ff_exchange | 2014 Final Fantasy Kiss Battle

Current Mood: excited

Entry tags:

2014 Final Fantasy Kiss Battle

Final Fantasy Kissing Battle 2014

RULES

All prompts will be organized by fandom, using Master Links. When leaving prompts, please put it under the right canon! If in a compilation canon, please include 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 2014

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

*whargarble* *flail*

Oh, wow, so EXCELLENT. When I thought up the prompt idea, I was thinking in terms of Ashe being betrothed to Vayne instead of Rasler, back when they were children, but I had also been thinking seperately about this scenario--- and, frankly, wondering what the Watsonian/in-universe explanation is for why they never did end up in an arranged marriage, either of their fathers' doing or their own (well, Vayne's own, especially--- that that did not occur to him always bugs me and this is a great missing scene as well as the yeast starter for an AU).

(Also, you were one of the other people on moogle_university who thought that Vayne as a proper tragic anti-hero would have been amazing, right? Because if so I might have a blitzkiss for you with yet another look at Ashe and Vayne when Vayne is more pragmatic and less tyrannical, aka my favorite kind of Vayne.)

Sore, is the first thing his drowsy brain registers. A dull, stiff ache at first, all through his left side, getting stronger and harder to ignore as the minutes pass. He shifts, rolls his shoulders to try to get the crick out of his upper back as the thought hey, this kinda hurts more than it should drifts across his mind.

Bad, bad idea. The pain intensifies to somewhere around the owfuckowFUCK OW! range, bright white fire in his ribcage and shoulders and what feels like every single muscle. Along with sensation comes memory - attack on a fortified base, busting into a locked room, some sort of miniaturized Behemoth crashing into him from the side. That would explain the busted ribs, at least.

"Curaga," says a light voice from a few feet away, followed by "Regen" as the gentle warmth of the spell replaces the burn of torn muscles and the white-hot stabs of broken ribs.
Even without her voice, he'd know Selphie by the feel of her spells. All of his friends have a different taste or scent or feel to their magic - Zell's Cure spells are like being punched with a fist that's been dipped in mint chocolate, Quistie's are precise and tart and rimmmed with blue, and Rinoa's feel like sticking his finger in an outlet and drinking pink lemonade at the same time. Selphie's healing magic smells like oranges and feels like her lips on his skin, his favorite by far.

"Thanks, Sefie", he says, not opening his eyes (too bright, the lights in the room positioned right over the bed, dropping straight into his pupils if he's not careful - and he's spent enough time in this bed to know that).
"You overgrown idiot," she says as she smoothes the hair back from his forehead. "You know better than to run into a blind room without backup. What the hell were you thinking?" There's no malice in her voice, just the faded edge of fear after it's turned to anger and burnt itself out.
He turns his head to face her (ow ow ow bubbling over the Regen knitting him back together) and opens one eye. Her hair is a mess, there is a small cut over one thin eyebrow, and her right arm is in a sling (sprained, he'll find out later). She looks tired and worn-out and triumphant at the same time with smudges on her cheek and new dents in her weapon - his warrior princess, the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"Not entirely sure, darlin'," he says, grabbing her hand and gently kissing the backs of her fingers. "Seem to remember thinkin' that if the monsters were beating me up, they'd be too busy to go after you." She smiles, exasperated and affectionate at the same time. The same expression she always makes when he gets hurt trying to keep her safe (pointless, he knows, but it's the deep-down chivalry in him demanding that he protect his lady fair). She sighs and leans down to kiss him. Her lipgloss has the same taste of oranges as her Cure spell, and her good hand fists in his hopelessly tangled hair. "Easy, tiger," he mutters after she nips at his lower lip, "I'm still bleeding, y'know."
"And I'll make you bleed even more if you keep pulling stunts like that," she says, bumping her nose against his. "No more getting hurt for me, 'k?"
"Yes ma'am," he says, and smiles when she giggles.

