FINAL FANTASY KISS BATTLE 2011.

[seventhe]

It’s February and yes, that means: time for the kiss battle. Friend kisses, loving kisses, angry kisses, familial kisses, porny kisses, mouth to mouth or mouth to cheek or mouth to [insert body part here] -- all are welcome!

Guidelines for the game:

• All kisses welcome! Gen, shippy, family, friendship!


• Be kind to other people’s character/relationship choices. :) Everyone is welcome!


• Seriously, everyone is welcome - Livejournal, Dreamwidth, OpenID, whatever!


• When leaving prompts, leave one prompt per comment with the subject line: FANDOM - CHARACTERS/SHIP and your prompt in the comment body. (EX: FFVII - Cloud/Reno)


• Prompt early, prompt often and leave as many as you want!


• Prompts can be filled multiple times.


• No prompts required if you desire a kiss blitzkrieg; just post it as a reply to the entry!


• Tell your friends!

<center><a href="http://seventhe.dreamwidth.org/45284.html"><img src="http://img25.imageshack.us/img25/2347/kissbattlebanner.jpg" border="0" /></a></center>

EDIT - Make sure you're watching the later pages, too -- there are a lot of fantastic prompts hiding there that would like some kissing~!

Comments

FFX - Auron and Tidus

[radish]

Non-shippy, familial kiss. SOMEHOW, I WANT TO SEE THIS WORK.

Limbo (Tidus, Auron, G)

[seventhe]

The dreams and the Fayth and the Unsent were not so similar, in the end - but they were not so different that Tidus wasn't able to reach out for one second, to grab at the blur of burnt-red pyreflies that looked like Auron's coat--

His fingers clutched. For a second. Auron half-materialized before him, the edges of the coat slipping through Tidus' fingers until he realized it was his own fingers that were slipping. Some kind of limbo, here, some pathway made of memories and dreams and pyreflies, connecting two men that didn't really exist anymore.

His heart clenched. Auron's face swam in the murky water-air-(what was it, really? He remembered diving into an ocean. Of pyreflies? Was this the Farplane?), looking surprisingly -- cranky.

Tidus laughed, and the laugh solidified something like his body, and he leapt through the air-water and hugged Auron around the waist. And he felt the other man stiffen at the hug, wary, and he laughed again, because it was almost really like hugging Auron goodbye--

"Tidus." It was and wasn't a voice, and he looked up into Auron's face, wrinkled and wavering in the uncertain light.

"Bye, old man." His voice was light, free, and how were they talking - did it even matter? "I'll miss you."

Auron's eyes crinkled as he smiled - vaguely - brilliantly - just once, and he leaned forward and kissed Tidus on the forehead, and it burned: blessing, benediction, the lips of an Unsent upon the dream of the Fayth, and all Tidus could think for a second was aw, so he really did like me after all--

--and then suddenly he was surfacing, brilliant-blue water cold on the sudden realization of his body, and someone was whistling just behind him.

FFX - Yuna & Valefor

[(Anonymous)]

Friendship kiss. Cause awwwwh.

HO SHI-- DID I REALLY GET 1ST *AND* 2ND COMMENT?

Re: FFX - Yuna & Valefor

[radish]

THAT WAS ME. DW, WHY DID YOU KICK ME OUT?

FFX - Auron/Braska (or Auron & Braska, either way)

[owlmoose]

Decisions

ps yaaaaay Kiss Battle!!!

Alignment (Auron/Braska, PG)

[seventhe]

"Auron." The voice is so soft and Auron hears it instantly, as if every fiber of his body is tuned to it - and perhaps it is; after a journey such as this one, blade and blood and blast all blurring into one long day that spans centuries, maybe his entire being has in fact aligned itself with Lord Braska. Auron would not be surprised to learn it is so; it hurts more this way, so Spira must approve.

He says nothing and simply listens, as the soft footsteps cross the intricate metal floor of Zanarkand; he waits until Braska's robes appear at the edges of his vision. Soft, muted colors. Everything about Braska is soft and gentle, layers of silk and cotton over a framework of steel. Even his mage's spells seem to bring release rather than destruction, Fira slipping gently down a fiend's throat and closing its eyes.

"Auron," Braska says, "I need you to agree to this."

And Auron laughs, hard and harsh, because he cannot agree to anything anymore: he is out of alignment with Yevon, completely, the spear that pierces his heart. He is out of phase with Summoners and their spirals; he is the opposite of the Calm.

Braska sighs. "I will do it anyway, but it will be easier if you have agreed to it."

