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

Bringing your A game.

He finds her sitting by the side of a river that flows backwards, with weeds winding 'round her ankles that hiss when he steps through the underbrush of fire.

"You don't seem surprised to see me," he says, by way of a greeting, and doesn't sit.

Rydia shrugs. "I heard you coming." The truth is, she is surprised to see him, because she never finds others in this world - this half-state, this suspended existence, the line between Eidolons and humans blurred and grayed. And if she was to see anyone in this strange, upside-down world, it certainly wouldn't have been him.

He is sans-armor, and the breeze that smells of sage and sandalwood is playing with the loose ends of his ponytail; it's a splash of yellow against a sky of scorched red. (Or is that the sea? She can never tell anymore which side has floated to the top.) His feet stay firmly on the ground, which is more than Rydia could say the first three times she dream-walked here.

"Do you stay here often?" he asks.

"More often than not," she answers. It's hard to lie here. The truth tugs at her tongue and spills over her lips like red wine, even when she tries to hold it back. "I find solace here, and few other places."

"Even in Baron?"

She looks to him then, fingers clenching back over her palm, hands resting in her lap. The action leaves half-moon marks littered in her skin. "There is no solace in Baron. Not for me. And not for you, either, I should think."

"There's no solace at all," he agrees.

"So what are you doing here?" Rydia asks.

Kain picks up a rock - shaped like a leaf, and possibly it used to be one, solidified into something solid and cutting in the realm that refuses to let anything be real - and tosses it into the river. There is no splash, but after a second, the stone drops back down from the sea-sky and lands a hand span away from his boots. They both watch it as it skips a few paces and then stills against the cracked dirt.

"It is you I most regret," he says, while still staring at the rock and all that he seems to think it represents. (It's just a rock, she thinks, but doesn't voice this aloud. Sometimes, in this world, it's best to let things go unsaid.)

"You regret knowing me?" she asks. "Or letting me live? Or perhaps even coming to find me here, in this godless place?"

His expression is half-amused, and half bordering on something very close to petulance. "No," he answers, patiently. "I regret that you always feared me."

Rydia laughs then; she hasn't feared anything since the flames took her mother from her.

"I don't fear you," she tells him. She sobers, looking down at her fingernails again - they've turned to shells, the looping, spiral shells found on slow-moving snails. "I've never feared you."

"I think perhaps you were the one thing that could have saved me."

She glares at him, hair whipping at her cheek with the force of the movement. "No one could have saved you from yourself."

Kain smiles. "You're probably right."

(Of course I am, she thinks, and hates herself for that.)

"I don't understand what you mean," she says, frustrated; it could be this realm. It warps things, including words, and he could be explaining the use of the feathers on his helm rather than wax philosophical. It might not even really be Kain, though she suspects that it is - real people have a certain air here, like brimstone, like the burning bit of reality that the magic is trying furiously to expel.

He walks to the stone and kicks it, causing it to skitter against the ground again. "I wish I'd told you this. There's something beautifully wild about you. I've always loved that part of you."

"I didn't know you loved any part of me," Rydia says.

"Neither did I," he agrees, and sounds a bit shocked.

The river is flowing faster, and Rydia is afraid to think what it means. She stands, pushing herself up and letting bits of jeweled dirt embed itself in her hands.

"Are you saying that you can't tell me this in the Upperworld?" she asks.

"I think," Kain starts, and then leans in a bit, licking his lip slowly and letting his tongue drag across the flesh, "that I'm not sure what I'm saying anymore."

"But you love something about me," Rydia pushes.

His hand finds her cheek, fingertips grazing the curve of her face. "I love everything about you," he whispers, just before he kisses her.

--

It takes a few days to get to Baron - there are always things to work out, and shipments to go with, and just because she's making the journey, Rydia finds herself in charge of a particularly dull iron trade manifesto from the dwarves. Still, she arrives with her things in order, and Rosa greets her at the gate with a light kiss to either cheek.