"Do your best, even if you don't stand out."

Best kind of ouch. ♥

You are quite welcome--- so glad you enjoyed, and, honestly, writing Ashe female-gazing at the two of them had me smiling with anticipation all the way through writing it. (Ashe And Her Male Entourage, who may include some or all of Balthier, Al-Cid, Basch, Vossler, and Vayne, is possibly my favorite thing to write or read in this fandom--- I love her with multiple dudes who then interact with each other around whatever their various reasons are for being with her.)

They stand before the massive headstone, hands entwined. The tips of her fingers grip his knuckles, and he can feel her trembling. The night air is cool, but it comes as a relief after so many days of sweltering summer heat, hidden under cloaks and scarves as they traveled northwest back to Eagrose, solely to pay respects to...

“It is surreal,” she finally says, after such a long silence. They haven’t had much to say for hours now, possibly days. What happened at Mullonde has left them stunned and largely speechless, and they’ve spent the past week operating on autopilot; legs dragging themselves onward, away from the wreckage, away from their fallen comrades, away from Hell.

“It is wrong; that I should have this monument, where you have none --” and then she lets out a quiet whimper, as though she realizes the morbidity of such thoughts, and her trembling intensifies.

He squeezes her hand. “It is a trifle,” he whispers, choking on the last word. “I need not recognition.”

But he scans the cluster of headstones, eyes falling upon the names of his father and his father’s first wife, their sons; and then his second wife, and Alma... Ramza’s entire family, for whom his love remained steadfast beneath it all -- yet he was banned from resting among them, however symbolically. It was wrong. It hurt.

Barbaneth must weep over his children’s empty graves. Perhaps he wonders why, though all pronounced dead, none have joined him in the Promised Land.

The thought finally breaks him. A strangled sound escapes Ramza’s throat, and he pulls his sister into his arms. He buries his face in her hair, disheveled and knotted, and she clings to his waist fervently in turn. Her chest heaves against his and he kisses the top of her golden head.

“I miss them,” she sobs. “Despite everything, they will always be my brothers.”

He plants another kiss upon her crown, and he lingers there this time -- Alma shares his denial, he thinks. They both desperately want their memories of Dycedarg and Zalbaag to be from happier times. He wants to swallow the sickness he feels seeing his eldest brother’s name so close to their lord father’s, as much as he wishes to banish the muscle-memory of his blade thrust into the desecrated Zalbaag’s heart. He is thankful that Alma wasn’t there to witness their gruesome ends.

Gently, Ramza trails his fingers down the length of Alma’s hair and takes a small step back.

“We shall be safe together, you and I,” he says, taking her hands once more. “In our father’s name do we draw our strength. Our family is not dead.”

She nods slowly, lost in thought. Then at once her eyes brighten as she knits her fingers with his, a wash of warmth upon her tired face. “Then let us prove it. Let us cease our mourning and live.”

The first sliver of sunlight peers over the horizon. A moment later, they silently release each other’s hands to refasten their cloaks and draw their hoods. Their graves will remain absent or empty not by the machinations of others, but because they yet walk the earth -- invisible, yet proud.

Glad you liked it! :) I thought about that scenario, too -- Raminas betrothing Ashe to Vayne rather than Rasler -- but this version ended up striking me more.

My reasoning for why not has always been along the lines that Raminas didn't want to give up his only heir to Archadia, preferring instead to unite the two smaller nations in hopes of keeping the Empire at bay. If some of his sons had survived, then arranging the match with Vayne makes more sense. But I definitely agree that, once Dalmasca has fallen and Vayne is in charge, it makes sense for him to pursue this scenario.

Yes, I did leave a comment to that effect in Moogle U. I really wanted Vayne to have more nuance as an antagonist, and was disappointed when the game made him an outright evil overlord. So I am up for that blitzkiss, definitely!

