he guesses it’s the same. He crunches the numbers for experiments that everyone else finds too tedious to touch, reads all the papers for the colloquium talks three times over so he’s sure he understands, and comes in early and leaves late. At least this is real, he tells himself, and it is. They’ll need this science, if they’re going to power Cocoon without the help of fal’Cie. It’s just hard to make himself believe it.

(He still dreams about being l’Cie. Fragments, mostly. Gripping a dagger in his hand like it’s his own beating heart. Breathing the air on Pulse. A healing spell, cool between his fingers. When he wakes he always tries to go back to sleep but it never, ever works.)

A couple months into the job, he runs into Lightning—at a dingy 24-hour convenience store of all places. He’s shocked to see he’s nearly as tall as her. Then he’s shocked to see her in Palumpolum at all.

“Hey,” he calls out.

She turns and mouths wow when she sees him. “Hope. You’ve sure grown.”

“I thought you were on Pulse these days.”

Lightning shrugs. “Temporary posting. Reactor here needed a little extra elbow grease to keep it running, so.”

Silence. They both stare at each other. Panic rises in his throat, hot and fast. To tamp it down he blurts the first thing he thinks of: “I’m a researcher at the Academy.”

“Really?” she says, and her eyebrows shoot up with interest. “Didn’t take you for the bookish type.”

Hope feels himself flush. “Yeah, well.”

“That’s good. Great.” Then something on her wrist beeps; she checks the color and swears under her breath. “One of my lieutenants. Swear he’ll burn the place down at this rate. I’ve gotta run. See you around.”

Gone as quick as she came. Hope wishes, suddenly and irrationally, that he could punch something.

For the next year he thinks about that chance meeting, off and on. Way more than is normal, he knows. Thinks about being almost as tall as her, and wonders what it’d be like to be taller than her. It feels like some threshold, some crossing that would change everything, though what would change, exactly, he couldn’t say. A curl in one of the lab tech's hair, or a sudden thunderstorm, will remind him. Sometimes the other researchers go out together in the evenings, but of course, they wouldn't want him tagging along. Or maybe he's said "no" so many times they've stopped bothering.

When he runs into Lightning a year later, he actually is taller than her. By like half an inch, but still.

She’s standing in the center of Palumpolum Gardens, the little park the city made after it became Cocoon’s capital. Pulsian landscaping has become in vogue, even among those who still cling to shuddering Cocoon over Pulse; the grass is patchy and thin but it’s still the most greenery for miles. And it's a weekend; there's hundreds of people out here. It's pure chance he's able to pick her out in the crowd at all.

“Temporary posting again?” Hope asks, sneaking up behind her.

“Hope!” She looks him over, and he can see her eyes wrinkle when she gets the measure of her height—just for a second, and then it's gone. “And, yes, just for the week. Your reactor’s acting up again.” She tilts her head, looking toward the skyline. “I really should remember that you live here. I’ll call ahead next time. How’s the Academy?”

Hope shrugs, hoping it comes across like pretty good instead of hell if I know. Her answering nod says he got the balance right.

Just then, some guy with a frisbee crashes into Lightning, nearly knocks her over—she casts him her dirtiest look, for all the good that does; he only barely mutters “sorry” as he saunters off. She looks back to Hope: “It’s my day off. I was hoping to get some space to clear my head, but, nothing doing.”

“There’s a hiking trail,” Hope ventures. “Not far from here. It goes through some of the land that’s gone to seed since the Nutriculture Complex collapsed.”

“Really?”

“I could show you. If you’re interested.”

“You kidding? Anything to get away from all these people. C’mon.”

So he leads her northwest, where a battered little trailhead points the way forward. Wordlessly, he falls back to point. It doesn't look like much; the first crest is pockmarked with weeds and bits of debris. But up top, the view's so nice that even Lightning gives a low appreciative whistle, and there's miles more to go.

They keep going. Their conversation is a familiar, utilitarian thing—a warning tossed over a shoulder, about some loose gravel underfoot, or a moment shared scrutinizing some passing shadow overhead. There's a few words for catching up (Sazh seems good, he piloted a supply run Lightning was on a few weeks ago; Hope saw on the news that Snow's New Bodhum is working out), but only very few, and nothing about themselves—the Academy or the Corps. Mostly it feels like Gapra Whitewood again. Like the Peaks again. Sure, they can’t leap around the way they used to—no brand—and he’s lagging behind even more than he used to, out of breath before they even hit the first mile marker. But that wordless sense of connection, the thing he’s missed for three years now, is pulling him along the whole while. Real, and close, and potent.

The trail ends—peters out, more like, turns from bits of gravel to dirt and then back to scrap metal—but Lightning just keeps going, and Hope's not going to be the one to suggest they turn back. He follows wordlessly, as she dips through rusted metal containers, over a wall with only half the barbed wire chopped off—

When Lightning leaps from a dizzying tall ledge onto some concrete below, he finally calls out, "Wait up." She pauses; he peeks over the edge as far as he dares. "Can you—can you spot me, or something?"

"It's not far," Lightning says, with a teasing note. But she waits for him, a careful distance just to the left of where she'd landed.

He closes his eyes as he jumps. He lands with a thud and a few shuddering steps forward—the landing went all the way through his back and straight to his jaw, but it's jarring more than it actually hurts.

"You alright?" Lightning asks, a hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah," he says, and when he turns to look at her, her face is close to his, and—before hsi mind catches up with what he's doing—he leans forward and kisses her.

It just happens—no. Of course that doesn’t just happen. He did it, wanted it, went for it. His first kiss, he realizes as he pulls away, with a mix of elation and embarrassment. Except he hasn’t even felt real enough to be embarrassed in so long that even that part’s a little thrilling. This is real. He’s spent so long wanting to be her but maybe it’s that he wants her, actually—the thought just leapt there but now that it’s there and it feels right and—

“Kid,” Lightning says, and her tone alone says everything he doesn’t want to hear. Just a kid. But then she adds, “Hope,” more softly, like she’s correcting herself. “You know there’s other people, right?” She’s giving him a long, steady stare. “The world didn’t end when Cocoon nearly fell. Which means our lives didn’t, either.”

He has to work to keep his voice steady: “What are you saying?”

“I mean,” she says, and a wry little smile’s flickered over her face, “we’ve been out here for hours and you haven’t told me a single thing about that Academy of yours. Tell me there’s someone else you’ve kissed in the meantime.”

“I don’t… What’s that got to do with anything?”

“I just think you should give it a try. Make sure this isn’t just you trying to hang onto something.”

Now that embarrassment’s starting to sting. “It’s not like you’ve told me anything about the Corps, either,” he flings back.

But Lightning just grins. “Ha. Now it’s like old times again. Me preaching what I don’t practice. Remember when I was going on and on about tearing down the Sanctum and leaving everyone else behind? Absolutely insufferable.”

He laughs with her. It even takes away the sting a little. But he also says, “You weren’t so bad as that.”

Lightning winks. “And that’s exactly why I said you should get out more.” She leaps onto the next crag—how can she still do that, she makes it look so easy—then turns around and holds out a hand over the edge. “C’mon. Let me help you up.”

Which is no, he knows, but his chest only tightens up a little. When he grabs her hand, he clambers with his feet while she pulls him up easy. And as they hike back home, there’s still that faint electric warmth crackling between them, even if the space they keep between each other is ever-so-slightly wider than it was before.

He let her down easy. His life didn't end. He'll figure it out eventually.

From:

*pterodactyl screech*

I love this!!! Hope's listlessness and the way he holds onto those moments from before are both perfect, as is Lightning's casual unaffectedness. She cares, but he'll always be Hope, the angry boy who needed someone to acknowledge him. Even when they're in the same city, they're on two timelines, but there is a connection nonetheless. I love that you kept it as nuanced as in the game, too.