"You really needn't have come all the way here," the other woman says, leading her in through the winding hallways that Rydia will never, ever understand. (They are cold, like her blood now, like the awful, stale wind that greets her nostrils as they move through the old treasure vaults.) "We could have sent you all the updates by carrier and saved you the trouble."

"It's no trouble," Rydia says. "I wanted to see for myself."

Rosa leads her to the second tower, the infirmary that isn't connected to the barracks; this one is private, with heavy, gold-lined curtains that Rydia suspected used to be in the royal bedchambers.

"I'm afraid there's been no change," Rosa explains. Her voice is sad. She doesn't move in, but Rydia thinks she wants to push the hair away from Kain's eyes, the bits that have fallen out and are laying across his forehead.

"And you found him at the base of Mt. Ordeals?" Rydia asks, swallowing hard. She wills him to open his eyes. (He doesn't.)

"Yes," Rosa says. "And he's been in this dream-like state ever since."

Rydia sits down, hard. "You don't need to stay."

"Alright," Rosa agrees, and turns to leave without questioning. Rydia's always liked that about her. "There will be a hot meal for you in the kitchens whenever you're ready."

Rydia waits until the other woman is gone. She waits a long time, because in the real world, her words tend to be stuck in her throat more often than not. It's as if she's forgotten how to use her human body after her time spent with the Eidolons.

"Stupid," she chides, finally, after a very long time has passed and she is sure he will not simply open his eyes to look at her. "I love everything about you, too."

Being a knight can mean many different things, especially to those who have lost part of themselves to it.

"Pretty sure I meant your other left."

Despite the nature of the festivities, Penelo enjoys the Day of Remembrance. The flowers are bright and red, and some say they are the color of the blood that was spilt to bring Dalmasca back under the Raithwall lineage and rule, but Penelo pays them no mind - it is a day off from the usual, when the stalls are out with the rare goods and steals, and no one feels the mood to cause trouble. Not with the Queen overlooking them all, and her own loss hanging so heavily around her shoulders; they have been given a gift, and they are loathe to abuse it.

The Queen herself does not usually venture out on the day, but Penelo finds her in the Estersand anyway, as the sun begins to fall from its overhead arc, and the winds have picked up - Penelo's lips are chapped within minutes from the unrelenting wave of hot air that makes up the breeze within the dunes.

"There are enough of those in town," she says, because the other woman is gathering the red blooms in her arms, sticking close to the sides where the flowers have begun growing wild - ever since she returned to power, and the Archadians were driven back behind their thick stone walls.

Ashe, for her part, seems unsurprised to see her.

"These are for myself," she explains, and twists another bloom free to add to the pile.

"For Rasler?" Penelo asks. When Ashe does not answer - and where are her guards? The Queen should not be roaming the Estersand alone, even with a tell-tale sword swinging at her hip - Penelo adds, "Or for those who have taken to the skies without returning?"

Ashe laughs a little, though it seems to lack joy. "Haven't most taken to the skies, in the end? It is where we all seem to go eventually."

Penelo lets her work for a few minutes; perhaps she can find something in this repetitive task that takes her mind from ruling, from Bhujerba and Rozarria, and the host of problems that still lie between them all. After awhile, when there is nothing further from Ashe, she starts to help. It does not take long to collect an armful of the beautiful flowers - the petals tickle the exposed parts of her skin.

"Thank you," Ashe says, and smiles in a way that is very sincere, crinkling all the way up to her eyes. "I do miss spending time with you, after it all."

"I think we all miss people, after everything," Penelo says, carefully, and sets her flowers on top of Ashe's own.

Ashe levels her with a long, contemplating look. Better men have shriveled under the shrewd gaze, and Penelo forces herself to keep her shoulders straight and her chin squared, because this is her friend as well as her Queen, her battlemate and spell-companion.

"I was never meant to roam the skies," Ashe says, finally.

"And yet," Penelo starts, "you'd have made a great pirate."