Ashe and her harem: definitely. :) I ship her with essentially everyone (most of the women, too), but my FFXII OTP is pretty much Al-Cid/Ashe/Balthier, so your nod to that at the end was especially awesome!

No problem about the account-bouncing, and in that case, I'll add that the other reason I got off my butt to post was seeing that you thought nobody would take you up on the prompt--- I was like, "Noooo, must encourage the Yuffie/Cloud!"

And you are SPOT ON about the growth potential--- one of the reason I like them together is, paradoxically, how much I hate Cloud in canon, lol, and I think of Yuffie as someone with enough drive--- not just ego, but the way her sense of Wutaian pride and pride in herself are entwined down to the core of her--- not to be sucked into the vortex of Cloud's, um, issues. (I think of his ego as a soap bubble full of poison: large, fragile, and spilling damage everywhere when it pops.) And for Cloud to be drawn into Yuffie's quest to restore the glory of Wutai, to be a hero for her throne, rather than having his urge to be the hero focused on his own desires for personal glory... yeah. Basically the only reason I haven't written more of them is how little I like him--- generally, I have to like both halves of a pairing in order to write them. But if you want to throw prompts about them at me, I can probably bat some ficlets back over the net, lol!

The wildest of us.

Mentoring.

Playing with your food.

:D :D :D :D Oh, wow, I am so glad I hit on your OTP without knowing it! I tend to imagine any two men in this game being more than glad for Ashe to slip into bed between or next to them, so, yeah. :D :D :D

LOVED IT LOVED IT LOVED IT!

Oh, yeah, I definitely agree--- not only that Raminas was not about to let a Solidor, even a ~third son~, near the throne of Dalmasca, but even that the Watsonian explanation (as opposed to the Doyleist, "because we wouldn't have a game if they were happily married") is basically to do with the idea that Dalmasca's enmity with the empire runs too deep to be patched over with an alliance-marriage. (Sidenote: I cannot spend time writing in this fandom, it seems, without my normal writing turning into purple prose!)

...on the other hand, I have an incredible fascination with the idea of Vayne and Ashe betrothed as children, when neither of them are their kingdoms'/fathers' heirs--- and the adolescent Vayne, in particular, as third son in a cutthroat dynasty, thinking of his wedding to this Dalmascan princess as an escape, a way out of the nest of vipers that is his family, especially if he can somehow arrange to bring Larsa along with him when he leaves for Rabanastre. (And, yes, possibly a means to manipulate himself into a stronger position, because he's a viper himself, lol.) (I also have this ridic headcanon that Ashe was spoiled rotten by at least some of her elder brothers, and that if they met before she was of age, she'd probably automatically fit him into that role in her head. And, demonstrably, he falls naturally into the role of overprotective big brother, see also: Larsa.) (I could talk forever about Vayne and Larsa, actually, and how Vayne is scarily selfless about Larsa even if he doesn't always quite understand him--- for instance, how Vayne's drive to become the Dynast-King is really about making Larsa the Dynast-King and specifically handing him the throne of a united Ivalice where there is nobody left who wants to oppose and more to the point harm him.)

Blitzkiss to follow lest I break the comment-character limit! :D

Playing (un)fair.

Dalmasca falls. Her father has signed the treaty--- but all Ashelia B’nargin Dalmasca can see is that the nation which bears her name and her father’s--- falls.

She is making ready to flee the palace, Vossler in tow; they have all but reached the teleport stone, and freedom, when---

A shimmering in the air, and they both draw steel in preference to being caught out---

The new arrivals have had the same idea; and she has just a moment to register the presence of a Judge with the half-dozen men--- when the seventh steps forward, and removes his helm.

For the first time in her life, she stands face to face with Vayne Solidor.

She does what any good daughter of Dalmasca would do: she spits at him, even as she raises her sword.

Vossler grabs her arm. "It’s six on one--- we must fall back---"

She tries to win her arm free.