At this, Auron's heart clutches, and he turns to face his lord, soft pale shadows in Zanarkand's strange light. "I cannot condone this." His voice is dark, and rough, and it breaks on the soft lines of Braska's face. "I cannot agree to you going to die for a false hope, and I cannot -" Here his voice actually breaks, as he glances into the shadows, at the man sleeping beside the resin of their fire. Even this far into their journey, facing his own destruction, Jecht still snores like a shoopuf on hypers. "I just can't, Braska."

"I cannot make you." Braska's eyes are heavy on his face. They are the only thing not-soft about Braska: his eyes have always been sharp, a grey so dark Auron thinks maybe they are the source of all of his iron; he is drawn to them like a magnet. "And I won't make you. But I wish you could see how much I need you."

Auron's laugh is so sad, now, a choking sound that fades into the black.

"We both know Jecht is something different," Braska continues, and his voice is soft - but not with reverence; as if he doesn't want Zanarkand to hear their secrets. "He is from some other world, some other time: what if he is the key to breaking this chain?"

"And I should let you die for the chance?" Auron scoffs, even as he wants to sag at Braska's feet. "What if he is not?"

"Then I need you," Braska says plainly, his eyes wide open and clear, "to help Yuna find the weak link." The clarity turns hard. "I need you to help my child break free of this. I need you to make sure Yunie doesn't die too."

The words are harsh and Auron is almost surprised at his lord's cruelty, until he sees the tears welling in the corners of Braska's eyes - that that breaks him, for Braska has not cried yet, not for anything: not for the betrayal of his church or the lies of Yevon or the truths of Yunalesca. "Oh, my lord," and he hasn't called Braska that since the first day of their travels. Auron leans forward, broken, his thumb wiping the wet trail on Braska's cheek. His lips touch there a moment later, and Braska is shaking, and his heart clenches even as he brings his mouth down to Braska's and kisses him, as soft and gentle and strong as Braska is himself, in answer.

Can the magnet deny its pole? "If this is what you want," and maybe there are tears in his voice, too; Auron doesn't think about it. "If this is what you want, Braska, then I will do it."

Braska's fingers twine into Auron's ponytail in answer, pulling his mouth in for another last kiss, salted with tears and the taste of iron.

FFX-2 - Paine/Nooj

[owlmoose]

Desert skies

fire and ice. (FFX-2 - Paine/Nooj, PG)

[fell_lindzei]

"Don't Deathseekers sleep?"

Paine doesn't feel one way or the other about the desert at night. But this night there is something different beneath the wide-eyed moon – a sarcastic wit so dry it would make an excellent martini.

She hasn't known Nooj long, but she knows he dislikes everyone and everything - even his own mission. He doesn't even enjoy Death, or the thought of Death, if only for the fact he hasn't found it. He has no paradise at the end of his journey. He would argue that no one does, that people are stuffed to the gullet with ignorant bliss; humans need a reason for living their lives, for being wronged, for being forced into an existence they can't control.

Nooj controls nothing.

If he did he could have orchestrated his own Death long ago. Not for lack of trying - he chambers his own brand of ignorant bliss into his rifle every day and hunts his own Demise. He's a hunter-gatherer of the oddest kind.

"Don't spherecorders sleep?" He's annoyed that she's joined him on the dune, which overlooks another dune, like two mirrors facing each other. Endless sand, endless sky. She's interrupted his ruminations, his fantasies of the day he doesn't have to stake a spot to dream. His days blend together in a giant, watercolor mess of a life – at night he adds to his painting. He throws faded colors to the canvas in frustration, tries to paint a path, a point to it all. But all he ever creates is chaos.

Paine clicks her tongue. People like Nooj never deviate from their plan unless shoved in another direction. They become too complacent in their foxhole; their stubbornness is enough to drive a bullet through your brain. When Paine sits down, she effectively shoves her way into his comfortable, if depressing, circle.

"Touché," Paine says. She holds the ground she's seized and stares out into the same silent space. Nooj shifts, pulling his flesh leg up to lean on his knee. She's sat on his left side and she's done so quite on purpose – to create discomfort. Discomfort forces you to be in the moment.

"I'm sitting here," Nooj says and swaps empty space in favor of her eyes. Unbeknownst to her, he is quite in love with her eyes. They are the only stab of color in his desaturated existence.

"With lines like those I bet you're a hit with the ladies," Paine says, meeting his icy gaze, as cold as the desert evening. It wars with her own heated red, as blistering as the desert days. Between them they own the entire desert.