Thank you so much! and if you post to AO3 please let me know so I can bookmark.

From:

queenlua

:DDDDD eee i'm so glad you liked this! and i'm particularly glad it came across as nuanced—i'm so in love with the way they're portrayed in the game, this sort of messy connection of two people Going Through Shit with themselves, individually, and also obviously with the whole being-chased-down thing, and the texture of the sometimes-mentorship sometimes-alliance sometimes-something-else thing these two have going on is just so rich and interesting. makes me want to see, like, the entire next twenty years of their lives, so it was delightful to get to depict at least a couple of those, haha :P

i'm not sure whether or not i'll throw this on AO3, but if I do, i'll reply to your comment here so you'll get a notification of it for sure <3 thanks for requesting these two!

From:

threewalls

Lightning/Fang/Vanille, welcome home

From:

queenlua

lightning/any: it would never work out between us

From:

queenlua

lightning/vanille/fang: bickering

From:

queenlua

sazh [&,/] snow: ill fortune

From:

queenlua

sazh [&,/] fang: old hat

From:

queenlua

fang/any: after the battle

From:

seventhe

CAUSE HYDAELYN SAID SO

From:

lassarina

Alisaie/Lyse, challenge

From:

Cirina/Sadu, I'll warm you up

From:

Wedge/Tataru, finding the courage

From:

Gilgamesh/Hildibrand, the greatest of mysteries

From:

Emmanellain/Sicard, all this passion has to lead somewhere

From:

* takes place in Endwalker, with a slight SPOILER for a side-quest
* yup, filling my own prompt
* this one was brutal to write so I hope it turned out okay!
* special thanks to lassarina for the "chew toy" phrase

Emmanellain was in a funk. Had been for months, to be honest. He'd felt lost ever since Honoroit took his leave of him. He'd grown accustomed to the young pageboy following him around faithfully and looking out for him. But now Honoroit was off on his book tour, of all things, and Emmanellain was left to fend for himself.

Sometimes he wondered if he was up to it.

Oh, he liked his carefree life, he did. It was fun to do as he pleased, to pretend that everything was all right. But then he'd wake up in a panic in the wee hours of the night, his own voice still reverberating in his ears: "Do something!" and he'd see the arrow fly again to strike that protestor. He'd wipe the sweat off his brow and try to get back to sleep, but all his failings would come rushing back and traipse through his mind like skeletons on parade.

Artoirel would have known something was wrong, but his brother wasn't here in Sharlayan, thankfully. No, there was no one here to remind Emmanellain of his faults... except for him.

It rankled Emmanellain, it did, that a bloody pirate should get under his skin so, and yet he did. For every barb Sicard tossed out was like salt in a wound. The pirate had a way of seeing straight to the heart of all of Emmanellain's innermost fears about himself. His response to the barbs had been to defend himself, because who wouldn't? He'd talk big, trying to make his accomplishments, pithy though they were, seem much more important, but he could see the truth in Sicard's laughing eyes, and hear a hint of doubt in his own voice. It was enough almost to make him want to change, to become a better and stronger man just so he could shut that pirate up.

Emmanellain scowled down at his drink. He'd come to The Last Stand when he had awoken yet again, thankful that the eatery was open all hours of the day and that he could drown his sorrows in his ale, but it didn't seem to be helping tonight. Perhaps a walk was in order...

* * *

Sicard had just finished directing his crew, who had been offloading the latest batch of supplies the Scions had ordered. That task complete, Sicard now set off towards the Last Stand for a late-night pint. His lips curled into a grin as he spotted his favorite chew toy walking up the harbor.

Emmanellain was walking alone, his hands clasped behind his back, clearly lost in thought, but he looked up as Sicard approached and stiffened, dropping his hands to his sides in tight balls.

"Out for a late jaunt, eh?" Sicard said.

"And what business of it is yours?" Emmanellain responded.

"It's my business to see everyone in this Contingent is pulling their own weight," Sicard said. "What were you off doing while I was getting more supplies? Prolly lazing about, like always."

Emmanellain dropped his eyes. "I...want to do better," he muttered.

"Eh? What was that?"

"I want to do better, all right?!" Emmanellain said bitterly. "You're right about me. Every. Single. Thing you've said about me has been right. I'm weak, and a coward, and lazy, and it's not right and I know it but by the Fury I don't know how to change."

"Emmanellain..." Sicard said, and stepped close to him. Emmanellain's eyes grew wide as the pirate leaned into him, but he didn't put up his hands to stop Sicard.

It was by no means a perfect kiss. Sicard's lips were chapped from from the sea spray, and tears wear running down Emmanellain's cheeks, but the kiss was surprisingly touching, Emmanellain thought, and afterward Sicard rested his forehead against his.

"One step at a time, luv," Sicard said softly. "That's how you change. Just one step at a time."

"Why?" Emmanellain whispered, and Sicard smiled.

"What, you think a pirate like me can't care? 'Course I can. And besides," Sicard said, his voice quieting, "I've been there. Been forced to change because of what someone else thought of what I was doin'. I managed it, but it weren't easy. You can, too. I'll help you."

Emmanellain felt a small spark of hope in his chest. Maybe he could change, and the nightmares would stop. At least he wasn't alone anymore.

From:

lassarina

I love this! Emmanellain trying to do better and Sicard having the tiniest of chinks in his armor. good. ♥

From:

Oh, yay! I'm glad you liked it. I was holding off posting to Ao3 until someone read it. I'll post as soon as I figure out a title and summary.

From:

Emet-Selch/Hythlodaeus/Azem, shenanigans

From:

Alisaie/Any, belong

From:

Any/Any, battle on the big bridge

From:

wallwalker

A/N: This is set somewhere between the DRG 50 ARR mission and the Steps of Faith. I needed something between those two points for this character.

---

It's Estinien who lowers his spear first, but not his defenses. She can still feel his burning gaze, even behind the visor. "Your lancework has improved," he says, cautiously.

"Good to 'ear," she wryly answers, but does not lower her own trident. If she'd known to expect a duel with the Azure Dragoon - well, the one who wasn't her, apparently - she would have done some stretching. But when she'd started off to Griffin Crossing again, she had thought it would be simple. The confused young man had only asked her to check for past disturbances. She'd had no way of knowing that her rival was going to ambush her there. It was definitely a close battle. She'd fought Estinien before, but this time he was more in control; she couldn't just take advantage of his blind spots, let his anger do the work for her. Fighting him to a standstill had taken a few more tricks that time.

Honestly it's impressive, the way he keeps track of her without blinding himself. She knows her own silvery armor is bright in the sunset - one of the few advantages she has over him. The metal armor weighs heavily upon her, especially compared to the light leathers she'd worn when she first learned the lancers' art. She still doesn't trust her ability to move as fast as she needed to. Estinien definitely had an advantage there; he'd been training for this his entire life.

He sighs lightly as he secures the massive spear against his back. "I do not expect you to trust me, Quizzie," he says. Her name sounds strange from his lips - the first time she remembers him using it. "The Eye of Nidhogg is... powerful, and adept at using a man's darker thoughts against him. I admit that I stumbled briefly, and I thank you for not allowing Ser Alberic to pay the price."

"As if I'd let ye 'arm him." She snorts under her own helm, trident still unerringly pointed towards his heart, the shining silver tines glinting in the sun. She doesn't know if she can best him in a fair fight, and she's in no position to even the odds any further, but she won't let her guard down yet. The first time she'd fought a Knight of Ishgard - or a former one, at least - she'd nearly died, would have died if the Echo had not manifested itself and saved her. She won't make that mistake again.

He nods slowly. "Aye... I owe you a debt for that. I have mastered the Eye again, and I will not be taken in again so easily. You have my word."

Slowly Quizzie steps back - she is still within the range of his leaps, but that means he is still within hers. "So why th' surprise attack, then? I can think of better ways to say 'ello."