Solidor speaks, as if none of this had happened, though she thinks she sees one eyebrow arch slightly. "How convenient," he says calmly, as if they faced each other in a drawing room instead of what should become a battlefield. "I come here seeking you, Your Majesty---" she starts at his use of what is, after all, now her proper title--- "and instead Your Majesty has most graciously chosen to find me. This saves time; and we have in truth not much of it to begin with."

"I would have thought a conqueror would have all the time in the world."

"A conqueror might; but I think to be somewhat else, betimes, Your Majesty." He looks at her seriously.

"What, then--- an assassin; you came seeking me to end Dalmasca’s line---" The rage she hadn’t known she was carrying in the numbness of her grief at the deaths of her father and husband bubbles up within her, spewing out at the man who is its author.

He shakes his head. "On the contrary--- I would help you ensure its preservation, and that of your kingdom---" he holds out a hand to her. "Come with me, Your Majesty, to a place of safety, that we may treat with at least somewhat more leisure--- though we have little enough regardless."

She stares at his hand as she would a viper. "And if I refuse?" Vossler’s hissed, "Majesty!" hits her ears; she holds up a hand for silence.

Vayne Solidor sighs; there is a hint of human exasperation in his mien that she hates to see. "Then you have my leave to go." He makes a gesture and his men step aside, though the Judge’s helm turns toward him, a hint of a speaking look hidden behind that fierce and impassive mask. "But know that if you do, your kingdom will fall, and become no more than a part of the Empire, as you have fought so hard to prevent--- and it will be by your doing."

"And if I join you?"

For some reason the words make his lip twitch up, just a bit. "Your Majesty, if you join me---" he stresses the word just slightly for some reason--- "then the next time you come to Dalmasca, it will be to resume your throne. What I offer is no less then Dalmasca’s freedom--- and a great deal more besides, if you will treat with me."

She stares at him. Her heart is burning with rage--- but his words have struck home.

And besides, if she goes with him, there’s always a chance that she can get a knife in his back, or his throat. "Very well," she says.

She ignores Vossler’s sigh of relief.

Vayne holds out his arm to her--- again, a gesture better suited to the drawing room than the battlefield, for all that his is the military genius that laid Nalbina and Dalmasca low. "Shall we?"

#

The shimmer from the teleport has hardly faded, leaving them in what is evidently his office, when he addresses himself to Vossler. "Captain--- Azelas, is it not?" Vossler starts at being so addressed. "Your queen and I have much to discuss that is best done in private; but I understand if you should fear for her safety---" one of the guards steps forward at a gesture from his master. "I believe Colonel Tarven here is about your size--- if you will don his arms and armor, you may take his place as my doorguard, and thus be in earshot of your queen should she have need of you."

Vossler looks at the colonel as Ashe had looked at Solidor’s hand. "I give you my word of honor," Solidor adds lowly, "that I mean her no harm---"

"A Solidor’s word of honor---" Ashe spits at him. "That’s worth not a pebble under my feet!"

For some reason, that actually makes him smile. "I see you and the Senate have a point of agreement," he says wryly, then, more softly--- "Judge Magister Drace, here, will stand surety with your captain, that my intentions are honorable."

Ashe starts to ask why she should take the word of one of Solidor’s lapdogs any more than she would his own--- then the Judge Magister steps forward and removes her helm.

Her helm; and that Solidor has brought a woman to stand surety for the proceedings at once convinces her that he speaks truth, and makes a horrible suspicion begin to bubble up in her mind. "Very well," she says, in clipped sharp tones, folding her arms across her chest. "Make haste, Vossler--- I would have this business concluded."

Vossler regards her dubiously, but does as bidden, and in no very long time, she and Vayne Solidor are alone.

"Your Majesty," he says, and bows to her. "I thank you for your trust."

"Do not thank me for what you do not have," she says shortly. "For what did you bring me here?"

"As I said, a proposition--- or rather," he adds wryly, "a proposal." Her suspicions swell like the wind in a sandstorm.