"I seem to be doing alright," he says sarcastically. "You sat despite my protests."

Paine raises an eyebrow. "Is that a fleck of life? Or - oh me, oh my - humor?" Her lips curve into the smallest of grins. "You won't be nearly so charming when you're dead."

Nooj scoffs. "That's the point. I'll explain the mechanics of Death to you if you weren't properly schooled in your youth," he says, turning back to the sand. "I can't be far off if your current employment as a spherecorder is any indication. Simpletons. You point, and shoot."

Paine's smirk only grows wider. "You point and shoot for a living, Deathseeker. Well, and patronize, but I think that's inherent."

Nooj narrows his eyes, hardly recognizable in the moonlight. She continues. "I have a bag full of spheres documenting our days - my job's already done. You can't make that claim. Well, not while you're alive anyway. Your title just fucks all of that up now, doesn't it?" She draws a line in the sand between them with a gloved hand. "Perhaps I should explain the mechanics of Death to you?"

A light rumble fills the air as Nooj chuckles. The sound comes from a place in his chest still very much alive. "Indeed."

He hasn’t laughed in a decade. He reaches over with his flesh hand and touches her face - her skin is luminescent. She needs no stars to accentuate her skin, only the moon. He has to reach over his machina, but he could tell you how every pore of her skin felt, read it as well as he could read maps of cities long destroyed.

His touch isn't as surprising as the fact his hand is warm. She'd expected something cold and dry, something disconnected with the life inside him. A tool, or a means to and end. But his hand is very much alive and fighting to keep him that way too. For that, she's grateful. She turns her head to the side and kisses his palm. Nooj doesn't pull away, though it takes him a moment to orient. He waits for her to finish before he brings his hand back. The courtesy is not lost on her.

Now it's Paine who's awkward, for Nooj has met her at the edge of their territories and she's found she has little reason to continue the occupation of his country – he's expanded of his own volition. Very little ripples beneath the blanket of the desert sky, not even when she stands and brushes her legs clean of sand. "Perhaps you can educate me on the mechanics of Life, next time," she says before she turns to leave.

"I just did," he replies, then shuts off again.

FFXII - Ashe/Vossler

[owlmoose]

Dark places

Away From the Light, Ashe/Vossler, PG

[lassarina]

Sometimes Ashe thinks she will never see the sun again.

She does see it, from time to time, when Vossler deems it safe—but most often that is as the sun sinks beneath the horizon, as he judges that the tricky shadows will make it less likely for someone to recognize her. For a woman raised on desert sun and wind, one who escaped to them whenever possible despite her governess's efforts to keep her complexion smooth and pale, this endless darkness of the Rabanastre waterways is nearly as bad as the loss of her loved ones.

But only nearly.

Vossler has taken a detachment of his most trusted men out to strike at the flanks of the Imperial bastards who walk her land as though they own it, and Ashe seethes at being left behind. She paces massive twisting patterns through the waterways beneath her city, and counts her irritations in the beat of her boot heels against the ground.

She knows better than to call him out in front of the men, but that does not stop her from following him toward his quarters, nor from entering with him when he is insufficiently quick to bar her way.

She folds her arms across her chest and glares at him.

"Majesty." His voice is carefully neutral.

"I am weary of being left behind, Vossler." She watches through narrowed eyes as he puts Nightmare aside in her sheath, marking the care he takes with his left arm that tells her he is wounded. "I am capable with a sword and I know the city. I should be going with you."

Not waiting for his reply, she goes to the small chest in which he keeps medical supplies, and removes two potions. She takes them from the end of the neatly arranged row, not the beginning, so that he can mark when his supplies run unacceptably low. She stands, the vials clinking in her hand, and meets his gaze head-on.

"'Tis naught that requires a potion," Vossler says very carefully. "A bandage will suffice." He does not move to remove his armour.

Ashe strides across the room, and does not slow or deviate as she approaches him. He takes a step back to avoid her running into him, and his back meets the wall. He winces.

Ashe waits, not with patience but with fierce concentration. When he still does not remove his armour, she clinks the bottles in her hand. "Vossler," she snaps.

His shoulders tighten, and his face goes entirely blank. "Majesty," he says in that empty, neutral tone, "am I being commanded as a knight in your service, or as a man who betimes shares your bed?"

She could hit him for that, truly she could, and her free hand clenches into a fist, but rather than striking him, she steps closer to crowd him against the wall and crushes her mouth against his.

