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laqualassiel · 5 years ago

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How does Sola's first meeting with the glaives go? Given she's a Princess, and her demand to train with them... does anyone think she's spoiled?

Ooh, Sola and the glaives! This’ll be kinda a rambly, since I’m still working my way through the walkthroughs and haven’t gotten to Kingsglaive yet. So forgive me if anyone seems out of character.

-Short version: Not Well.

-Long Version: Sola and the Glaives do not get off to the best start. She’s fifteen, her brother is crippled from an attack she wasn’t present to defend him from, and said crippled brother is in the middle of Niflheim territory with only their father as security. Sola doesn’t care that she’s only fifteen and not a Crownsguard or Kingsglaive. Her brother - her King - is vulnerable and if he’s attacked again, she won’t be there to protect him. Again.

-Needless to say, all of this does not help Sola’s already short temper. Hence her storming into a Kingsglaive training hall and demanding Titus allow her to join their training, despite not being of age to enlist.

-Sola’s furious temper tantrum a couple days prior was... not subtle, so pretty much everyone in glaive heard about that incident even if they don’t know what triggered it. Most of them think this is just teenage rebellion on Sola’s part and figure she’ll drop out once she experiences the reality of glaive training. Sure, everyone claims she’s the second coming of Cor the Immortal, but none of the glaive have actually seen Sola fight? So most of them take that claim with a grain of salt because she’s a mainlander princess and they figure that even if she’s a good fighter, the rest of the claim is probably just empty boasting.

-But yeah, a number of glaives think Sola is spoiled somewhat. They grumble about Titus letting her join training, but she did pass the entry fitness tests so Titus didn’t really have any grounds to bar her except for her age. But Sola didn’t ask to join the glaive, just their training so the glaives assume that while Titus could keep her out (which he could), the Captain didn’t want to deal with the repercussions of the princess throwing another tantrum. Easier all around to let Sola join until she quit.

-So the glaives at Yamachangs the night before Sola starts training grumble over royal brats getting in over their heads and make bets on how long it’ll take for the princess to quit.

-As for individual glaives... I haven’t figured out exactly when or how they each really meet Sola, or even when each of them join the glaive, so this is definitely subject to changes as I figure that out and get a better handle on the glaives’ individual personalities.

-Titus: Titus wants to Sigh. He’s one of the few to know exactly what sparked Sola’s temper, and he also knows that Sola’s earned every inch of her reputation as the Immortal’s successor. He also knows that if the attack on the King and injured Crown Prince succeeds, then Sola will be Queen, and if the Princess ever figures out that Titus is General Glauca she will Immediately Throw Hands. Which, he could probably survive, but that would draw down the Marshal’s wrath and Titus isn’t sure he could survive a murderous Immortal. Despite that though? Titus reluctantly likes the spitfire. One of the worst tempers he’s ever seen, but Sola’s got an insane work ethic to match her prodigal talent. And his glaives will only benefit from training with her, once she reaches their level, so Titus maybe interferes on Sola’s behalf here or there until Sola settles into the routine.

-Luche: Luche is a Despair. He recognizes that look in the Captain’s eye. Captain actually likes the royal bratling, which means they’re probably going to keep the bratling. Which means they have to keep said Bratling alive out on the front lines, when she has a temper shorter than her height and a chip on her shoulder the size of the Citadel. And the rest of the idiots - bar Lib because Lib is the only one that doesn’t try to give Luche headaches - are going to try to run the Bratling off and Luche can already see the clash of Stubborn. He does not get paid enough for this damn it all.

-Sonitus: He was present for Sola’s initial introduction to the kingsglaive and ooh boy does that first impression Stick. Sonitus thinks Sola is a spoiled, undisciplined brat, and bets that she’ll only stick around a week before bailing, prodigal talent or not. After all, Titus doesn’t believe in going easy on new recruits, and well. There’s a reason the glaive are the elite, and it’s not just because they can use magic. Sonitus doesn’t want Sola barging in and tarnishing their rep.

-Axis: Axis isn’t fond of Sola. He keeps to himself and doesn’t interact with the Princess even though he’s a regular spectator of Sola and Tredd’s spars. He’s the first one to get suspicious over how fast Sola recovers from injuries, and the first to notice how Sola seems to shrug off damage that would at the least inconvenience other glaives after a minute and continue like she didn’t take damage in the first place. He doesn’t say anything because it sounds so odd, and even Lucis Caelum magic doesn’t let you do that. (If he notes Sola’s brilliant red hair and the golden hue to her magic and wonders if he’s not the only one with... hidden heritage, well, it would explain why Sola is not the Crown Princess despite being seven years older than her brother, and why Sola does have her own Shield like every other Lucis Caelum.)

-Crowe: Crowe is only a couple years older than Sola at seventeen. Unlike her fellow glaives, Crowe hopes Sola sticks around. Sure, Crowe isn’t the only woman in the glaive, but it’s still a bit of a boys’ club and having more girls would be nice. Crowe is fairly itching to see how much damage an LC can do with magic - that thought she does not voice aloud because Luche Will Overreact and do something stupid like ban Crowe from asking Sola for tips or tricks. Crowe is the one who bets that Sola won’t quit, because she’s seen the look in Sola’s eyes and bets the princess will out-stubborn even her stubborn comrades. (Crowe is Smug when collecting her winnings from that particular bet.)

-Nyx: Nyx is one of the ones that sees Sola storm the training session. He’s not happy about the Pipsqueak forcing her way into their training, and he’s really not happy about her steamrolling over the Captain to do it. So he’s really not inclined to be all that helpful to her. After all, if it gets her out of their hair quicker, it’s all the sooner they can get back to business as usual. Not that he intends to actively make it harder for the Pipsqueak, Captain would not be happy with them and no doubt the Pipsqueak would bring Cor down on their asses, but letting the Pipsqueak muddle through everything herself should make it clear that no one is going to hold her hand.

-Libertus: Lib’s one of the most welcoming to Sola, compared to the rest of the glaive. He’s determined to treat her like any other glaive recruit despite everyone else’s grumbling. Sola’s trained under Cor the Immortal, and Libertus can’t imagine the man going easy on anyone, not even his own goddaughter. And well, Sola’s test results speak for themselves, and Sola scored a hell of a lot better than most of the recruits that try to join up before boot camp sends them packing. As far as the princess’ attitude? Libertus can name a few glaives off the top of his head with far more irritating attitudes - Tredd - so frankly Lib doesn’t think they’ve got any right to complain about that.

-Tredd: Speaking of Sola’s fellow redhead, Tredd picks a fight with Sola five minutes into Sola’s first day of training. Sola doesn’t explode only because Titus shows up two seconds later and throws them all head first into training until they can hardly move. Tredd will grudgingly admit that Sola doesn’t do too bad for someone who’s never run Titus’ obstacle courses from hell. But well, Tredd doesn’t want some upstart princess thinking she can muscle her way into the ranks. He figures if he can get her pissed enough to throw another tantrum, that’ll give Captain the excuse needed to throw the princess out of training. Only Captain keeps showing up before the princess erupts, and the princess instead channels that anger into training and really Captain?! Tredd is very pleased when Titus finally throws them all into partner spars - no weapons or offensive magic, and anything bar maiming - and partners him with the princess because he figures this is the perfect chance to get her to blow her top.

-He succeeds in sparking Sola’s temper. Tredd walks away with a sprained knee and broken nose on top of his bruises, but Sola takes three times the damage before finally losing the spar. Then shows up the next day for training moving like Tredd hadn’t wrenched her shoulder and stomped on her foot hard enough to fracture it. Tredd isn’t the only one to stare, because it was long enough that elixirs shouldn’t have worked! Hell, Tredd isn’t running the courses for two days until the healing magic settled in his knee and he only sprained it!

-Sola has the gall to smirk at Tredd and so starts the Rivalry. It is not pretty and Titus bans them from sparring unsupervised after one spar that got out of hand and resulted in both Tredd and Sola getting benched from training by the medics.

-Tredd wins in all their clashes at first, but Sola is just as vicious as he is and it ironically endears Sola to Tredd and the glaive? Like, the glaives don’t quite realize it at first, but they stop betting on what will make Sola quit (absolutely nothing, they finally realize two months in), and start betting on long Sola will last in the next clash, how much damage the two will dish out before the fight ends, and just how much damage Sola can actually tank before she goes down and stays down (the answer is two broken and three cracked ribs, broken arm, and it was the concussion that left her seeing double that did it), and how the hell none of that damage ever stuck (Tredd’s face when the glaives learn about Sola’s odd magic giving her functional regeneration is a Treasure). Sola finally manages to beat Tredd three months in, and Tredd is Grudgingly Impressed. The rest of the glaives cheer for Sola and gil changes hands. Tredd swears at them even as he lets Sola haul him to his feet.

#Shadow of Heaven's Light #ffxv #Sola Lucis Caelum #Kingsglaive #Nyx and Sola are friends that bicker about everything #Sola and Tredd are the two that refuse to admit they might even be friends #but grudgingly respect each other anyway

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hardnoctlife · 5 years ago

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Happy Birthday Prompto!

From my fic The Long and Short of It All, a scene from Prompto’s birthday with the boys <3

“Are we there yet?” Prompto bounced in the passenger seat, unable to keep still.

“Almost,” Ignis promised. Noctis and Gladio snickered knowingly.

“No peeking!” Noctis reprimanded when he saw Prompto reach to adjust his blindfold.

“I’m not you—I like surprises,” Prompto shot back, sticking his tongue out for added emphasis.

“You don’t like when I surprise you,” Gladio chimed in as he cracked the window, cool October air creeping in.

“Yeah, that’s because you like to surprise me in the shower and half the time I slip and bust my ass!”

Ignis chuckled and Prompto could feel the car slowing. There was the sound of laughter and screams of delight coming from outside the vehicle, along with the whirring of something moving at high speed set to a background of music slightly out of tune. Prompto inhaled deeply, the scent of food that was fried and sugary overwhelming his nostrils. With his excitement growing, he fumbled for the door handle as he heard everyone’s seatbelts unbuckling.

“Ooh—ooh! I know where we are! Can I look now?”

“Okay—” Prompto felt Noctis’s hands on his shoulders as he got out of the car, angling him slightly. “Now you can look.” Prompto ripped off his blindfold, already grinning, and took in the sights of the carnival stretched out in front of him—flashing multi-colored lights, crowds of people weaving in and out of booths, and lines that had formed at the various attractions the festival had to offer.

“Happy birthday,” the three of them chorused as Prompto shimmied side-to-side like a puppy wagging its tail.

“What do you want to do—” Prompto was already cutting a path towards one of the games. “…first.” Gladio trailed off, shaking his head. They approached the vendor, stuffed animals lining the walls and hanging from the ceiling. A line of moving ringed circles with bullseyes rolled left and right along the back wall, a variety of colors each with a different number affixed to them.

Prompto jumped onto one of the stools and grabbed the gun sitting on the counter, turning to smile brilliantly at his boyfriends. “Let’s play this one!”

Ignis slid money to the attendant and they filled in the spots around him, picking up their weapons.

“Bet I’ll get them all,” Prompto boasted, but no one rose to meet his bait. Prompto wasn’t the most proficient hand-to-hand fighter in the Crownsguard, but he was one of its most skilled sharpshooters.

“If you don’t hit all of them, then you’re not getting any birthday sex,” Noctis half-joked.

A red lamp hanging overhead came on to signal their time had started and Prompto twirled the toy pistol playfully, firing off several shots and lighting up the first row of targets with a ping! ping! ping! before any of them could even aim. Showboating a little, he tossed the gun, catching it in the opposite hand to whip it around his back, hitting two of the smaller targets in the upper corners of the booth, then spinning around Noctis to pop off several more. When all the circles glowed green, he brought the barrel to his lips, blowing away invisible smoke.

“I never miss,” he teased, leaning in so his nose brushed Noctis’s. Smirking, Noctis angled his head to bring his lips to Prompto’s.

“Congratulations, you can pick whatever prize you want,” the game moderator announced as Noctis and Prompto pulled apart.

Maintaining eye contact with his best friend, Prompto laughed, airy and adoring. “I already won the best prize a long time ago,” he admitted with a wink. “Buuuut, since it is my birthday…” Noctis watched as Prompto scanned the wall of items, finally pointing to a large moogle plushie with button eyes. “…I’ll take that one!”

***

“This is way better than cake, trust me!” Prompto claimed, holding up the paper plate piled high with fried dough covered in powdered sugar.

“Take it back. Cake is the ultimate dessert.” Noctis made a face as Prompto held out a steaming piece of doughy goodness. Reluctant, the prince opened wide as Prompto placed it in his mouth.

Gladio and Ignis were currently bent over the picnic table across from them, trying not to get sugar all over themselves, each of them holding a wad of napkins.

“Ha—hawt—!” Noctis gasped, blowing air around the food in an attempt to cool it. He waved both of his hands as if the extra movement might help dissipate the heat, and Prompto snorted. After rolling the dough back and forth with his tongue, he finally swallowed, coughing a little as he inhaled a layer of white powder.

Prompto was busy licking his fingers when Noctis said, “I think we passed a photo booth not far back. We should check it out.”

“Dude! I’m totally down,” Prompto agreed readily, shoveling down the last of the funnel cake. Noctis smothered a laugh with one clenched hand as sugar stuck to the skin around Prompto’s mouth, turning it white. “Aw—did I get it on me?” Prompto wiped at his face vigorously, only spreading the powder more. Noctis shook his head and bent forward, sliding his tongue from left to right across Prompto’s lips to lap up the remaining sugar.

“Don’t worry, I got it,” he murmured. The string of lights crisscrossing the picnic area lit Prompto’s reddening face, but the blond didn’t pull away.

“Aw, my hero, Noct.”

