#I promise I’m still working on EO I really am I just also can’t stop thinking about this recently

[shreddedleopard]

The need to write infatuated Sherliam being all up in everyone’s business about it; unable to curb their enthusiasm for one another, absolutely dramatically obsessed with one another

Vs.

Infatuated LouJohn who are too polite and proper and busy putting out Sherliam’s fires to give anyone the slightest inkling that they’ve just been making out across M’s desk.

[tarotdeckshuffle]

Love Letters from the Chocobros + Ravus, Luna, Cor, Nyx, and Ardyn

Earlier I wrote a love letter from Ravus that I really enjoyed writing, so I thought I’d do one for all of my favs! I sliiightly edited Ravus’s as well and included it here!

You wake up to find that your S/O has left in the middle of the night without waking you. This is how each would let you know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Noctis

Noctis would send you a simple text message after he left. He likes to send everything that’s on his mind in one long message. He’d likely text you each night with updates and to hear from you. Texting is his jam.

This man so rarely communicates with anyone that it is truly special for him to have a message chain with you. You can bet that he never deletes anything you send him. You’ll probably also get King’s Knight invites. Playing the game together helps you two feel closer, even if you can’t be.

Hey, we had to leave like suuuuper early. Didn’t want to wake you. I hope your day goes well. I’ll try to text you when I can, probs when we stop tonight. I miss you. I can’t wait to get back. Love you.

[Simple, but sent to you as soon as he’s functional (so like noon)]

Prompto

Prompto would also text, but he’d send a selfie with either heart stickers all over it or doing the heart hands thing (or both, depending on how much time he has). He also sends multiple messages as things come to him. Prepare for a cheese fest with this cutie.

You know you’re special with Prompto because he always replies as soon as he can, we’re talking like a three second response time. If he can’t respond right away, he’ll apologize profusely when he does text you. He’d use tons of emojis, just...all of them. Prompto is probably the only one who you can reach out to whenever you want and he’ll always try to make time for you.

Hey babe! <3 sorry I left without waking you. Don’t be mad, ok? You looked just so cute sleeping. See?!

[sends you the photo of you sleeping we all know he took]. How are you so pretty EVEN WHEN YOURE ASLEEP?<3<3<3<3

Save the spot next to ya for me! I’ll be back before you know it![thumbs up]

[There’d be a pause in the messages as he becomes serious]

I miss you already...I love you. Remember that, ok?

Ignis

Iggy would want to be a classic romantic by leaving you a letter, but he’d also opt for practicality above all else. His actions would speak louder than words. He’d likely leave a note and a flower on the counter for you, next to the already prepared coffee, a breakfast that takes little to prepare, and all of the dishes done.

This man is one of the best strategists in all of Eos. He’d know every plan the two of you made better than you would and would be utterly disappointed that he had to skip out on them due to his sudden departure. Knowing him, he’d pull all the necessary strings to make sure your plans would be rescheduled for his return.

[Note]

Urgent business to attend to. Will return promptly.

Love,

Ignis

[A text message at his first possible opportunity]

Love,

I apologize for my sudden departure. Matters progressed quicker than expected, making it imperative to leave. Please know that I will be home to you as fast as possible.

I’m deeply sorry that I will miss all of the plans we made for this weekend. I made arrangements for us to visit the Royal Gardens upon my return and I have moved all of our reservations.

You will find a surprise awaiting you tonight! [It’s likely he ordered you your favorite takeout to be delivered when you return from work and flowers to be delivered at the same time.]

I love you. Be safe.

-Ignis

[Ignis would want to call you in the evening, but Gladio always finds the best conversation spots before him and he doesn’t want to be away from his duties for long.]

Gladio

Gladio loves being close to his beloved, so he’d probably risk waking you to kiss you before he left. He’d also call you and leave a voicemail the first chance he got.

Gladio makes sure that everything is personal with those he loves, so texting would be out of the question for him unless it was his only option. While he’s very learned, I don’t see him as enjoying giving you letters, perhaps because his handwriting is so bad? Perhaps because it’s still too distant for him. He’d rather take the time and call you each night. He aches to hear your voice.

This man doesn’t like using the L-word, but for him, “Be safe” means about the same thing. He really loves domestic life and would be disappointed about ruined plans, regardless of how simple they were.

[Voicemail left for you]

Hey babe,

Sorry I had to leave so early. I tried to wake you, but [chuckles] we both know how that normally goes. I got called out on an escort that had to leave before dawn. I shouldn’t be gone for too long, but I’ll let you know more details as I can.

[He’d pause to take a deep breath]

I know we made plans together for this weekend. It kills me that I won’t be able to make them, now, but duty calls, ya’know? [a forced laugh] I rented one of the movies you wanted to see, it’s by the TV. And yes, you can have my leftovers. [He chuckles again at the normal fights over leftovers you two have.]

[He sighs and gets quiet after trying to lighten the mood]

I really do miss you.

I won’t be able to answer my phone most of the time, so I’ll call you when I get a chance.

Be safe for me.