She remembers kissing Rasler to have been tender; even at their fiercest passions they were not savage at each other as she and Vossler so often are. His teeth scrape her lip, and his hand—his uninjured hand—comes up to clench tight in her hair.

She pulls back, her mouth already throbbing, and shoves the potions into his hand. "In either case, you are of little good to me bled out, wouldn't you agree?" she says.

He says nothing.

Ashe lets her lip curl in a little derisive smile. "You cannot keep me locked away forever, Vossler. Even princesses must grow into queens."

He is still silent as she leaves his quarters.

FFXIII/FFXII - Fang/Vossler

[who_shot_kr]

Belt.

*cough*

Re: FFXIII/FFXII - Fang/Vossler

[lassarina]

His sword's half her size, and Fang loves the challenge. She plants her feet, stands firm with her spear in her hand, and waits. She knows his type, and her smirk will drive him to attack, though he likes to think himself the defender.

Sure enough, it's a downswinging two-handed blow--not that most people could wield that blade even hand-and-a-half--and it rings up her shoulders like an avalanche, but her feet stay set like steel, and before he's quite realized that his blow did nothing to faze her, she's spun the forked end of her spear around to yank the sword from his hands.

She gets her fingers under that leather collar he wears and yanks him in a half-circle to slam him back against the wall, and smiles. "I'm just getting started," she says, and presses her mouth to his.

FFXII - Ashe/Basch

[lescafenix]

Healing

"Wounded", FFXII, Ashe/Basch

[owlmoose]

The sun beats down mercilessly on the platforms that crisscross the Sandsea: precious little shade to be found, and the metal surfaces reflect harsh light everywhere, including straight into Ashe's eyes. The glare dazzles her, and it is this, as much as anything, that causes her to misjudge the Urutan-Yensa's attack. Instead of parrying the blow, she steps directly into the line of the falling quaterstaff, and it comes crashing down on her head.

She gasps, pain thudding down her spine. Then she slips, staggers under the weight of the staff, only barely manages to remain standing. Her vision darkens, and she feels a rough hand pull her back; it is Vossler, of course, taking her place in the face of danger. Normally she would have argued, but she feels her legs beginning to give way, and so she lets him move her to safety, passing him back into more hands -- slim fingers against her arm, likely Penelo's, if she is to judge by the wave of healing magic that passes through her. Then another large grip, familiar and sure, lowering her to the metal walkway and propping her up against a strong arm.

"Here, Your Majesty, drink this." It is Basch, and Ashe doesn't stop to think; she accepts the flask he presses into her hand with gratitude and drinks, closing her eyes, the pain receding further with each swallow. It is only as she finishes the potion and sets the bottle aside that she wonders at her easy trust in him. She opens her eyes and looks up at him, sees him staring down at her, mouth drawn with concern.

"Thank you, I'm quite fine now. Just give me a minute." She takes a deep breath, then another, and finds that she has been unable to look away from him. Events have moved so quickly, these past days, that she has had no time to reflect on all she has learned. Basch: alive, and not a traitor after all. So difficult to wrap her head around that thought. For so long, she had let anger at his betrayal drive her; she had wished for him to live, but only so that she could murder him herself, possibly with her bare hands. But now...

She leans back against his arm, still focused on breathing and willing her head to clear. Taking a quick glance up, she confirms that others have moved on, around the next platform and out of earshot. Then she takes a deep breath and meets his eyes. "I should have trusted you better."

"Do not blame yourself, Majesty," Basch murmurs, voice low against the sounds of battle in the distance. "'Twas Vayne's hand that drove the wedge betwixt you and I, between Dalmasca and Bhujerba. It was a cunning plan, and it worked all too well. I wish only that I had seen it coming: my brother is too useful a tool for Vayne to have left rotting in his chest."

Ashe lets her shoulders fall. "You had your reasons for keeping him secret. I do not judge you for that."

Basch lowers his gaze. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

The afternoon sun catches the corona of his hair, casting his head with a halo of flame. Her strength regained, she sits back up and lets a hand fall against his rough cheek; then, before he can pull away or react, she leans forward and kisses him, pressing her mouth softly against his. She pulls away with a smile. "We will come to trust one another again." Without waiting for an answer, she rises to her feet, pulls her sword and moves to rejoin the fray.

FFX-2 - Gippal/Baralai

[lescafenix]

Forbidden.

FFX - Jecht/BOOZE

[radish]

I wanna see a rowdy, inebriated Jecht enthusiastically making out with a jug o' something fierce. In public. Maybe with a very annoyed and/or disgusted Auron looking on.