“Quit it, lovebirds, we’ve still got rides,” Gladio barked from where he was leaning into Ignis.

“All right, all right—but photo booth first!” Prompto was buzzing like a bee.

“Whatever the birthday boy commands,” Ignis agreed, dabbing at the corner of Gladio’s smile with a napkin to keep crumbs from falling into his beard.

***

Fitting four grown men into a single photo booth took a whole different type of strategy than what they were used to. Gladio, the biggest of them, climbed in first, then balanced Noctis and Prompto on either leg, making a crude gesture when Noctis complained that his Shield was ‘too big for this.’ Amidst eyerolls and bickering, Ignis jammed himself behind Gladio, arms dangling over his muscled shoulders and clasping in the middle of his chest. They leaned in and out, looking at the screen to make sure all their faces were visible.

“Hurry up, it’s getting hot in here,” Noctis said as Prompto began to fiddle with the options.

“Okay, okay, it should give us a countdown—” Prompto pressed a button and bright lights flickered on, a timer steadily counting to zero in the corner of the screen.

“Wait, where do we look?” Gladio squinted, trying to locate the camera. “Straight ahead, or—?”

“Right there!” Prompto pointed.

“Are we smiling?” Noctis wondered.

“Dude, why wouldn’t you smile?”

“We have three seconds.” Ignis observed calmly.

“So, we are smiling, right—?”

There was flash as the first picture was taken, temporarily blinding them all. The four could see spots in their eyes and blinked until their vision returned to normal.

“Shit, I think my eyes were closed,” Noctis admitted.

“It’s okay, there are two more. Silly pose!” Prompto ordered cheerfully.

They quieted, this time a little more prepared when the camera shuttered a second time.

The picture was thrown on the screen briefly and Prompto punched Noctis lightly in the shoulder.

“That’s your silly face?”

“You look constipated,” Gladio teased.

“Shut up, Gladio—you made a duck face!”

“What are we doing for our final pose?” Ignis asked, eyeing the numbers ticking by, warning them of their closing window for decision making.

“Uhh—I dunno, you decide Iggy,” Prompto replied.

“Very well. Kisses for the birthday boy?” Ignis grabbed the back of Prompto’s shirt and pulled him sideways, lips pressing to his neck. Grinning, Gladio happily joined in, going for Prompto’s mouth.

“Mmf—!” A light pink flush tinted the freckles bridging Prompto’s nose as Gladio held the back of the blond’s head in one hand, and Noctis quickly got to his knees, lifting Prompto’s shirt to gift the final kiss to the toned outline of his abdominal muscles.

Prompto was laughing giddily when the photo booth chimed, and they all sat back, eagerly reviewing their pictures.

“Hey, not bad,” Noctis said in approval.

“I know! I love the lighting. Ooh, and we get to decorate them!” Prompto’s excitement was infectious, and the four pressed their heads together as they decided on stickers and borders, snickering when Prompto added heart eyes to Gladio’s duck face.

“Hey, there’s no shame in my game,” Gladio bragged. They paid for extra copies of the photosets so they would each have one before pouring out of the tight space, laughing as they got tangled and nearly fell over in the process.

“All right—rides!” Gladio insisted, rubbing his hands together. He snagged Prompto, hooking him at the elbow before dragging him the direction of one of the roller coasters.

***

“Ugh—maybe that funnel cake was a bad idea,” Prompto moaned as he leaned over the trashcan. The last few spins on the tilt-a-whirl had him reeling, nausea pulsing in his belly. Noctis didn’t look much better. The prince had both of his eyes closed as he concentrated on not hurling, one hand on the back of a nearby bench to steady himself.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I feel fine.” Gladio flexed both arms above his head, grinning like a behemoth on the hunt—predatory.

“Hey, how about this? If you and Noctis can ride the Slingshot without blowing chunks, I’ll owe you. Whatever you want. Then we can go on the Ferris wheel and call it a night.” Noctis squinted an eye open, never one to pass up a dare, but Prompto was shaking his head furiously from side-to-side, only stopping when he felt his stomach lurch.

“Gladiolus,” Ignis tsked, eyes skimming over Noctis and Prompto worriedly.

“C’mon Prom, new year, new you. Let’s make Gladio eat his words,” Noctis urged, putting on a brave face as he straightened and inhaled slowly.

“Okay, fine. Where is this ride, anyway?” Prompto questioned, lifting his head to look.

Looking as smug as a coeurl, Gladio pointed directly behind them. They turned, eyes fixating on the structure that loomed over the rest of the carnival attractions, a simple design composed of two metal poles with wires attached to a seat meant for two. Both Prompto and Noctis watched in horror as two riders were launched high into the air from the ground, tumbling head over heels the entire way up and down. The screams pierced the night, and Prompto looked to Noctis nervously, hoping the prince would change his mind, but instead he pulled his shoulders back and stuck his chest out.

“You’re on.”

Prompto gulped, following Noctis to get in line, using the time to try and settle his nerves and stomach. The wait had the reverse effect from what the birthday boy hoped it would—by the time they got to the front, he was so jittery that his hands were shaking, anxiety making him sweat despite the fall weather. Gladio and Ignis were watching them from outside the metal barriers, leaning on the railing. Prompto watched as Gladio gave a little wave, wiggling his fingers tauntingly.

“C’mon, we got this Prom,” Noctis said as they climbed onto the platform, allowing the ride operator to strap them in and secure their harnesses.

Prompto was nervously chewing on his bottom lip, not speaking, which was how Noctis knew he was really scared. Without saying anything, Noctis grabbed Prompto’s hand where it was clinging to the handlebars on either side of his head and squeezed.

“Gladio is gonna owe us big time, you’ll see. It’s gonna be cake, baby.” Noctis winked and Prompto forced an uneasy smile, wishing he had his confidence.

They felt their seats sinking down, the cables growing taut as they pulled back. Prompto focused on his breathing, adrenaline pumping through his veins at the tension that came from the expectation of what was coming next. Any moment now, they would be catapulted hundreds of feet into the night sky, with only a lap belt and shoulder bumpers keeping them from flying out of their chairs.

Prompto was mid breath when his body began to move, swooping upwards at speeds no human was meant to travel at. The scream was coming out of his mouth before he could process what was happening, unable to tell what was up and what was down. Noctis let out a wild whoop, fearfully delighted, and Prompto’s eyes squeezed against the air rushing past his head, hyperventilating.

“OH MY GODS—I HATE YOU—I HATE YOU!” Noctis was cackling through Prompto’s shrieks, both of them breathless as the world spun dizzyingly.

“Yeah, but you love me!”

“YES, BUT I ALSO HATE YOU!” Prompto clenched his teeth as everything he had eaten in the past several hours threatened to come up, tucking his chin into his chest as all of his senses were assaulted from every angle.

Eventually, they started to slow, the bounces getting shallower until they came to a jagged stop.

Prompto felt hungover when he unclipped from his harness—head pounding, walking the fine line between needing to vomit and needing to pee, and off balance so that he stumbled from the enclosure and into Gladio’s waiting arms.

“How was it?” he chuckled, trying to keep a straight face and failing.

“Fuck you,” Prompto groaned.

“Is that an official birthday wish?”

Prompto didn’t have time to decide, because at that moment, his dessert wanted out. Mortified, he pushed Gladio aside and retched into the grass where he had been standing mere seconds earlier, hands gripping knees, back arched. The larger man's laughter rang in his ears as he whined.

"Aw, man!"

***

“This is way more my speed.” Prompto’s moan took up all of the remaining space in the Ferris wheel’s cozy carriage. He had his face pressed to the windowpane, reveling in the coolness of the glass as he stared out at the twinkling lights polka-doting the night. Ignis sat with one leg crossed over the other, knee bumping against Gladio’s.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Ignis reached out to caress a patch of freckles on Prompto’s cheek as the blond turned to face him.

“Oh, definitely! Best birthday yet.”

Gladio’s chuckle was like thunder, vibrating through the air with force. Noctis’s eyes had slid shut as he scooted back against his Shield, head lolling at an angle that would hurt later if he happened to lay there too long.

The shared silence was one of contemplative satisfaction, each of them becoming lost in their own thoughts.

When Ignis began to sing, he started out low, warming up his vocal chords, but eventually his voice went higher, a bird coasting on the breeze.

“—happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Prompto—”

“Happy birthday to you!” Gladio and Noctis added in the lower ranges as Prompto pulled his knees up into his chest, arms wrapping tightly around his legs.

Grin softening into a loose-lipped smile, he sighed, content.

“Thanks—really. I love you guys.”

#HBD Prompto #Prompto Argentum #Prompto #Happy Birthday #OT4 #The Long and Short of It All #Final Fantasy XV

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argentum-archives · 5 years ago

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Cor Leonis Headcanons Part 2

A continuation of this post. A few of these headcanons are based off this short fic I read.

* Cor makes the tabloids when he at the young age of 15 is appointed as King Mors’ body guard. Mors took great interest in the boy’s growth over the past two years and had Clairius keep a watch. Neither man could deny the genius the boy displayed when it came to being a crownsguard.

* Cor would have been happier except He knew that this promotion of sorts would only bring more controversy to the Lucian affairs. Politicians and civilians alike would criticize the decision to put a 15 year old in such a position as an obviously rash move to mock other countries. Cor as the king’s bodyguard was almost a taunt, that the Lucian children were even capable of taking down threats. His entire presence in the Citadel was often topic of controversy.

* Cor doesn’t have any friends when he’s younger in the Crownsguard due to being under pressure of doing his best so he can prove his position. It’s hard to find others who support him.

* He gets along with one of the older Citadel chefs who always sneaks him any snacks when she can. He’ll usually get off a mission and find a small box on top of his bunk bed with a note describing what it is. He enjoys the surprise and doesn’t admit that his heart swells whenever he sees her.

* There’s an old man who tends to the palace garden on Sundays. When Cor has time, he likes to go to the garden and nap in one of his many hiding spots. The old man will talk to him and tell him stories about his life. He;s tried to ask Cor questions, but that teen only answers with short, polite phrases.

* He doesn’t want to get close to them because he’s afraid they’ll be next to die if he admits he likes them.

* Clairius takes him camping when he can get Clarus to fill in for the evening. Cor always somehow gets roped into some self imposed fiasco. Once Clairius saw a bat sleeping hanging upside down and he sighed, muttering “Couldn’t be me” and for some reason Cor’s spiteful ass took that as a challenge and was like “I CAN, WATCH ME” and spent the night in a tree trying to sleep upside down. Clairius didn’t say anything but he couldn’t sleep because he was worried that the boy might fall and split his head open. Neither got much sleep that night.

* Mors: I thought you went camping to destress. You look like you’ve aged 10 years.

* Clairius: “Do you want me to make YOU look like you’ve aged 10 years? ... Majesty.”

* Cor is often stoic when on duty (And when off too let’s be real) and no one really knows where he learned that or why he does it. (It’s the deep rooted trauma of various life events b but we won’t get into that rn)

* There is always someone talking behind his back. He’s too young. He’s too reckless. He’s too emotionless. He’s too vicious. He won’t be vicious enough when it counts.

* He’s heard it all. It hurts, but he hardens his heart. He has a duty and he will fulfill it.

* He wears the military cap now. He’s at an awkward age where he can’t really predict what his limbs are going to do, but wearing the hat makes him feel less awkward. Not that anyone can tell. He’s always by King Mors’ side, crossing his arms behind his back and facing forward.

* Mors tries to make him laugh sometimes when he’s bored, but he’s yet to crack the boy’s exterior.

* He’s never spoken to Prince Regis except for when he’s been sent to convey a message. There have been many occasions where he has overheard Regis dismiss him only to be rebutted against by Clarus. Cor won’t admit this either, but whenever Clarus puts Regis in his place, he feels a little happier.

* Sometimes Clairius invites Cor over for dinner. It’s just him and Clarus, so having another person present is always a pleasant time. Cor doesn’t really talk and instead prefers to listen to the father and son talk about their days. Clairius will sprinkle in a praise or two in Cor’s favor. Cor will usually wash the dishes, and has physically shoved Clarus out of the way so he can do so.

* He thinks Regis is stuck up and wishes that he was a bit nicer to King Mors. Has almost started a fight with the Prince because he kept interrupting the king when he was speaking.

* Mors senses the tension in Cor whenever Regis is present and has Cor go with Regis to Accordo in order to check up on the allied forces. Cor doesn’t question it, but Regis openly asks his father why he thinks he needs a kid dispatched with him.

* Regis in his early 20s is lowkey a bitch but means well is all I have to say about his characterization. He’s understandably perplexed at the idea of having to rely on someone much younger than him for protection if push comes to shove.

* Cor isn’t afraid to speak his opinion whenever anyone on the team makes a bad call. This causes a lot of conflict with Regis who has to push down a childish urge to fight a 15 year old.

* Cor is constantly on edge because he feels like Regis is trying to find a flaw in him so that the prince will have an excuse to let him go. Clarus just watches this all unfold in silence. He thinks the two need to figure out something on their own.

* During their retreat from Accordo, Cor gets injured trying to protect Regis. He’s hospitalized and greatly upset about how the situation unfolded, calling Regis out on how he shouldn’t have retreated.

* When he’s finally alone in the hospital room, Cor can’t help but start getting lost in his thoughts. He feels like such a failure. He couldn’t even protect that stuck up prince. The son of the king he’s supposed to protect. He doesn’t realize he’s gritting his teeth until he can’t breathe and once he gasps, the tears start flowing.

* Clarus is the one who walks in on the scene. Being one for emotional openness, he urges the young boy to tell him what’s going on. Between the sobbing shut ups, leave me alones, and various incoherent swearing, Cor can’t get a handle on himself. It’s the first time he’s ever let himself cry, and honestly he has no idea how to process it. The more he remembers, the more failure he starts fixating on, the harder and more violent the sobs are. Clarus pulls him into a firm embrace, ignoring Cor’s attempts to freeing himself. Eventually he stops fighting and tries to calm down.