Ravus

Ravus’s letter to you would a full love letter, done on his personal stationary, sealed in an envelope, and your name beautifully written on the front. It may be brief (for him) due to the sudden need for his departure, but it’d still be one of the most eloquent letters of the bunch.

This man loves you so much, but he doesn't always know how to say it. That’s why he loves writing to you: he can take the time and think about how he wants to express himself. He knows the perils of his position and always fears he may never see you again. That’s why he leaves you physical letters, so that if the worst should happen, you have something to hold and remember him by.

My Dearest Star,

I must leave you as Chancellor Izunia has discovered “urgent business” that must be attended to at this late hour. With the morning light you shall wake and I shall be dreaming of you.

While a great distance may separate us so unexpectedly, know that I will do all that is in my power to make sure that my time away from you is limited:  I hope to return to your arms within a fortnight.

I realize that my schedule grows tiresome on you. I promise that, upon my return, every moment I breathe shall be devoted to you and your desires. I long to bask in the radiance of your smile and to lay my hands upon the perfection that is your body, once again.

Your love is the greatest treasure I have been fortunate enough to be granted.

May the astrals watch over you until you are safe by my side.

With all my love,

Ravus

Luna

You are in love with the busiest woman in all of Eos, good luck. She would want to be romantic, having learned from her brother, but she doesn’t have the time or the means as she seeks out the astrals. To make up for this, she’d likely leave you notes at every gas station and town she passed through, hoping someone would recognize you and give you the note. Sometimes, she’d even call you, when she got your number right and had free access to a phone. Umbra and Gentiana would deliver messages to you whenever Luna could spare them, but that’s not often seeing as they’re also assisting the True King.

The fact that she’s taking any time to think of you and reach out to you is special. Yes, it’s a unique way that doesn’t always work (who knows how many notes are out there), but the creative solution to the problem is very special to you; it shows she really put time into thinking about it. It’s like a scavenger hunt for your love!

[First Note, given to you by Cindy]

Dearest Beloved,

I write to inform you that I am safe beyond Insomnia’s walls. Contrary to my deep desire to await your arrival here, I must continue on. I hope to see you soon.

Please be safe. I love you.

Your Dearest,

Lunafreya

[Second Note: Left at a campsite for you by Gentiana]

Dearest,

I’m so happy that this note has reached you. Know that my heart belongs to only you and my every thought includes you.

I head onwards to the astrals. Meet me soon.

Your Beloved,

Lunafreya

[Third Note: Left at the gate to the Meteor of the Six]

Dearest Love,

If you are reading this, I have already moved on. While my duty lies with Noctis, know that my heart lies with you. Please, come to me.

I await you where my tears meet the sea.

All My Love,

Luna

[A call from Luna]

[Hello?]

Hello!

Oh, my treasure! How I’ve missed your voice!

No, I must speak!

I’m afraid I cannot wait any longer, I must leave!

I’ll wait for you in Altissa!

Please hurry, I’m afraid my heart cannot take much more of your absence.

I miss you. Are you safe? Are your travels well? Have my notes reached you?...

[You calm her anxiety by simply saying, “I love you, Luna.”]

[you hear her sigh]

I love you, too.

[shouting in the background]

I have to leave.

Take care, but I’ll see you soon…

Cor

This man loves you, but he is ALL ABOUT practicality. He’s too slow at texting you, so he’d probably just call you later after he leaves you with a kiss.

Cor is a hard man to figure out. Looking from the outside in, it’s hard to tell just how much he loves you. But to you, it’s the little efforts he’s constantly making. Like he’d get the coffee ready to go before he leaves and maybe leave a note on the counter saying “Be back soon.-Cor.” You know he loves you because this dedicated workaholic makes the time to call you ever so often. While he doesn’t say much, you are one of the only personal calls he makes, so it’s extra special.

[Voicemail]

Hey…

I had to leave early on...royal business. I can’t say more. You...slept through it. [He knows not to bring up your sleeping habits by now but you can imagine the teasing smile on his face.]

Some of the guard may come by to check on you, I put in a request for it. Sorry, but just to be sure.

I’ll call you later.

I love you.

Bye.

[Between the two of you, it’s implied that he misses you, but he leaves you so often that you just know it. So much goes unsaid between you two, but you know you’ll regret it one day. Cor must know it, too.]

[The next day, Cor actually sends you a message!]

I miss you. I love you.

[Cor likes to bring you flowers from wherever he was when he returns.]

Nyx

Nyx would be out the door so often that text messages would be the norm. He’d be another one that you knew to read between the lines with.

This man would use so many shortcuts. Anything to be able to send you a message in his few spare seconds. Knowing him, he often gets his phone broken, so you get messages from new numbers a lot. But you know Nyx loves you because the man that can’t remember to eat or bathe regularly has your number memorized.

If his shifts are inside Insomnia, he’d stop by your work or apartment to steal a kiss if he found even one moment to spare.

Had to go early. Emergency. Be back tonight. Love you.

[or]

Heading out for a few. I love you. Libertus will b by l8r.

[The mere fact that Nyx is texting you shows that he cares. He typically doesn’t communicate if he doesn’t care at all.]

[If you tell him you love him.]