He manages a small smile. "I did not attack first. I stood ready for yours, however, given our last meeting. I knew that such a thing was... deserved."

She shakes her head, sighing. "Aye, well. Much as I enjoy a good spar, would've been nice to 'ave a warning."

"Noted. I'd heard you were still in the Highlands, so I came to find you. Your reputation amongst the populace is impressive, for a foreign adventure. Even the former Count de Dzemael is singing your praises."

Hm, she'd heard that name... ah. Right. "After bravin' that bloody cave fer 'im, he'd damn well better be," she answers - she couldn't do much more than laugh, after all of those spills through the cave and the tangles with the bloody frogs. Somehow, despite the nasty voidsent and corrupted crystals and other horrors, the frogs were the part that stuck out in her memory. "I'd be 'alf tempted to take me squadron an' tear th' cursed place down myself if he weren't!"

That makes him laugh, at least. "You're not the only one with such opinions, though I'd be careful who you express them to. An old friend who keeps watch over such things told me that you had been sent by a man in the Observatorium to investigate a disturbance here. It seemed as good a place to catch up with you as any."

Quizzie - finally convinced - re-secures her trident. She seriously doubts that Nidhogg is much for joking, from what little she'd seen. Ironically enough, she's almost sure she'd been involved in that disturbance; it hadn't been that long ago since she'd fought that odd fellow and his equally-odd army of green roosters on that bridge, and she's none too sure that all of the astrologians had been told of the plan. "Well, then, 'ere I am. Anythin' in particular or did ye just want t' chat?"

Estinien looks away. "I am none too skilled with small talk," he admits - as if Quizzie wouldn't have already noticed. "But... I wished to know if all was well. With you, and with my... mentor." His voice turns pensive. "I have not had the strength to find him again, not since...."

She sighs. "Aye, well... I've seen what some o' these things can do to a man's mind. Yer lucky that Nidhogg can't temper a man." After what she'd seen with Ifrit - perfectly sensible men turned into ardent worshipers - she'd been worried that whatever the eye had done to Estinien had done the same. Fortunately, whatever else the wyrm is, apparently he isn't a primal. "But aye, I'm alright - though it sounds like ye knew that. And Ser Alberic... well, he's not too 'appy with 'ow things went, no surprise there. But 'e believes in ye still. Said 'e knew you could fight off the dragon's influence again."

Judging from the way Estinien's tense stance sags when she speaks those words, it was exactly what he'd needed to hear. "Thank you," he say quietly. "Truly, thank you. I had feared he would..." but the words seem to catch in his throat.

"What, reject ye?" She steps forward, emboldened by this, her hands still by her side. She only fully trusts one man in this frozen country, and has only now begun to trust another; Estinien, for the moment, is a distant third, but at least she could make the start. "Sounds like you should 'ave more faith in 'im, Ser Estinien."

"Faith is... difficult to come by for me. For people, at least." Oh, is he blushing, under that visor?

"Aye, I understand that. Still, it can be rewardin' at times." She stops in front of him, but still he looks away. His manner, the crossed arms... clearly he's not used to people being so close to him. He most certainly is blushing. "But t' answer yer question - we're both goin' to be fine. An' it sounds like you're goin' to be okay too. Do ye want me to tell 'im we've spoken, ease 'is mind?"

"...no," he answers after a moment, looking back at her. "I will... I will send him a message through my own means. But thank you."

"Anythin' fer me best rival," she says cheerfully. Then she does something impulsive - she lifts her hand to her lips, kissing the tips of two of her fingers, and then gently moved to press them against his cheeks. Just an old show of affection that she had used when she'd sailed with the Krakens, not that long ago.

He doesn't pull away, but the shock in his face is obvious. "I..." He stares at her for a beat, and she could almost feel the cogs in his brain turning as he took a breath. "Thank you," he finally says, "I am sure we will speak again. For now I must go, before I am seen by the wrong people."

She smiles and gives him a wave as he turns to leap away yet again, and then shakes her head as she goes back to her work, searching for evidence of any other disturbances on the bridge.

Of course she'd keep her promise, and not speak of this to Ser Alberic. Lord Haurchefant, on the other hand... she suspects he would very much enjoy this tale.

Edited (what even are tenses) Date: 2022-03-23 04:46 pm (UTC)

From:

Haha no worries on the edits. I don't know the characters (I tried to drop some prompts in multiple games so we all had some), but this was still a really cute moment. I loved the accent work, and the simple show of affection at the end.

From:

wallwalker

I completely forgot that DW sends updated e-mails for each edit. :D

But yes, thank you very much, glad you liked it! I just needed something to bridge that gap between "You tried to kill me" and "You're my friend now, we're having soft tacos later."

From:

Cirina/Any, peacekeeper

From:

mako_lies

Hades/Hythlodaeus, on the shores of the aetherial sea

Edited Date: 2022-02-24 10:30 pm (UTC)

From:

surskitty

Urianger/Elidibus, far from grace

From:

wallwalker

Aymeric/Estinien/Haurchefant, can't make a sound or they'll hear us

From:

wallwalker

Ysayle (/ or &) Vidofnir, tenderness in the ruins

From:

seventhe

BEEP BEEP LETS GET SOME RAMEN

From:

lassarina

Ignis/Gladio, "I won't break"

From:

(first FFXV fic, who dis)

Ignis closes the door behind him and sighs. Noctis and Prompto have disappeared once again, as they often do the nights Gladio acquiesces to a motel. He knows Noctis is capable of protecting himself, but he doubts how perceptive the pair of them might be on a night like this.

“Did you see where they—“

He turns back into the room where Gladio stands alone, staring into the middle distance. He seems to be turning something over in his mind. Ignis knows the feeling: the fate of Eos rests in the hands of their brooding king and his tiny entourage. It’s a fraught sort of hopeful hopelessness in which they remain two steps behind their foes. It’s enough to keep him awake most nights of late—but in this moment, Ignis is concerned as Gladio is still hurt from whatever he was off seeing to. They just left a hotel the night before. It usually takes a lot more persuading from the boys to land them in a proper room.

Gladio finally registers Ignis’ return, offering him a goofy sort of grin as he rubs at the new scar on his chest.

“Let me take a look at that,” Ignis says with some amount of exasperation.

Gladio smirks and shirks off his jacket, letting it drop to the floor in a soft heap of leather. Normally, Ignis would take this moment to intimately appreciate their shield’s impressive physique, but the thick angry scar that nearly bisects the man is more than concerning. He closes the distance between them as he removes his gloves. Gladio stops smirking and finds something of interest on the ceiling as Ignis carefully begins tracing his fingers over the mark.

“And how many restoratives did this require?” he asks, barely more than a whisper.

“All of them, I think,” Gladio answers. He touches Ignis’ elbows gently, coaxing him closer.

Ignis holds his position.

“You need to be more careful. Noctis needs you.” Ignis runs his fingers over the mark once more. “We all do,” he says, meeting Gladio’s face once more as rubs a thumb into the crease of Gladio’s hip.

“I won’t break,” Gladio says before tilting his forehead down to touch against Ignis’.

“And if you do?”

“I won’t. If you’ve got my back, anyway.”

Ignis sighs. “I do, of course.”

Gladio laughs half-heartedly as he moves his hands to rest on Ignis’ hips. There is so much Ignis wants to say, so much he wants to ask: where could Gladiolus possibly go at a time like this, do you know how much you mean to me, what will we do if we make it past the end of days? Instead, he says nothing, and he presses a hand into Gladio’s hair to pull his face down to his in a kiss.

At least for tonight, they will still have this.