"Say on."

"Even as a child," he says, his voice almost too casual, "I wondered at your father’s choice to betroth you to Lord Rasler, and so set Nalbina and Dalmasca united against the Empire--- rather than to me, and make an alliance that would preserve their freedom." He looks at her directly, that blue-eyed gaze unsettling. "I would rectify that."

"You would marry me."

"Aye--- and for my groom-gift return your crown."

Ashe sorts thoughts fast. "You can do that?" She does not quite understand Archadian politics but she knows that he does not have quite the power that she or Rasler had: he cannot presume to inherit.

That gives both reason for his offer--- and reason why he cannot make it alone.

But he inclines his head. "I have some coin of influence that I can spend in the Senate---"

"And you would do it on Dalmasca’s behalf--- why? So you can wed your way to a crown instead of what you Archadians do?"

He laughs outright at that, unexpectedly. "Some would say the electoral process is even more whorish than what you describe. I would not expect to rule jointly with you---" He pauses. "I will admit that the Senate is like to look with favor upon my candidacy for the throne should it bring a union with Dalmasca’s--- but that is not my true goal."

"Then what is?"

He draws breath. "I have spoken of a groom-gift, but not a bride-gift."

"What is it I have that you Archadians have not already taken?" she spits.

"The Dusk Shard."

She stares at him; this is entirely unexpected. "Why?"

He clenches his fist. "As to the specifics--- believe that it would be safer for us both if we are wed before I speak further." She blinks in confusion--- then remembers her study of Archadian law: in his country, spouse may not testify against spouse.

"You’re planning a coup." It’s the only logical explanation.

He looks at her for a moment--- then laughs. It sounds rusty, as if he doesn’t do it that often, and he has laughed twice tonight. She wonders at it, assessing him as she would any opponent, for this is no less a battlefield than the one they left. "As a matter of fact, I am--- though not the kind you think; my father’s head is safe from my blade."

"As your brothers’ were not."

His gloved hands clench into fists. "That was at my father’s behest," he says sharply, and something in his tone tells her not to pursue it.

"And you had nothing to do with inspiring it," she can’t help but say anyway.

He looks at her sharply. "This is not to the point." He steps closer to her. "Your Majesty, believe me--- if I thought I could persuade the Senate, I would return your you throne with no talk of marriage, in exchange for the Dusk Shard alone--- it is only that they will want some manner of... assurance... of alliance."

"Of conquest," she says bitterly, though she is all too aware that her kingdom lies in his hands already.

No, she thinks suddenly. Dalmasca lies in Archadia’s hands now. The Emperor’s hands, or their Senate’s.

Vayne Solidor is asking her to put it in his hands instead.

"Not conquest," he says. "Freedom for your kingdom--- and perhaps--- far more than that," he adds, almost to himself.

She thinks quickly. Solidor--- the whole of House Solidor, but especially this one--- is reputed to be vicious, ruthless and clever, and his successes against her kingdom and Rasler’s bear that out.

And there is always the Dawn Shard. The Dawn Shard, that only she, in all the world, now knows exists, much less where to find it. She has a backup plan.

Not to mention that a knife in the back is easier to deliver when you sleep beside the intended recipient.

This gives her options.

She swallows the burning of hate and rage inside her--- she is a princess; no, she is a queen, and she knows her duty, though it burns as bitter as gall and acid.

A knife in the back, or the Dawn Shard and raise an army, she reminds herself. She has options, now. And she will sit Dalmasca’s throne, and use whatever influence she might have with her husband to hold Archadia at bay.

The thought of how such influence might be won turns her stomach; she and Rasler had been a love match for all it was arranged by their father’s, and touching this man of all of them would turn her stomach even if her beloved husband were colder in his grave than he yet is.

Perhaps this obsession of his with the Dusk Shard might give her some purchase, she consoles herself.