* They don’t talk about it ever again, though Clarus does mention in passing that he’s always willing to listen.

* Cor goes back to being Mors bodyguard until he’s suddenly shifted into the position of Regis’ bodyguard.

* Being Regis’ bodyguard is exhausting for Cor mostly because Regis tries to befriend him. Cor is pretty hard to break for the next few years. He offers his witty comebacks and snaps on the daily, but he doesn’t really start bonding with Regis for a while.

* Regis is butthurt about this and does anything in his power to try to get the kid to crack a smile. Part of him regrets the actions he took towards Cor and the words he spoke, so it’s his way of showing that he’s sorry.

* Cor, like any normal teenager, feels smug about this.

* Clarus watches in disdain as usual. But looks the other way when the prince tries to rope him into some scheme. Sometimes he gives in though, just because seeing the faintest hint of a smile on the young crownsguard’s face is gratifying.

That’s all for now. I’m not sure how to add a keep reading option on mobile so I’ll edit that later

#cor leonis #clairius amicitia #clarus amicitia #regis lucis caelum #mors lucis caelum #cor the immortal #young!cor #headcanons #ffxv #ff15 fanfic #Final Fantasy #final fantasy 15 #final fantasy xv #ffxv imagines #ffxv headcanons

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autumn-maple13 · 5 years ago

Text

Lost to Time - Chapter 27

Chapter 27: Heading for Caem

Amara and Ignis awoke long before the guys did, dressing quickly to steal away to the café they had visited so many days before. The owner had welcomed them warmly, making sure they were okay as she made them coffee and breakfast, and even joining them while they ate – though she did leave them to their own devices when Amara produced the map of the locations of the Royal Arms.

And yet, despite the time they spent there, they still returned to the hotel before everyone had awoken, arriving just in time to say goodbye to Talcott before Monica and Dustin took him and their luggage to the Cape to begin their side of the preparations. Iris met them in the lobby, smiling at them before she took a moment to let Ignis know she would be riding with them, as the Guards had only enough room for Talcott once everything was loaded. Amara cringed as she thought about the amount of room the Regalia's backseat actually had with Gladiolus and Noctis hogging it.

"You could ride with me instead, so you don't have to be so cramped," the redhead offered, making the Amicitia look at her in concern.

"Do you really think Gladdy would let me ride on your motorcycle?"

"I think he knows I'm a very safe driver, so why not?"

"Safe, but a tad unpredictable at times. Perhaps it would be better for her to take one of our spots in the Regalia, while one of us rides with you instead."

"Have fun Specs!" the trio turned to watch the other part of the group come down the stairs with all their bags, including Amara's from her room. Noctis smirked at his advisor, not even trying to hide how amused he was. "I don't think any of us need to get near her after yesterday."

"Noct, as your friend and a Glaive fully capable of kicking your ass into next week, shut up." Amara smiled sweetly, "Unless of course, you want me to run off to Altissia ahead of you and spill everything to Lunafreya. I'm sure I could find some way across the sea, just for the sake of embarrassing you."

"Speaking of, don't think I've forgotten that I need to find out what you've already told her."

"My lips are sealed."

"Ignis, I command you to find out for me."

"Sorry Noct, but this one is above my paygrade as either a Crownsguard officer or your advisor."

"Don't you outrank her though?"

"No, she's actually currently one of the only four officially ranked officers left. Our activities with the Guard are more for practicalities sake since we're technically both your first and last line of defense. Gladio is the only one among the three of us with a rank, though he doesn't have an officer's title."

"You have to actually fulfill Crownsguard assignments to gain rank, and he didn't have too many opportunities since he's your Shield." Amara nodded, smirking in triumph for a few seconds before something hit her. "Hey, wait, what do you mean after yesterday?"

"Wait, were you just threatening me without even paying attention to why?"

"It's kinda just force of habit to threaten embarrassment upon you at this point. I heard 'I don't think' and just kinda zoned out on the rest."

Gladiolus grinned, walking over so he stood beside the duo and leaning into them. "He means the way Ignis acted when he found out you might be on the base."

Amara flushed brightly when a glance to the side showed Ignis fidgeting slightly, suddenly very interested in the lens of his glasses, before she began glaring at the taller man and then at her snickering former classmates. "You two can it."

"Ah, it's good to hear her fussing again," Prompto laughed, walking over and slinging an arm around Amara's neck. "Come on Ams, I'm sure you already know we were all freaking out trying to get you back."

"Of course, she knows, Ignis isn't the only one around here that cares about her," Noctis added, pulling the blond's arm off the woman. "Let's get going already. Specs, you ride with Amara. I'll drive the Regalia."

"Alright, but just so you are aware we should make a stop at Malmalam Thicket on the way there to procure another of the Arms."

"Alright."

It only took a few minutes for all of them to make their way to the vehicles and re-stow everything away. Iris was the first to get settled in the Regalia, taking Noct's usual seat in the back. Unusually, all the guys were quick to buckle up once they took their own spots, leaving Amara and Ignis to exchange amused looks before climbing onto the redhead's motorcycle. The man wrapped a steady arm around his partner's waist as she turned the engine, letting her wave to the others before heading up the ramp and out of the parking area. Noctis was quick to follow her out of the city, though Ignis was chuckling in her ear about the distance he was keeping between them.

Heading in the direction of the waterfall tomb, the little journey looked like it would be smooth sailing for them all the way to the Thicket – until a buzz filled Amara's ear. Looking up, she growled at the sight of one of the Empire's flying fortresses coming in above them. The sound of the Regalia's engine roaring closer was the only interruption, with Noctis pulling alongside them with a grim look. Ignis shifted slightly behind her.

"We should find a spot to pull over," his hand tightened on his partner's hip, no doubt reminded of the news he had received the previous night.

Amara nodded, glancing at her friend's. "Old Lestallum is just ahead! We can stop there!"

Falling back behind the Glaive, the group looked ahead of them to the small town that was quickly approaching. They were quick to pull into the parking lot of the hotel on the main street, parking there and asking Iris to stay put while they went to take care of things. Deciding to take the Regalia, despite her previous 'capture', the group hopped in with Amara behind the wheel, letting her take them out of the city towards the old Lucian base the Fortress had landed in.

"Surprised to see them this far out," Noctis grumbled, adjusting the bracer on his arm and making Prompto sigh.

"Leave no plot of land unconquered."

"Those aren't conquering numbers," Gladio pointed out, a growl to his voice.

Ignis nodded, looking over at Amara as she gripped the wheel a bit tighter. "Likely building a supply line it would behoove us to cut."

The redhead agreed, turning down a street that led away from the Base's entrance and following the tall walls as the guys made a few comments about how the base looked. Pulling over not far beyond the wall's uphill curve, Amara sliced the wires acting as a guardrail before climbing back into the car and maneuvering it carefully off the road. After a quick (and careful) disguise job, the group was following the Glaive up the hill, through the brush. Heading quickly up the slope Amara soon found an unwatchable part of fencing that acted as a makeshift wall between the base and some of its supply pipes, cutting them a hole in the shadow of the inner walls and motioning towards a concrete slope that stretched upward some feet in front of them. Looking up they could see a guard tower situated on the upper level and looked to Amara questioning.

"Noct and I will take out the guards, the rest of you stay out of view for now." She was speaking quieter than they had heard in some time, motioning for everyone to follow her, then at Noctis when they reached the crest. The King threw the first warp, taking out a sniper on the stairs of the tower as Amara threw one of her Kukris, warping over to take care of a Trooper in the tower's shadow. Hearing the sound of metal hit the ground made the other few troops in the area show themselves, only to be taken out with expert precision before they could ever fire off a shot. The others joined the duo soon after, and followed Amara up the stairs to the lookout, sharing a few curses and groans at the sight below them. The base was already much farther set up than anticipated, with the fortress's tail acting as a conduit to spread the MT generator's power across the area.

Noctis sighed, looking over it again before turning to his friends. "So, what's our plan?"

Ignis took a moment to think, then looked at Amara. "Find the base commander and take him into custody. Targeting metal men will yield little in the way of reconnaissance, but bones bend easily. We'll split into two groups."

Amara shook her head. "No, three. I'm going to head for the generator."

The men looked at her for a moment but nodded when they saw her glaring down at the machine. Ignis sighed softly, shaking his head.

"Prompto and Gladio can generate a diversion."

"Aw, yeah! Making a scene's what I do best." The man laughed, cracking his knuckles.

The taller blonde smiled for a moment, then looked to his King. "Noct, are you prepared?"

He got a nod in response, making Prompto smack his friend's shoulder lightly. "Operation: To Catch a Commander is go!"

Amara looked at the guys but only took a moment to wish them luck before losing a kukri down to a sheltered area behind some shipping crates. It had taken them a bit longer to get to the base than she had realized, she noticed, as she slinked through the shadows that were growing darker by the minute. She didn't want to risk checking the sky to confirm her suspicions, so hoped the guys were being careful to avoid any demonic distractions the Niffs had held on several bases she had infiltrated in the past.

Slipping beneath a tarp when she heard metal clad feet getting close to her, she willed herself out of sight using Noct's magic as she had been trained to do with King Regis's, and tried to ignore the slightly more red tint bleeding into the purple edging the crystalline fragments surrounding her from the magic.

Not moving until she was sure she was in the clear, the woman snuck back out, dispersing her magic so she wouldn't drain herself further as she slipped through the shelter of more supplies until she found herself nearing her target. Watching for any patrol before making her next move, she slipped along the edge of the inner wall, ducking behind what she could to avoid being lit up by the harsh lighting of the center of the area. Heading quickly up behind the Generator when she was close enough, she set to rigging a Firaga flask to its base, then warping herself up onto a platform before she threw a lower level flask at it, igniting it with a loud explosion that sent a shock through the base – setting off alarms and awakening a large MT armor that she hadn't realized was manned, but the Generator stayed running, though it was fluctuating wildly.

Realizing they must have re-enforced them somehow after the last base was taken out of commission, she was happy to hear the guys joining her before she dove headlong into attacking the MT power supply, letting them handle the armor. Hacking at it with strong blows of a broadsword was enough to dispatch it after the explosion had weakened it, so she found herself quickly warping in to help the guys. With Gladio and Noctis attacking the armor's legs and Prompto sniping its joints, she set to disarming it – though she and Noctis were warping after it when the surprisingly agile armor leaped into the air and landed several feet away, perfectly situated to rain missiles on them.

The duo were quick to remove the launcher from action as their grounded companions moved in, and were successful in setting one of them off directly in the face of the armor – making it succumb even faster despite themselves barely missing being caught in to close range explosion. Between the four of them, it didn't take much longer, leaving them darting out of range before it exploded itself.

Hearing the laser gate locking them in with the armor die out, the group turned to watch a peeved Ignis approach, frowning as he looked at them.

"Glad to see you lot were successful."

"Does that mean you weren't?" Noctis almost sounded shocked, with agreeing expressions on their faces as they looked in surprise at the advisor. He made some sort of motion at them as he shook his head.

"I placed our captive into the Hunters' custody, but I've just been informed he's fled… He lives to die another day."

"And I'll gladly help him with that," Noct growled, rubbing his shoulder. "For now, let's head back to town."

The group muttered their agreements, following the Advisor back out of the area and heading for their exit.

They had hardly made it into the open when the sound of a grunt from above them left the guys looking at Amara in shock when she summoned a crystal barrier over their heads and a sword to her hand. Jumping in front of Noctis she blocked the incoming spear of a woman clad in Niff emblemed clothing, letting her barrier dissipate when the woman kicked herself free, only to launch another blow that locked them close together.

"Hey pretty girl," the woman seemed to purr before launching herself backward and away from them, landing gracefully a few feet away as she laughed. Gladiolus darted in front of the King as the redhead dissipated her sword to draw her kukris, looking at the Niff female with a smirk.

"Hey Aranea, long-time no ass-kicking."

"Oh, so you remembered me? How sweet! Unfortunately, I'm not here for you today Glaive."

"You're not getting Noctis." She was aware of the others jumping in front of their charge, though she didn't risk a glance to see who was where.

"Well, let's see what you can do!" Aranea had hardly finished speaking before she shifted her weight and darted around the group at an incredible pace – directly into her target, who was lucky to warp through her strike and avoid it. Knowing his fighting style wasn't suited to dealing with the Niff's heavy dragoon lance, Amara used one of her old tricks and left Gladio trying to not fall on his ass when she leaped up onto his shoulder, then off of it into the air where she summoned her own lance.

Quickly balancing herself, the redhead brought the full force of her body weight down with the lance between the other woman and the King, cracking the ground from the force of it. Warping through the enemy's attacks, the Glaive dispersed her spear and switched back to her kukris, using the small blades to knock away the lunges of the lance trying to hit her. Aranea was getting angrier by the second, and finally shoved her away before leaping high into the air – hovering there long enough to begin spinning quickly as she rest her foot on the hilt of her spear, building up speed and torque that would be sure to do a lot of damage.

Realizing what was at stake, Noctis and Amara both warped after her and left the others to deal with the MTs that were starting to arrive on dropships no doubt alerted by any number of alarms on the base. They were cleared out easily enough as the duo chased the bigger threat through the air and from platform to platform, at one point managing to slam her face first into a metal beam, until she finally managed to knock both back to the ground below, only to perch rather unimpressed on another platform above them – looking like she was checking her watch of all things as she peeled her helmet off.

"Aw, is it that time already?"

"What time?" came the question from the more than confused king as he rubbed his wrenched wrist, looking less upset by the whole situation than he had earlier.