I love you too. I miss you. It’ll be awhile, but wait for me. I’m coming home.

Ardyn

This overdramatic wonderful man is a spectacle to behold. If you thought leaving you notes was romantic, this man is over the top. He leaves a full paper letter to you, left pinned to your door (to make your neighbors blush), AND sends you a dozen roses later in the day to show the ENTIRE WORLD that he loves you.

A good way to describe Ardyn is that he lingers. He would make his party wait to leave until after he gave you a long, slow kiss before he left. He’d stop by your apartment or work if given the chance and likely be there for at least an hour. He’s immortal and has all the time in the world, so he may as well spend as much of it as he can with you.

My dearest, sweetest [Y/N],

You have my sincerest apologies for my sudden departure. Unfortunately, urgent business must be attended to.

While attending to said duties, you will be a constant presence in my thoughts. I find my mind wandering to the sound of your voice, the softness of your skin, the smell of your hair, and the light in your eyes. You are a most welcome distraction to the monotony of bureaucracy.

Know that upon my return, you shall be treated like the royalty you are. I shall pull you into my lap and take the time to kiss you that you deserve. The bindings of clothing will melt away, that I may bask in the radiance of your body, taking my time to properly worship every inch of you. Your moans will be the sultry and sweet tones of a choir to the gods above. Oh, to have the taste of you on my lips again. May the entirety of Eos hear our love and have jealousy bloom in their hearts, knowing that you, the most beautiful and perfect human, nay, you must be a god yourself, is mine and mine alone!

Oh,I’m giddy for my return just imagining it.

My nights shall be lonely without you by my side, but know that I will stop at nothing to return to you. I have arranged everything, that you may want for naught until my return.

You have all of my heart, my beloved, my treasure, my starlight.

Your Beloved,

Ardyn

[lucianprincess]

When a simple discussion on Discord with my dear @fragmenthearted about Ardyn and Aurora becoming parents some time before the beginning of the decade of darkness turns into an RP...

Ardyn loves kids so he's just like, "wait, hold on, this isn't fair - what am I supposed to do now??"

Aurora: "Do what you think is right for you, for them, for us, Love."

Ardyn: *looks sad* "...I don't want to leave you..." Aurora: "Then stay. Take on another appearance, stay by my side, by our side... Until we can find a way to save you while bringing back the Light... Please... I beg you..."

Ardyn frowned, very seriously thinking about it. "I... I can but... it will be very difficult... My powers are not meant for... use for so long. It will weaken me, surely..." How long will it be? Will I be able to stand against Noctis? Or do I have to give up on my revenge entirely... "My apologies... I have to give this some thought..."

Aurora put a hand on his cheek and stroked it gently, a sad expression on her face. She nodded then lowered her head to lean her forehead against his chest, hiding the tear rolling over her cheek. "I understand... Don't worry..." she said with a lump in her throat. "I... I don't want to lose you..."

He held her close, resting his head on top of hers. "I know... I miss you dearly already, princess... If only..." She snuggled up against him, wrapping her arms around his waist, her hands grabbing his clothes, her tears rolling silently on her cheeks. "Do you think all this was written? Or do the Gods make us pay at a high price the fact that we challenge them ?"

He stroked her hair gently, feeling a bit bad that he was the reason she was crying. "...I told you there would be a price... I'm so sorry..." Quietly, his hand moved back to her back. "I think - no, I know this is not what I was meant to be doing... But you know... I told Bahamut that I wasn't going to listen to him anyway... So he really ought to have expected something." He chuckled softly, wishing she'd smile again. In the end, he'd still broken... now he regretted that, just a little bit. "The price is certainly painful to pay... But it was really worth it..." She looked up at him, a smile rising on her lips despite her wet eyes. "No matter the pain... Not for a moment do I regret the fact that I gave you my heart... You're the best thing that's ever happened to me in my life... And you deserve to taste the sweet and happy life they have deprived you of..." He brushed his hand across her cheek, feeling the dampness of her tears under his fingers. "I can hardly believe you really mean that - but you have a sweet heart, princess..."

"Ardyn... Haven't I shown you enough how sincere I am with you? Do I still have to prove anything to make you certain?" she said gently, her loving gaze, not letting the slightest lie show through about what she had told him just before. "Our story is far from being a fairy tale. But that's good because I don't still believe in this kind of thing for a long time.... So... If I have to brave the Gods and the Lucii so that you can taste this happiness, then I will."

"I trust you, Aurora. I don't believe you would lie to me. You have a good heart, and I believe you mean what you're saying." He smiled, just a little, and stroked her cheek again before he leaned down to kiss her forehead "It's... simply hard for me to understand how I could possibly be any of that." He laughed softly, his head still against hers, as he closed his eyes. "I'm a disaster... but I suppose you would know that better than anyone else. You're so much better than me, because all I've done is hate... and somehow you love me..."

"Maybe because I know what happened to you...  Because I am the only one who listened to you and wanted to help you despite everything you could have done... Because no one else but me knew how to see the good man who was suffering behind all this..." She nuzzled him before raising her face slightly to pick lips tenderly in a long kiss.