From:

lassarina

I commented on AO3 but also here - thank you so much, this is delicious. Disaster boys ♥

From:

they try haha ♥

From:

Noctis/Prompto, missed opportunity

From:

Lunafreya/Nyx, whisper

From:

threewalls

'Whisper'

In the light of day, as Lunafreya treks across Eos on this journey between Astrals and against time, the ring of the Lucii is but small weight in her pocket. But the nights are lengthening, and so too are the breaks in her forward momentum. In the dark, trapped in yet another haven, unable to continue on, the ring weighs heavy on her, indeed.

The ring is for Noctis, just like Lunafreya is for Noctis. She does not wear the ring, but when she holds it in the palm of her hand, some sympathetic connection permits her to feel the echoes of the essence of those trapped within.

So many have given so much for this one chance.

The easiest to recognise are the other souls with whom Lunafreya shares some connection. The unshakeable certainty of her foremothers, the Oracles who married back into the Lucian line, who gave of themselves to Eos twice-over. Regis, so worried for his son. Her brother's desperate agony. The rulers of old know her only by role, not name, Oracle, not Lunafreya, but they too urge her on.

And--

Sometimes, when it is very dark, when Lunafreya has lost count of the days since she last spoke to a human being, she holds the ring, and feels a touch on her temple. Light enough to be a reverie, a fantasy on the border of sleep that despite her weariness she somehow cannot cross. Light enough to be fingertips. Light enough to be lips.

"Get some sleep, Princess."

Sometimes, Lunafreya wakes at dawn with the ring clutched in her palm, and her mouth tastes of ash.

Edited (Now with a proper heading!) Date: 2022-02-15 11:03 pm (UTC)

From:

necrophilia

UM OUCH

From:

threewalls

Thanks! They're such an 'ouch' pairing, given everything.

From:

*inaudible squeal*

This is so perfect (and sad) and perfect. I love, love, love the way these two fit together with their separates fates sealed.

From:

threewalls

Thanks!

Nyx is going to see the princess safe to Altissia, right? Well, she's not there yet.

Edited Date: 2022-02-16 08:34 am (UTC)

From:

threewalls

Now on Ao3

From:

lassarina

*sob* oh, Luna deserved better. So did Nyx (even if I'm critically weak against his particula tropes.) This is so good and heart-rending.

From:

threewalls

Thank you! *sob* is defintiely where I'm aiming here.

I like to think he follows her to Altissia and he's there when all that goes down. Can't protect her at that point but he can make sure she's not alone. (And then Luna and Nyx can have a ghost wedding. Because they deserved better.)

The hero never dies / the leading man never dies?

From:

lassarina

oh, thanks, just rip my heart right out at the idea of him being there for her like she was for him ;_; ow. in the best way.

From:

queenlua

this is so, so beautifully sad, thank you for the oof

From:

threewalls

Thank you for the comment!

We see so little of Luna's journey from Insomnia to Altissia, and what we do see, she's always on her own.

From:

Gladio/Any, cold nights

From:

Ignis/Gladio, letting off steam

From:

queenlua

People seem to think that Gladio's the one with a temper. He looks the type, he guesses. Big muscles, big tattoos. He can feel it in the air, sometimes, when he walks in—the other three will be haggling with a shopkeeper or a hunt tipster over a fair price, then Gladio slots in, and boom, the other guy folds just like that.

So that’s useful. Gladio doesn’t mind. But still: it’s so obvious to him that Ignis is the short fuse around here. Ten years of poise training or cotillion or whatever they put the scions of House Scientia through can’t hide the way his shoulders hitch up whenever Prompto's tapping out some obnoxious little ditty on the dashboard, or that fleeting twist of his lip when someone cuts him off in traffic, or the way-too-tight grip on the steering wheel and wonky turns that tell Gladio that, deep down, Iggy's still irked over the shopkeeper who gave them lip some hundred miles back, in some inane exchange that Gladio'd already half-forgotten.

And that’s leaving out all the times Iggy's been pissed on Noct’s behalf, astrals alive—there’s moments Gladio’s pretty sure Ignis would slit a guy’s throat just to prevent their precious prince from enduring some snide passing remark.

But no one else seems to notice. Guess that's how it is, when you're hanging around the same three people 24-7. You start noticing things. Though Noct doesn’t seem to get it, not with his tendency to whine when Ignis is already maxed out, and neither does Prompto, though in his case it’s more a doe-eyed aren’t-we-all-getting-along-great naiveté—

And sure, it’s Ignis, so it's not like he ever blows his top or anything. But Gladio winces just watching him hold it together. All that grinding his teeth can’t be good for his jaw. It’s like listening to a kettle just coming to boil that never quite gets there: one long low warning hiss, going on and on all day long.

Gladio thinks he can help with that.

He starts at dinner, while Iggy's cooking and after the campsite's all set up. "You got a whole spice rack in here or something?" he says, when Ignis pulls out some paprika from one of his impeccably-organized plastic containers, then roots around and messes all that organization right up. He keeps offering to help chop or stir something, even though he knows full well that Ignis hates that, hates anything that intrudes on his little culinary fiefdom. Generally he's just being a pest on purpose. And it's working; Ignis even grimaces at one point. Nice to see a face that's not all plastered-over perfection.

"Let's go a round, Iggy," he says, offhanded, once they're all sitting down to eat. "I'm still stiff from sitting in the car all day. I could use a spar."

Ignis raises an eyebrow. "Certainly," he says, like he's humoring him, but Gladio can hear the flecks of flint in his voice. Ignis isn't agreeing out of any good humor. He's agreeing because he thinks he can pulverize him.

Perfect.

Prompto shoots off somewhere the second he’s cleared his plate, prattling on about the golden hour and landscape photography and some perfect shot he missed earlier from this sick viewpoint a couple miles upstream. Noctis goes with him.

Which means they're all alone by the time they finally get their weapons out, and Gladio gives the guy a few minutes to warm up. Ignis’s first few jabs are embarrassing, overstiff and overextended, and he flushes because he can see that Gladio sees it. But Gladio doesn’t mind. He gives his sword a couple leisurely swings, just to keep the ol’ blood pumping, and watches and waits. When Ignis finally parries one of those lazy swings, that’s time for Gladio to pay attention. And when Ignis lands his first hit, a hard strike with the flat of his knife, that’s when Gladio makes his move—ducking fast, sliding forward, and swinging out his leg to trip Ignis.

Ignis only just misses falling on his face, making a stumbling recovery that still leaves him wide open to a thwack from the dull end of Gladio's glaive. “Gladio,” he hisses, with a quick fervent glare over the rim of his glasses. “This is a spar.”

“It sure is,” Gladio says, with his best shit-eating grin, and pivots to get another kick in. It lands: one quick hit to the kneecap, and Ignis is all wobbly on his right leg, backpedaling to recover.

There’s a stupid argument they’ve had before, about their little practice fights. Ignis gets all hung up on technique, and says the whole point of sparring is to drill specific things, the sorts of things that don’t come up every battle—parries and counters and such—and if you turn it into an anything-goes brawl, it defeats the whole point. It’s a stupid argument, because real fighting isn’t bound by any rules so why should they be, and for such a smart guy Ignis is strangely nearsighted (ha) about this sort of thing, Gladio's so obviously right—and there it is. When Ignis kneels quick, Gladio’s expecting a low stab, and moves his guard accordingly—which leaves him completely unguarded when Ignis instead throws a fistful of dirt into his face. It's a square hit, too; the dust stings. When he backpedals and finally blinks the stinging dirt away, the fire-bright glint in Ignis’s eyes jolts him exactly like a shot of whiskey—water finally boiling over, fury at last allowed into the fore.