"Quittin' time," Aranea shrugged. "Sorry, but this girl doesn't work after hours. I could, but there wouldn't be a single gil in it for me. Hey, we should play again sometime, pretty girl."

Amara tried to come up with a retort, but the Niff had already leaped high into the air, and into a waiting dropship that was an oddly bright shade of red. As it took off from the base, Noctis couldn't help but look over at the Glaive with an even more confused look.

"Who the hell was she?"

"I'll have to explain later, for now…"

Prompto sent a nod her way, turning to his friends. "I'm still worried about Iris."

"I imagine she's fine," Ignis didn't seem particularly concerned, instead using a potion on his liege then tossing one to the redhead, but Gladiolus seemed a bit more worried.

"But we shouldn't keep her waiting."

It was a quick agreement before the group was hurrying from the base, pausing at the edge of the lights to look down at the dark expanse separating them from the Regalia.

"Amara, I don't suppose…?"

"Prompto, you and your flares are coming with me this time."

"What? Why me?!"

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oc-musings · 6 years ago

Text

Training Day - Cor x OC

A/N: just a classic sparring moment between Nathalia and Cor. This is post My Immortal, but Nyx x OC is no longer a thing in this universe. Cor x OC is the only canon relationship. Enjoy!

Requests are open!

Nathalia had been frustrated. Everyone had found a way to piss her off or rub her the wrong way over the week, Cor being one of them. Things had been better since the ball, but there was still a tension between them that was threatening to burst. So when Clarus brought up boosting morale and suggested a full on no-holds-barred sparring session, the Glaive was quick to agree.

The Crownsguard and the Kingsglaive had always had a healthy rivalry. They would train together and sometimes go to battle together. No one complained, the rivalry always wielded the best results. But today everyone would be in for a treat. Cor, the Crownsguard's legendary warrior, would be sparring with Nathalia, a legend in her own right.

It wasn't something Cor had wanted to do, though. Every time a spar with the Glaive came up, he adamantly refused to take part. He had done it with Nat before, when they were together and just training or letting off steam. But Cor had never imagined he'd find himself doing it as a competition. Nathalia, on the other hand, was looking forward to it. She was almost too excited for it, much to Cor's dismay. Just what did he get himself into?

Cor looked at Nathalia warming up and smirked to himself. He knew she would give him a run for his money, whether they were using weapons or their bodies. Cor shook his head, trying to get himself prepared until he saw King Regis walking with Clarus, holding what looked like a bag of popcorn. Cor just glared at the two giving him sheepish grins, at a complete loss for words.

"Alright gather round you two. The only rule we have is to not kill each other. Use whatever means necessary to take down your opponent. Any questions?" Clarus had called out, settling in next to Regis, who had a front row seat to the match that was about to begin. Cor would have some words for Clarus later. Nonetheless, he still spoke.

"Yeah, I do. Is this really necessary?" He asked. He was still trying anything to get out of fighting Nathalia. Cor looked at the woman in question after he heard her scoff.

"Can it, Cor. I've been wanting to kick your ass all week, you're not about to try and get out of it now." Nathalia stated. And it was true. She had been looking for ways to get Cor to do a one on one session with her like the old times, but he always turned her down. Now that the opportunity was there, she was going to take full advantage of it.

"Just so you know, I won't go easy on you Nat." There it was. The edge Cor needed to take on was finally coming out. The tension in the air was so thick, you could cut it with a knife and serve it to everyone there. And with that, the battle had begun.

The two fought with such ferocity that the adrenaline in their veins transferred over to the large crowd. The harsh clang of metal slamming into metal sent sparks flying with every connected hit. Soon, Cor and Nathalia both found themselves growing bored with their weapons and craved that familiar skin to skin contact. Tossing his training sword to the side, Cor baited Nathalia into reacting, temporarily forgetting they weren't alone.

"Come to daddy, princess. Give me your best shot." Cor beckoned with his hands, getting into a defensive stance. Before he realized what he said out loud, and hoping no one caught it, Nathalia was charging straight for him. Cor ignited a flame deep within Nathalia, getting that animalistic fight out of her he'd been waiting to see. He just wasn't expecting her to go at him as hard, or as dirty, as she did.

Nathalia caught him off guard when she saw him falter after the words left his lips. Truthfully, she wanted to stop and laugh when he realized what he said but she was ready to take him down. When she charged him, she managed to headbutt him and lifted his shirt just enough to trap his arms and head then landed a brutal chest punch. She smirked when he went flying and rolled across the floor with a groan.

"Who's your daddy now, princess?" Nathalia said breathlessly, panting heavily and her smirk growing. She knew she had to stay on her toes, but just like she caught him off guard he did the same to her. Cor launched himself towards the Glaive, forcing a shocked yelp through her lips and then a grunt when both landed across the training room.

Like their now discarded weapons, fists, legs, and feet collided wherever they could touch. Both Cor and Nathalia were in their own world, their eyes never leaving the other. The thunderous cheering from their spectators only egged them on to be more vicious with each other. They were both reaching the ends of their ropes, trying to determine who would fall first and who would claim the win. Nat was crouched down, leaning on her raised knee and catching her breath. Looking up, she caught the stormy eyes of Cor staring her down.

Cor was watching Nathalia, looking for any crack he could target and take her down. But the more he looked at her the more his look changed to one of adoration as he started exploring Nat's face. The way a stray strand of hair fluttered every time a breath left her bruised and bloodied lips. The way she slowly looked at him, her jade green eyes having grown a shade darker as adrenaline rushed through her veins. It was enough to leave the man a different type of breathless and weak in the knees.

And that brief moment of distracted observation was enough for Nathalia to deliver one final blow that would end the match. Before Cor could even blink he found himself on his back, his feet having been swiped from beneath him and pinned to the ground by a smug Nathalia. Patting her thighs and smirking when he felt her jump at the sudden contact, Cor gave in.

"Alright, alright. I give, you win." He groaned out, the adrenaline rush had crashed and allowed him to finally feel everything he had absorbed.

"That's what happens when you get distracted, Leonis." Nat leaned in dangerously close to Cor's face then whispered in his ear. "Next time, though, I wouldn't get too caught up in such a public sparring session, daddy."

With that, Cor pushed a laughing Nathalia off of him and watched her roll up to her feet. Shaking his head, he stood up and brushed himself off. "Bite me, Nerezza. There won't be a next time."

Nathalia just walked away laughing, going to her fellow Glaives who had been cheering her on. And that's when Clarus walked over with Regis and gave him a knowing look. He knew they picked up on the tension between them, but that would be a conversation for another time.

For now, Cor would just keep his reignited feelings for the woman to himself. What he wouldn't expect, however, was that a certain Glaive close with Nathalia would make it her personal life mission to get those feelings out of him.

#ffxv #cor leonis #cor x oc #nathalia nerezza #oc works

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asidian · 7 years ago

Note

Gladio having no idea whether to be mad or proud when Prompto is better at some combat-related thing than him

===

Thanks for the prompt! I went a little over four hundred words, though. Shhh, no one tell on me. >.>

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Obstacles

===

The whole courtyard's been converted into an obstacle course, and it's one hell of a sight.

There are tires strewn out on the ground to run through, and a climbing net, and a crawl tunnel. Targets parade in twos, with rings of red and white and red again. Gladio hates those targets. They take a good two minutes off his run time.

Cor's standing in front of the row of new recruits, stern and no-nonsense.

And Prompto? Prompto looks like he's about to pass out.

Gladio's seen that look before – wide-eyed and jittery, about half a minute from hyperventilating. But when Cor says, "On your marks," he bows his head and gets ready to go.

"Get set," says Cor.

He's gonna give the kid a heart attack if he doesn't let them hurry up and start.

"Go," says Cor.

The new recruits are off like the crack of a whip. And Prompto – Prompto stumbles at the starting line, tripping over his own two feet.

Gladio groans – covers his eyes. This is going to be a disaster.

But when he takes his hand away, it's to see that Prompto's recovered. He's made it past the initial sprint, and then through the tires evenly paced across the ground. He launches himself up the net in a frantic scramble of limbs, and Gladio's waiting for the moment when he falls through, or his arm strength gives out and he can't quite haul himself up and over.

It never comes.

He throws himself down off the top of the net in a frankly ungraceful maneuver that should, by rights, have broken his ankle.

But the kid's fast, and he's not slowing down. He slides straight into the tunnel on his hands and knees, and – shit, is he in the lead? When the hell did that happen?

Without realizing he means to, Gladio circles around to get a better look at the targets.

He's got a front-row seat when Prom hauls himself out the far end and gets started – not with a sword, or a lance, or even throwing knives, like he was considering briefly. He summons an Astrals-be-merciful gun, and Gladio just has time to wonder when that became standard Crownsguard issue. Then Prompto's shooting with it, and Gladio watches the holes show up in the center of those circles: six of them, all dead bullseyes.

The gun fades out in a glittering spray of blue light. Before it's even gone, Prompto's hauling ass across the finish line, breathing like he's half-drowned. His hair's a bedraggled, sweaty mess.

"Three minutes, thirteen seconds," says Cor.

And Gladio – Gladio doesn't know whether he's proud, or pissed that the kid beat his best record on the first damn try.

#ffxv #ff15 fanfiction #final fantasy xv #final fantasy 15 fanfic #prompto argentum #Prompto #gladiolus amicitia #gladiolus #ff15 #final fantasy 15 #drabble

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yoitssabrinee · 7 years ago

Text

To Mercy We Plead

I am actually quite dissatisfied with how this turned out, but it got a little too long (is 7 pages and 3263 words long? lol) so here’s the first chapter of what I think is decent enough for a Prompto + Reader thing? Yeah lmao

Many thanks to @inconsistencys and @projectcherry12 for their help, feedback, and all the references they have provided me with--i could never do this without their help and support (and for Christ’s sake please follow them they are amazing people ok thank u) and also i need u guys to point out what i did wrong here and what i amiss because i am seriously delirious rn oh my god

p.s. this is unedited btw lmao i’m still in the dark about what to write for the summary so here’s to nothing!

SUMMARY:

A lifetime of repentance would never erase the regret building inside you as long as the person you’ve hurt are still bound to their past. But maybe redemption is on your way, and you’d be damned to let that chance go. (Prompto Argentum + Reader)

WARNING: Mentions of bullying, harassment.

prologue - part 1 - part 2

It was eight in the morning.

Sun was way up in the sky; the air smelled fresh and nice; the sky was clear; and it seemed to be the perfect weather for a stroll in the park, or maybe a casual walk through the city sidewalks, staring at street-side stalls selling kebabs and ice cream cones or just simple trinkets like key chains and cheap bracelets.

Yet here you were, face down and backside up, spine sore and screaming in pain at the hit it took from the blunt object across the room.

That made it the fifth time you’ve been kissing marble floors in a span of nearly one hour.

Your vision was swimming, unshed tears prickling at the corners of your eyes and body singing with exertion, but you’ve mapped and memorized the layout of the room so clearly from days moving all around it to know which corner was which even when you had your eyes closed—the trick here was to maximize your hearing sense so you could make out the movements of the other recruits, who were crowding the outline of the stage, silently snickering behind their hands.

Lips thinning in defiance, you quickly whirled and jumped into position, scrambling for the makeshift wooden sword laying just a ways away—previously knocked out of your hand—from you and biting back a sob as you stumbled forward, facing the opponent that had been handing your ass back to you in the past fifty-five minutes.

You knew this was not part of training—it was just a simple reflex-based move, dammit—but still your face felt hot with shame.

Not to mention that it was an extremely important day, and you totally blew it.

Baby blue eyes watched you and your opponent’s forms from the side line, silently judging your performance the whole hour you had been on that floor, eyes squinting whenever you took a hit on whichever part of your body that was left open for your rival to strike. It was humiliating—both from having Cor the Immortal’s eyes on you and seeing disappointment crinkling them every time you hit the deck, and catching the glint in your audience’s narrowed orbs as they silently cheered on your loss.

You were a hundred percent sure you just failed the test.

Cor’s voice rang across the expanse, “You’ve got five minutes left. Make it count.”

Make it count.

Like hell you would.

With a yell you charged, wooden sword swiping forward with unrelenting force, your intentions loud and clear—bring the enemy down in one fell swoop and spare yourself from yet another day of insult and embarrassment.

But, of course, this was one of the top fighters you were dealing with—top jock of the elite Special Forces, newly initiated as recruit barely six months ago but he was already making his way up with amazing performance. At this rate even you wouldn’t be surprised to see the likes of him flanking Cor’s side as his right hand man.

Which, to your dismay, just solidified everybody’s—minus yours—opinions on him as he sent you sprawling a final time to the floor, concluding the day’s events.

It was barely nine in the morning.

The applause that followed nearly made you deaf, but you were too busy willing yourself not to cry as you stand up, using the sword as support to steady your stance before you made your way toward the threshold. Ignoring all the pointed looks aimed your way, you trotted toward where the Marshall was standing, clipboard in his arm.

You wanted to scream, you wanted to plead to him to give you a second chance. You’d do anything to make up for that lack of performance, the absence of focus that was the main point of all the training you’ve endured for the past nine months. Yet the moment you stood before him, saluting and addressing him by title, the look on his face gave him away. At this rate even disappointment was an understatement; you turned your gaze to the floor, finding interest on the cracks between the tiles.

Hours of toiling and getting decked in the shins at ass o’clock by colleagues who just wanted to bring you down had all amounted to nothing.

You heard him call your name, and when you lift your eyes from the floor you were met with icy blues boring deep into your skull, his lips thinning into a straight line. “I want you to know that you have potential. I want you to know that I know that potential is somewhere in that body of yours, waiting to be brought out.” He was silent for a spell before he continued, “But I also want you to know that today, you didn’t meet the expectations I’ve set up for most of the recruits that have joined us here today. Your posture is off, your stance needs more work, your overall performance is lacklustre at best, and I’m not even going to touch on the way you handle yourself during mock battles.”