She receives a laugh for that. "Yes," Ashe agrees, still amused; it's nice to see her face so open and turned up towards the sun, drenched in memories. "Yes, I suspect I would."

"Will you come by tonight?" Penelo asks. "The Sandsea? Just dinner, with old friends - Tomaj will even make something nice for the occasion."

"I will try," Ashe promises, and Penelo knows it will never happen. That's the way it goes now - back in Rabanastre, they are in two separate worlds, and there is nothing that can be done to change it. Just as there is nothing that can be done to change the past, no matter how badly either of them may wish to.

"Here," Penelo says, and reaches for one of the blooms. She twists a bit of Ashe's hair back over her ear - it's gotten long, past her shoulders, and makes her look oddly young - and braids the thin stem into it until only the red petals are exposed, curved and vivid above Ashe's ear. Penelo takes a step back. "Perfect."

She closes her eyes when Ashe leans in to kiss her, at the corner of her mouth; the whole action brings the taste of Cactuar fruit to her tongue, and she isn't sure if it's her imagination or not.

"Thank you," Ashe says again.

Penelo curtsies, giving the other woman a smile. "Your Grace."

The Parting Glass

This is really great! I seriously just love everything about this~!

flying

Loved thisssss, thank you so much! And the 2nd person gives it a really unique feel :)

Love Xu giving up control so willingly and the dynamics of their relationship revealed here!

grateful

Sometimes being on the wrong side of the law is exhilarating

the truth about loyalty

Quick sketch at my journal here.

Edited 2013-02-08 16:11 (UTC)

This is very sweet, and also sad. I love the mood between them here. Thank you!!

Thank you! I love stubborn Auron giving in :)

This was great!! Thank you!

ALSDFJKLSADJF OMFG.

YOU ARE MY GOD. Not only is this like AMAZING, but hilariously...I had this exact image in my head. Like, not even exaggerating...Scarlet kissing a mirror, in love with her bad ass self. XD I mean, I was wondering how other people would interpret it, but that's how I would have. O_O Thank you so much!! This is incredible. <333

Omg this is awesome XD

Leslie finds someone even more exciting than Joe Biden

They were partners, and that was reason enough not to try anything. The Turks were professionals and Vincent was just rookie besides. Vincent needed to be able to follow his lead, to trust him with his life, and getting feelings all mixed up in it wouldn’t be appropriate. Not to mention they were both men and Veld knew perfectly well what would happen if the President got word that he’d hired—

Not that Veld was a…he’d had plenty of girls in his time and was sure he’d eventually settle down with one. He had a plan for his life, the same plan everyone was supposed to have, find a nice girl, get married, and maybe have a few kids. Veld wanted to be a father one day, and he really did like girls.

The problem was he didn’t just like girls, and lately he’d been looking at his partner in ways he knew he shouldn’t. It just wasn’t done.

He had no idea how Vincent felt about it…about him. They were close. They were partners, ready to fight together, die together or die for each other. When you were a Turk it was hard to have a life out side of that. There were so many things he could never tell his girlfriends; things Vincent understood because he’d been there too.

The relationship between partners was deep, and in its own way intimate, but it wasn’t physical…He wouldn’t want to ruin what they had by trying, and who knew what Vincent would think.

Except, Veld had the impression Vincent would think it was all right. Vincent had been looking at him just as often and there was something in his smile. They were both grown men, well into their twenties. They could make grown up decisions and grown up mistakes.

Still he hesitated, because despite being a trained killer there was something innocent to Vincent. But wasn’t that part of the appeal? Vincent was older than him, but he’d barely lived. Veld was the one the girls had flocked to, taken in by brazen charm. Vincent’s looks had gotten him his share of would be takers, but his silence and stern disinterest meant at the end of the night Vincent was alone.

Vincent had all these old fashioned notions: finding that one person and giving them everything. If the were the case he’d be alone forever. They were Turks, that meant giving everything to the job, duty had to come first. Sure, you could have a life outside of that, you could love people, but they couldn’t be your whole world. It was dangerous to think that way; Vincent wouldn’t last long as a Turk if he was so eager to have his focus compromised.