Ignis fights fast from there. When he finally overwhelms him—and Gladio knew from the start that Ignis would would, he’s no match for a pissed-off Scientia, not when he doesn’t want to actually hurt the guy at least—when Ignis overwhelms him, it’s almost too quick to follow. One second, Gladio's still matching him steel for steel; the next, he’s missed a guard and is now skipping back from Ignis’s knives with every single step, without even the fraction of a second he'd need for a proper recovery; and the next moment after that, Gladio trips backward over some stray stone, falling hard on his back and then Ignis is right there on top of him. There’s a struggle—an exquisite struggle; he grins when he manages to knock Ignis's glasses clean off his face—but it ends when Ignis knees him in the stomach, knocking all the breath out of him, then sloppily braces one arm across Gladio’s chest, and uses the other to press a dagger against his throat. That’s not the flat edge, either, Gladio notes with amused interest; he feels the teeniest little prick where the blade meets his skin. Poor Iggy must be really wrung out.

“Uncle,” Gladio says, laughing, feeling the weight of Ignis on his chest as he laughs. Ignis drops his dagger at once, like it's suddenly scalded him. He stares where it fell a moment, then back to Gladio. He doesn't move to get up.

“There,” Gladio purrs, “now didn't that feel good?”

“No,” Ignis says, with all the stiff dignity he can muster. Which isn’t much, The guy’s glasses are kicked into the dirt and the faint tan lines left behind make him look like a raccoon.

Gladio cranes his neck up and kisses Ignis, then, a blink-and-you'll-miss-it peck, quick as a pickpocket. A stolen kiss. See if Iggy can say “no” to that.

And Ignis doesn’t, of course, just works his jaw a moment, the same way he does every time they do this little dance, like he’s trying to decide something.

Gladio waits a beat—he can do that, he’s not the one who's still simmering—waits, then does his best oh-gee-I-must’ve-overstepped look. “Really? No?” and he makes a motion like a shrug, like he’s going to squirm out from under him. “Alright then, better luck next time—“

Ignis pins his wrists before Gladio can squirm so much as an inch. Pins him with all the subtlety of a damn nail gun, precise and powerful and bound to leave a bruise. “No,” Ignis says Except now no means something different, means no don’t leave, means maybe Gladio’s getting lucky after all—

When Ignis kisses Gladio back, Gladio’s stifling a laugh the whole time, with how absurdly earnest the guy is. There’s too much tongue, too much teeth, too much, in general, and with anyone else that’d be Gladio’s cue to politely peel away, get back to the bar and find a better lay, except he knows Ignis better than that. The guy’s just getting warmed up, same as the spar. What comes next is worth the wait. He feels it in a breath, a great long shuddering sigh when Ignis finally lets go, and when he kisses Gladio again it’s supple and purposeful and so so good—

—and, just as suddenly, Ignis pulls away, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, and whispers, “Not out here.”

“Oh, come on,” Gladio shouts, and now it’s his turn to be pissed. “No one else is around for miles—“

“Gladio.” He’s retrieved his glasses, he’s standing up straight, and he’s almost looking dignified again. Fucker can pull himself together so fast. “We left Insomnia,” he says. “We didn’t leave Eos.”

Iggy's got this idea that no one’s ever fucked outside. Another stupid running argument of theirs. In Insomnia, sure, get a fucking room, everyone’s living on top of each other, it’s the least you can do—but they’re in the middle of a forest, no civilization in sight, he doesn’t think the damn garulas wandering in the distance care either way, and anyway there’s trees around them, they can be quick about it—

But he’s used to losing this one. Ignis has already retreated into their tent, and if he wastes too much time bitching, then Noctis and Prompto will get back before they’ve had a chance at the real fun—

“Gladio,” Ignis calls, impatient and imperious at once. Obnoxious as hell. Good thing he's pretty enough to make up for it.

"Just a sec," he says, pushing himself upright, dusting himself off, and jogging after.

From:

Prompto/Ignis or Prompto & Ignis, I'll be your guide

From:

Without his sight, there’s little opportunity to draw Prompto aside unnoticed for a private conversation. Ignis resigns himself to the fact that Noctis and Gladio will know a conversation took place, and they may be curious.

“Prompto,” he says. “May I speak with you alone?”

“Oh, uh,” Prompto says. “Yeah. I mean, obviously. That’s fine.” A pause. “Uh, I guess I’ll find us someplace?”

He leads Ignis a short distance from their camp. Not yet dark enough for the daemons to come out, Ignis deduces, unless Prompto is being exceptionally scatterbrained today. Of course, in that case, Gladio would have prevented them from leaving.

“So... what did you want to talk about?” Prompto asks. He’s fidgeting noisily, shifting from foot to foot; Ignis doesn’t need his eyes to tell him that.

“I feel I’ve been a burden on you,” Ignis says.

“What? No! We’re totally fine. We need you around to, like, be sensible and – and Ignis.”

“You’re saying we,” Ignis says. “I was speaking of you specifically.”

“You think you’re a burden on me?” His confusion sounds genuine, and yet it’s a struggle to believe in it. “Why?”

Ignis finds himself reluctant to speak. What if it truly hadn’t crossed Prompto’s mind; what if he only learns to resent Ignis after hearing it laid out?

But it’s a discussion they need to have.

“You’ve been at my side since...” He gestures at his useless eyes, half wondering whether, after long enough in the dark, he’ll forget how to gesture at all. “Supporting me, guiding me, explaining the situation.”

“Uh, because I care about you, dude.”

“It’s a great deal for a person to take on,” Ignis says. “You have your own life. I don’t want to impose.”

It burns in his throat, the knowledge that he’s no longer useful. On this journey, he’s dedicated himself to making the lives of his companions easier and more comfortable. He’s fought for them, he’s driven them, he’s cooked for them. All skills he’s lost. Perhaps he’ll regain some of them, with practice, but there’s no telling how long that might take.

“Wait,” Prompto says. “Holy crap. You’re being insecure.”

Ignis pauses. “I’m not sure what to make of that reaction.”

“Sorry. It’s just... you’re Ignis. You’re the most got-it-together person I know.”

“How things change,” Ignis remarks.

“You really don’t need to worry,” Prompto says. “I’m totally, totally okay with helping. I want to help. You’re my friend. I mean, if – we’re friends, right?”

“We’re friends,” Ignis allows, after a moment. He’s never really thought of them in those terms before; he’s never been a person with many friends. But, on consideration, it’s hard to deny.

It tightens his throat, a little.

“So what was your plan?” Prompto asks. “You just... stay behind somewhere?”

“I’d need to discuss it with Noct, of course, but perhaps,” Ignis says. “Or we could hire some additional help, to take some of the pressure off you.”

“I mean, if you’re just thinking of hiring someone to fight, maybe?” Prompto says. “Maybe Aranea? That’d be pretty badass. But I don’t think we need to hire a guide for you. I mean – if you’re okay with me, if I’m good enough. I want to be there, uh. B-by your side.”

There’s a brief silence.

“You don’t sound especially confident,” Ignis points out.

“Well, yeah,” Prompto mumbles. “Because the stuff I’m saying is really embarrassing.”

“I appreciate it,” Ignis says, after a moment. If Prompto is truly being sincere, he owes him some sincerity in return.

“I mean it.” Shifting, movement. Prompto’s hand on Ignis’s wrist, then on his face, and then – it takes a moment for Ignis’s confused mind to parse it; did Prompto just kiss him on the cheek? “Seriously. You’re important to me – like, to all of us, obviously, not just me, have you seen how worried Noct – uh, I mean – holy crap, did I just kiss you?”

“I wasn’t expecting it,” Ignis admits.

“Six, I’m so sorry! Oh, man, I – holy crap, I can’t believe I did that, it just – it felt like a normal thing to do! It just felt like the thing you do in this kind of conversation!” His voice is climbing shrilly towards the heavens. “It is absolutely not the thing you do in this kind of conversation!”

“To clarify,” Ignis says, mildly, “when you asked whether we were friends, what sort of answer were you hoping for?”

“Please don’t tell the others I did that,” Prompto begs. “Please, please, please, please don’t say anything.”

It’s a struggle not to smile. “I suppose I can hold my tongue.”