You nod, then finding whatever strength you had in you, you said, “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

He took another moment longer to stare at you before he let out a long sigh, signing something off on the clipboard. You didn’t want to see what it was, but you were fairly sure he had just written you off as a ‘fail’.

You dug your teeth into your bottom lip, feeling fresh tears stinging your lashes.

“Right now you’re not ready for that. Not yet. I’m sorry, but you know what this means for you, right?”

You nodded, not daring to lift your eyes to meet his, fearing that the tears would actually spill should they make contact.

Cor let out another sigh.

“You’re dismissed.”

And just like that, you failed the exam that would initiate you into the Crownsguard as an elite.

(s)

The Discussion tab was brimming with visitors, as usual; since the last time you were there, it had reached the triple digits in a span of a week, stated by the ever rotating digital numeral widget tucked at one corner of the website. Today, you were contributing another number to that widget by surfing through the page, fingers finding the ‘Post New Thread’ button on default and flying over the virtual keyboard to type.

It only took a couple of taps to get to where you usually frequented on the forum, having the website bookmarked for convenience on your phone. Since the minute you left the training room, every recruit that had passed you at the halls kept turning your way; you were past the point where you wanted to just snap and tell them off. You never know what they were saying, but you figured anything that they have to say was about you—and anything about you was never a good thing.

Especially since every eye seemed to be judging your every move.

Somnus’ Assembly for the Desperate and Needy—it was one of the only refuges you have, ever since you were initiated as a beginner into the Crownsguard forces; one of the only places where you could express yourself and your words without being looked at as if you were mental. Ever since your accidental stumble into the website during one exceptionally spiralling day, months prior, you have been a frequent, if not a little too infrequent, visitor of the page, occasionally posting threads retelling your troubles or giving out advice to those who you think might need it—or, you know, just drop in others’ threads and comment. In that place where nobody knew anybody except for their tales of toil and distress, no one would give you the side eye because no one knew what your history was and they would never judge you based on what you used to be.

Some, if not all, of the visitors have disclosed their own personal details to give vivid descriptions to their stories, but you weren’t on that level of comfortable to even share your past to the internet world. At least, not yet.

The ‘New Thread’ text box was only filled with a line of words, after a couple of minutes of deleting, then retyping, then deleting before retyping again, because every word you used seemed to expose too much, tell too much of your side. You just wanted to be frank, straightforward, and honest, but at the same time you didn’t want to give away anything.

In the least, you wanted a side where you could keep all your secrets without being appraised. The website have been your saving grace.

{toothless-vore has posted a new thread!}

Your lips quirked into a small smile at the sight of the bolded letters gracing yet another tab of new thread discussion on the page, a tinge of relief washing over you at finally letting a piece of distress out. You were about to swipe the webpage out, having done away your trouble, when it suddenly refreshed by itself, and your thread indicated that a visitor had read it, and commented on it.

You opened the post, wondering what it was, then felt the smile at your lips growing wider as you read:

{yellow-birdboy has posted a reply!} {10:11AM}

∑(;°Д°) omg are u ok?? im sorry that happened to u!! are u alright???

It was only a simple thread, the top post lined with only one sentence, read: just failed exam, conked out atm, feelin real down and need lots of choc. But to this person who had gone by the username yellow-birdboy, it was a big deal. Funny how you have trouble making friends in the real world, but on the internet, people like this wanted to hear what you have to say and read all your stories with immense interest, especially since none of you know each other that personally to invest time in strangers on the net. One of the perks of being anonymous and hiding behind fake names, you guessed.

{toothless-vore has posted a reply!} {10:12AM}

yea m fine, nothing i cant handle dw ( ´ ▽ `)ﾉ

{yellow-birdboy has posted a reply!} {10:15AM}

i know u can, but lemme know if u wanna vent yea?? im always up for a lil motivation!! ( •̀ᗜ•́)ง

{toothless-vore has posted a reply!} {10:19AM}

thnx boo, preciate it (✿´ ‿`)

This Birdboy user wasn’t entirely new in your list of followers and subscribers; in fact, he had been among many who was—supposedly—enamoured by the way you “carried” yourself, as they put it—to them, you seemed like the strong type of person, full of wisdom waiting to be imparted to those who wanted them. You weren’t an admin, not even a moderator, of the forum, so you didn’t know why they would actually take a liking to you, but seeing the increasing numbers of subscribers on your profile, you might as well be one.

It was just that Birdboy—you liked to dub them as that—was one of the few who cared enough to chat you up, lifting your spirits with chats that would carry you into the morning and making you laugh at horrible puns they cooked up for your sake. Contrasting ironically with how the daylight would often turn that smile upside down.

{toothless-vore has posted a reply!} {10:21AM}

talk bout motivation, it seems like tmro is my 1st apptmt ( •́〰•̀)

{yellow-birdboy has posted a reply!} {10:23AM}

oo yea, u mentiond that like last week!! did ya kno who u gonna meet?? ( ◕▽◕)

{toothless-vore has posted a reply!} {10:25AM}

idk but if its anything like a therapy i doubt the doc wd be any nice ( •́ᗣ•̀)

aaaand i heard its gonna be group ( ; ≧ 〜≦)

{yellow-birdboy has posted a reply!} {10:27AM}

ooh

looks like its gonna be

team-ing w ppl, dontcha think?? ( >ᗜ◕)୨

You didn’t even realize you were bursting with laughter until the occupant of the bed across yours turned to give you a long, weird look. You immediately clapped a hand over your mouth, snorting into your palm as you tried to calm yourself, fingers of the other hand furiously typing out a response:

{toothless-vore has posted a reply!} {10:28AM}

WTF that was bad that was really really bad n u shud feel ashamed of urself omg

{yellow-birdboy has posted a reply!} {10:29AM}

HEY!! ( •̀ᗣ•́)

well at least it made u laugh right?? ( ;´ `)╯

{toothless-vore has posted a reply!} {10:31AM}

yea lol

thnx birdie <3

{yellow-birdboy has posted a reply!} {10:33AM}

no prob!! ( ◕▽◕)

oh yea, spk of apptmt, i just scheduled one too

n guess what?? its tmro ヽ( ; ⁰▽ ⁰)ﾉ

im so scared lol

It was an agreement, basically; if one made an appointment to go through counselling therapy, then the other would support it by making one, too. A promise made during a night where hushed, cynical whispers turned into full-blown brawling sessions that escalated into you—and the party involved—going through the weekend in detention, allowance to go home or anywhere lifted until all of you behaved accordingly.

Not like you actually have a home to go to, but you had plans, and you were quite bummed when it happened.

{toothless-vore has posted a reply!} {10:35AM}

aw yes u did it bud!!

gud luck 2 both o us then!!

{yellow-birdboy has posted a reply!} {10:36AM}

yep! (•̀ᴗ•́)و ̑̑

hey i know this is sudden but i gotta go so ttyl!!

n tell me everything bout ur session latr tmro ok??

You barely typed out ok!! cyaa when the phone was wrenched out of your hand, and you watched in horror as a tall brunette before you—dressed in Crownsguard fatigues minus the jacket issued to every initiate—swiped through the screen, reading everything that was on it while sporting a sideways grin—the same grin that you’ve come to hate, because you damn well know who this was, and you weren’t about to give in to her. Not yet.

Probably over your dead body. Some day.

“Give that back, Adicus.” There’s venom in your voice, and any lesser human would have just handed you what you wanted without even looking at you twice—except you were the lesser human in this case and you knew that the sternness in your tone would do nothing again this person who was literally taller—and bigger—than you were. The two women flanking both her sides did little to assuage your fears; they were larger than you, albeit a little smaller than their taller leader. “Or else.”

But your threat only fell into deaf ears, as this Adicus flung back her chestnut tresses to look at you through raised brows, lips set in a snarky grin. “Or else what, tough one?” she spat out, something dripping from the tone of her voice that made you shiver involuntarily. “Nice of you to try to come at me with that look and tone, considering you just got your ass handed by Melphites and failed your initiate exam.” Then she put a hand over her chest, face scrunched in mock hurt. “Ooh, the pain! Don’t worry, I know exactly how it feels. Too bad for someone who claimed they wanted to protect the people, they just keep failing, y’know? It’s natural.”

Tristus Adicus. You remembered her from your heydays in grade school—the figurative leader of the group you had approached and befriended before a certain fiasco prompted your transfer, thus cutting off your (supposed) friendship with her. She had been in awe of your boldness—that was what she had been telling you, until the moment came to light where you just know it was her doing that had drove you to the spot you were currently in.

Karma had handed you whatever you deserved in return; you didn’t think karma would be this awful.

You were standing now, noting how obvious the height differences were between the both of you as you stood before her, fists clenched, trying to reel in your emotions as to not give yourself—and many others—any trouble. “Adicus.” You weren’t about to lose yourself to her provocations, no matter how bad it was. “Give that back. Right now.”

Provocations be damned. You just failed one of the most important events in your life; you weren’t about to get yourself kicked out of the Crownsguard entirely.

Then, whether it was by common or it was just another Adicus brand of provocation, you didn’t know which, she dropped the phone on your bed, and it bounced once on the springy material before you quickly pocketed it, keeping it out of sight.

She stood where she was, firmly holding her gaze against yours, that lopsided smirk still adorning her surprisingly gentle face before she said, “Just to be clear, I’m still not done about that last time we had it. So be prepared; I might come at you any time of the week, and no one can do anything to stop it.”

Then she left, bringing her two-person entourage with her, and only then you realize how the other girls had been watching the scene, expecting a spectacle, and slowly dispersing under your intense look. But you couldn’t give a damn. You flop down onto your bed, reached under it for the backpack you’ve kept your personal things in, and started rummaging through it.

You opened your phone to see the typed out response still in the Reply text box, but Birdboy had gone offline. As expected. You sent the response anyway, and set about going to tomorrow’s session, hoping it wouldn’t be as bad as the stories the internet had told you.

(s)

“You sure you don’t want me to come along?”

It was comical to see that mop of blond hair—spiked up as it was—bobbing up and down as its owner bent his head over the open zipper of the bag, checking its contents for the second time. The dark-haired young man leaning on the doorway next to him kept watch, eyes sometimes straying to the open front door, adjacent to his bedroom, possibly to keep intruders out, but really, what kind of intruder would be stupid enough to invade the apartment, especially when there were guards posted literally everywhere?

“Yeah, I’m good,” the blond said, finally zipping up and slinging the pack over his shoulders, heading for the front. “Thanks for having me over last night. You wanna go out for dinner again sometime after the session? My treat.”

He was saying it casually, partially gloved hand lifting up and down to emphasize himself, but the boy with the dark hair knew better. The slight shake in the blond’s voice was enough to give him away.

He reached out to touch his friend’s shoulder, bare from the sleeveless top he wore since yesterday. Sign of how distracted that blond partner of his could be, when nervousness and second-guessing began to lead his thoughts into panic. He needed distractions, he needed help. And as much as he could get it, he would find help.

He patted the freckled part of the appendage, smirking at the nervous way the blond was smiling—trying to calm himself.

“Don’t worry, Prompto,” Noctis nodded his head at the jittery blond. “You’re doing great. I know you could do it.”

And Prompto smiled—for real.

He knew he could do it.

#what is this #lmao #this #seriously trash??#idk man #prompto #prompto argentum #prompto x reader #final fantasy xv

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beauvoyr · 7 years ago

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Lazy People’s Club for the Sleepy and Tired | 8

blooming | the castle of sand

Pairings: Noctis/Reader Genre: Friendship/Romance/Friends-to-Lovers Tags: Fluff, Humor, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Abuse, Torture, and an inappropriate amount of references to video games and classical music and literature titles, no beta we die like men ;;v;; pre-canon a.k.a before FFXV Chapter Rating: M Crossposted on: AO3 Summary: Rules to join the Lazy People’s Club for the Sleepy and Tired: 1) One must love sleep. Sleep is love. Sleep is life. 2) One must be tired. Physically or emotionally, both are acceptable. 3) One must love video games. Halfhearted interest in video games will result in immediate termination of membership.

Fortunately, Noctis falls into all three categories.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: in which noctis learns there is more to his new friend than he thought

“lady mnemosyne is ill.”

there are words a child does not wish to hear. there are words he swallowed, leaving a substitute for a lie. a simple white lie, one he thinks you wouldn’t find out. at least with ill, he does not face a barrage of questions. at least with ill, he does not hurt you. all he does is to take your hand in his, kneel by your side, and watch how your eyes grow round with tears.

“flu? fever? is that why mama screamed?” you try each question in fervent desperation, seeking answers from his stoicism. unshed tears threaten to cascade your cheeks, but you held them in as how you held your breath, clutching his hand tight. “she’ll be okay, right? byron, she’ll be okay—right?”

no, milady, she will not be okay, the doctors have strapped her in. she will be sedated and bedridden and she will never see you again.

he tests the words in his mind, replaying them several times until he decides you deserve nothing of the pain that comes with those words. a lie. a lie will do. you’ll eat the simplest of lies from his hands. you are dependent on him. you cannot survive without him. you are weak and pathetic, yet, most beautiful things are. so he closes his fingers over your tiny palms, clasping them in a tiny prayer in front of his beating heart.

“she will. she is a fighter, and so are you.”

MORNING PRACTICE BEGINS WITH AN intense reproach from Gladio, who vows to work him twice as hard over the semester break. More like a total ass-whooping, but Noctis’ ego is too high to call it an ass-whooping when he’s sure that he’ll throttle Gladio down by a few notches in the coming week, so he settles for an ‘extreme workout camp’ instead. It starts at the crack of dawn when he shows up, bleary, mussing up his bedhead as he saunters into the training room with a readied Gladio lying in wait, swords laid out for two. It ends with a sputtering heave, Noctis on his hands and knees, sweat drenching his shirt, and a taunting Gladio shit-talking him from the distance.