He needed to learn that you could be with people without it throwing off your game. You could even love as long as you managed your priorities. Maybe Vincent needed someone to show him, teach him to relax a bit.

It was about balance. The job had to be a priority, but that didn’t mean no outside life. Spending all your time working, and never going after anything you wanted wouldn’t end well either. What better way to learn to manage professional responsibilities and personal desires than having a thing with a co-worker? It sort of forced you keep your priorities straight.

Not that Veld had a chance to talk out priorities when it finally happened.

They were standing in the rain, huddled together in the shadows of an alleyway. The man they’d been tailing hadn’t led them to anything worth their time and it had been hours since he’d gone into the bar.

“You want to keep waiting?” asked Veld.

Vincent gave him a look. Of course he did, Vincent was thorough, ever the professional. But Veld could see through that cold no nonsense exterior, to his innocent, idealistic heart. Vincent needed to be a bit less of the former, and none of the latter.

It wasn’t for a Turk to be innocent, and Vincent looked so beautiful in the rain. The water made his hair seemed longer and Veld liked the way it fell over his face Veld closed the distance between them. The air was freezing from the rain, but his lips radiated heat.

Experimenting

Scarlet wasn’t a fan of Materia. Obviously, anything with destructive capability wasn’t all-bad, but given a choice she’d take a gun any day. She liked weapons that she understood, weapons she could design and improve. Materia was natural, and aside from figuring out how to manufacture the stuff synthetically, there was precious little room for innovation. Hojo would beg to differ of course; the scientist seemed to think that nature existed to be warped to whatever purpose intrigued him, but for Scarlet, nature held no intrigue.

It was for that reason she was annoyed that Shinra’s ultimate security measure was to rely on Materia. Oh, her robots would have their place, but if someone managed to overcome these defenses, the final security measure would be a very special Materia. The Materia would scan whoever approached and create a perfect facsimile. The summoned clone would then attack its counter part. In theory, the version created by the Materia would match the intruder’s abilities, and the battle would end in a stalemate. Unable to beat the Materia, whoever triggered the defense mechanism would have no choice but to turn back.

Scarlet would have much preferred something more lethal, and was doing her best to ensure the preliminary defenses would kill whoever triggered the security system before they ever reached the Materia. That said, she’d been assigned to make the Materia security system a reality, which meant working in conjunction with Science Department personnel and working with Materia.

Joy.

There were several logistical problems with the project and plenty of questions to be answered. How to get a machine to cast a Materia when triggered? Did the copies have other applications? The Vice President had been curious about that. It was all well and good to have a Clone Summon fight an enemy, but why couldn’t a SOLDIER use the Materia on themselves and use their summon copy offensively? What about range? Maybe send in a Clone Summon on a suicide mission to avoid unnecessary loss of personnel?

Every question meant experimentation. The idea that they could get the Clone Summon to do other things besides try to kill the original was intriguing, to say the least.

Today Scarlet had managed to get her mirror image to…well…act like a mirror. Whenever she moved, it would copy her. It was a bit disconcerting at first, but she didn’t exactly mind the three dimensional mirror. After all, she was quite an attractive woman, and seeing herself in the flesh solidified that fact.

She smiled, and the Clone Summon smiled back at her. Their laugher echoed together. Then she reached out, and their hands met. She wondered, what would it be like if she…

Scarlet leaned in and pressed her lips against the clone’s. Scarlet felt the smooth texture of her own lips, and even the lipstick tasted the same. What would it be like to kiss someone whose tongue mirrored your every movement? She supposed it wouldn’t hurt to find out.

She wouldn’t say this was in the name of research, Scarlet wasn’t one to kid herself. As intriguing as it was to feel the heat of the other Scarlet’s mouth and taste someone who tasted just like her, this was not done in the name of discovery. This was vanity, plain and simple.