“Thank you,” Prompto says. “Thank you times a billion. Wow. We’re completely even for any help I’ve ever given you.”

It’s a flippant comment, but something about it helps to settle Ignis, somehow. For a moment, he lets himself believe that it’s true, that he’s paid back his debt.

From:

OMG this was adorable

From:

Thank you!

From:

EEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!! ♥♥♥!!!

You got their voices down PERFECTLY! I love it! Thank you so much!

From:

Thank you so much; that's great to hear!

From:

lassarina

BOYS. *sobs at them* This is so adorable and also my HEART, how could you (I mean this in the best way)

From:

BOYS. I love them. Thank you!

From:

threewalls

I love how much I can hear the English voice actors saying all these lines.

Prompto's flail at having accidentally (really, Prompto) kissed Ignis is so very Prompto; Ignis's deadpan calm when faced with the same is very Ignis.

From:

I've spent the last couple of days struggling with whether I'm confident enough to post this to AO3, and this comment is what finally pushed me to take the plunge. Thank you so much!

From:

queenlua

these absolute cuties

whole thing was great but some fave lines:

he’s never been a person with many friends. But, on consideration, it’s hard to deny. hailghealg IGNIS. fuckin'. "well if you look at the evidnece"-ing his way into friendship over here

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these absolute cuties

whole thing was great but some fave lines:

he’s never been a person with many friends. But, on consideration, it’s hard to deny. hailghealg IGNIS. fuckin'. "well if you look at the evidnece"-ing his way into friendship over here

<i“Wait,” Prompto says. “Holy crap. You’re being insecure.” literally barked aloud with laughter

and also Prompto's absolute panic there at the end, delightful, thanks for posting!

From:

Thank you! I love the FFXV boys so much; they're all a lot of fun to write.

From:

Noctis/Any, Noctis is under the effect of Toad

From:

(with thanks to lassarina for giving this a read-over)

An awkwardness hung in the cavern air. The three stared at Noctis, who in turn was staring fixedly at a rock.

"Well," Gladio said after a moment. "That was unexpected."

"I had to do something!" Prompto said. "I mean, what was I supposed to do, carry him in my pocket?"

Noctis made a choking sound. Gladio snorted, clearly amused at the situation. Spots of color darkened Prompto's cheeks, and he said again, "I had to do something! We're out of restoratives!"

"What you did was not without a certain logic," Ignis said calmly. "Noct is a prince, after all. It stands to reason that a kiss might return him from amphibious form."

"Yeah, but Prompto's no maiden," Gladio pointed out, eyes still dancing with laughter.

The blush on Prompto's cheeks got even deeper and he opened his mouth to answer, but Noctis interrupted. "Could we not talk about it any more?" he said, eyes still fixed on the rock.

"Noct is right," Ignis said. "We should resume our search for the crypt."

Gladio nodded. "We haven't searched north yet," he said, and walked off, Ignis trailing behind him. Prompto moved to follow.

"Prompto," Noctis called. Prompto turned to Noctis, and their eyes met. "Would you do it again? I mean, if you had to," Noctis said quickly.

"Of course," Prompto answered.

Noctis nodded, and walked past Prompto, his arm brushing against Prompto's chest. Heat surged through Prompto. The cavern wasn't that narrow; it's not like Noctis had to squeeze past him. Maybe his impromptu kiss hadn't been such a silly idea after all.

From:

lassarina

I know I said it already but this is super adorable ♥

From:

OMG this is so cute. I knew exactly which cave network this happened in, and the way Prompto leapt to action (and then was embarrassed) was so true to character. I also loved Noctis contemplating how he feels about it all, and the subtle tease at the end where he's letting Prompto know that he's not mad at the possibility of them being more intimate. Thank you!

From:

threewalls

This is so cute! Prompto saying so much, Noctis saying barely anything, they both feel very them.

From:

vriddy

Aww, this is so cute!!!

From:

queenlua

d'awww, delightful

all the voices are so spot-on but i particularly laughed at ignis's characteristic extremely-deadpan-but-deep-down-he's-howling-laughing sense of humor :P

thanks for sharing!

From:

mec

This is so very, very cute! <3

From:

It wouldn't be a kinkmeme if I didn't toss in something off the wall, so here's one:

Lightsaber Tonberry/Ignis, light in the dark

From:

threewalls

Cor/Gilgamesh, "Long time no see"

From:

lassarina

There is a strange silence in the heat of their battle; Cor recognizes it immediately. He puts it from his mind while he and Gladiolus continue their battle. It is not yet time.

When their enemies are gone and they are both breathing hard from the exertion, Cor checks his watch. "Sun'll set soon," he says. "I can take first shift."

He sees the argument form before Gladiolus swallows it back. He hasn't lost the habit of obedience to not-quite-commands, though he wants to keep going. He shouldn't even be here, should be with their uncrowned king, but he has always been stubborn and today is no different.

They find a niche, shielded well enough by a pillar that gives them excellent sight lines for anything approaching but keeps them hidden from opponents. Gladiolus tends his weapon first, as he should. They don't speak while they eat their travel rations and sip from their canteens. Cor thinks he remembers a stream in the next cave where they'll be able to refill, but he still drinks sparingly.

In a short time, Gladiolus is asleep, head pillowed on his folded jacket, and Cor silently moves beyond the pillar, to the edge of the waiting silence. "Long time no see," he says, the words barely audible to human ears.

The silence fragments into the delicate clatter of beads and the shimmer of steel. Gilgamesh is as Cor remembers him, massive and intimidating. His arm is missing. His face is unreadable behind his mask.

"You return," Gilgamesh says eventually.

"He asked for guidance."

Gilgamesh considers this. "He must face the trial alone."

"Of course."

The silence stretches and thins. Cor has relived this battle in dreams and nightmares for three decades. There is one thing he did not do then, that he has regretted ever since. He moves forward slowly. Gilgamesh watches him, eyes narrow behind the mask.

Close enough to fight, close enough to touch, and Cor grips the shoulder of Gilgamesh's remaining arm and pulls him in. His mask tastes of steel; it is as kissing armor. Cor doesn't care. He has always been drawn to strength.

Gilgamesh does not return the kiss, but neither does he push Cor away. When Cor steps back, the former Shield's stance is different. Less wary.

"You may try that again," Gilgamesh says, "after the trial."

Cor keeps the smile off his face, barely, until the former Shield disappears into the depths of the caves.

From:

threewalls

Thank you!

Such lovely ambiguous 'we have unfinished business' here. Definitely love how Cor is all business to start, but clearly is aware that Gilgamesh is lurking about. That Gilgamesh is also claiming to be all business but, well, Gilgamesh not immediately attacking someone, letting Cor close enough to kiss him without so much violence first, says *a lot* doesn't it?

From:

lassarina

OH NO I somehow didn't answer you? ack, I'm so sorry, I thought I had!

The ambiguity of the trial with Gilgamesh fascinates me, and also just--Cor the Immortal whose legend is so huge but exists only because someone allowed it is just - yes, I will play with that, please.

From:

threewalls

If it reassures, I also somehow thought you had replied before, too. It's fine.

Everything about Cor and Gilgamesh fascinates me. We never find out if Cor is immortal or if that's just a nickname. (Do we ever find out how he survives the fall of Insomnia, or is that just glossed over like so much in the game?)

From:

lassarina

I do not remember! A good question though and maybe now I want to play with that.

From:

threewalls

Feel free! I wouldn't say no to more Cor or more Cor&/Gilgamesh!

From:

queenlua

He has always been drawn to strength. banger line

also, He hasn't lost the habit of obedience to not-quite-commands—i kinda love the subtle implication/worldbuilding here. the Kingsguard et al are kind of a funny group, right? ostensibly military/secret service-y, but the way they give and take orders feels more fluid than that, more like a gang or something—so much told and ordered in glances and authoritative vibes and such. (also i wouldn't contradict cor either, lol)

this was dope, <33333 your cor, thanks for sharing!