Re: FFX - Jecht/BOOZE

[cumuluscastle]

FFVI, Celes/Terra

[seventhe]

Pre-game and creepy

Many Kinds of Dying, FFVI, Celes/Terra

[jack_of_none]

[NON-CON WARNING DUE TO MIND CONTROL]

"I'm going to die," General Celes told the girl. She looked up at the sound of another human voice, but her eyes were uncomprehending.

Celes wasn't sure what the girl's name was. The only one who seemed to pay a great deal of attention to her was General Palazzo, and he never called her anything that Celes found worth repeating. She lived in a small room -- barely more than a cell -- and hardly ever came out of it unless she was needed to kill, like a sword in its sheath. Right now, she was sitting in the corner of the room with her knees drawn up to her chest against the cold. Celes kneeled down in front of her, and the girl watched her expectantly.

"I'm going to be arrested for refusing the Emperor's orders. It's likely I'll be executed, after the trial." The girl blinked. "If there is one." Of course, they were looking for her now. By all rights she should flee, but where could she possibly go? What else was there for her, now that she had forsaken her command? No, better to stay in the capital and face the Emperor she had betrayed. Better to face death unafraid, like a soldier, than to die a fugitive, worthless and without honor. That was all she had been raised to do -- fight, and kill, and ultimately die.

That was why she was here now, with this girl. If she was going to die soon, she wanted to spend the last few moments before the soldiers dragged her off with someone who neither knew or cared that she was a traitor. Another one whose only purpose was to fight, and kill, and die.

"I could try to take off the Slave Crown," Celes said. The girl cocked her head at her, and Celes continued apologetically. "It wouldn't help matters much, though. Kefka would just replace it, and I'm not sure what removing it would do to you."

She reached out, tentatively, and took the girl's hand. Her fingers wrapped reflexively around Celes' palm, and Celes moved to wrap her arms around the girl, who made a small noise of comfort and buried herself into Celes' embrace. She was cold, Celes realized, and pulled her closer.

Celes had never embraced anyone like this before. She had never had the need, or the desire, but she felt sorry for the poor girl, treated like a human cannon and practically kept in a cage. And anyway, the girl seemed to be responding. The Slave Crown was said to rob her of all conscious thought, but the scientists of the Empire had been wrong before.

"Girl," Celes murmured, stroking her hair, "would you..." She hardly knew what to say, how to ask for something so far outside of her experience. "Would you kiss me? Just once?"

The girl knew an order from a general when she heard one, and tipped her head up obediently to press her lips against Celes'. The girl kissed like she did everything else -- coldly, with the brutal efficiency of a machine performing its designated function.

Celes instantly regretted the kiss and tore herself away from the girl, a sick feeling beginning to coil in her stomach. The girl did not seem offended, or frightened, or much of anything else.

"I'm sorry," Celes said. "I shouldn't have come here." She stood up, brushing the dust from her knees. She was trembling, she realized. Not from fear -- disgust, perhaps at Kefka, but more at herself. The girl had curled up against the wall again. "If there's any mercy in the world, whoever finally kills General Palazzo will slay you too."

Clenching her hands to stop the shaking, Celes turned and left the girl alone, her face the same blank, unresponsive mask it had always been.

FFX - Auron/Yuna

[lescafenix]

Sweet, romantic, innocent.

This Is a Cold War [FFX, Auron/Yuna, PG-13]

[crankyoldman]

The moon hung in the sky like a criminal from a noose. He never slept, and she never did enough. Auron had heard Yuna walking up before she had probably even thought of it.

"Why would a legend like you offer to be my Guardian, Sir Auron?"

The time spent in Zanarkand with Tidus had reminded him comfortably of Jecht; no matter what the boy said or did, he was every fiber the man's son. Auron could easily recover in the presence of that, the failures less fresh while the boy bounded around, talking about his new blitzball shot.

Yuna being so much like Braska, though, that stung more than he thought it would. Spira itself was a dull ache, but the sharp single gray-blue eye in the girl felt like knives. And her formal politeness combined with Braska's perceptiveness was almost cruel in a way.

"You are a legend yourself, Yuna. Don't doubt that."

But she was still such a young girl, one who pretended like the entire world meant more to her than the natural things a girl her age should have been concerned with. Auron wanted to tell her that she had a choice, that she could make it all go away, that maybe he would whisk her away somewhere and they would find another Summoner for the Eternal Calm. Take both of them away, so they could be normal teenagers again.

"But I do, Sir Auron. My father was--"

"--Much like you."