"...thank you, princess." He'd nearly forgotten that moment, when she'd asked to understand him... and all he'd wanted was to be seen and she had. When she'd started to mean so very much to him. He nuzzled her in return, and returned her kiss deeply. "How dark would my life be without you... How lonely and empty... I would have simply gone to my death without fighting without you." His hands rose to cup her face. "It... will hurt, and it will be difficult, but... you are right. You have given me so much; I can't leave you without at least trying to make things right."

Her pale blue eyes showed all the love she had for him, deeply touched by his words. She smiled tenderly at him, placing her hands delicately on his. "I will always be by your side. Always... and forever." His fingers moved to wrap around hers, and he gently squeezed her hands. "If... this doesn't work... I will wait for you in the Beyond. Another thirty, fifty or a hundred years means little to me..."

She gently squeezed his hands back. "I don't know if I'll be able to wait that long to join you, as my sorrow and the pain in my heart will be so great... But... I will look after our children for as long as it takes, longing for the day when we can finally be reunited again..."

"Don't pine for me, princess, please. I want you to be happy... If nothing else - live the life I cannot, for me, and know that I will always be waiting and watching for you." Resting his forehead against hers, he smiled and pressed one more kiss to her nose.

A new tear rolled over her cheek, but its run was quickly stopped by his hand on her face. "I'll try... But I don't promise to be able to do it..." She said softly, nuzzling him.

He nodded slowly. "I know that's all I can ask. Thank you... I know you'll do a wonderful job with our children."

"I will explain to them who their father was and tell them our story... What a good and compassionate man he was before he was betrayed and consumed by his desire for revenge to be finally brought back to the light by the woman he once thought he would have to kill... I will make sure that your memory is not tarnished or forgotten. Never... I promise you, Ardyn... My beloved Lord of my heart..."

Amber eyes closed, he chuckled softly. Gods... He knew she would tell them everything - it would hardly be fair if she didn't - but it hurt to be reminded. "I'm... so very sorry," he found himself murmuring to her. "When they are old enough to understand, you can tell them... I am not ashamed - save for allowing myself to surrender and despair for so long - I take responsibility for what I've done. But I am sorry. I'm so sorry my actions hurt you, Aurora..." Ardyn kissed her one last time. "If you remember me, it is enough. I love you, princess. My beloved princess..." Of course, she would wait until their children were old enough to understand, but she did not intend to hide their father's identity from them. She was not ashamed of their relationship or that she fell in love with him, and she hoped the same could happen to them. "Even if you hurt me, I stayed by your side because I believe in us. Our couple is stronger than all this and we are still able to overcome many challenges together... I am convinced of that... Otherwise, we would not be where we are today..." Aurora kissed him back deeply. "I love you too, Ardyn. And I will never forget you..." He smiled, raising a hand to rest on her head. "Thank you..." Ardyn nuzzled her nose gently. "But, dear princess... I would rather none of that be necessary. I would rather, indeed, that I remain here with you as I stand before you, not as some questionably corporeal apparition - if your Lucii allow me to join their ranks at all that is... I would imagine some might have a thing or two to say about that..."

She nuzzled his nose back, her tears having stopped, leaving only vaguely damp eyes behind them. Her free hand rested on his cheek, gently stroking his jaw and neck with her fingertips. Then she chuckled gently at his words, her warm breath brushing his lips. "I reassure you, I would also prefer to spend the rest of my life knowing that you are here with me... and with us... But as for the Lucii... difficult to say... They tend to consider a person worthy to join their ranks according to their soul. I hope they'll be considered for what you've been through... Otherwise, I'd have to give them the best plea that Eos has ever known." A gentle smirk appeared on her lips. "And as strange as it is, the two Lucii who could convince their assembly are my father... and your brother... because I suspect they're watching us from where they are."

"I hope they liked the show if they've been watching us for long - I'm sure my brother is all sorts of disapproving of us getting up to things..." He chuckled quietly before tucking a quick kiss under her ear. "In fact, he's probably rolling in his grave now that you're carrying my children - I bet he'll insist I've 'corrupted' you." Ardyn leaned his head gently into her touch, asking for more in a way not unlike the chocobos he'd loved, his expression slightly sheepish. "I don't suppose you know if either of them has forgiven me the, ah... rather vicious trouncing I gave them? It was years ago, but... weimmortals have long memories."

"I already told your brother I was going to try to save you... He doesn't seem to want to stop me... Or maybe does he think I can't?" Aurora bent her head to give him free access to her neck so he could kiss her again. "He can roll in his grave if he wants to, I don't care." She continued her gentle caresses on her skin in delicate arabesques. "Forgiven? What are you talking about?" Her fingers paused as she frowned slightly, trying to dig into her memory. Then she recalled reading a newspaper article before her brother's birth about an attack by the Infernian on Insomnia, that King Regis had been seriously wounded and that the great statue of the Founder had even been seen moving through the streets of the city. "Ah... I think I know what you're talking about... I cannot answer you indeed." She chuckled slightly and resumed her caresses. "Do you still realize that if you had killed my father that day, I wouldn't be in your arms as we speak?"

"Likely the latter. He always was full of himself." Since she'd asked, he kissed her again, gently, simply enjoying this nice moment together. When her fingers stopped, however, he pouted, wanting her to continue - when she did but then asked him such a question, he wrinkled his nose, still pouting. "I didn't intend to kill him, you know... It's just, with this body, sometimes, hrmmm... difficult. All I wanted was to see my brother. Besides, I was injured too that day."

"Of course, by hurting his descendant, there was a chance it would work..." Her fingers rested under his chin and she turned his face towards her so that he could look at her. "And to think that his next descendants will also have his brother's in their veins... It's kind of ironic in the end." She chuckled softly before putting a kiss on his nose. "Injured? Your leg?" she asked, a little worried about him.

"It worked, he came for me - in the end, and not before I rather badly injured Regis... Oh he cares so much for his descendants." As she made him look at her, Ardyn smiled, enjoying her touch. "That it is. Delicious, delicious irony after he tried so hard to end me. But I care for my offspring far better than he does, so you at least have nothing to fear." His eyes flickered closed at her question, bright irises hidden behind his thick lashes for a moment as he winced. "Yes. As it turns out, it does the gods no good to have a harbinger of the end if they can't bring him to heel..."

Aurora winced and her smile faded a little as she thought of her father, who she missed so much. Then imagining him wounded made her reappear the images of his death that she could not forget. At least his words about their offspring quickly brought her back her smile, realizing that if Somnus was in his umpteenth generation of descendants, it was probably the first for the man she loved. She stroked his cheek tenderly, leaning her forehead against his. "I'm so sorry they put this burden on you..."

He smiled softly and bumped his nose into hers. "Don't look so sad... Didn't you just say if things were different, we wouldn't be here together? Yes, this has been... absolutely awful... but at least I have you - and now that you're pregnant... I thought I wouldn't ever have another chance to have a family with someone I loved - and it seems I was misinformed."

She exhaled through her nose with a slight smile on her lips, a little like a little laugh, and nodded. "You're right. And it may not be a coincidence that things are what they are." Her smile became a little softer, a new tear rolling against her will on her cheek. Pregnancy hormones seemed to make her much more sensitive than usual. "And I am happy to be able to share this happiness and joy of becoming a parent with you, my Love.

"There, you see?" Gently, he raised a hand to brush away her tear. "I am happy as well... so very, very happy..."

Aurora could not help but have a blissful smile on her face. She leaned to give him one of the most tender kisses she had ever given him, then she wrapped his waist with her arms and gently embraced him, as if to make sure he would stay with her forever.

He leaned down to kiss her in return and wrapped his arms around her to hold her close, with his hands against her back.

[seladorie]

Fic: Accolades (Promnis, FFXV, Rated T)

for @infidusfiles​ birthday! also here on AO3

a continuation of this ficlet. it’ll probably be more satisfying reading that first

Prompto lingers by the edges of the scene, appearing increasingly more like a flight risk to the point where Ignis leaves the arrest to Silex to keep him company.

“How long do I have to stay?” asks Prompto.

“Just a bit longer,” Ignis promises. “I’d like you to speak to Cor  before you part, at least. I know you would rather not get a recruitment speech, but I admit he cuts a much more impressive demeanor than I.”

“Cor?” he wonders aloud, before recognition set in. Yes, that is about what Ignis expected. There is hardly a person in Eos who has no heard of Cor. Hopefully, given his residency in Insomnia and his propensity for heroics, his feelings towards Cor lean positively. Given the sudden flush and strangled squeak, Ignis guessed correctly. “Cor! The Marshal is coming here?”

“He is,” Ignis confirms. “To meet you, in fact. I was not joking earlier about how you would be a prime candidate for the Crownsguard.”

Blue eyes wide--and oh my, how blue they are--Prompto gapes. “I’m going to meet Cor the Immortal?”

“Indeed you are.”

“Oh my--oh my Shiva, holy shit, holy shit--but I haven’t showered!” Prompto protests.

Not being able to help himself, Ignis bursts out laughing.

“This isn’t funny!” Prompto whispers furiously. “My hair looks like shit! I can’t meet someone that important right now!”

“Prompto, you look fine. More than fine,” Ignis promises, and is gratified when he pinkens. “Cor is a soldier. He won’t even notice.”

Prompto makes an odd, panicked noise, and when Ignis follows his line of sight, he sees Cor approaching them.

“Ah, Cor,” Ignis says. “This is Prompto. He assisted me in fighting the daemons, and also prevented the culprit’s escape.”

“Well done,” says Cor. He holds out a hand, which Prompto takes tentatively. He’s quite pale at the moment. Ignis does hope he doesn’t do anything silly like fainting. That would be a bit harder to explain to Cor. “You’ve done Insomnia a great service. Where did you learn to fight?”

“Um--on the road, I was--I kinda had to learn, I grew up in Niflheim and to escape, I really had to protect myself--” Prompto says. “I mean, I left Niflheim when I was really young, and I take photographs now for work, so I have to be able to protect myself on the road since I’m out of Insomnia a lot, so I’ve had to get really good at fighting, though I’m really not that good, not really.” He chuckles nervously, bouncing around in place. Or could it be excitement? Both, perhaps. “I mean, I’m a decent shot with a gun, but I’m really only just. Passable? And I don’t have any guns in Insomnia! I keep them at the hunter’s base near Hammerhead!”

“He’s also decent with a crowbar,” Ignis interjects. “It’s what he used earlier.”

Cor’s eyebrow quirks. “A crowbar?”

“Uh, yeah, it was… there, so I grabbed it and started wailing on the daemons. Maybe not the best plan? It worked, though.”

“Indeed it did. Prompto, how would you like to join me at the Citadel for a brief introduction of the Crownsguard division?”

“Sure!” Prompto says, voice high and just shy of squeaky. “I mean, yes! I’d love that!”

Cor doesn’t smile, but his demeanor seems pleased. “Excellent. Come with me.”

…

Much later that afternoon, Ignis gets a call on his personal cell phone.

“Hello?” he answers, and isn’t that surprised that it’s Prompto on the other side.

“So I’m sure you didn’t expect me to call you this soon,” Prompto says. “I didn’t either, but I’ve got a lot to think about, and Cor had me spar with him, and he said he was impressed with my skill level, and he asked me to join the Crownsguard which you totally called, and I’m freaking out a lot and do you want to meet up for a drink? Not even in a date way, but it can be that too, I just need someone to talk to about all of this.”

“I would love that,” Ignis says. “Are you still at the Citadel? I can meet you at the entrance.”

“Yeah--I mean, yes, I am,” Prompto says. “See you in a few?”

“Give me fifteen minutes,” Ignis says, looking over the files on his desk. “I know a lovely wine bar not too far from here. My treat,” he adds on, realizing that a photographers budget is likely not the same as a Royal Advisor’s.

Prompto is waiting by the gates when Ignis makes his way there, looking dirty from whatever demonstration and training Cor had for him. Ignis sees him glance towards the guards a couple of times, fidgeting. The guards, at least, are completely ignoring him.

“Prompto,” Ignis says, smiling. “Did you enjoy your time with the Marshal?”

“Holy shit,” Prompto says. “Holy shit, he’s so cool. And he complimented me! My fighting skills! He said I have good aim with a gun. Iggy,” Prompto says, placing a dramatic hand on Ignis’ arm, stopping them in their walk. “He said I have good aim.”

“I’m sure you do,” Ignis says. “I take it he offered you a position in the Crownsguard?”

“He did! I don’t know what to do now,” Prompto says, picking at his wrist band.

“You realize I am not an impartial party to discuss this with?” Ignis reminds him. “I also tried to woo you over to the Crownsguard.”

“Heh, I thought you were trying to just woo me,” Prompto says. He waggles his eyebrows at him, and he even manages to be endearing about it.

“That too,” Ignis agrees. “While I haven’t seen your shooting skills, your combat skills were quite impressive. Really quite remarkable.”

“I knew you only wanted me for my fighting skills,” Prompto says, smiling.

“Not just your fighting skills. Also for your looks,” Ignis teases, emboldened. “You’re beautiful.”

“My dude, you haven’t even had any wine yet,” Prompto laughs.

“Good gracious,” Ignis drawls. He walks a bit closer to Prompto as they walk, and he gratifyingly mirrors him to the point where their arms brush. He smells quite a lot like fresh soap--good, he took a shower after his audition. Not that Ignis is opposed to the scent of sweat--not at all, in fact--but there are much better venues for that presentation than a wine bar. “Perhaps I ought to abstain, for fear of embarrassing myself. Who knows what accolades I might say when inebriated.”

“No, no,” Prompto says, still pleasantly pink. “You can keep complimenting me. I’m fine with that.”

“Well,” Ignis says, as he directs him into the wine bar. “If you insist.”

[his-pair-of-spare-glasses]

Prompt idea! Any ship, based on the story of Sampati from Hindu mythology: "Sampathi and Jatayu, when young, used to compete as to who could fly higher in nilmatha. On one such instance Jatayu flew so high that he was about to get seared by the sun's flames. Sampati saved his brother by spreading his own wings and thus shielding Jatayu from the hot flames. In the process, Sampati himself got injured and lost his wings. As a result, Sampati lived wingless for the rest of his life."

Hey there anon~Your prompt gave me a whole lot to think about. Of course, I could have done the obvious, just place in the characters into the preset story and voilà! But no. I ended up thinking a lot about it, the meaning of wings, the meaning of the sun, the moral of the story… You don’t even know what hellish brainstorm-session you brought onto me with this xD

This is what it ended up becoming. In the end, it’s probably loosely based and freely interpreted, but I still hope you enjoy reading a good 2k words of an angsty fairy tale.

Wings (read on ao3)

In another strand in time, through the looking glass of myth and fantasy, the Kingdom of Lucis towered over Eos. A majestic kingdom veiled in black, ruled by a benevolent king who gained his powers from the sacred Crystal, a haughty and powerful thing, gifted by the Gods. The Crystal was greedy and did not permit anyone but its master to come close and dare a tentative touch to the purplish pulsating surface.Tales were told of challengers considering themselves worthy that had been rejected by the being, said to have lost not only limbs but also lives. Unlike some of his late predecessors, King Regis had proven himself worthy of its powers, merely sustaining a knee injury when undergoing its trial.

The Royal Blood, and those affiliated were vested with a pair of wings, small to begin with and growing with age until they reached the floor, a graceful feather cloak endowing its bearer to soar high up into the sky.

Prince Noctis, heir to the Crown was gifted with a special pair, pitch black and wide for someone who had barely lived through a decade of his life. He was predicted a bright future, being born under a promising star that was rumoured to be the eye of the Gods themselves.

The prince was accompanied by a lanky boy, studious and astute as his glasses suggested, who went by the name of Ignis. He was destined to serve the prince as royal adviser and there was yet much to learn to live up to the expectations.In order to gain the necessary knowledge Ignis was attending special courses at the Royal Academy. One of the courses he found particularly interesting covered the topic of lucian history and the mysteries surrounding the Crystal.

Ignis had wondered about the being’s nature, about the rumours of acknowledgement and the myth of sacrosancticy. When he asked his teacher, longing to know more about the mystical object, the middle-aged man only flashed back a wry smile, exposing just a glint of teeth.“You will find out soon enough my boy”, the man purred, twirling a lock of his wine-red hair between his fingers. “If you have caught the Crystal’s interest that is.”

The young boy ruffled his sand coloured feathers at the thought of something inexplicable. There had to be a way to investigate what others barely dared to speculate about. Mere assumptions would not do. He had to know for certain, not out of curiosity alone but also to share this knowledge with his future king. Ignis’ mind itched for the truth and deep down, he started to wish to be of interest for the crystalline being.Not long after Ignis had started occupying his thoughts with the true nature of the sanctuary, he started to hear voices. Tinkling chimes that whispered to him in a long forgotten language.

From then on he started to get curious, sneaking around the Citadel in quiet nights to catch a glimpse of the cold coloured stone, whose voice had become a constant buzz in Ignis’ head, mesmerizing and captivating.It was one night the boy could make out words. He understood that the Crystal had been calling for him.

So I finally reached you, young Wingbearer the voice tinkled in his mind. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.

Ignis swallowed, eyes blown wide, baffled by the fact he was talking to the most sacred being in the kingdom. The one he had always been wondering about.

“I’m…” He looked around nervously. “The pleasure is all mine. My name is Ignis.”

I know you, Ignis, the Crystal hummed in content. You are to be the adviser to the young Prince. And there is much you crave to know, is there not?

Ignis drew in a stunned breath. How did it know?

 I harbour knowledge of millennia long since past, young adviser. Knowing your mind is but a trivial thing compared to that.

Charmed by the encounter, Ignis found himself revisiting the Crystal often. At night and in secret. It would tell him tales of the Gods and fallen cities and fooleries of the Kings of Yore he had been diligently studying in class. It was fascinating.

One day, Noctis came to him, devastated and with tears in his eyes, causing much worry in the bespectacled boy’s heart.Inquiring what was wrong, the young prince told him everything. That he had scored a bad mark in the last exam and on top op that utterly failed in training. The Marshal had scolded him for neither flying high, nor fast enough, taking into account the rapid growth of his wings and the strength and potential they should have been harbouring. That he would turn out to be a disgrace for the Crown if he didn’t pull himself together and try a little harder, push himself a little further to attain the special power only those of Royal Blood possess.

That night, Ignis sneaked away again, searching counseling from the Crystal.

”Y-you said”, young Ignis stammered, “you said you harbour an incredible amount of knowledge, right?”

Chimes were ringing in the air as the Crystal reached out for the boy with a gleaming strand of silver-bluish light. Despite its colour it was warm on his skin.

 No need to tell me, Ignis. I already know what you are about to ask and I also have an answer.

Ignis swallowed. He still felt a little uneasy around the magic and the aura the sacred being was enveloped in.

If you seek a way to grant the Prince more power, there is one. An easy one. A competition the Crystal whispered. If the Prince can beat you in a wholehearted competition, he will be granted a power stronger than mankind has ever seen.

“Beat me?”Ignis frowned. “But I’m not that much stronger than Noct. I don’t see how this could-”

Trust me, the Crystal chuckled. This is not about strength itself but about winning over a beloved person in an honest fight.

“Do you promise?”

 I promise, young adviser. And do not fear asking me for help in this. I will more than gladly assist in your honourable act of help.

When Ignis told Noctis the following day, the prince didn’t believe the words he was told.Winning a competition? Against Ignis? And the Crystal could speak?

To disperse his doubt, the young adviser took Noctis with him, right into the chamber where the Crystal was residing.

”I can’t hear anything”, Noctis frowned, wondering if what his friend had told him was the truth.

“Trust me, Highness”, Ignis assured him with a wide smile under sparkling eyes. “I can hear it. It is talking to me. It promised to make you stronger if you can beat me at something. Right? You did!”

 That I did.

“See? Did you hear that?”

