seventhe | FINAL FANTASY KISS BATTLE 2011.

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!

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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

seventhe

She isn't sure when the dreams start, because they blend in so easily with her nightmares, as if he has slipped into her subconscious along with the other hopes and fears. But suddenly she is having the dream every night: Mateus stands before her, cloaked in shadow; Ashe recognizes him even in the darkness of her own mind, she has summoned him forth so many times.

He does not speak to her but she hears it anyway: I could help you, child; taste of my strength.

For days Ashe wakes panting and sweaty in this bed she doesn't recognize: a Queen's bed, too soft for her world-weary bones. Her days are long, and hard, and she is alone on her throne, forced to lock away every ounce of emotion whilst the politics play out their games around her.

Then the dream changes; Mateus appears before her, and spreads wide dark arm-wings, sinewy like a bat; they wrap around her, slowly. Her arms strain against the bind above her head, and as the hood comes to cover her eyes she realizes that she has taken the place of his Ice Goddess, the one he bound to himself so very long ago. She wants to struggle but the blessed release is too nice: nothing fills her but ice, cold and crystal-solid, perfectly hard. Besides, it is but a dream.

Ice is but one power that I wield, Mateus says, and behind it is the plea of a woman's voice, lost in the whipping of a cold storm: freeeeeeeeee meeeee, like an echo.

When Ashe wakes that day she is strangely rested, and the hours upon her throne staring down supplicant Archadians cooly pass much easier than expected, as if the icy respite of Mateus' dream-embrace has renewed her.

She does not dream that night, but the next night she finds herself again facing the dark Esper. The Goddess is gone and his arms look strangely bare, all thin sinew and dark bone. The shreds of her robe flicker in some unseen wind and Ashe knows what he is offering.

No, she says slowly, although the wind is temptingly cold. Not for ever. Not for good.

Then come into my arms just for a while, Mateus says to her, and Ashe steps into that chillingly cold embrace again. Mateus bends his head, and his kiss is blindingly cold behind her eyes.

The next day she faces the Dalmascan traitors, those who turned into the arms of Vayne and Archades and turned their back on Dalmasca's good people. She looks at their faces and hears their stories of threats and blackmail and extortion, hears their pleas for clemecy. She thinks of Mateus' ice, chilling her veins, and it is easier to give the answers that she needs to. Those whose actions resulted in Dalmascan deaths will hang at dawn. The others will face prison.

That night she and Mateus dance, long and slow. The Ice Goddess hangs from her chains, eyes unseen, and Ashe envies her cold skin as she presses her lips against the priestess', feeling nothing but emptiness.

The next day four of the imprisoned Dalmascans are caught in escape. Ashe sentences them to the gallows as well. One man accuses her of having lost her humanity. She asks him, calmly, where his humanity was when her father was killed, when their princess was living in the sewers, afraid to claim her own name.

They all hang that morning. Ashe listens to Mateus' cold chill-song in her veins, and does not attend.

That night she tastes snow on her tongue as Mateus winds about her limbs, binding her wrists, chilled fingers trailing down and across her naked flesh, and as the cold creeps across her skin she tells him: not forever.

Of course not, Lady Ice Queen, he says. Just for now.

The days pass and she finds the emptiness of her job easier to manage. The placating eyes of those who turned against her country do nothing. Her nights become trysts, Mateus about and above and within her, her cold skin colder at his touch and kiss. Her days are strong; she is made of steel, now. The talk of threats against her throne die down. More Archadian sympathizers are brought to her, and she finds it vaguely ironic to imprison them the way they did Basch.

Cold-hearted, they call me, she tells Mateus one night, and he murmurs back to her: 'tis but a compliment for my Ice Queen.

They start to bring before her thieves and spies; her noblemen love this Queen's cruel justice, and Ashelia tolerates little in her new kingdom. Then one day she recognizes a face, and strangely warm fingers tugging at her arm: Penelo. Vaan. The latter in chains, defiant yet scared; Penelo pleads with her. He's your friend. We're your friends.

Friends? Ashe thinks, as Mateus' ice-cool wind blows through her veins. No one helped her, those first months on her throne. She cannot relax this iron will for a moment; it is this cold strength which has saved her.

She feels an odd flicker through her heart as she pronounces the Queen's justice, but Mateus kisses it away.