He knew she wouldn't ask him more than that, Yuna was the kind of girl that shrouded herself in the stars of the death dance. When this was all over he would become that veil, and they would dance together. But not yet. Not yet.

"I appreciate your support."

Auron knelt, took her hand, and kissed it, like the gesture he'd refused as a Fighting Monk when faced with a priest's daughter. He never swore to anything lightly, but this girl, and that boy, and the promise of eternal rest was a much easier thing to cleave to. It was the right thing to cleave to.

Formally speaking, she should have bade him to rise, but instead she knelt down with him, taking his face in her hands and kissing him back properly; chaste, but full of feeling. For a moment Auron could swear that she knew what he was, with the briefest flicker of understanding passing across her features.

Instead she dropped her hands and stood, the sound of her footsteps retreating like the moon should have been. Auron looked up and it was still hanging there.

"Zanarkand is still so far away," he said to himself.

FFVIII - Seifer/Zell

[seventhe]

OK, BEAR WITH ME HERE: either HS AU or Health Class at Garden, Zell and Seifer get paired together to watch the egg / doll / seriously sinister electronic contraption Xu has set on the highest difficulty that is supposed to represent their baby. GO.

bonus points in the background: Xu then abandons an inexperienced Quistis to headaches adn alcohol; Squall and Selphie are paired together; Headmaster Cid cheerfully watches

FFIV - Edward/Cecil or Edward & Cecil

[seventhe]

I don't even okay look I saw it on the anonymeme okay and I want more of it. Shippy or friendship or familial or anything okay

The Honorable Prince (And Other Unfortunate Accidents in Courtly Love) [FFIV Edward/Cecil, PG-13]

[crankyoldman]

Cecil had always assumed that if he was to be doing anything heroic it would involve the kinds of stories that Kain had always used to go on and on about; rescuing damsels from certain monsters and other such courtly things that made him somewhat uncomfortable. Protection was something he understood, but he never could grasp entirely what his old friend had gotten at. He'd been almost relieved that Rosa wouldn't stand on the sidelines, time and again, insisting on going with him on the various missions that a Paladin King unfortunately was called to do.

If Ceodore wasn't so young, she probably would be here now, to handle the more embarrassing aspects of this particular mission.

"Edward how did... why... how... what are you wearing?"

Like many of the now leaders of his various allied countries, Edward had proven his loyalty and worth in battle. In fact, Cecil had always admired what Edward could do with just a song, while the rest of them had more crude weapons; maybe if circumstances had been different and he were not who he was maybe he would have taken up the harp himself. Peacetimes were just as bloody as wartimes, it seemed, and no matter how many hits he took the sense of distaste about it never went away. White armor wasn't really as much a symbol of the good as it was a more poignant reminder of the messiness of the work at times, so much more than his Dark Armor had been.

However Edward Chris von Muir, bard or no, did not typically wear nothing more than a bit of cloth to cover his nether regions. And only the front of his nethers, because was that... a string? Whatever dissidents had captured him and tied him up and made him wear that were... well Cecil really couldn't think of what they had to be to think of that.

"Oh Cecil! I'm so glad you came! It was awful. They kidnapped me from my bed in the castle!"

Bondage of this sort always made Cecil particularly uncomfortable; it had been as such ever since Rosa had gotten captured by Golbez. Maybe it had been due to the fact that helplessness in general was something that he couldn't handle in himself, and to see people he cared for go through it was even more troubling. But despite this, the fact that Edward was practically naked was nearly overriding his inner compassion.

Cecil took a deep breath and gathered his composure, trying to think of what Rosa would do in such a situation. She wouldn't be bothered by nakedness as much as it bothered him, or if it did, she wouldn't show it. "Do you know how they bound you?"

"These chains are real, but I think there's some magic involved."

As Cecil muttered the incantation to see what sorts of spells had been weaved into the chain, he found his eyes going southward, nearly breaking his concentration. He unhooked his cape from his shoulder armor, draping it over Edward. There. Better.

"Thankfully this is just a standard black magic binding spell, nothing too complicated." Maybe he should have asked Porom to come, too. Or Palom. Or both of them. Even if it was a simple spell, the amount of white magic he knew to undo it would take a couple of hours. When he got back to Baron, the first thing he was doing was going to be to practice that more. He'd been relying on his sword too much lately.

"I was afraid you wouldn't be able to make it, with all your new duties. I haven't seen you at all since that meeting just after your wedding." Edward's speaking voice was as lovely as his singing one typically, but it seemed particularly breathy as Cecil touched the points in the chains where the magic was most concentrated. The cape managed to make it less awkward when he had to find the joint near the ankles.