Something of her thoughts must have shown on her face, for all her training in court politics, for his expression softens somewhat. "I am... aware that you and the late Lord Rasler were... more to each other than a marriage of political alliance," he says lowly. "I... shall not trespass upon your grief, nor your person--- though if you deem it expedient for Dalmasca’s heir to bear Solidor’s name, I find I’m sentimental enough to prefer that he or she also share Solidor’s blood." She hardly has time to realize that he has just given her blanket permission--- approval even--- to cuckold him, when he adds, "My brother’s hands are not stained with blood, nor will they be so if it is in my power; you might apply to him, when he is of age."

This is too much, after all that she has endured. "Then why not marry me off to your brother and have done with it--- or does that not suit your ambitions?"

His fists actually clench at that. "What you and Larsa might decide about Dalmasca’s heir--- when he is of age to do so--- is between the two of you. But I will not use my brother as a pawn." There is something rough and dangerous in his voice; for the first time, she sees what this man would be like on a battlefield that is fought with weapons other than words, and shivers at it. He sees it; swallows, and forces himself to relax with obvious effort, speaks more lightly. "For one thing, if it be possible, I would like for him to have the good fortune that Your Majesty enjoyed in her first marriage."

Oh, that shot tells, and for a moment, she wants to tell him that he’s overplayed his hand with that one.

But she knows what Rasler would tell her to do--- just as he once repudiated their marriage, which he had in truth desired, to force the hand of a conspiracy--- so he would tell her to do her duty now.

She takes a step to him, so close that she can feel the heat of his body against hers. "Very well," she says lowly. "I accept your... proposal. The Dusk Shard for Dalmasca’s crown, upon the day of our wedding."

He lets out a breath; she can feel the tension go out of his body. "I thank Your Majesty for the honor."

She snorts. "We’re affianced--- you needn’t ‘Majesty’ me." She’s needling him, gratuitously, taking out some of her frustrations this way. "I’m certainly not about to call you ‘my lord’."

"No, I shouldn’t think you would," he says wryly, and then, "Ashelia."

There is something so gentle in his tone, almost seductive, that she recoils from it instinctively, from the very pull of it. "Vayne." Her tone is more matter-of-fact.

"Well; I must go to the Senate with the happy news--- to ensure that it is so," Vayne adds sardonically. He pauses a moment. "The tradition in Archadia is to seal such--- agreements--- with a kiss."

It feels like he’s goading her in turn; she wants to tell him that if he tries she’ll slap him. Thinks that that’s the reaction he’s waiting for. "Well, get on with it, then," she says sharply, and tips her face up to him--- goading in turn.

He looks at her for an instant--- she thinks, with a hint of triumph, that she has managed to surprise him, and that that likely does not often happen to him.

Then he cups her cheek and bends to press his lips to hers.

She had expected--- well; she is not sure what she had expected, precisely, but it is not this: the light, soft touch of his mouth that is still firm against hers, serious and respectful. She has to fight the urge to break the contact at once, where she might have endured roughness or claiming or simple sloppiness--- might have endured the overtly unpleasant better than something that could almost be pleasant, if he were someone else, and she were.

He lingers about the touch for a moment--- she does not know Archadian customs, does not know whether it is a moment, or two, longer than is required or seemly--- then withdraws. "I thank you," he says, and there is something in that low voice that leaves her wondering, what for, exactly--- leaves her wondering about his reasons for this whole business. And if he mightn’t just have shown her a vulnerable side. A weak point that she can use.

He steps back, then, and is entirely business. "I shall to the Senate at once, then."

"At this hour?"

He smiles wryly. "They convened a special session--- they were waiting word from Dalmasca; that I can bring them happier news and more swiftly than they expected is to our advantage."

"You mean your advantage."

He raises an eyebrow at her. "Are we not--- allies--- in this, Your Majesty?" she sucks in a breath. "If so, my advantage is yours." She takes that for a threat, or at least a warning, as to the reverse. He steps back further and bows to her. "By your leave---"

"You hardly need stand on ceremony with me," she all but snaps, unsettled by his excessive courtesy. "We’re affianced."