From:

lassarina

thank you so much! I was feeling very shaky both on canon and on vibe so I"m glad that worked out aaaaaaaa

The Kingsguard seems to have a completely wild first-among-equals/"I do what I want" vibe and the closest analogue I can think of is actually Spectres from Mass Effect, who are basically special forces cops unconstrained by procedure or chain of command (other than like, the Council that "rules" the galaxy for some definitions of those terms); the whole idea if that they pick people who are very very competent and turn them loose without bureaucracy to get in their way. Which obviously is problematic as FUCK and leads to bad actors, but also makes some degree of sense when you need people to operate independently in emergency situations, but also, PROBLEMATIC AS FUCK, and anyway the Kingsguard sure does seem to run around doing whatever they want as long as they're defending Lucis or the King??

From:

queenlua

luna [&,/] any: the world god only knows

From:

queenlua

noct [&,/] any: temper

From:

queenlua

noct [&,/] gladio: go like hell

From:

queenlua

prompto [&,/] gladio: not this again

From:

queenlua

luna [&,/] aranea: pale light

From:

queenlua

prompto [&,/] any: thinking of someone else

From:

queenlua

ardyn [&,/] noctis: the day the sky turned red

From:

queenlua

ardyn [&,/] gladio: the only moment we were alone

From:

seventhe

AND THE TACTICS UNIVERSE

From:

lassarina

Agrias /& Ovelia, fealty

From: (Anonymous)

/lobs this over the wall

https://archiveofourown.org/works/37219414

From:

samuraiter

Ramza & Boco, misadventures in the Tactics Advance version of Ivalice.

From: (Anonymous)

Wiegraf/Isilud or anyone/Isilud, uncertainty

From:

Vagrant Story: Rosencrantz/anyone: unsubtle ulterior motives

From:

Vagrant Story: Ashley/Tia, the heat of the forge paled in comparison

From:

Vagrant Story: Sydney/Hardin, near to bursting

From:

Vagrant Story: Hardin & Joshua, reassurance

From:

seventhe

MY MEMORY'S A BIT FUZZY

From:

lassarina

Seven/Rem, respite

From:

seventhe

It isn't often they do this.

There aren't that many moments they feel truly hidden; there are too many of them, too well armed, and with Eight and Ace along they aren't exactly subtle. But sometimes they find a corner in a city or a cavern in a mountain and they can all retreat to rest, and sleep, and practice, and just have a few moments to be themselves.

Rem has been leaning against the cavern wall and thinking very little until she hears the sounds of footsteps and looks up to see Seven, her whip-blade over her shoulder and her expression unusually blank.

Rem knows Seven views herself as one of the leaders, the caretakers; King and Queen might lead by example during battle, but Seven is no slouch, and she takes the time to check in on the less-experienced ones like Queen never does. She also knows Seven must be exhausted from this last haul; her weapon is neither long-range or short-range, and she manages the space between with special aplomb. Rem shifts slightly and extends an arm as an invitation.

Seven's face relaxes slightly and she approaches, sliding herself under Rem's arm with grace and tucking her entire self into Rem's shoulder. Seven isn't large but she's tall, and Rem's particularly small, so it always makes her happy when she can hold the other girl.

Physical contact between them is non-existent outside of healthy claps to the shoulder or elbows to the ribs. Rem likes when Seven comes to her and folds up as if she just wants to crawl inside Rem's cloak and be hid.

"It's okay," Rem says. She summons up a very low level of her magic, so that she can stroke healing into Seven's shoulder and spine as her hand moves.

"When is it over?" Seven whispers into her shoulder. Rem knows her powers make her different, but she's never wanted anything big: no leadership, no authority. She thrives on being support. Seven is different; Seven cares differently.

"We'll be fine," Rem murmurs into Seven's hair. It's so bright: threaded silver strands that make Seven look so much older than her few years.

Seven retracts herself only so that she can look up at Rem. In this position Seven is so small, and Rem wants to extend her arms like a shield to protect everything they are.

In the end Seven says nothing. She cranes her neck upwards, asking, and Rem bends down to kiss her. It's soft and sweet and full of the despair they all feel at the moment, too rich to dissolve.

"It's alright," Rem murmurs again, and Seven sinks into her side, all her weight pressing against Rem. It's a great boundary; Rem knows her own edges only because Seven is here to press against them.

From:

lassarina

*SOBS*

how dare you (this was exactly what I wanted thank you)

the healing, the "space between" that Seven occupies, the way she checks when the "leaders" don't, aaaaaaaaaaah my HEART precious murder children

From:

seventhe

Seven/Queen, head of the class

From:

lassarina

Queen is better than perhaps anyone else in their group at hiding her reactions, but Seven is more perceptive than most. The class leader's eyelashes flicker slightly when their last tends are handed back. Seven waits until class is over, when the chatter of the others milling about will cover her question, and approaches. "Excuse me," she says politely, "but may I have a moment?"

A hint of a frown, and Queen almost turns her away, but then she seems to steel herself for her responsibilities and nods. They withdraw to the garden. It is a sunny day. Seven thinks maybe she will study outside, later.

"What is it?" Queen asks.

There is no one present besides them, so Seven can be honest without risking Queen's status. "You were upset. A missed answer?"

Queen flinches.

"I'm not going to tell anyone," Seven assures her quickly. "I only wanted to see how I can help."

Queen lifts a hand to the ends of her long hair, fidgeting with it. "I can't believe I missed a question on the governance of Concordia," she admits, her lips twisting with displeasure.

Seven got that question right, but knows better than to say it. "Maybe we could review together," she offers. "I'm feeling shaky on my imperial tactical history."

Queen glances sideways at her. "You're a good study partner, but a bad liar," she says.

Seven flushes.

"I'll take you up on your offer," Queen says, and Seven turns to her just in time for Queen's lips to brush softly over her cheek instead of her lips. "Thank you."

Seven waits until Queen turns away to say, "You're still the head of the class."

"I know."

From:

seventhe

CROSSOVER EXTRAORDINAIRE

From:

Biggs(Core)/Steiner: finally, someone who appreciates chivalry!

(...Look, the Record Dungeons were more entertaining than I expected.)

From:

seventhe

CROSSOVER WITH PLOT

From:

lassarina

Raegan/Akstar, respect

From:

Nichol & Sakura, a perfect strategy

From:

seventhe

ANOTHER GUY

From:

lassarina

Seth/Gloria, shy

From:

seventhe

SUCH AS SPIRITS WITHIN OR CRYSTAL CHRONICLES OR WHATEVER I DUNNO MAN

From:

samuraiter

Final Fantasy Mystic Quest – Benjamin / Kaeli / Phoebe, home from a years-long voyage.

From:

seventhe

CROSSING WORLDS TO GET YOUR SMOOCHES IN

From:

Squall/Yuna, guardian for hire. (Now posted in the correct place, whoops.)

From:

samuraiter

Cloud / Terra, a post-Dissidia reunion in the ruins of Midgar.

From:

Aerith/Yuna, the weight of the world rests on your shoulders

From:

“It’s not really fair, is it? Dying young.”

Yuna tries to have a smile for everyone who approaches her. It falters and fades as she registers what’s been said. “I...”

The question sounds like it should be rhetorical, but the woman who asked it is watching her expectantly, head cocked to one side, waiting for an answer.

“It’s a burden I shoulder gladly,” Yuna says. “For Spira’s sake.”

She wants the people of Spira to sleep easily after she defeats Sin. If she lets them believe she feared her fate, they might feel sad; they might feel guilty. It’s important to be brave.

“People won’t remember who you were, you know,” the woman says. “They’ll remember this... this perfect version of you. It’s kind of frustrating. I don’t like being jealous of myself.”