Scarlet had been one to stop and stare when she happened to catch her reflection. Just to take a moment and appreciate her own beauty. With a mirror, appreciation was limited to one sense: sight. The Materia enabled full sensory enjoyment: the taste of her mouth, the smell of her hair, the feeling of her lips, and the sound of sighing in perfect unison.

Ordinarily, Scarlet had little care for the non-military applications of technology, but when it came to this Materia, she might have to make an exception.

Submission

It must be written somewhere in a dusty tome. Thou shalt gut dragons so their blood spills over the cobblestones and flows down over thy blade. Thou shalt not love a dragon. Beowulf set aside the sword he had been cleaning and cleaning again. If there was one thing he was grateful for, it was that camp was somehow both cozy and discreet—after a long day’s adventuring, having a safe place to rest was more than a simple blessing.

He glanced over at where Reis lay, her wings folded neatly around her. One of her dark brown eyes was half-open, surveying the world around her even as she rested.

Some things never changed—Reis had always been the wary sort, even before he had known her. She liked to be careful. She left nothing to chance.

He swallowed. Reis being a dragon he could stand; the fact she did not remember him twisted his gut. One could love a dragon—one could love someone who had forgotten their love, also. But if Reis had but remembered him, their life could have pretended at normality. Reis with her memories would be the same with or without scales. Reis without her memories? Life was empty without her.

How could he ever make up for what had happened, save for by finding a way to bring her back?

Beowulf could imagine what their lives would have been, had she kept her memory: a temple knight and a dragon, fighting injustice on their way to find a cure for the beautiful dragon. He smiled, glanced across camp again to where Reis kept vigil, and she stirred, met his gaze with an even stare. She was his Reis, gave him that same look she had when they had met first: slightly curious, partially annoyed, and hazy with exhaustion. A few houses in Lionel had caught fire one night and he had been in charge of evacuating that section of the town. Her house had not burned—but she had been evacuated from her bed and she had been little pleased about it, though understanding of his duty.

He stood and across camp, Reis continued to watch him. Not as though he were a threat, merely keeping an eye on him. With slow, purposeful steps, he made his way to her. Reis did not stir even as he came close enough to brush fingers over the glittering scales of her snout. So strange, to think of his beautiful, tiny-nosed Reis with a snout!

But she was beautiful this way, too, gleaming purple in the low firelight, the promise of power with every minuscule shift she made. “You are safe here,” he told her.

She blinked at him, tilting her head to the side in what had to be amusement if he knew her at all. And he could not stop himself, he did not have the will, he reached out and trailed his fingertips over her smooth scales. Beowulf sucked in a breath and Reis—she hummed, like she was pleased, and he grinned, a fool’s lovestruck grin.

What was he if not a lovestruck fool?

He leaned down and pressed his mouth against the top of her head. The scales caught against his lips as he mouthed into her, Remember me, remember me, please, Reis, just remember me.

Huffing, Reis settled into a more comfortable position, pulling her wings more tightly around herself. Beowulf pulled away, rubbing at the sting where his lip had been cut. Her eyes shut fully and she seemed more relaxed, so he crept away, back to where he had left his possessions. There was hope, yet, there had to be. Beowulf rubbed at his lip again, his flesh giving just that little bit more at the agitation.

And somewhere, some dusty tome had the writ: thou shalt not kiss dragons.

Aw!! You're welcome, I'm so glad you like it! Actually, I was really unsure if it was what you had in mind at all-- but when I read your prompt that's exactly what I imagined, too.

"Next up for auction...!" The man behind the podium falters, straightens his glasses as he peers at the scrap of paper that was just handed to him. He twists his head around seeking validation. A disheveled dandy simply nods in assurance.

"A date. With him."

The low drone of gossip swells through the crowd. A couple people laugh.

"Setzer Gabbiani, age 23. Flight enthusiast and professional gambler. Sounds like a real treat, ladies. The bidding starts at..." The auctioneer again side-eyes the young man in question, wondering if he's being taken for a fool. "Fifty gil."