Of course, Prompto has to make the mistake of ringing Noctis up in the morning, wanting to grab breakfast together to celebrate their newfound freedom for a month, and Gladio’s all too pleased when he picks up the call instead, telling the blond to ‘get his ass over’ and ‘join them for some real fun’.

Fun means seeing Prompto flying to an adjacent wall because Gladio’s sword has thrown him off his feet.

Fun also means sitting on their haunches with Gladio marching in front of them, prattling off their appalling mistakes one after another.

Fun also means tomorrow, same time, same place.

From his spot by the wall, Prompto holds his face in his hands. “This sucks.”

Noctis only rolls his eyes. “Glad you’re here with me, best friend.”

IN RETROSPECT, BREAKFAST FOR FOUR seems like a good idea. Ignis shows up precisely at eight with a bagful of morning groceries he managed to pick up whilst Noctis and Prompto are both having the time of their lives, and he’s more than ready to chauffer them home to Noctis’ apartment complex. But then again, the prince has a mind of his own and only casts an upward glance towards the ceiling, shouldering his bag with a towel slung around his neck.

That’s all it takes for Ignis to adjust his eyeglasses with a disproving air. “Something the matter, Noct?”

“Was thinking about stopping by upstairs for a sec,” is his simple answer.

Ignis’ figured as much. Just hearing the confirmation coming from the prince himself is enough to get the gears in his head turning.

“What, you’re gonna visit the architect chick again?” Gladio rumbles, locking up the double doors with a jingle of his keys. “So what about breakfast? Thought Prom’s gonna grab some grub with you just now?”

In the midst of nursing a newfound bruise on his elbow, the blond only puts up a sigh. “My spirit for breakfast’s already gone. Gladio took it. All I wanna do now is head home and never wake up until January.”

“Stop being so overdramatic.” Gladio barks out a laugh, slapping Prompto’s back heartily—and sends him right into the floor. “Uh. My bad.”

The silly antic does little to disperse the solemn expression lingering on Ignis’ face. He watches the prince’s back as he walks away, probably with his head in the clouds and legs guided by a single thought. A second later, he draws out his phone and starts texting someone, gazing at the screen for a few minutes, before pocketing the device again. Gladio and Prompto both follow him like an automatic reaction, still bickering in between, all flailing hands from Prompto and more grumbling from Gladio. Yet, none of them questioned Noctis’ choice. Or rather, none of them saw what lies ahead.

By right, none of this should be happening this way.

Absolutely none of it.

Their walk to one of the many lifts scattered in the Citadel is filled with Noctis’ unrepentant texting, Prompto’s incessant whining, and Gladio’s outline for tomorrow’s training regimen. For one such as him, Ignis doesn’t need to look further to know that the prince is gradually accepting your presence as part and parcel of his life. A seemingly harmless tactician paving the path for Lucian military in the future, there is merit in establishing friendship with someone like you. But the purging of identity Quintus subjected you under—that and his strategic erasure of those who stumble into his path, it left a bitter taste at the back of Ignis’ throat if he were to be frank.

Something about it doesn’t ease the unrest in his gut feeling.

The lift takes them up to the 56th floor, where the maze-like twists and turns of many similar hallways would’ve complicated someone who doesn’t know what they’re searching for. Yet, Noctis knows. A practiced habit for him, Ignis realises, as he retraces the winding hallways to take him to your room. That much tells him of the prince’s whereabouts if he’s not with any of them.

At the end of a bright passage, clusters of windows gleam under the morning sunlight. The usual standard of two vases of flowers mark the entrance to your room, and each bouquet is a weekly affair of crimson blooms. This time, though, two things are amiss; one: Violet hyacinths crowd the vases, each bouquet almost spilling from the porcelain lip, a poignant ballad of blossoms; and two: Standing in front of your own door with your hair damp and brown bags of groceries by your feet, you are oblivious to their presence as you remain rapt in examining a piece of paper between your fingers, wearing the expression of a static television.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by the prince.

“Never seen you standing around out here before,” Noctis says, and only then he manages to draw your attention to him. “Morning. Got your groceries delivered again?”

Adroit fingers halve the paper with a clean fold to the center, and you hold the piece by your side as your eyes rove over the entirety of the team. “Oh. Good morning, Highness.” To the rest of them, you nod with each name. “Morning, Prompto, Gladio, and Ignis. Why’re you guys here?”

“Gave these runts a solid kick in the ass this morning,” Gladio chuckles, and Prompto jabs him in the arm in affront. “Standard Crownsguard sparring. Noct himself is still shit when it comes to parrying attacks since he keeps leaving his sides open, and Prompto—“ he chuckles more, “he’s got better luck shooting himself in the foot.”

“Can it, Gladio.” Noctis is already scowling. “Specs, no breakfast for this guy. He doesn’t deserve to eat.”

Prompto nods vehemently. “Seconded! Let him starve, Iggy—payback is sweet.”

“There will be no breakfast for all of you if you do not return to Noct’s apartment before nine,” Ignis warns, adjusting his hold on his own bags of groceries. “Now, make haste; the sooner we return, the better.”

In hindsight, it is a feeble attempt meant to redirect them home. Now that Noctis has ‘stopped by upstairs for a sec’, or so what he spoke earlier, they should be very well on their merry way. Though somehow, things would certainly not be as simple as that. Noctis leans against the doorframe, head tipped back and a leg braced against the wall, and he regards Ignis with a quizzical look, one that says he’s already got everything planned out from the start. And Ignis certainly has no choice but to play the part in his many machinations, just like all the years before.

“You can just cook breakfast here, right?” Noctis suggests with the barest hints of an idea he’s thought out long before practice this morning, trying to disguise it with a light shrug. “That okay with you?”

Prompto is never one to miss out on a chance for a big gathering—that, Noctis definitely knows for sure. Glittering blue eyes already cemented on the prince’s idea, he’s all but scooped up your groceries into his lean arms, crooning, “Ooh, you mean like a big breakfast for all five of us? I’m in! I’m in! Count me in!”

A disarming smirk plays on the edges of Noctis’ lips at his best friend’s approval, and he turns to regard you with the same look. “You ate yet?”

“Nope,” you admit with a shake of your head, rubbing your nape. With your damp hair playing down your back, you bend over to hoist yet another bag Prompto missed out, cradling it like a child. “Just woke up, actually. Didn’t even start on breakfast yet.” You pause to work out a sleepy yawn, a hand covering your mouth. “…didn’t even have the time to dry my hair properly, to be honest.”

“No hairdryer?” Gladio points out. “My lil’ sis swears by it.”

You barely stifle yet another yawn at that, rubbing your eye with the back of your hand. “…not much of a morning person, sorry. I don’t function until it’s at least past ten a.m.”

“Eh, well—Noct’s like that too.” Sympathetic, even if he’s imitating Ignis. “Sleepyheads, the lot of you.”

And the prince drops into scowl again. “Shut up.”

With the idea of heading home already drained down the sink, Ignis only swallows the dregs of ill-omened encounters and stows them at the back of his head, hiding them warily. One may see it as paranoia, but to him, keeping the Crown Prince safe from harm’s way is long ingrained into his bones, carefully tailored around his every move. Even if it means doubting those the prince came in contact with, then so be it.

He would rather lose them than losing Noctis in the end.

quintus must’ve found out about it. if not, byron wouldn’t have been restrained on his knees, arms outstretched high above his head, thick steel cuffing his wrists. the range of expression quintus wields is much like the whip he carries in his hand; a long, thin line that promises pain to come. and he understands that much, understands what’s to come in the hours ahead. but what he doesn’t understand is this: you, screaming by the corner of the room, held back by wan-faced maids whose claws are digging into your bony shoulders.

“byron fafnir.”

he doesn’t flinch. it’s been a long time someone’s called him by his full name, and as much as it is disconcerting to hear fafnir rolling off quintus’ snakelike tongue, he won’t give him the satisfaction of fear.

“byron fafnir,” quintus repeats in the same, boring drone of a man holding himself back. brandishing the leather whip, he assumes the façade of a concerned father in the face of many—but byron doesn’t buy into his bullshit. not when quintus’ regarding him as one would a stray. “i believe you know your transgressions.”

there’s nothing else he could say in denial. lying only results in one—or many more whippings added to his never-ending tally. quintus is an expert in making people talk, wresting the answers from their lips no matter how unwilling they may be. perhaps that is why he serves the lucian royal council with an unfeeling fealty to king regis; he has all of his ancestors’ secrets all sealed up inside that calculative head of his. he knows how to make them talk, one way or another. perhaps, to an extent, this is also why all the late fafnirs served the andronici unhesitatingly, knowing their short leashes are tethered to a cruel hand.

byron’s silence only serves to spur quintus on, who has already placed a hand on his chin in coy contemplation. “fafnir is a dragon, you see,” he begins, “in the old tales our ancestors passed around. a great and terrible dragon who guards his treasure and slays all those who came close. did you father tell you this?”

as much as he’d rather bite his tongue and die than answering about his asshole of a father, byron sucks in a deep breath and counts to ten. “no.”

quintus hums again, disenchanted. “i’m not surprised. percival’s trail went cold; probably took a boat to niflheim, for all i know. all i found—“

“—is me. yeah, i know that much.”

he knows, of course he knows—he’s not a fucking idiot.

percival fafnir is a coward who broke his piggybank and swept all of byron’s gil into his pockets, ducking out of a rainy shack and never to return. duscae is cold and biting with swampy monsters nestled behind trees, and all byron has is the rainwater in his boots and the shirt on his back. so yes, he knows, he damn well knows that it’s him who picked up a twig and wielded it like a sword, it’s him who dried the plates at greasy diners, and it’s—surprise!—none other than him who scrimped enough gil to bribe someone for smuggling him into illustrious insomnia.

“you are where you came from, byron.” quintus shakes his head, disproving, because when else is he ever approving someone anyway? “you’re fortunate i’m still doing you a great favour by taking you in. other nobles would’ve scoffed at your name, no matter how much you may offer. your existence is useless in this era. and i am doing you a service by rebuilding you anew.”

that breaks an itch on his tongue, tinging his vision in red. glaring at him underneath dishevelled bangs, byron spits out, “oh yeah? you ever thought if you’re the one who’s useless around here? for someone who talks all big, you’re so full of shit for calling me useless when you’re one hella useless father to her. ever asked yourself what you’ve fucking done for her lately?”

his insults barely elicit a reaction from quintus. all he does is to twirl the whip between his fingers, a glaze of scarlet in his eyes.

and that’s all the warning byron gets before the first crack of leather sears his skin.

“you’re right. i should give her lessons by making you into an example,” says quintus, glancing sidelong at your direction. “watch and learn, daughter of mine.”

“SAY, HOW COME YOU NEVER told us your full name?” is Prompto’s innocent question as he shuffles through King’s Knight. Draped over a stack of pillows, legs swinging in the air, the blond’s lying on his stomach in the usual spot he always takes, which is right next to Noctis. “ ‘cause, you know, it’s kinda weird calling you ‘the architect guy’ all the time.”

“You can always call me Kaliva, if you want,” you answer with a shrug. “Works too.”

It gets Prompto chuckling as he ducks his head, mischievous eyes glinting from beneath his meticulously gelled hair. “Dude, you’re probably the best Kaliva I’ve ever teamed up with, but that’s going too far. That’s like some RP stuff right there.”

“Nothing’s wrong with a little RP. Life’s always an RPG anyway.” Noctis shares his princely wisdom without much thought, tapping through the buttons on his screen and scrolling through the dungeon in quick motions. “Everyone’s expected to play a part or something like that.”

“Deep stuff, man, real deep.” The blond’s full-out laughing now, nudging his friend in the side. “Do tell us more, Your Highness.”

And that’s the end of that. But sooner or later, the very same question will rise again.

A name.

He wants a name to your existence, when such privileges are lost to a daughter of the Andronicus.

Sitting with your back pressed against the glass panel, the late morning sunlight casts opaque shadows on your face, an effective mask to hide your disillusionment. The rest of the prince’s entourage are scattered everywhere in your room; Ignis’ taken your kitchenette as hostage for breakfast preparations, Gladio’s occupied your pillow island with his nose stuffed in a well-read book from your collection, and Noctis sits alongside Prompto as the two are raiding in King’s Knight. And here you are, alone, but not entirely alone, with a note pinched between your fingers.

As much as you welcomed their presence to colour your mornings brighter, there’s no hiding the conflicting emotions coursing through your head when you saw a familiar monogram peeking underneath a vase of purple hyacinths. It’s as though the world slows down to a halt, much like the cliché novels spoke of.

T.A.

Embossed on thick parchment unsupplied to any common corner store is an ornamented monogram finely done in gold foil. Your monogram, inlaid with a crest of the Andronici dragon, its great claws and wings curling around the lettering as it remains a protector to the family. Father never approved of this, you know, for he shredded all thoughts of your ascension. He never believed in you. But only one man did. And only one man knows the existence of this monogram.

Flicking your fingernail underneath the fold, you examine the careful cursive done in black. Only one sentence with no name for the sender.

If you forgive me, then you have shown me the greatest love of all.

Biting on your lower lip, you closed it again. Byron. This whole letter carries an edge palpable only to those who knew him like you did.

In the past, you’ve fought with him. Hissed at him for his overprotective nature, shutting him down for all the solid rebukes he gave. And he, too, is a far cry from a saint. A vindictive streak runs deep in his blood, wanting to shield you in his shadows as long as he breathes. It’s his job to smother your every move, pillowing your thuds on the wall, dampening your screams and shouts. For all the years he spent on you, of course, the proximity between you and him blurred past that of a butler and a mistress, a caretaker and a child, a babysitter and a burden. The books have said it’s only a natural progression in life to fight with those closest to you, and each argument brings people closer together once mended.