"Not until the Senate approves it," he says dryly, "but I take your point--- Ashelia." She fights a shiver again. "I shall ask Judge Drace to attend you and your Captain Azelas to suitable quarters."

She wants to ask if he’d prepared ahead of time--- then thinks that obvious; thinks as well: "And doubtless let your gaoler know that he can have back the cell you’d prepared for me if I refused, as well?"

He laughs outright at this; again, she thinks it’s a rare thing in him. "You already have the measure of me too well--- and I can also let him know he’s to leave the door latched on whoever does occupy it."

And with that astonishing comment, he bows himself out.

Left alone in the room, Ashe shivers; notices for the first time that the room is cold--- Archadia is a colder clime than Dalmasca, to be sure, as Archadian fashions which swathe the body from neck to toe attest, but she is not certain that’s all of it.

Vayne Solidor is a deeply unsettling man.

He is everything that Rasler was not, she finds herself thinking; and she is not sure whether that will be her saving grace or her undoing.

Oh, marvelous. So much politicking and reversals and nuances everywhere. I would so read this AU. I would read it a thousand times.

Oh, wow - this is brilliant and disturbing and incredibly sad.

Thank you so much, I'm so glad to hear it! Especially since I love these two so much, but it seems like I haven't been able to write anything with them for ages, and then your prompt inspired me. :)

Thank you!!! I think Celes's defection came from many places, but I definitely see Terra as one of them, and I'm really glad that came through.

Whoa. This is so, so unbelievably creepy and beautifully written and just all around amazing.

Ooh, ouch. I love this - understated and absolutely heartbreaking.

Aw man, this is so sweet! Barret is exactly the type to overwork himself, and I'm glad he's got Tifa there to keep him for it. XD

Ooh, this is perfect, especially the portrayal of Tifa's powerful, protective side. <3

Oh, now this is just wonderfully creepy.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 12 of 23

2014 Final Fantasy Kiss Battle

Re: "Imperfect Solutions", FFXII (OG): Vayne/Ashe, PG

"Recovery Room 4", Selphie/Irvine (PG for language)

[FFVIII] Nida/Seifer

Re: "Wreathed in Glory", FFX, Rikku(/Yuna), PG (AU)

Re: "Competition", FFXII (OGC): Al-Cid/Balthier, PG

"The Tie That Binds" FFT: Ramza & Alma, G

Re: "Imperfect Solutions", FFXII (OG): Vayne/Ashe, PG

Re: "Competition", FFXII (OGC): Al-Cid/Balthier, PG

Re: "Nerve", [FFVII: OGC] Cloud/Yuffie, G

FFIV OGC: Barbariccia/Cagnazzo

FFIV TAY: Rosa[&/]Porom

FFII: Firion/Lamia Queen

Re: "Competition", FFXII (OGC): Al-Cid/Balthier, PG

Re: "Imperfect Solutions", FFXII (OG): Vayne/Ashe, PG

FFIX: Amarant/Lani

BLITZKISS! "In This Humor Won", FFXII (OG): Vayne/Ashe, PG

Re: BLITZKISS! "In This Humor Won", FFXII (OG): Vayne/Ashe, PG

Re: "Whole," FFVI, Celes/Shiva, SFW [Drabble]

Re: "Recollect the Snow," FFVI, Celes/Terra, G

Re: "Recollect the Snow," FFVI, Celes/Terra, G

Re: [Untitled]; FFVI; Locke/Rachel; PG-13

Re: "Unhappy Accident," FFVI, Clyde/Relm's mom, SFW [Drabble]

Re: On Holiday, [FFVII]Barret/Tifa

Re: FFVII (OGC): Tifa/Aerith

Re: "Experimental Subject", FFVII OGC: Hojo/Vincent, PG because HOJO