Yuna doesn’t take her staff in hand, not yet. But she touches it, to make sure it’s there. “You... have experience?”

“You could say that.”

Her clothes are unusual, now that Yuna is paying attention. From an earlier time? They look like they could be machina-made.

“I’m Aerith, by the way,” the stranger adds, after a moment. “Maybe I should have led with that.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Yuna says.

Aerith laughs. “Really? I think I’ve kind of messed this meeting thing up.”

It’s Yuna’s response to any introduction; it came out without thought.

“It’s... a little strange to meet you, too,” Yuna admits.

“I wasn’t planning to be so intense,” Aerith says. “I just have some complicated feelings about sacrifice. I thought maybe you’d want to talk to someone who might... kind of understand.”

“You’re unsent,” Yuna says.

“Apparently,” Aerith says. “I don’t really understand how death works here. I think I somehow returned to the wrong planet.”

Yuna has no idea what to make of that.

“I just think you’re facing something really difficult,” Aerith says. “I wanted to help you talk it through.”

Yuna tilts her head. “That... sounds like you want me to change my mind, perhaps.”

“I don’t know,” Aerith says. “Maybe? You remind me of myself, a little. It’d be nice to see one of us live out her life.”

“There are other lives at stake,” Yuna says. “I’ve made my decision. I’m sorry. But I will not abandon my pilgrimage.”

Aerith laughs again. “You definitely remind me of myself.”

Yuna hesitates. “But... I appreciate the concern.”

It feels like she shouldn’t say it, somehow. Like she’s admitting that, if she had the choice, if she wouldn’t be kept awake all her life by the thought of Sin’s victims, she would want to live.

The world needs her to walk to her fate with a smile.

Aerith’s expression softens. “You’re carrying a lot, huh? You sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

Yuna shakes her head. “It feels selfish to complain to someone who has... who has already passed on.”

“I’m not important here,” Aerith says. “There’s nothing that can be done for me. You’re still alive.”

Yuna finds it difficult to hold her gaze.

She should send Aerith, she knows. It’s her duty as a summoner. But when she’s faced with an unsent who looks and moves and speaks like a person—

The unsent aren’t alive. But it feels like removing Aerith from the living world would be killing her.

All she can think to do is seek permission. “Did you approach me because you wanted me to send you?”

Aerith blows out a long breath. Yuna finds herself wondering how that works, for the unsent. Do they need to breathe at all?

“Honestly, no,” Aerith says. “I mean, I – I understand the natural order. The cycle of life. You return to the Lifestream; that’s how it’s meant to be.”

“The Lifestream?”

“Oh. Never mind. The Farplane, I mean.” She pauses. “But... I’d like to stay a little longer, if I can.”

It’s probably Yuna’s responsibility to argue against that. “The unsent... lose themselves, eventually. They become fiends.”

“Weeeeell,” Aerith says, adopting a conspicuously thoughtful pose, “I’ll just have to stick close to you. That way there’s always someone there to send me if I start trying to eat people, right?”

“You’d like to travel with me?” Yuna asks, taken aback.

“I’m kind of invested,” Aerith says. “I’ve heard so much talk about the lady summoner. And, now that I’ve actually met you – I don’t know, you’re interesting.” She pauses. “If you beat Sin, I want to see it. And, if you get to live your life, I want to see that, too.”

It’s hard for Yuna to envision her life extending beyond this pilgrimage. She knows she won’t give it up. If another summoner brings the Calm, she might have a few more years, at least. But the summoner who died in her place will haunt her.

“This is... very sudden,” Yuna says.

“Give it some thought.” Aerith startles her with a quick kiss. By the side of the mouth, not quite on the mouth; it’s hard to read the intent. She pulls back and winks. “I promise not to be boring.”

Yuna has had very little idea of how to react for most of this conversation, but she finds herself laughing now. “I think I can trust you to keep that promise.”

Aerith would be a strange addition to their travelling party, perhaps. It makes Yuna shiver, the idea of being guarded by someone already dead. But she can’t deny that she’s curious about Aerith, her life and her death, her use of strange phrases.

And, if Aerith really does understand what Yuna is facing, perhaps it truly would help to talk about it.

From:

lassarina

Ooooooh the dramatic irony in this, in Yuna fretting about Aerith guarding her while unsent. *chef fucking kiss*

I love this; I love their similarities and Aerith's comment that people remember the ideal of you, not who you were (even her own canon did that to her, augh). And I love Yuna's focus on being who she thinks people want her to be. (This is why I actually love X-2; seeing Yuna get to live and find out who she is, is just so good, even if it's buried under a lot of uhhhhh mess.)

This is lovely. ♥

From:

♥ Thank you so much! I really like your thoughts about X-2 here.

From:

AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH omg this! I love how well you nail Aerith's brand of optimism, and I love the crossover of her passing through death and making her way to Spira. And the little kiss and wink *chef's kiss*

From:

Thank you so much, both for this comment and for the prompt! I saw 'Aerith/Yuna' and immediately went 'wow, this is the best idea anyone has ever had'.

From:

anonne

Aw these two!! I love the contrast between their personalities, and how Aerith gently encourages Yuna to give real thought to what she's doing instead of just following tradition.

From:

Thank you! It's so interesting to envision them interacting, with all their similarities and their differences.

From:

queenlua

yo this hecking rules

just... loved Aerith's voice here, in particular. wry, direct, gently amused, I don’t like being jealous of myself... you make her play off Yuna so well. thanks for posting this!

From:

Thank you! I hadn't written Aerith before and I was nervous about it, so I'm really glad to hear that.

From:

threewalls

Chocolina/Prompto, see something you like?

From:

thatguy62

Ingus/Ramza, "Alone, I was powerless"

From:

queenlua

Al-Cid [&,/] Zidane: one-up

From:

queenlua

Al-Cid [&,/] Seymour: dangerous bets

From:

queenlua

prompto [&,/] zidane: barking at the moon

From:

queenlua

noct [&,/] hope: what we had was not enough

From:

starleyfar

Bartz/Cloud, "Stay with me."

From:

starleyfar

Ramza/Krile (ffv), "Once you meet her"

From:

Al-Cid Margrace/Beatrix

Prompt: "A beautiful rose such as yourself shouldn't be left unattended."

From:

Al-Cid Margrace(/, &) Locke Cole

Prompt: Unforeseen similarity amongst differences

From:

seventhe

WE CANT GUARANTEE ANYONE WILL ACTUALLY WRITE YOUR SQUALL / DEAN WINCHESTER PROMPT BUT YOU MAY AS WELL PUT IT HERE IF YOU LIKE

From:

seventhe

i now have to ask for squall leonhart / dean winchester just to see if anyone bites like i listed it as an example because it was so ridiculous it made me laugh so someone please make me laugh harder

From:

threewalls

"What?"

"What do you think?"

He's the guy who followed Dean in here. Marks are usually older, but this guy's probably not any older than Dean. Old enough to rent a car, or Dean wouldn't have found him loitering around the gas station.

Balamb may be the middle of nowhere, but at least the washroom floor isn't sticky under Dean's knees.

Jesus Christ, who needs that many belts?

It doesn't take long. The guy doesn't say much, not even when he comes. Fine by Dean. He's not sucking cock at gas stations to find romance.

He splashes water on his face with one hand, classic misdirect, even though the guy's still fucking around with his fifteen belts. Walking for the door, though, that gets Dean a Funguar-in-head lights stare.

"How about you take five to pull yourself together?" he prompts. "I'll go first, so nobody puts two and two together."

And that's how Dean gets the keys to a classic car with a full tank of gas, without paying a gil.

From:

lassarina

EPIC

From:

threewalls

I don't know enough of Americana to stick Squall in the world of Supernatural, but honestly, they're both monster hunters. It could work.

From: