ff_exchange | 2013 KISS BATTLE!

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2013 KISS BATTLE!

Final Fantasy Kissing Battle 2013

RULES

This year, we're creating Master Links for each fandom. When leaving prompts, please put it under the right canon! If in a compilation canon, please leave the important details!

To leave a prompt: leave one prompt per comment, with FANDOM: CHARACTERS/RELATIONSHIP in the subject line and your prompt in the body.

To leave a fill: reply to the comment in question. Please use the subject line of your comment to label your work: TITLE (if relevant), FANDOM, CHARACTERS/RELATIONSHIP, RATING (ANY KINKS, WARNINGS, FLAGS).

There should be kissing! All kinds of kisses are welcome: gen, shippy, smutty, chaste, familial, friendly, angry, happy! We’re pretty open to anything you want to call kissing. We are fans of all of it.

Fanart, fanfiction, drabbles, doodles, live action movies -- whatever you want to supply, we’d like to have it.

Be kind to others regarding character or ship choices and prompts. This should be fun for everyone!

Prompt early, prompt often, and leave as many as you want.

Prompts can be filled multiple times!

To leave a blitzkrieg kiss: If you have something but no one has prompted it yet, blitzkiss away! Just reply to the comment for your fandom, and make sure you use the subject line to label your work.

Be sure to check back often -- new kissing action could be showing up everywhere!

Spread the word! Tell your friends!

FINAL FANTASY KISS BATTLE 2013

We will be running the Kissing Battle on Dreamwidth only. There are two main reasons for this: 1) Dreamwidth’s comment limit is huge, allowing for longer kissing masterpieces; and 2) Dreamwidth still supports subject lines for comments, which are vital to a meme like the Kiss Battle. However, the Battle is open to everyone. Feel free to participate with your Dreamwidth (account creation is invite-free right now~!), your Livejournal or other OpenID account (see here if you want to set up an OpenID), or anonymously.

Have fun! Get smoochin'!

FINAL FANTASY I
FINAL FANTASY II
FINAL FANTASY III
FINAL FANTASY IV COMPILATION
FINAL FANTASY V
FINAL FANTASY VI
FINAL FANTASY VII COMPILATION
FINAL FANTASY VIII
FINAL FANTASY IX
FINAL FANTASY X AND X-2
FINAL FANTASY XI
FINAL FANTASY XII COMPILATION
FINAL FANTASY TACTICS COMPILATION
FINAL FANTASY XIII COMPILATION
DISSIDIA: FINAL FANTASY COMPILATION
FINAL FANTASY: CRYSTAL CHRONICLES COMPILATION
ASSORTED FINAL FANTASY
CROSSOVERS (WITHIN FF)
CROSSOVERS (FF/OTHER)
OTHER / ASSORTED

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Squall was not a dog person.

He didn’t hate dogs. It wasn’t like a rabid mutt bit him as a kid or Cerberus chased him down a dark alley. When he was a kid, the other orphans tried to bring in some stray from off the beach. It was filthy and smelt of wet poo and left a trail of slobber. It kind of put him off of the whole idea of pets in general.

Yet Rinoa and Angelo were kind of a package deal. Squall loved Rinoa, so Squall must also love Angelo. But Angelo was Rinoa’s pet and Rinoa’s responsibility. Squall didn’t have to pet him or rub his belly or pick fleas out of his fur.

At least, that’s what Squall thought at first. Angelo seemed determined to make Squall love him and pet him, even if it meant that Angelo had to wedge his big, furry self in between Squall and Rinoa while they were sitting on the couch, or dig under the covers while the two humans were in bed.

And then there were the days when Rinoa would go out without Squall. Squall would sit at his desk, hard at work, and Angelo would sit by his feet and stare at him. Angelo would stare at him for hours. It really made Squall uneasy, especially when Angelo would whimper.

Angelo would not leave Squall alone. Squall had to do something. Angelo was way too distracting and Squall had way too much to do to be distracted. He leaned over and pet Angelo between the ears, just giving him a little scratch. Angelo barked happily and ran off to play.

Every day after, it was the same routine. Squall would be stressed out at work, and Angelo would come to his desk for a daily head-scratch. As the days passed, Squall began to weirdly enjoy this new ritual. It kind of relaxed him, just that little touch of fur between his fingers.

Eventually the other SeeDs made a bowl with “Second-In-Command” written on it, and a doggy mat decorated like a desktop and placed them in Squall’s office.

Angelo was sometimes still a distraction for Squall, but on a hectic day, a welcome distraction.

“So how’s Squall’s second-in-command?” Rinoa gave Squall a kiss on the cheek as they lay down on the couch later that night.

Angelo jumped on top of both of them and licked Squall’s face.

“He’s alright,” Squall rubbed his cheek. Dogs aren’t so bad, Squall thought. He just hoped he never found fleas.

(i have no idea where i was going with this and i accidentally a thousand words. no apologies, no refunds!)

“I see it,” she says cutting off the terrified guardsman that runs to her side.

“The Queen-...”

“I’m going.”

At times, she regrets taking this post, but a job is a job and killing things on command is a job she’s always been impeccably competent at.

“What is it,” she wonders, “with princesses and dragons?”

The dragon is coiled around the south tower, and the princess... no, not princess. Queen. She’s not a little girl anymore, and she’s parlaying with a creature that could swallow her whole. When the knight arrives on the connecting battlement, the dragon’s eyes narrow in recognition and his tail lashes out, cracking against the air. Queen or not, the knight pushes Sara behind her and curls her hand around the hilt of her sword.

“You.” The dragon seethes, gravel and brimstone, sighing flame that dances in the knight’s hair. “My Lord Bahamut sends word.”

The name of the Dragon King brings memories of long nights under the stars and untold days underground; of long abandoned castles, temples, and tombs; of battles long fought. It’s been a long time since she thought of those days; it’s been a long time she’s had a dalliance with a dragon. “Out with it.”

“The Imbalance is worsening.” The dragon’s tail whips again, “Whatever you have done to stem the destruction, it is not enough.”

The Fiends caused the Imbalance. The Light Warriors destroyed the Fiends. What more could be done?

“What more,” she asks aloud, even-toned, “does he expect me to do?”

The dragon hisses, flicking its long tongue between its lips. “Something.”

Something. Like traipsing through the countryside, wanting to stumble into that long abandoned pit or across that sacrificial pedestal. Like she didn’t miss it, watching the sunrise from the rooftops with each new day.

“Thank you, for relaying his message.”

The dragon lingers, smiling in the way that only dragons did. He growls, deep in his throat. “There is another matter weighing on my mind.”

The smile makes her uneasy, and her grip tightens on her sword. Sara’s still behind her, and – without taking her eyes off the dragon – the queen’s reaction is impossible to know. “What is it?”

The dragon unfurls, stretching its wings to their full span, and his shadow falls over them as he stands, tall against the midday sky. “I wish to test myself against the fabled warrior that is Light’s Champion against Fire.”

Oh, naturally. A scoff passes her lips, before she can catch it. Of course you do.

Grabbing Sara, the knight pulls them both off the parapet, narrowly avoiding the molten stream of dragonfire that melts stone in their wake. The dragon’s tail lashes under them as they tumble down the wall, breaking their fall into the courtyard below. She scrambles to her feet, leaving the queen without a backward glance, ignoring the anxious cry that follows after her.

The dragon crashes to the packed earth between them, and she spins to face it, Excalibur drawn. It’s not a fair fight by any means; she catches his claws, his scales, his snout – anything to keep the advantage. One slip lands her hard against the far wall, dripping from an overturned rainbarrel and choking to catch her breath from the impact.

A trace of healing magic bubbles up inside her, and she traces the rune over her armor, absently. The dragon tears at the ground with his claws, tail lashing, waiting for her to get up. He expects a legend, so there is no pacing himself for her sake, but he’s young and he’s stupid, and she should be mindful of that and use it to her advantage.

She baits him, biding her time with pinpricks of annoyance under his scales. Fire boils up within him. Smoke pours out his nostrils, and she hefts the nearest barrel.

When his jaw unhinges, she’s right there to heave the contents of the barrel into his wide open maw; the dragon screams, hissing and choking on the water that extinguishes his fire. He recovers swiftly, regards her for a long, smug, satisfied moment before pumping his wings, battering the courtyard with wind as he lifts himself into the air and disappears into the sky.

With the dragon gone, everything else comes into focus. The dance has done quite a bit of damage to the courtyard. Other knights, and squires, and guardsmen all stood under the eaves, watching wide-eyed and foolish for it. The knight is well aware that none of them stepped in to help, as she is well aware that it was probably for the best.

Stumbling to another, still miraculously upright rain barrel, she pauses to unfasten her cuirass, letting it drop to the earth, before she splashes a handful of water on her face, cooling spark-seared skin.

Sara approaches from the wall where she had fallen, and a crowd closes in behind her.

“It spoke to you,” the queen says, with an air of detachment. “What did it want?”

“It was a dragon.” The knight shrugs, having forgotten that dragons did not speak Conerian, and forgetting still that not everyone can understand them, language barrier or no. She leans heavily on the barrel, and it crosses her mind that she should apologize for the mess. Or kneel. Or... something.

Something, off into the wild blue yonder.

Sara’s pristine porcelain fingers hook under her chin, lifting her gaze from the rippling reflection on the water. Distracted as she is after a battle, the gentle, plying kiss against her mouth comes as a surprise, and utterly takes her breath away. She’s uncertain whether to push Sara away, or pull her in closer, and so her hand hovers halfway in vain.

“Thank you,” the knight squeaks, and a snicker crosses the assembled courtyard like wildfire. Etiquette catches up to her, and she swiftly tacks on, “Majesty.”

“Thank you,” the princess – Queen, replies with a divine curtsy. “My mother’s trust in you was not misplaced.”

Sara steps back, and the crowd parts for her passing, murmurs hushed until she is out of sight. And then the murmurs rumble, echoing from the walls.

The knight dips her head in the water to cool her burning ears. Bahamut’s appeal stirs restlessly within her mind; she hopes no one will be too disappointed by her impending resignation.

Shadow never sleeps in.

He’s been tempted to, on many mornings, but someone won’t let him.

He has been woken up by the wet nose and cold slobber of Interceptor for the past nine years. Shadow doesn’t mind that Interceptor’s breath smells like whatever the old dog chased down and probably killed.

He’s used to it. He welcomes it. It breaks him out of the same damn dream he’s had for years, the same dead faces that appear behind his eyelids at night.

PARTY IN THE FFI PROMPTS!

Reno had noticed the flirting. After all, it was hard to miss when they were all stuck in such close quarters, day after day. He ignored it at first, knowing full well what accepting such an invitation would entail. Besides, Tseng would most probably kick his ass if he dared touched his precious little crown prince.

With each day that passed of the exile to Junon, Rufus' overtures towards Reno became more and more blatant though. Tseng began his own little war against the possibility, ordering Reno to do anything and everything that required him to be away from the blond's side. Of course, that only seemed to spur Rufus on. Maybe it was ego or just the young man's seemingly constant need to go against any fatherly figure, but whatever the reason, Reno couldn't ignore it anymore.

He was getting pissed off, as he'd never liked being a pawn, pulled back and forth like a toy who only existed for someone's amusement. Nobody had even bothered to ask him if he was interested, if he would ever take the arrogant blond's interest with anything other than contempt.

No, Tseng was too busy being father bear, protecting his little fucked up cub from the temptation of a Turk who was everything Rufus would never be. Opposites might attract, but in this case, Reno just wanted it all to stop. Sure, the guy was hot, but definitely not worth having Tseng kill him over, that's for sure.

Tseng scared the crap out of Reno at the best of times.

Besides, Reno had experienced this kind of shit before. Rich kids were always curious about the slum dogs, the more adventurous of them wanting to take a ride on the wild side, so to speak. It was the danger, the excitement and the chance to piss off mommy and daddy that was the attraction. The so called slum dog? Well, they didn't matter at all.

That's the main reason why Reno never considered it, no matter how much he was attracted to the blond. He wasn't no rich fucker's toy.

***.***

Boredom was a cruel mistress, and as the weeks dragged on, Reno's previous objections began to fade. The only entertaining thing in Junon was Rufus and he did seem to think up something new each week.

As terrifying as Tseng could be, watching the usually calm and collected leader of the Turks almost pop a vein every time Rufus said something inappropriate to Reno, was hilarious. Reno began to look forward to those moments, curious as to just how far the blond would push it, and just how much Tseng could take until he cracked.

Tseng was definitely showing signs of wear and tear already. He'd developed stress headaches so bad that he'd started wearing his hair down all the time to try and ease the pain.

Reno enjoyed the improved view and increased the amount of buttons on his shirt that he never did up by one. The game had caught his interest now, and he slipped into playing along without a conscious choice.

Rufus seemed to notice Reno's change of direction immediately and his innuendos went up a notch. Tseng's glare became so fierce that even Elena started avoiding being around him. Rude... well, Rude was Rude and he just didn't give a shit.

That kind of annoyed Reno though. He wanted to get a reaction out of Rude too. Even when he'd blatantly bent over right next to Rufus' chair, causing the blond to make a sound that was suspiciously like a growl poorly covered by a too late cough, Rude didn't even flinch.

It was a challenge, and Reno could never back down from that.

***.***

Gods, how Reno hated himself sometimes.

Here he was, head down ass up, tied over the Vice President's desk and naked as the day he was born. Okay, so maybe he'd been enjoying the way things had progressed for a while there, but it was impossible to keep enjoying what was happening when he was staring up into the faces of his three fellow Turks.

Well, two of them anyway. Tseng's eyes were definitely not focused on him.

"Seriously, do none of you know how to knock?" Rufus drawled breathlessly, not stopping what he was doing despite the interruption. Reno cursed, hearing the smirk in the blond's voice clearly.

"You pressed the alarm under you desk," Tseng hissed out between his teeth, voice clearly showing all the emotions his face hid so well. Reno flinched from just the tone, knowing that it usually proceeded somebody's painful death.

"Oh, did I?" Rufus replied, mock innocence rolling over every word. "How clumsy of me. I must have knocked it by mistake. Please forgive me for the false alarm."

Rufus paused his thrusting to circle his hips, forcing a moan out of Reno that caused the Turk's face to turn as red as his hair. Reno would be livid over the taunting, having been outplayed completely, if he wasn't so busy trying not to come right now.

Elena suddenly made a strangled kind of noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh before fleeing the room. Rude's eyebrows went up, so high Reno could see them over the top of his glasses.

It was oddly disappointing really. Reno had gotten himself in this mess in the beginning just to get a reaction from Rude but now? Rude's exit was slow and left Reno feeling shamed rather than victorious.

"Tseng, are you just going to stand there and watch? Not that I mind an audience... and you are his supervisor and my caretaker, after all," Rufus taunted, thrusts beginning again as soon as his words stopped. Reno bit his lip, trying not to make a sound as his toes curled out of sight, under the desk.

Tseng left without further comment, the door slamming loudly behind him. Reno's orgasm followed soon after, the humiliation and shame tainting the pleasure with pain. Once his limbs were untied, he quickly dressed, trying to pull himself back together.

"Really, do you have to pout so, Reno? You are a Turk, and isn't it your job to submit to your master, after all?" Rufus murmured with a smirk, standing next to the desk and watching him fumble with the buttons of his shirt. The words stopped his hands instantly, and he glared up at the smug satisfaction in those pretty eyes.

"I never submitted to you. That was just a fuck," Reno insisted, cursing his own lack of self control as he pulled up his best grin, cocky indifference slipping over his features. "Why, ya think ya could own me like this? Seriously?" Reno followed up his words with a laugh, the sound wiping the smile off Rufus' face. "Maybe you rich boys can be owned that easily, but us guys from the slums? Sex is just like shaking hands to us. Pleased ta meet ya and all that. Seriously, blondie, ya weren't that good."

"Get out," Rufus growled, wounded pride tainting his words as he turned away towards the window, hiding his face from Reno's view. "I have no more time to waste with scum who've already fulfilled their only use."

Reno didn't leave, watching the youth standing so tensely in place. He knew Rufus' last words were meant to wound him, just as his own previous bravado had meant to do the same. With a sigh, Reno ran a hand through his hair. Okay, so they both fired a verbal shot, made the break cleanly and he could leave and this be the end of it all.

For some reason though, his feet wouldn't move and when he was honest with himself, he didn't want it to be over. The last few months had been... well, honestly, he'd enjoyed it. When Rufus pulled that stick out of his ass and relaxed, he was a nice guy. Fun even. Despite what Reno had just said, the sex had been damn good too.

But was it really worth pursuing? Rufus was always going to be a damn megalomaniac, wanting power over everything and everyone, including whoever ended up as his lover. It would never be an equal pairing, and Reno knew that he would have to submit to some extent if he were to tempt fate and try making something serious with the blond.

The big question was, could Reno do that without losing himself? Did he even want to try?

"The very fact that you see what we just did as meaningless should mean that I am still nothing more than your employer to you," Rufus suddenly began, jolting Reno from his musings. "That said, I told you to get out, and you are still required to follow my orders, I believe. Or do I have to call in Tseng to have you removed?"

Reno doubted Tseng would answer a summons right now, but he stopped himself from pointing that out. Rufus was still facing away from him but as he watched closely, he could see a slight trembling in his form, and his words.... He had said Reno saw what they had just done as meaningless, but he hadn't said it was meaningless to him.

Reno grinned, like a predator with injured prey in his sights. He may just be a slum dog, but dogs where always experts in smelling out scraps and making the most of them. Walking over, he stopped just behind Rufus, enjoying how the young heir tensed up and held his breath.

"You could call in Tseng," he mused softly, body slowly moving forward until he hovered up against Rufus' back, just touching. "You could have him remove me by force, if that's what you really want." Reno leaned in and placed a kiss on the side of the blond's neck, chaste and gentle. "Or we could negotiate something that doesn't involve submission at all. The choice is yours, Mr Vice President."

~~the end~~

Oh that is just gorgeous. I love the fact that this happens in the water, in that beautiful scene. And Auron giving in, but still keeping that attitude is perfect.

Fantastic!

(so faris is apparently annoyed that i haven't paid her enough attention lately and is eating my brains, send help)

The tavern door creaked open with a steady thump, prompting Butz to look up from the loose leafs of sheet music. He glanced a second time, when he realized it wasn’t another wayward scholar out for a midnight snack.

“What time is-...” The clock on the far wall fielded the answer, and his question changed to, “Where have you been all day?” As she passed the table, she dropped a bag in front of him, which clinked as it settled heavily. Without thinking, he reached for it. “What’s this?”

“Highway robbery.”

“You’ve been robbing people?” His forehead creased in contemplation as he weighed the purse in his hand. “I thought we weaned you off of that.”

“Naah.” Faris reached over the bar, pulling out a bottle at random. She blew at the host of flyaways that scattered in her face as she righted herself, then pushed them into place behind her ear.

“They tried to rob me. End o’ th’ damned world – two worlds at that – an’ catchpenny jackals still can’t let it lie.” She jabbed a finger at him around the neck of the bottle she’d purloined. “Do ye know how much paper an’ ink be involved in collectin’ bounties?” Not waiting for an answer, she scoffed and shook her head, then started to work off the wax seal with her fingernails. “Not bloody worth it, I’m tellin’ ye.”

Faris took one swig of the bottle’s contents and choked. Managing to swallow the mouthful, she eyed the black-blue glass with suspicion and set it aside.

“So you’ve been out... what, fighting would-be bad guys?” Reaching behind the counter again, Faris pulled forth a dusty brown bottle. She brushed it off and worried at the seal. “Alone? All day?”

“Better’n sitting around, scratching my arse,” she replied before sampling the contents of the brown bottle. Judging by the way her face twisted up, it was hardly more agreeable than the blue, but she took a second, less than scrupulous gulp out of it anyway. “An’ a far sight better’n waitin’ for Exdeath to pull somethin’ else I love into the vast empty nothin’ while a bunch o’ misbegot scholars sit around scratchin’ each other’s.”

Butz rolled his sheets back into their case, haphazard and out of order. He joined her at the bar, folding his arms on the counter. It took him three times, but he managed to start, “Look, Faris, I know you’re hurting-...”

“Do ye really,” she muttered, twisting to set her back to the bar.

“Yeah, I mean...” Butz glanced at the bottle on the counter for inspiration, then back to Faris. “Reina was your sister, and that’s gonna hurt, and she was my friend-...” He winced; no, that wasn’t the way to say it. “Okay, so maybe I haven’t had as much tangled up in this as you do, but I know what it’s like to lose someone close, and I...” Crud. He’d had time to plan this all day, why hadn’t he? “I guess what I’m trying to spit out is, I care, alright? I care, and I don’t know what I can do to help, or if I can help, but I’m here for you and want to help you through this.”

Regarding him coolly, Faris took another swig off the bottle. Butz sighed, rubbing his eyes. “If I can.”

Faris swirled the liquor, then set it aside. “Th’ kid asleep?”

“Krile?” Butz scratched behind his ear, glancing to the stairs. “I-... yeah. Why?”

“‘Cause.” Without warning, Butz found himself shoved against the bar, at a complete loss, with a pirate’s teeth scraping against his lips. Keeping him pinned in place with her knee, unnecessarily at that, Faris leaned back to shrug out of her jacket and throw it aside. Voice raw, she murmured into his throat. “I could use somethin’ a wee bit harder than rum right now.”

Edward really grew into being a king.

Years later, Balthier seeks out Basch in Archades, and he's not sure what he's searching for.

It's cold in Trabia, and Ellone rubs her hands together despite the mittens covering her fingers. Squall's given her a coat, but it barely seems warm enough; she'll have to ask Selphie once they get back if the cold always bites this bad, this deep - Elle would never make it here, if the Garden was still functioning. The White Seed ship had stuck close to the temperate and tropical parts of the world.

Still, her magic is telling her that this is where they need to be, in the mountains capped with snow and devoid of human life. She follows the ribbons until they come to a cave, and Squall refuses to let her go first - he enters with his gunblade drawn, shoulders squared, commander first even here, in the middle of nowhere, with only the tang of energy on the back of Elle's tongue to guide them.

Elle follows him, even though he didn't signal for her to; after all, she's the reason they are here.

She doesn't know what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn't this - a girl with strawberry blonde hair huddled close to a fire seemingly created out of the fewest materials possible. Her knees are hugged close to her chest, and when she looks up from them at the two intruders, she doesn't seem surprised.

"Finally," she sighs, and sounds more annoyed than anything else. "Took you long enough to get here."

--

Lydia causes quite a stir at Garden. Within hours, she is all anyone is talking about - and she walks through the halls with her chin held high like she knows what all the whispers are saying. Elle's never met anyone quite like her, quite as fiercely snappish; she's not surly like Squall. Her bite has more force to it, more attitude. Squall largely leaves her alone as if he's washing his hands of the whole thing, and Elle can't say she completely blames him. They have enough personality problems already within the cadets.

But Elle knows the sight of someone projecting outwards to make themselves seem larger - she knows the signs of one who has always been alone, unique, and hunted for it. Others will always want to use the powers they have, and Elle, of all people, understands it all the way down to her core.

--

Someone gives the girl a starter deck for Triple Triad, and within days, she's cleared Garden's card club members out of their best cards. She's impossible to win against; she pulls in Same, Plus, and Elemental rules until everyone is forced to use them, and then abruptly stops.

When Quistis asks about it, politely interested, Lydia just shrugs and says, "It got boring once there wasn't anything else to master. Numbers are kind of my thing."

--

She finds Lydia in the library a week after she arrived.

"Not interested," Lydia says, as soon as she registers Elle enters, without turning around or glancing over her shoulder.

"I'd hoped you'd be willing to hear me out first," Elle replies.

Lydia does turn, then, obviously expecting someone else. Her eyes rove over Elle's form in a way that seems to be cataloguing - maybe she's assessing for weaknesses. Elle's willing to bet that Lydia could give even Xu a run for her money in tactical strategizing.

"There's always a threat, even with the peace now," Elle begins.

"I'm not a soldier," Lydia tells her, and there's a familiar clench to her chin that Elle recognizes from the mirror. "I'm not figuring I'll be in the middle of many skirmishes."

"Maybe not," Elle says, "but there will always be people after you."

It seems to strike a cord. Lydia is silent for several moments.

"And you know this," she states.

"Better than most, I'd wager."

There's another bit of quiet, and then Lydia reaches over and closes the book shut.

"Well," she starts. "I guess Allison was always better at taking care of herself than I was. Maybe there's something to the idea of learning some defense."

"Offense is the best defense," Elle says, which is what Squall had told her earlier that morning, when he'd run the idea by her in his office.

She'll decide, later, if she believes him.

--

They start training together. Lydia picks it up far quicker than Elle does, more natural with a weapon in her hands - she goes for the old crossbow that one of the former SeeDs used to use and it seems to resonate with something inside her. Squall gives Elle a bracelet that amplifies stocked magic so she can attack from a distance with spells, and she's thankful that he pays the amount of attention that he does to know it's what she's more comfortable with.

Training is hard and long, and Elle ends up aching most nights that she drops exhausted down into her bed.

Still, it's good - they don't know where Lydia came from, or what she's doing there. Squall is right to think that if something can drop the other girl in their laps, there's nothing to stop someone else from hurtling through the portal after her.

--

The day they come up against a T-Rexaur in the Training Center is too early, probably, in their training to be effective. It's mostly a game of ducking and running for their lives, hoping that someone is watching on the closed circuit cameras and that they can get out before the thing tracks them down again. They end up crouched near a split, bent bit of fence, near bushes that smell sweet and slightly wet from the indoor sprinkling system.

"I think," Lydia says, breathing hard and looking furious, a splash of angry rose across her nose and cheeks, "that I'm going to murder someone after this mess."

Elle wants to agree, but it's hard to catch her breath. "Do you think it's gone?"

"No," Lydia tells her, blunt and honest. She peeks out the bushes, and Elle can feel the footsteps of the monster reverberating through the dirt. She's not expecting Lydia to wind her fingers around the material in Elle's shirt and pull her forward, kissing her with the sort of precision and confidence that a girl like Lydia - the center of everyone's attention, the poster child for success - can make work.

Elle is sure her eyes are very wide when the other girl pulls away.

"What was that for?" she asks, and it didn't help at all at stabilizing her rapid heartrate.

"I'm trying a new thing," Lydia answers. She's already peeking through the bushes again, searching out the enemy. "I'm making sure I tell people what I feel in case life-altering and terrible things end up happening to them."

Elle doesn't want to pry further into that. "That was telling me?"

Lydia shrugs, and there's a bit of a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I'm more of a doer myself. Actions speak louder than words."

They do, indeed. Elle reaches for her bracelet, reaching out for the junctioned magic of Siren in her head.

"I think we can take this thing," she says, feeling brave and jittery and alive.

"Good," Lydia replies. Her eyes are dancing when she meets Elle's gaze. "I think we can, too."

Edited 2013-02-11 15:12 (UTC)

on the run

finish your homework

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Sara has never envied anyone in her life more than she envies the woman who sets her free. Wild hair, a dashing hat, weapons, trousers—she has everything Sara has been forbidden, down to the muscles hinting at a life of more strenuous activities than supervised strolls in the garden. The woman's gloves are rough, but her grip is gentle as she helps Sara to her feet.

"Are you all right?" she asks. Her face is handsome and spattered with Garland's blood.

Feeling is still pricking its way back into Sara's hands and feet now that the ropes are gone. She feels the same prickling in places that never went numb, and blood rushes warm into her cheeks. Staring at the woman's face makes her want to do something reckless and half-mad: confess that some part of her was thrilled by her abduction, beg to be spirited away on an adventure, cling and never let go.

Instead she takes a deep breath, nods, and thanks the woman and her companions for their aid. Sara is very good by now at not doing what she wants.

---

The woman's name is Dee, which must be short for something, though it might be rude to ask what. She prefers to fight with swords and ice spells—fire and lightning tend to get out of hand in enclosed spaces—but she always saves a bit of energy for healing. She grew up in the south and speaks passable Elvish. She also likes to indulge inquisitive princesses, which is how Sara learns all this before the rest of the group goes nosing around the shrine for treasure.

Dee stays behind with Sara to heal the rope burns on her wrists and ankles. Garland wasn't gentle, even when he could have been; after years of guarding Sara, he should have known that she would have sneaked willingly out of the castle with him. He was so different in the end, cruel and raving. His blood is still on Dee's face.

Without her gloves, Dee's hands are still rough, still gentle. She brushes cool, soothing magic over the raw skin on Sara's wrists, and every pass leaves Sara shivering.

"How did it happen?" Dee asks.

It takes Sara a moment to remember what they were talking about. "There's a corner of the courtyard I like to slip away to. I can almost pretend I'm not being guarded there. Sir Garland used to be generous about keeping his distance and allowing me the illusion, before he... changed." The word isn't strong enough, but Sara doesn't know any that would be. "He grabbed me when no one was near enough to stop him. Once he had his sword to my throat, no one dared try."

Dee nods, then kneels and pushes up Sara's dress to get at her ankles. Sara's mind drifts until Dee says, "They'll guard you like the crown jewels after this, I expect."

The shudder that seizes Sara has nothing to do with the hand cradling her calf. Her future narrows before her, small and safe and suffocating. She'll chisel out a measure of freedom again someday, but in the meantime will be months of constant vigilance, a knight always at her back and a handmaid always at her side. She won't be able to set foot in the garden without an entourage trampling the flowers. Every bump in the night will be Garland's ghost.

Dee looks up with concern as she changes ankles. "Did I say something wrong?"

Sara takes a deep breath to steady herself. "No, I—here, let me..." Words aren't working, so Sara abandons them to lick her thumb and rub at the dried blood on Dee's cheek. Her racing pulse makes her clumsy.

A bemused look flits briefly over Dee's face. "Sorry, I must look grisly. Didn't mean to remind you of it."

"I watched you kill him," Sara points out, voice shaking only a little. Her hand remains on Dee's face, sliding down toward her jaw. "You saved me, and I'm grateful that you did. Don't apologize."

The future is small but the present is exploding like a lightning spell in a tunnel. Sara wants to do something reckless and probably mad, and while she's good at not doing what she wants, she's also quite sick of it.

She cups Dee's face in both her hands and kisses her.

At first she thinks she's made a mistake—Dee is rigidly unresponsive, and Sara is making up kissing as she goes along—but then Dee's hand curls around Sara's leg, Dee's mouth comes alive, and Sara is relieved to cede control. Inside she's falling free, too fast for the future to catch her. The tingling heat on her lips pulses deep down into her belly; for every flicker of satisfaction, she craves a dozen more.

Sara has no sense of how long it lasts, except that it isn't long enough. Dee pulls away with swollen lips and a contented little quirk of a smile, and says, "You're welcome."

It isn't enough, but no one can take it from her.

[It is a thing that had to happen in second-person, apparently, because my brain kept tripping on their names.]

"You can't build the engine out of adamantite."

Luca uses "can't" the way people who aren't you use "shouldn't." (You prefer to use "the science isn't quite there yet.") You don't bother to look up from the schematics to reply, "Give me one good reason."

"Three," she snaps, and you can see her counting off on her fingers in your peripheral vision. "Father's not going to let you bankrupt the kingdom to build one airship, no one's going to have any idea how to repair it, and we're already getting enough pushback from the fuddy-duddies who didn't want a human on the design team." She shoves her pinky under your nose and adds, "Four: it can't be that much better than mythril."

You do look up this time, just to watch her expression. "Oh, I don't know about that. Top speed should be about a hundred knots better."

Her golden eyes go gratifyingly wide before narrowing. "I want to check those calculations."

"Be my guest," you reply, rolling up the schematics sheet and getting to your feet. "I'll just go drop this off with—"

Luca catches your arm with a grip you won't be wiggling out of anytime soon. "Nice try."

You've never been big on compromise, but you're willing to work outside your comfort zone every now and then. "Okay, what if the engine's mostly mythril, but the cannons—"

Then suddenly you're pinned to the wall with Luca's mouth over yours. Your lips part in what you're not sure is surprise or desire until you find yourself sucking on her lower lip, wrapping your arms around her broad back. Her visor bonks against your helmet, her goggles press into her throat, her heat fogs your glasses, and one of her thighs finds it way between yours. You've never been so turned on in your life, and that's counting your entire summer at Junior Automata Builders Sleepaway Camp.

Just as abruptly, Luca pulls away. By the time your thoughts have stopped spinning in dizzy little circles, she's left the room, and the schematics are no longer in your hand. You don't need even a fraction of your genius to piece together what just happened.

When Luca returns sans schematics, rumpled but smug, you've got enough of your breath back to say dryly, "You win this round, Princess."

"Look, it's not that I don't want to build an engine out of adamantite." She pauses to blow a stray lock out of hair out of her face. "It's just that I'm the one who has to hear about it if we go over budget. Again."

You don't seem to be picking up where you left off. Dwarves can be weird about this kind of thing; you're not sure if you're supposed to talk about it, or pounce on her, or give her written permission, or what. Maybe all she meant to do was distract you, after all. So you settle for feeling your way through the conversation, trying to ignore the lingering taste of her on your lips. "How long do you think it'll take them to approve the plans?"

Luca shrugs. "A week, at least. The elders are very... deliberate."

Is this flirting? You have no idea anymore. "We'd better find a way to stay busy, then," you say, with your best effort at coyness.

"I can think of a few things," she replies, and if that's meant to be coyness, she's not any good at it, either. You're still trying to decode her tone when she adds, haltingly, "I've got a few improvements to make to Calca and Brina."

You give up. "How about installing rocket launchers on them?"

A parade of emotions marches over Luca's face, flickering light in and out of her eyes: enthusiasm, protectiveness, consideration, skepticism, disappointment. "Nah," she says at last. "They make people nervous enough already."

"What about detachable rocket launchers?"

Now she's all skepticism. "You're goading me, aren't you?"

"Is it working?"

"Well," she drawls, moving closer, "I do know only one guaranteed way to shut you up."

That's clear enough. You pounce.

Eee, I love this, particularly her face and the lipstick on the mirror.

I love your Scarlet characterization here A LOT. Everything from her thoughts on weapons to her not kidding herself about her motives delights me!

The fight goes wrong—wronger than wrong. The knife slides past Lightning’s defenses, burying deep into her side, and Sazh stares, throat working as she stumbles. Her gunblade drops into the dirt with a thud.

He’s fumbling for the potion when he hears someone approach from behind and he turns—too slow, old man—and feels the crackle-promise of lightning. Hell, they have a mana-drive, of course they do. Then the electricity’s coursing through him and he’s—he thinks he’s screaming, he feels like he’s screaming. Black covers his vision, with flash-bursts of white. Far off, he hopes Lightning is okay, before he remembers that Lightning’s a pretty tough cookie; she can do just about anything.

Too slow, old man, and he feels himself fall as if it is from far away. Sort of like someone else's falling, not him.

When he comes to, it’s because Lightning’s dribbled water into his beard. Well, it’s all over his face, but he wakes up when it reaches his beard. Lightning's face is pale above his, blue eyes narrowed, trained on his face. Her face is blurred a little around the edges, probably from the electricity, but not too bad. His nose fills with the jasmine-mint smell of potions and he wonders how many they've used. Hope is going to kill them. “Sazh?” Lightning asks, voice hoarse, “Hey, welcome back.”

He should be relieved, but there’s a dark ring of bruises around her neck and he feels—“You okay?” he wheezes, tries to sit up but her hand presses against his chest, keeping him down.

“I’m fine,” says Lightning.

Her side’s been bandaged tight and it doesn’t seem to be bleeding through yet. “You’re the one I’m worried about,” she tells him, carefully, the twist of her mouth unreadable, “Didn’t realize they had a mana-drive until—“

She stops and her hand fists in the fabric of his shirt. “I’m getting too old for this,” he says, the old excuse ready on his tongue.

Not meeting his eyes, Lightning hauls him up by his shirt so that he’s sitting and they’re face to face, way too close in his opinion, not that his opinion really matters, does it? Lightning doesn’t stop for anybody and he wants to touch the bruises on her neck to see if they’re real. A potion gets foisted into his hands and he drinks it, all too aware of their proximity and the fact she’s not letting go.

“You should bring Snow along,” he says once he’s finished, “You and he’d have an easier time of it than me and you.”

“I’d rather have you at my back.”

He doesn’t say anything. His girls are in their holsters and she must have put them there when he was passed out. As the world clears, he wonders how long he was out for, then notices the trickle of blood at her temple—damn, but what had happened after he passed out? Apparently all it took was a little electricity to—

“They told me where their base was,” she says, softly, “In exchange for their lives.”

Sazh does a quick count of the bodies, but there aren’t any missing. When he looks to her, she meets his gaze, tension in her jaw, but the bruises at her throat bob as she swallows. “And you wanna go after those bandits now?” he asks her, because Lightning has been crazy since before he knew her, but sometimes even he can’t suspend his disbelief.

(Maybe she still has a death wish. She took Fang and Vanille’s sacrifice too-hard, has been smarting and fighting ever since, but Lightning never willingly brings anyone along on her craziest missions. Makes him sick, because they're going to lose her someday soon, and what happens then?)

“No, not now. You’re in no…” she stops. “We’re in no condition.”

Her hand’s still in his shirt and he wonders if she can feel the pounding of his heart. Sazh nods. “You’re sure you’re okay?” he asks as he reaches out to disentangle her fingers.

Lightning shifts her grip from his shirt to his wrist, pulls her his hand to her mouth and—her lips brush the place where palm and wrist meet, electric and not painful at all, and he’s shivering like she really did light him up. Despite the potion, his throat's suddenly desert-dry. “I’m fine,” she breathes into his glove.

Then she lets him go and stands to create the illusion of distance between them, but her shoulders are tense, her feet planted so firm in the dirt he doesn’t think a tornado could budge her. It’s crazy—so crazy, because he could barely even feel anything through his glove, but his hand’s tingling and he resists the urge to rub at it. “We should head back. You okay to get moving?” she asks.

Sazh feels his old man bones protest as he moves to stand—but Lightning reaches for the hand she kissed, offers him her hand—

And he takes it.

Of course he does, because he’s followed her this far, hasn’t he? What’s a little further?

I have mixed feelings ranging from "Sadness!" to "Warm Fuzzies!"

Aaaaand, now I want Swashbuckling Adventuress!Sara. Naturally. GO, YOUNG ONE! FOLLOW YOUR DREAMS! \o/

Muaha! Thank you, glad you liked!

Thank you!

\o/

She is a saucy vixen.

Wee! :D

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Page 17 of 26

2013 KISS BATTLE!

"Distraction", FFVIII: Angelo + Squall, G

Something, FFI, Sara/Female!Light Warrior, PG-13

Re: Better: FFI: White Mage/Red Mage, Explicit

"Wake" FFVI: Interceptor+Shadow, G

Re: Better: FFI: White Mage/Red Mage, Explicit

Unintended (Rufus/Reno rated M)

Re: FFX, Jecht/Auron, PG

Re: A Philosophical Difference, FFV/Dragon Age II, Isabela/Faris, PG

[BlitzKiss!] The Hard Stuff, FFV, Faris/Butz, PG-13

FFIV:OGC: Kain/Edward

FFXII: OGC: Basch/Balthier

BLITZKISS: FFVIII/Teen Wolf: Ellone/Lydia, PG-13

FFXIII: Hope/Lightning

FFXIII: Serah/Lightning

Re: Better: FFI: White Mage/Red Mage, Explicit

Free: FFI: Sara/Lady Red Mage, PG

A Collaborative Effort: FFIV: TAY + Chrono Trigger: Lucca/Luca, PG-13

Re: FFVII, Scarlet/Scarlet, PG (Light Selfcest)

Re: FFVII, Any canon where character appears, Scarlet/Scarlet

A Little Further (Lightning/Sazh, T)

Re: Free: FFI: Sara/Lady Red Mage, PG

Re: Melt; FFI: White Mage/Red Mage

Re: Melt; FFI: White Mage/Red Mage

Re: Loss; FFVI: Setzer/Blackjack

Re: Loss; FFVI: Setzer/Blackjack