Setzer shrugs, then nonchalantly begins to examine his cuffs. The audience is silent.

"Do I hear fifty gil? Fifty gil, anyone?"

An elderly woman raises her number. "You're cute. And I like your hair," she says, patting her own silver bun girlishly. Setzer gives her a cheeky grin and a wink in response, and the murmur of laughter echoes around the room once again.

"Fifty gil!" the auctioneer parrots. "Do I hear one hundred? One hundred gil for a date with this young man!"

A slender redhead in the second row chimes in. "One hundred gil!" A chorus of Ooohhs and a few wolf-whistles follow. Setzer only gives a small, polite bow in response.

"Two hundred," retorts the older woman. The crowd starts to get more lively. A man standing in the back holding a brown paper bag suspiciously like a bottle enters the next bid.

"Serious bids only, now... if you win, you pay!" chides the auctioneer.

"Oh, I'm serious!"

Setzer maintains his polite smile throughout; a perfect poker face towards all of his would-be suitors. The audience grows rowdier as the auction progresses, and the flustered auctioneer has to bang his mallet on the podium on several occasions in an attempt to restore order.

As the bidding finally seems to be settling down around the 3,000 gil mark (the lovely young redhead is now flushed with excitement, and the lecherous whistles continue around her), the auctioneer gratefully prepares to put an end to the madness. But before he has a chance to declare the winner, a new voice rings out -

"Ten thousand gil."

Even Setzer breaks character for a split-second while everyone turns to get a look at the newcomer.

"Sold to the lady in the red coat!" announces the auctioneer, wiping the sweat from his brow. The crowd remains in stunned silence as they watch the new winner stride up to the stage.

"I have one condition," she says, curling her fingers around Setzer's ascot. "I'd like to try before I buy; make sure I'm getting my money's worth."

Setzer grins. "By all means."

The lady pulls him into a passionate kiss and the audience erupts into wild applause, whooping and cheering so loud that passers-by stop to curiously poke their heads into the building. They kiss like long-lost lovers reunited; hungry, overwhelmed, and a little competitive. The auctioneer, sweating anew, has to separate them and practically shoves them both down the stairs. The woman tosses a coin bag with his percentage at the flustered man as she pulls Setzer along down the aisle.

"The name's Daryl. I saw you in the tavern yesterday."

"Daryl," says Setzer, savoring the sound. "You could have won a date for free if you'd done this then."

"Oh, I intend to get my money back. This is just my opening bid." She drops a larger bag of gil into Setzer's hand. "Let's play a game of cards."

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Page 7 of 26

2013 KISS BATTLE!

Dissidia Duodecim: Lighting/Tifa

"Shatter", FFIV: Rydia/Kain, Rosa, PG-13

FFX/FFXII: Auron/Basch

FFX-2: Gippal/Baralai

"Time is a River", FFXII: Ashe/Penelo, PG

FFXII: Vossler/Basch

Re: [BlitzKiss!] Tactical Retreat, FFV, Fariz/Butz, PG-13

FFVIII: Selphie/Anyone

Re: Give Up Control (FFVIII, Quistis/Xu, NSFW)

FFXIII: Sazh/Anyone

FFVII, any canon where character appears, Yuffie/Anyone

FFXII: Fran/Ashe

FFVII, Scarlet/Scarlet, PG (Light Selfcest)

Re: "Time is a River", FFXII: Ashe/Penelo, PG

Re: FFX, Jecht/Auron, PG

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

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

Re: SPOILS; FFVI/FFXII: Locke/Balthier; G

FFVIII/Parks and Recreation: Laguna Loire/Leslie Knope

Re: FFVII - Before Crisis - Veld/Vincent

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

FFVII, any canon where character appears Rufus/Reno

Thou Shalt Not Kiss Dragons (Beowulf/Reis, PG)

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

Ante up! (Setzer/Daryl, PG)