But you knew him better, read the old scars littering his knuckles, seen his fingers playing over the many holes on his ears.

Your ideals are his ideals, but his ideals are his alone and you have no part in it whatsoever.

“T.A.? What’s that?”

Lost in your musings, a voice overhead fails to alert you of a distinct shadow falling over your figure. It’s only too late for you to react when deft hands swipe downwards to snatch the letter from your grasp, right into the possession of the prince himself. Standing before you, Noctis’ face remains partially obscured by the heavy parchment, and you only fleshed out the minor quirk of his eyebrows to the subtle narrowing of his blue eyes as they scan over the monogram. You couldn’t fault his confusion, not at all, not when he knows nothing about you.

Getting to your own feet, you dust off your back and nick the parchment just as easily as he did, tucking it by your side. Under the harsh sunlight, the dark mess of Noctis’ hair burns gunmetal, juxtaposing Byron’s endless whiteness. A ring of platinum stains his steely blue eyes, almost like the bloodied waters in Byron’s eyes.

It’s more than enough to seize your heart in little fits.

Even without him, Byron haunts you in every corner.

Clearing the sudden dryness in your throat, you sidestep Noctis and amble your way to your study with a casual shake of your head. “My initials. A for Andronicus, remember? So T.A. in short, like Titus Andronicus. Also stands for The Architect, just so you know.”

“Yeah—figured that much,” he says, lofty, keeping up with your rapid steps in slow jogs.

Reaching your desk, in three precise motions, you unlock the top drawer, slip the letter in its depths, and shut it with a small click. For good measure, you pocket the silvery key just because Noctis hovers dangerously close to your workplace, until Ignis has kept a mindful eye on the two of you even if he’s stirring a bowlful of batter. Brushing off the matter just as easily because the prince obviously looks like he won’t get off your back anytime soon, you retreat to where Prompto’s sitting, making some space for yourself.

And Noctis, sleepy Noctis who’s always yawning or two, definitely knows more than he lets on. His silence on the matter is only one out of respect, never asking more than what you’re willing to tell.

“Do you use T. Andronicus for everything you do?” Seemingly harmless, the prince’s Advisor speaks up from his corner at the kitchenette, setting down the batter. “Or is that simply an allusion to the play itself? You seem rather fond of the name.”

“I wrote academic papers with that very same name, citing lots from Professor Estheim,” you point out. “Most people have to publish their full name, but I get away with just T. Andronicus. Probably because nobility issues, the usual deal.”

It’s either that, or they answer to Quintus and the rest of the Andronici, for his influence runs deeper than the Insomnian sewers. But it’s nothing they should know, nothing Noctis should be digging into, not if he wants to be safe. Even if Ignis might have discerned the distinction between yourself and another noblewoman, he breathes not a word of it. He’s merely content with carrying on this façade, checking the cupboards for a frying pan and fetching a spatula.

Prompto looks up from his game for a split second before returning to King’s Knight, fingers carefully directing Toby away from the boss’ onslaught of icicle shards. “So, being nobility lets you get away with stuffs like this?”

No—yes—no.

Is it a yes, or is it a no? There is no denying that others might have lumped together all nobles underneath the lights of opulence and splendour, hosting charity balls and mingling with those they deem worthy of their time. Flagrant in every way, they ride in Audis and Aston Martins, heels clicking with every step and tottering everywhere with their bodyguards. But surely the estranged Lady Andronicus knows nothing of such affairs, yes? For Lady Andronicus does not exist within the records, yes? And that’s the end of that.

Scratching your cheek, you cast a look at Noctis, who’s taken residence by the blond. “I dunno. I’m not the token spokesperson from nobility around here. Not exactly an exemplary noblewoman with the lifestyle I’m leading.”

“Indeed,” Ignis says, inclining his head in agreement. He’s gone and heated up the pan, the very same pan you scrubbed until the burnt black egg bits go off and your fingers went raw, oiling the surface lightly. “Most noblewomen are different from her, Prompto. Either tutored by a privately hired scholar or sent away to prestigious schools, their schedules are packed with additional lessons such as etiquette or dancing. They are groomed to be the leaders of their family, regardless of their ranks.”

Not like you. Nothing like you at all.

Swallowing the bitter truth, you thumbed at the Advisor over your shoulder, Prompto’s eyes falling on you again. “What he said. Sorry, my life’s a bit weird. Not your stereotype noble, nope.”

“No—no, definitely not weird!” He all but crows, arms flailing and looking on in horror as if he’s been such an idiot for barging into the nitty-gritty details of your life. Pure Prompto knows nothing—nobody knows anything, and it shines in how he gushes, “Dude, shhh, seriously, you’re okay, okay? I mean, I don’t think other nobles would be as chill as you. Heck, nobles probably don’t even wanna make friends with me. So you’re okay. You’re definitely more than okay.”

“Well, you’ve got the Prince as your BFF, so.” You make artless gestures in the air as Noctis looks on, wry. “You don’t need to make friends with the nobles like me. You’re way too cool for that already. Like, the coolest BFF of the Prince.”

For some reasons, that gets Prompto all huffy as he puffs out his chest in comical rendition of a haughty royalty. A haughty royalty who happens to finger-gun your way, throwing a cheesy wink with a click of his tongue. “Then, as the coolest guy in this room, I hereby declare that you’re a cool noble. We good?”

It’s all so whimsical and utterly ridiculous and lacking logicality until you feel the corners of your lips lifting into a smile—

stop this nonsense immediately, milady, he will hurt you

—and it almost falls, almost breaks off at the edges, but you held on to it, held on to your wavering smile even when Prompto freezes up and almost asked if anything’s wrong, if there’s anything he can do for you, and you just shake your head, holding your breath, shaking your head again because you don’t trust your voice when you know it’s going to crack and all eyes are on you, the prince’s, Prompto’s, Ignis’, and even Gladio’s, but it’s just that maybe, just maybe, just maybe with how your heart’s squeezing and your pulse is racing—

Having friends is just so, so good.

—and the monogram lies in the desk, forgotten.

father is a cruel man. he sees pleasure in inflicting pain upon others, and that much is evident in the lessons he imparted on byron’s skin. sitting by the fireplace, your butler is a white silk stained scarlet. crisscross marks on his skin, over his muscled back, over the flat planes of his chest. almost like a needle threaded him red. and you are but a broken mess of tears, snot, dry throat cracking from all the crying you’ve done, fingernails digging into your palm to leave crimson welts as though you could feel a fraction of the pain byron’s gone through.

he is strong. he is strong for having survived that ordeal and remaining conscious, right up to the bitter end. he is strong for still having enough strength left in his weary bones to gather you into his lap, resting his chin on your hair. but he is weak, too weak for words, too weak to admonish you for crying tears after tears for his sake. too weak until he slumps over your little body, arms circling your waist in a loosely-held hug.

this is all your fault, isn’t it?

this is all your fault for wanting mother so much.

you want, and want, and want, and want, and want and want andwantandwantandwant and this is what you get.

and since you overstepped your boundaries, a price had to be paid. a price slotted under byron’s tab, paid in full.

your eyes ache from all the tears. his blood seeps into your shirt. you daren’t move a muscle for his comfort. he remains numb, breathing from his mouth. you want to hug him. he shouldn’t be hugged. your fingers graze his flanks. he doesn’t recoil from your touch. your tongue is heavy with sorry i’m so sorry i’m so sorry byron i’m so. his throat bobs, and you press your lips against it to keep him still.

“i’m sorry.”

it is a raspy apology, but you are. you truly are. you are a fool for a five-year-old, expecting to be coddled in a prison at the expense of others. you want mother so much, you were blinded from seeing what you already have. you sacrificed the only person who stood steadfast by your side, all because you wanted more than you needed. you are a selfish child for thinking your little charade could fool father.

the walls have ears. the statues have eyes. they must’ve whispered to father and tattled on your every move. and father is a strategist of a great calibre, so great until it only takes him three words to come up with a solution to the problem. three words. watch and learn.

yes, you learnt. you learnt your lesson very well.

the first thing to do is to get rid of all your tears.

and later on, the rest of your feelings.

[blooming | end.]

hello readers it’s trainwreck time 8) this marks the end of the blooming arc, and we’ll move into the flowering arc starting with the next chapter (flowering of many things)! pls be warned that from here onwards, things get a little freaky and a lot little questionable, so the rating has to be increased to M + extra warnings will be included, totally for some reasons hmmm I hope everyone’s ok with that ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

thank you so much for all you dear readers reading this stuff <3 im honestly rly surprised and blown away by everyone’s comments and kudos on AO3, and the amount of people liking my writings here! ;;v;; thank you for your kind encouragement, it really helps loads with writing out the future chapters (gives me motivation to chug through crap work life and write fics lol) <3 I hope everyone enjoys the next chapter, where we have the dreaded showdown between Dad™ vs Prince™!

FLOWERING ARC PREVIEW:

[9] And it’s not the four walls anymore, it’s the 56th floor of the Citadel nestled in the dizzying Crown City, all black marbles symbolising the Lucian royal colour and a vase for two bouquets of purple hyacinths, with father’s eyes narrowing and his hand curling loosely into a fist as an uneven gait breaks the fragile silence in the air.

“Your Highness, Prince Noctis,” father utters, tacking on a slight bow to the greeting. “Fancy meeting you here, out of all places.”

#Noctis Lucis Caelum #ffxv #final fantasy xv #final fantasy xv fanfic #noctis/reader #noctis x reader #noctis #prompto #prompto argentum #ignis #ignis scientia #gladio #gladiolus #lazy people

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harshmallowffxv · 7 years ago

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Static — a Promptio fic (General Audiences)

Written for day 4 of @promptioweek, under the prompt ‘gods’.

Also on ao3, if you prefer.

There are some who don’t believe in the Six; some who think that if there really were omnipotent beings out there, they’d never stand for the suffering humans endure.

Even so, there are those who make their offerings to other, more obscure deities. A candle, lit in a window during a storm; a knot of twine under a pillow; a mug of ale left out by the moonlight.

Gladiolus might never have believed in gods outside of the rhymes he learned as a kid if he hadn’t seen the Archaean for himself: a goliath, flesh turned in places to stone, carrying a meteor on his very shoulders. When they had fought Titan — sought to prove Noctis’s worth to him — Gladiolus’s blood had sung in his veins as they worked together to overpower him.

The gods are real; they are great, they are fickle, but they are not immutable. They learned that firsthand.

It’s disquieting — knowing that the stories are true, that there really are beings far greater than humanity’s humble imaginings. The Crystal, Noct’s powers, the Six… All of them are connected, but in ways Gladiolus will never understand.

Let the prince dabble in the power of the astrals. He’s content enough to stick to what he knows: the keen, lethal edge of a sword.

‘Gladio?’

Noctis’s hair is plastered to his head by the rain, his blue eyes ringed from exhaustion but bright, glittering with fervour.

‘You about ready to get a move on?’ Gladiolus says.

There’s a flash of lightning in the distance; another illuminates Noct’s face, closer, as he turns to look at it. The air is filled with the rumble of thunder, low and ominous, before Noctis can answer.

He merely turns back to Gladiolus and nods, resolute.

Wiz has been kind enough to let them hide out at the post, but Gladiolus is glad to get away. The chocobos are restless and unsettled — the storm, the charge in the air — and it’s starting to rub off on him. Even the birds that they ride out on are twitchy, shying from certain paths and twitching at every little rumble from the sky.

Noctis heads up the group, setting his sights on the lightning strikes that cluster in the sky in the distance.

It isn’t long before Prompto falls into step beside Gladiolus. His chocobo seems the flightiest of the bunch; Gladiolus watches him struggle with the reins, and when a particularly bright flash lights up the stormclouds overhead the bird takes off at a sprint, away from the group.

Gladiolus spurs his mount forward, catching up quickly to his friend. Once he’s alongside the other chocobo he reaches out and grasps the reins, tugging at them to pull the bird into line.

‘You gotta be firm,’ he says. ‘The bird needs to know you’re in charge.’

‘I am in charge,’ Prompto says, indignant. His pout probably couldn’t be more cartoonish if he tried.

‘So show it you are.’

Gladiolus places the reins back into Prompto’s hands. He shows him how to get a tight enough hold that the chocobo can’t just dash off at will, and when he thinks Prompto’s got a hang of it he nods his head in the direction of the others.

‘We need to catch up,’ he says. ‘Stick by me, and do as I do.’

Prompto is able to do that much, at least, and whenever Gladiolus feels his bird bristle in response to the other’s nerves, he gestures for Prompto to take a firmer hold to reassure it. Before long they’re in an easy trot.

‘How’d you get so good at riding, anyways?’ Prompto says.

‘My dad used to bring us out in the summer, whenever he could get away from the Crownsguard,’ Gladiolus says. He feels a little lump in his throat; now’s not the time. ‘Me and Iris. She got pretty good at it, even when she was little. Used to make me race her.’

He sees Noctis veer off up ahead. Sees him put his head down and drive his chocobo purposely forward. That can mean only one thing — he’s found one of the runes.

As if to punctuate his thoughts, the sky cracks with a fresh bolt of lightning. This one is alarmingly close; there’s a smell of ozone in the air, and the hairs stand up on his arms. Nearby, Prompto’s chocobo gives a terrified cry and bucks wildly.

The fearsome echoes of the thunder have barely died down by the time Gladiolus registers the other bird running off at breakneck speed, back in the direction of the chocobo post. He pulls on his chocobo’s reins and pulls it up short, turning it around just in time to see Prompto being thrown off.