"You are an ally and a friend. Someday I know I won't be able to come out personally, but I hope that day is a long way off." Cecil had only ever used the leverage as one of the Heroes to keep from being trapped in the castle all the time, as did Rosa as often as possible. It had seemed inevitable that he would become a king, no matter what his choice had been, but he was at least the kind of king that could live with himself this way. They all could.

Darkness and delusions hadn't turned out well for anyone that had embraced that.

"How is it that you're always saving me, Cecil? I've yet to return the favor."

Cecil paused as he worked at the wrist shackles. Undoing the spell required close contact to it, and no matter how much respectable distance he tried to manage between the other man and him, Edward seemed to be pressed against him. "You've saved me on multiple occasions. We would have never gotten through the Lodestone Cavern without you. We would have never defeated Zero--"

"No, I've never saved you. Never helped you off the ground and wiped the dirt from your face." Edward's long blond hair draped across Cecil's breastplate as he leaned his head forward, one of the few movements afforded to him. And Cecil remembered.

They were almost to the den of the Antlion, when one of the blob monsters had hit Edward hard, causing him to fall. Rydia had frozen it, and it was up to Cecil to tend to Edward. He was only a Dark Knight then, he couldn't deliver anything more than death. Still, the potion worked, and Edward had sat up choking; Cecil had used too much.

"Easy Prince Edward. Let the magic work." Cecil removed his helmet, unsure if Edward had ever fought as much as he had that day, and tried to reassure him. He had just lost Anna, and Cecil couldn't help but wonder if his zeal in wanting to help cure Rosa was tied in that guilt.

When the choking stopped, he brushed some sand from his cheek, restoring Edward to the paleness that a man who was unused to the sun possessed.

"You are quite a strange Dark Knight, you know that?"

It had been a strange moment, interrupted by Rydia's urging them forward, onward, part of the force that had driven Cecil so far from home and himself.

Cecil kissed him on the forehead first, a gesture that he had used with Rydia once when she was crying. He might not have understood logically what it all meant, but he had a feeling that it would help.

"Not all rescuing requires a sword."

The wrist chains broke first, reminding Cecil why he had come here. He probably should start asking Edward exactly who would do this to him, find out if his dissidents were related to Baron's, see if they could reach--

--How exactly did Edward's tongue end up in his mouth?

Cecil had developed a defensiveness against amorous women; they happened. He wasn't sure why they did, because he never indicated any interest in them. Sometimes they offered tokens and kisses while his wife was with him. But he hadn't expected this from Edward, who despite all appearances was much stronger than the average amorous woman. And much more naked.

The grip on Cecil's hair was almost desperate, and he stood there, not wanting to push him away because he might hurt him in multiple ways. It didn't change the married and oh god what would Rosa say about this. Edward was insistent, and sought out all the places in Cecil's armor that were even close to skin. He yelped a bit when he got near somewhere that only his wife had been and it seemed to stop the assault.

They stood there; Edward still chained at the ankles and Cecil focusing on his hairline because he did not want to know if the nether bulge had moved.

"So... why did they remove your clothes?"

"Oh, they ah, took me from my bed. I sleep like this. Silk sheets."

No, talking didn't help. Cecil had seen his former best friend go mad from romantic delusions, and to feel that kind of confusion in himself was frightening. Edward's romanticism had never been as dark as Kain's but it was no less heavy, even seemingly dampening the sound of the ankle shackles breaking.

But Cecil just picked his cape off the ground, draping it over Edward again, coaxing him to leave the cave. There would be plenty of time for words later.

FFVIII: Seifer/Selphie

[seventhe]

On a mission

Re: FFVIII: Seifer/Selphie

[cumuluscastle]

FFX-2 - Nooj/Rikku

[(Anonymous)]

Tantalize; "come to papa"

Insert character of your choice to save Rikku (preferably Baralai). XD

FFX-2: Baralai/Tidus

[stardust808.livejournal.com]

(Oops, sorry, forgot to add my username for the Nooj/Rikku prompt; stardust808, LJ)

pretty face

FFVII - Tifa/Rude

[cypher]

slow and lingering

FFX-2: Baralai/Yuna

[stardust808.livejournal.com]

Sexual tension, a dog-plushie relationship, Aniki adds fuel to the fire of mayhem.

