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ff_exchange2015-02-04 05:18 pm
ffexchange_mod) wrote in ff_exchange2015-02-04 05:18 pm
Entry tags:
2015 Final Fantasy Kiss Battle
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 2015
We will be running the Kiss 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
FINAL FANTASY XIV
DISSIDIA: FINAL FANTASY COMPILATION
FINAL FANTASY: CRYSTAL CHRONICLES COMPILATION
ASSORTED FINAL FANTASY
CROSSOVERS (WITHIN FF)
CROSSOVERS (FF/OTHER)
OTHER / ASSORTED
FFXII (OGC): Basch/Fran
FFXII: Basch/Fran, M, Canon Typical Violence
Basch gears himself with the heaviest armor they have and a similarly bulky blade, one that reaches from his chest to his knees with inches to spare, with a fine edge and enough weight behind it that he might hope to pierce the wyrm’s hide. When they leave the city together, Fran wears a suit of fine plate and a long, sturdy-looking spear. With her height, she reminds him of his old drill sergeant, looming over him just as he did, though without the bellowing. He tells her so, and she laughs her fine laugh, and the silence that follows for a mile’s walk along the Steppe is companionable.
When they make it to Crossfield, the wyrm is already sleeping. Fran announces, as they stand at a safe distance, that she will secure its dormancy with a sleep casting, and then they can probe at its defenses with other magicks, or at the very least secure first blood while it lies prone. Basch nods to her in response, and they move to crouch within casting distance. The sky is overcast and Basch begins to feel a chill within his bulky armor, even with the layers he wears beneath it.
Fran tells him that the spell was effective, and he knows that as its caster she must know, though natural sleep looks little different from the magickal kind. Then there is little communication for a while, as Fran’s voice takes on the eerie tinge and harshly accented patterns of black magick. Bolts and fusillades of jagged light smash down on the wyrm’s position. The crash and roar of it is deafening. The wyrm begins to move, but confusedly; the beast has trouble finding its footing, and when it does it never manages to turn in the right direction and see them, merely swinging itself left and right in an insufficient, lumbering arc, nearly falling onto its side once. The cacophony continues until Fran’s voice, barely audible in the wake of the noise, takes on a weary quality, and she falls silent midspell, taking a deep breath.
He silently hands her one of their more potently mixed ethers, and she nods to him in appreciation. She quaffs it in one go, and Basch cannot help but watch the movements of her throat as she swallows. Something familiar, and ludicrously unsuited to their current situation, stirs in him.
It begins to rain.
Basch’s response to completely inappropriate attractions of this sort — mostly to comrades former, fallen, or still standing with him, in a list that would make him judge himself a cock-steered and/or easily lovestruck halfwit if he let himself recount it in full — is to find an excuse to hit things with a sword or whatever else happens to be conveniently available. It is convenient, then, that such an excuse is near at hand. Basch suggests that they close in to finish the fight rather than strain Fran’s voice more than necessary, and she readily assents, hefting her spear and giving it a lazy twirl in one hand as she stretches her long legs.
The rest of the battle goes predictably enough. Fran manages to catch the Thundaga-jarred beast unawares with a strike to the back of the neck. Then they are throwing themselves down or away from the sweep of the wyrm’s tail, maneuvering around its reaching maw and the inconvenient presence of the ring around its neck, and trying to find steady footing in the worsening mud churned by the rain, their steps, and most of all the wyrm’s. Basch’s boots become ruined with mud and rain and the shield wyrm’s blood.
Its movements slow further and further yet as it loses ample measures of said blood, and then Fran buries her lance up through the wyrm’s neck and into its brain. It spasms and dies.
For a few exhausted moments, Basch lets himself lean heavily on the corpse’s side, painting his armor in blood that the rain will later wash away. Then he turns to Fran, doing the same nearby, and notices a fresh gash that runs from her forehead down past her jaw and stops just short of her throat. She looks to him, and as he raises a hand to throw a casting of Curaga upon them both, her expression falls from an exhausted sort of pride to a kind of sheer panic that he has never seen on her face before. The words of healing have already escaped his throat when he turns to see what she sees.
The elemental — no, he thinks, the entite — pulses like a heartbeat, swelling and darkening. It is so close to him that it can only have manifested in the wake of the wyrm’s death, or one of them would have noticed it. As it is, there is a moment where his brain and body both scramble to react to what he is seeing, and then he drops his sword and throws himself from the dead beast’s hide in an awkward, stumbling movement. Fran throws an arm around his shoulders and sets them both to running, headlong and desperate and away from the entite.
Amidst the rain and his and Fran’s labored breaths and footsteps, Basch can hear something twist in the air, and then water is crashing into them from all sides. It is like a fist closing around a bug. He barely closes his eyes in time; the pressure is so immense that he worries that his armor will give way. He and Fran both hit the ground and slide amidst the mud — thankfully, they are far enough away from the corpse that there is no blood — failing to get their footing before another casting of Waterga slams into them.
This time it is Basch who sets Fran to moving. The second casting, whatever harm it has done to them, has also saved them, if only for a handful of seconds: the mud has been scoured away from their feet by the explosion of water, and so he is able to find steady footing for long enough to find his feet. He tries to cast something, anything to bolster their health or protect them from the third casting that is no doubt coming, but all he can do is draw ragged breaths in an unsteady rhythm.
Fran throws them both forward at the same time that Basch hears the spell working itself around them, and the blast of water throws them forward at breakneck speed. Some seconds pass before they hit the ground and slide in the mud, rolling over each other and trying to breathe amidst the rain and the sloshing muck.
They come to a stop. For a while they just exist. Then Fran props herself up on her arms in the mud and looks at the ugly furrow they have left in the mud, and says that the entite is gone. Then she slumps back down again. Basch marvels at her, that she is able to speak so soon after what has just happened. Then a kind of magnetic force acts on both of them, and somehow he ends up turned up onto one side while she lurches onto her knees and then leans in one jerking move to put her lips on his. Her tongue is not textured like his and her mouth tastes like mud and something foreign. Her claws dig into his nape and her hands are uncomfortably cold on his cheeks. Basch is too tired to even move his arms. He grows painfully hard in the moments they spend like that, drinking each other and letting the rain wash them as clean as it can, and feels like a dunce.
They return to their kill and retrieve their weapons. Fran calls the Strahl, and Balthier answers that he is on his way. When she turns off the communication device with an audible click, Basch surprises himself by saying out loud what he is thinking: that, motivated by some sort of insane primal urge, he wants her to fuck him against the wyrm’s corpse. Fran surprises him by saying that she would like little else more, but there is hardly time for that, what with the logistics of removing and later replacing their armor, so he will have to be content with their rutting on a Balfonheim inn bed instead. They spend the rest of their wait in comfortable silence.
Re: FFXII: Basch/Fran, M, Canon Typical Violence
Re: FFXII: Basch/Fran, M, Canon Typical Violence
Re: FFXII: Basch/Fran, M, Canon Typical Violence