‘Damnit.’

He spurs his mount on; when he reaches the spot where Prompto fell, he can just see the errant chocobo sprinting away, too far gone now to catch.

He drops to the ground with a thud. Prompto is on his back, head cradled in his hands. Gladiolus might have thought him dead had he not been giving a low, steady groan of pain.

‘You always make it a habit to fall flat on your ass?’ Gladiolus says.

Prompto barely moves his hands from his face.

‘Only when I know you’re there to pick me up.’

Gladiolus pulls him up by the wrist, his skin slick with the rain. Once he’s upright, he dusts himself off.

‘Your bird’s gone home,’ Gladiolus says dryly. ‘Probably for the best.’

Prompto sighs.

There’s room enough for two on Gladiolus’s chocobo, at least. He takes the reins, with Prompto just behind him. Waterlogged as they both are, Prompto’s arms fit around his waist, damp but warm.

‘Try not to fall off this time,’ Gladiolus says, ‘or you’ll take me with you.’

It’s late by the time Noct finishes Ramuh’s trials; soaking wet and miserable, the group heads for the nearest settlement. They’re only too glad to drop the gil on a hotel room when it means clean sheets and a limitless supply of hot water.

Ignis, the fastest of the bunch, showers first. Once he’s out and dressed he heads off to see about securing them some dinner, while Noct hops into the shower next.

Prompto crashes out on the bed face-first, arms and legs spread out across the surface. Gladiolus can’t help but smirk at the sight. He sits down at the edge by his friend and picks up one of Prompto’s arms, whereupon he lets it go and it flops back down limply.

Muffled by the blankets comes a feeble little voice: ‘Ow.’

‘Toughen up,’ Gladiolus says, clapping a hand on Prompto’s shoulder. ‘You’ve been through worse.’

Grumbling, Prompto rolls over onto his back and sits up, scrubbing at his face. His hair sticks up all over, already partly-dried after their exploits out in the rain. His usual careful style is ruined, his blond hair tousled, and when Gladiolus looks closely he realises that as it dries, it settles itself into loose curls.

Prompto lifts a hand and plucks at a strand of hair over his forehead, pulling it taut in a vain attempt at making it straight. His cheeks look like they couldn’t possibly burn more brightly.

‘Don’t tell the others,’ he whispers.

Gladiolus laughs and slips his finger through one of the strands, coiling it around his fingertip. When he lets go, it bounces back like the curled tail of a pig.

‘It’s cute,’ he says. ‘Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.’

He was wrong about Prompto’s cheeks — he turns an even darker shade of red, looking as though he might explode at any moment. Gladiolus watches him dive down onto the bed once more, pulling a pillow over his head to hide his ever more curling hair.

Once Noct is out, Prompto scurries quickly in after him, ducking his head down low. When the prince shoots Gladiolus a look, he merely shrugs.

‘What was that all about?’ Noct asks.

‘Hell if I know.’

#promptioweek2017 #promptio #prompto argentum #gladiolus amicitia #ffxv #my writing #choqueuebo #.txt

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promptothesunshineboy-blog · 8 years ago

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PromptoXReader slightly angsty fanfic with a never-before-seen angry/protective Prompto!

ReaderXPrompto fanfiction with a bit of angst~ But also a rarely seen angry/protective Prompto... spurred into action by angsty stuff~

Trigger warnings for: Self harm, violence, abuse.

This is largely (almost exactly) based on myself and my past/relationships and an incident that happened to me (and my brother) very recently.

There will be a bit of foul language including one particularly bad word.. but I will censor that one with a little star~ Its his favorite name for me though *bitter laughter*

[[Disclaimer (also slight spoiler for the story ahead I guess): In the real life version of this...Although he has hit me several times in the past, this time.. he did not hit me.. though he made a threatening move towards me. ]]

Your backstory: You never knew your biological father, who abandoned you and your mother soon after you were born and signed away all his rights to you. When you were still a young girl, your mother married who became your stepfather. He is a cruel and heavily alcoholic man. For 15 years he physically and mentally abused you; tore you down and made you feel worthless for the great duration of your life. He also regularly abused your mother, though you were always his main target. Your mother and he had 2 more children: your now 16 year old brother and 11 year old sister. Finally, years overdue, after a last-straw incident, your mother finally got up the nerve and divorced him. You are now a young adult in your early 20s, Your siblings, still minors and of his blood, are still required to have visitation with him. With you out of his grasp, your, now ex, stepfather has turned most of his aggression onto your brother.

You are traveling and fighting alongside your four best friends: Noctis, Gladiolus, Ignis, and Prompto. And, er, ok... you kinda have a big ‘ol crush on Prompto. The boys have been supportive and patient with you all along. They build you up and make you feel worthy and happy. You feel as though you’ve truly found your place in life alongside these wonderful friends of yours. Maybe even especially so in Prompto. You are all very close but theres a little something extra there with you and Prom...

Story starts under the cut.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Your breath caught in your throat as you read the texts from your younger brother. On one hand, this was nothing new, you were aware how much he was affected by your, now ex, stepfather. Tiny cuts he tried to hide were the physical marker of his anguish. The very same man had affected you so deeply for the majority of your life... And you too had been there before; with the liquid red running from your body in the shower as you sobbed brokenly. You never wanted the same for them. You had always wished to protect your siblings from the same fate as you. He was a cruel man; violent, intolerant, and a dreadful alcoholic. He had put you through living hell for 15 years of your life. As a young adult now, on a journey with your 4 best friends in the world, you were just starting to rebuild some semblance of confidence and self-worth after the long years of abuse. You were a warrior and member of the crownsguard, fighting bravely alongside your friends. Nonetheless, your ex stepfather frightened you more than you would like to admit. And now came the desperate text messages from your brother, pleading for you to come get him. These texts carried an air of frightening desperation and left the blood draining from your face as you read them. The usually chipper blonde boy who sat beside you now had his brows knit together in concern as he studied your grave expression. Prompto hesitantly rested a hand on your shoulder “Hey, y/n, is... everything alright?”

You swiveled your head to face him, suddenly snapped from your daze. Blinking owlishly at the freckled boy, your voice carried a tremble as you told him about the texts. He listened intently, nodding as you spoke. He knew all about what your ex stepdad was like. You had opened up to the group on this matter before, in a tearful unloading met with many hugs and supportive words. The others had gone, on chocoboback, to the nearby marketplace not long ago, leaving you and Prompto behind where you had been engaged in an energized round of King’s Knight. Now, silence settled around the two of you for a moment as you sat alone together outside the RV. Prompto broke the silence, tilting his head a bit to catch your downcast e/c eyes “Hey... If you want, I’ll go with you.” The words were soft and soothing, calming your heart rate if only a small amount. You peered into his face with a small nod and a whispered “Thanks, Prom.”

You shot your brother a text as you climbed into the Regalia. Your trembling hands were best kept away from the steering wheel this time, so Prompto took the wheel. As he drove as cautiously as possible, the sunny blonde glanced over towards you and offered and encouraging smile. You return it with all the resolve you can muster, but your mind quickly turns back to worrying. Facing your tormentor, the safety of your brother, possible legal repercussions... ‘It was technically your stepfather’s legal right to have custody of your siblings right now. If you came and took them away against his wishes, he could potentially report you for kidnapping.’ You furrowed your brow. ‘And knowing him, you really wouldn’t put it past him to do it out of spite’ You flinched a bit as suddenly, the young man across from you reached over and slipped his warm hand over yours. You took a breath and focused on the comforting warmth of his larger hand over your own small, trembling one. Biting your lip, you resolved yourself. You absolutely could not leave them at his mercy, especially with the tone of your brother’s messages.

As you pulled into the dirt driveway of the small basement apartment that your ex stepfather lived in, you had no sooner stepped out of the Regalia when you were assaulted by a terrible commotion as your brother flew out the door, with your stepfather; all anger, beady eyes and beer belly, hot on his heels. Your little sister followed soon after, shouting at him to leave your brother alone. Protective instinct taking over, you hurriedly crossed the distance between you and your brother as the brute of a man caught the skinny youth by the arm and yanked him roughly backwards. Adrenaline rushed through your head. As your brother was grabbed, you barely recalled hearing Prompto’s panicked voice just behind you as he called out “Stop! Don’t do this!” shortly before you drowned it out with your own voice, raised in anger and fear all at once as you took hold of your brother and tried to free him from your stepdad’s grasp. “Let go of him!!” Your voice loud despite the crack in it. You wrestled your brother free, and he stumbled to your side where Prompto had apparently swiftly ushered over your sister in the heat of the moment and now stood with a hand on her shoulder. In that split second, it all shifted and your ex stepfather’s wrath was now on you. He charged you and forced you several steps backwards as his much larger frame closed in on yours. Everything was a flurry of sound and motion as everyone shouted, overwhelming your senses. The violent man leaned into you, inches from your face as he screamed. His breath was heavy with the scent of alcohol; it hit you like a blow to the gut as he berated you; “You stupid little c*nt! Get off of my god damn property! This is my son and I get to say weather he stays or goes! Me!! No one else! Especially not you, you piece of shit homewrecker! I will call the police and have your ass thrown in jail for kidnapping, you fucking c*unt! How dare you?! How fucking dare you?!?! You ruined this fucking family!!!”

His belligerent screaming rings unbearably loudly in your ears. Your eyes well with tears as you squeeze them shut and try to block out his words. The words everyone assured you was a lie. The words they said he spoke because he has a victim complex and was trying to manipulate you. And yet... the dread filled you as you stood, petrified, drawing into yourself and shuddering. You opened your eyes just in time to see him draw back his hand. The noise when the back of his hand hit your face was as sharp as the sting you felt, stars exploding in front of your eyes as you stumbled back,

No sooner had the moment of impact passed, however, then you witnessed, eyes wide, a sight you had never witnessed before. Prompto, the usual cheerful ball of sunshine, had crossed the short distance between the two of you with an expression that could only be described as feral. What happened in a split second seemed to play out in slow motion before your eyes. Prompto’s leather gloved hand, balled into a fist, collided with you ex stepfather’s face with the force of a train wreck. He reeled and stumbled away from you before his shirt collar was snatched up by Prompto’s free hand and the younger man drove him back with the full force of his lanky yet leanly muscled body. Fuled by protective fury, Prompto slammed the larger man roughly into the side of the house and held him there as a viscous growl tore from his throat, words cutting like a blade as he shouted “DON’T YOU DARE HIT HER!!” The world became still, save for the winded panting of the two men. The gentle blue eyes of your best friend were now a steely cobalt, trained unfaltering, on the eyes of your tormentor. Through gritted teeth he pushed words heavy with emotion “She is not the problem! She was NEVER the problem! And neither are these kids... YOU are!!”

No one said a word. Slowly, Prompto released his grip on the other man and backed away, never breaking the eye contact. His voice low, a tremble of raw emotion still laced within it, he spoke slowly and confidently “Y/n is.. the nicest and mot beautiful soul I have ever met. Despite you... despite everything... that you put her through. It only ever made her more kind. She is not the problem and never was. She is NOT what you call her. And I will not let you hurt her or these kids anymore..” His face was stern and his voice held a confidence and command such as you’ve never heard from Prompto before.

Hesitantly, your stepfather spits in the dirt near Prompto’s feet before muttering a begrudging “Some kind of white knight, ain’t ya? Fuck you.. Just you fucking wait...” With the shallow threat, he turned on his heel and stormed away into his apartment, slamming the door behind him. The four of you clamor into the Regalia and hastily pull away. Trembling fingers tap out a message to the other chocobros on your phone, explaining what’s happened. Quietly, from the back, your brother mumbles an emotional, yet drained “Thank you...” You look in the rearview at him and watch as he tugs down his sleeves over bandaged arms. You hung your head as a few tears fell silently. The silence was broken by Prompto’s shaking voice “I-I’m sorry... I just... I don’t know what came over me... but I couldn’t just let that happen.. I couldn’t bear to see it go on....” The freckled boy blinked away the fogginess in his eyes as he began to come down from his adrenaline rush and his emotions bubbled over. Cutting him off, you grabbed his hand between both of yours and squeezed it tight, tears spilling down your cheeks. “No, Prompto, thank you. For caring about me... for all those things you said. No one... no one has ever fought for me before.... I never thought... I was worthy of protecting...” A soft sob escapes you as you clutch his hand tightly.

Later, the rest of your friends meet up with the two of you and your siblings at your mother’s house. She came home from errands hurriedly after receiving your call. The rest of that night is spent in a makeshift group therapy session. The adults beginning to plan out what actions may need to be taken for the future. A better future. One where your tormentor can no longer hurt you or the ones you love. The sharing of feelings, tears, and many hugs evolves into games and laughter as the group shifts to trying to lighten the mood. Before you know it, the hour has grown late and you all decide to stay the night at your moms house. Its a small but warm and inviting place. A different house than the one you spent your formative years in. One with a new beginning.. As you lay on the couch and stare past the sleeping forms of Noctis, Gladio, and Ignis where they lay curled on the air mattresses upon the living room floor, a small movement in the corner of your eye catches your attention. From the extended recliner beside the couch, Prompto extends a hand toward you. You reach up and lace your fingers with his, enjoying the comforting heat of his touch. As you allow your intertwined hands to rest on the arm of the couch just above your head, you peer though the dark of the room at each other. There is just enough light to make his eyes twinkle ever so slightly, and you can make out a soft adoring smile on his face.. one which you return, heart swelling, before slowly drifting to sleep.

#prompto argentum #promptoxreader #fanfiction #ok im looking this over and i all reads a bit clumsily i feel like...#usually im a little more decent than this...#but when writing this i feel.. raw #so i guess it comes out feeling that way?#idk man enjoy the angst #vent writing #ffxv #final fantasy xv

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