Any one of these, or all of the above should do nicely. :3

FFX-2: Baralai/Yuna/Tidus

[stardust808.livejournal.com]

Salmonella, mischief gone wrong, "don't worry, B'man, you're gonna get better in no time"

kktmoYHjlP

[(Anonymous)]

Call me wind bceause I am absolutely blown away.

FFVII/? - Reno/Character of your choice

[lescafenix]

I just want to see a character - doesn't even have to be from VII - kiss Reno and knock him on his ass. Take the words right out of his cocky mouth. I guess we could call it, "Reno meets his match."

On The Rocks - Reno/Tifa, PG

[seventhe]

The door swings open and Tifa sighs, because the place is already packed; the sigh becomes a grimace as she spots those googles and the tell-tale red ponytail. Usually she doesn't mind serving the Turks - much; they tip well and are generally good at minding their own business - but Reno has been particularly obnoxious as of late because he injured himself on a mission he won't tell her about and seems to be spending all of his energy coming up with terrible drink recipes for her to waste her precious alcohol on.

He swaggers up to the bar, and two of her feebler-looking customers slide off of their barstools to make room for him. He has a new cast on the broken arm. It looks like Elena has already covered it with stick figures in terribly inappropriate positions. He catches her looking and smirks.

"Hello, Reno." For a fleeting second she hopes her voice doesn't sound as exhausted as she feels - but then she thinks, to hell with it: let Reno know just how tired she is before he does anything awful. "What disgusting concoction can I put together for you tonight?"

Reno grins and waggles his eyebrows as he reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper. "I did research," he says. "You should be paying me for this."

"The last drink you made curdled," TIfa reminds him. "You made a bum vomit all over the bathroom stall when you bought everyone a round."

His grin turns sly. "But Rude cleaned it up, yo? I think he's sweet on you. We named it Puketopia." He puts his casted elbow down on the edge of the paper and smooths it out with his other hand. "Anyway, I found this one online. I think you'll like it. It's special."

Costan Kiss, Tifa manages to read upside-down before Reno hides the recipe. "What," she asks, because she knows the slang. "Is this another one you have to lick out of a glass using only your tongue? Reno, I swear to heaven, if you break another glass doing inappropriate things with your mouth--"

"Oh, no, it's way better than that." Reno finishes smoothing the paper and passes it to her. "You have to serve it the traditional way, too."

Her eyes flick down the page. To her surprise, it's just a standard drink, much like a Sunrise Sour only with a splash of gin and cranberry. "What's the trick?"

"The real way," Reno says with a grin that's a little too seriously manic for her to deal with at the moment, "means with a kiss at the end of it. It's what they do in Costa."

Tifa's already mixing when she hears this, and she thinks about stopping, but that means Reno wins. She isn't sure what this little play-by-play is, or why Reno has seriously been coming by every day; there have to be more interesting things to do back at Shinra's new headquarters. She isn't sure why his eyes keep flickering to her or why he likes to tease her so much about Rude. Gin, then whiskey. She knows how to make a decent shot. This one's a double, because he'll need it.

She plunks it down on the bar in front of him with a challenge in her eyes. "The traditional way?" she asks, and she's almost purring.

Reno's lips curve into an unfairly attractive smirk. "You know it," he says. "Cheers." He raises the glass, and then downs it in way less time than she expected; slams it into the wood and then he's suddenly leaning over the bar, right in her face, and how did he get so damn close?

"I'm not done yet," Reno murmurs, and he's expecting her to back down. Instead, Tifa takes a step forward and grabs him, kissing him with force, so hard it takes him off guard.

Then she tosses him backwards, hard, past his barstool. He crumples onto the ground with a surprised little 'o' on his mouth. She's an artist; she picked an angle where he wouldn't jar his arm. He looks up at her from the ground, and from the look on his face, he's about halfway between punching her and laughing his ass off.

"The traditional way, you said." Tifa shakes her hair back behind her shoulders in the sudden silence. "That's how we serve 'em in Nibelheim."

The crowd bursts out in cheers and laughter, and Reno's mouth curves up into a smile, and he gives her a tiny little nod, acknowledging her win.

FFX - Auron/Lulu

[radish]

Secret agent and/or western AU plz!

FFX-2: Baralai/Tidus

[stardust808.livejournal.com]

eye candy, daydream, YRP the peeping toms

FFX-2: Baralai/Yuna

[stardust808.livejournal.com]

pre-FFX-2, dance club at Luca, night out in the town

FFX-2: Baralai/Yuna

[stardust808.livejournal.com]

male!songstress, slow dance

FFXII: Rasler/Ashe

[stardust808.livejournal.com]

reincarnation spell, butterfly effect