Noctis slowly shook his head.“I don’t know what you are talking about, Iggy but this is getting scary. Let’s go back.”

“Noct, I assure you I’, not lying to you!”

If he does not believe you, come here young friend, it buzzed through the air.When you touch me, I can speak to him through you, and he will believe.

“I’m going to prove it”, Ignis insisted and started running over the long gangway separating their platform from the Crystal, his wings flapping to make him gain speed. He was not yet as far as to fly, his wings still had to grow.

“Iggy, what are you doing?”, Noctis yelled after him.

“I’m going to touch the Crystal, so it can talk to you. It will work, I’m sure! It said so.”

Noctis’ eyes widened.”No! You cannot touch it! It’s forbidden to even get close to it.”

“Then try to stop me!”A spark lit up in Ignis’ green eyes. The competition that the Crystal had told him about was on and even if Noctis lost, Ignis would still be able to touch it and prove him he had been right. He could only win now.

“Ignis, no!”

Noctis spread his wings and darted after his adviser-to-be, desperately trying to increase his speed to pull him back again. Still, it looked like Ignis would touch the stone before Noctis could reach him.

“Too late, Highness! I’m already-”

“Ignis!!!”

Suddenly magic whipped through the air, streaks of light cracking with unbelievable force, striving to completely engulf the curious boy. The air was burning hot and the smell of ozone was lingering in heavy billows.Ignis’ eyes were wide with shock, blinded by the brightness of the light, invisible strings starting to tug him apart, when suddenly a silhouette shielded him from the harm.

The anguished cry of the young Prince was piercing his ears, its echo resonating in every facette pain could ever take on.He had protected him. Noctis had protected him. The Crystal had really been trying to kill him but instead Noctis had-

Ignis looked at his hands, that had wrapped themselves around the shoulders of the prince, who had collapsed onto him after taking the blow.They were stained with blood. Noctis’ blood.Ignis started to panic, panting at the thick red liquid running down his wrists and dropping from his fingertips. And then he came to realise another thing.

Noctis’ wings. They were not there. His wings were not there.His eyes should find them, a few meters away, feathers singed and drenched in blood. The magic had ripped them out, just like that.And it was all his fault.

The news of the incident spread around the Citadel like wildfire.The Crown Prince, wingless, invalid. Royalty rendered useless without its mark, a disgrace to the Kingdom.Countless times Ignis had apologised, countless times he had been forgiven.

“You only wanted the best of me, Iggy”, Noctis would say, stripped of the happiness that once was. “That’s only the proof that I haven’t been strong enough.”But Noctis would grow stronger. It was a slow and struggling process but he would eventually get there. At the age of sixteen, Noctis heard the calling of the Crystal for the first time.

It was by the time the king had unexpectedly passed away and Noctis had earned the acknowledgement of the Crystal he despised when Ignis proposed.He had trained, ten years under the adamant fist of both the Marshal and the late king’s shield and waited for the right moment. The moment had come.

Ignis kneeled down before his Prince, who was now King and above all the most important person in his life.“Noct- Majesty, for all the hardships that I caused I offer you my everything. I trained hard to be worthy enough, to be able to fully support you and stand in for the things I robbed you of.”His green eyes, filled with determination and devotion shot up to lock with Noctis’.“Let me be your wings.”

The Kingom of Lucis prospered under the reign of their youngest King. Closely accompanied by his ever loyal adviser he had earned the trust and respect of the people. It had been hard at first, being looked down upon, having to prove himself worth more than countless times but Ignis had always been at his side and had always found a way through the challenges they had to face. Gone was the curious and careless boy of the past. This man was trained to be a perfect fit, to protect and assist as the right hand of the King, better than any of his kind before.

When the Niflheim Empire attacked, striving to abduct the Crystal and claim its power as their own, Noctis and Ignis were gracefully soaring through the air, their fighting an aerial dance in perfect synchronicity. It had almost gone unnoticed that it was only one pair of wings holding both of them up in the air.Everything seemed to work, when the Empire managed to shoot a projectile at their combination. Noctis tugged at the magical powers of the Crystal, called out to it to lend him strength and summon the well known protective shield he had made use of in battle countless times.

This time the Crystal didn’t answer the call.

The adversarial projectile was coming for him, inevitable and unstoppable and Noctis was an unprotected, easy target.

Just when the first sparks sprayed out of the iron sphere, he felt Ignis from behind. He wrapped his wings around him and successfully shielded him before the device burst into pieces with sheer destructive force right in front of them.

They landed on the ground with a thud, Noctis cushioned by one of Ignis’ wings.

“Damn, that was a close call”, Noctis panted, eyes still wide from the moment of panic. “Thanks, Specs. I guess I would be gone by now if-”The words stuck in Noctis’ throat at the sight of his other half, writhing on the floor with his hands on his face.

“Shit!”The king scrambled closer, forcing one hand away from his face. Pictures of the past flashed before his eyes as he vaguely perceived blood oozing out of the once green eyes, splinters and metal scraps sticking out of his face like an awkward piece of art.“Ignis!!!”

Ignis was screaming, as if it would ease the pain and grabbed Noctis’ shirt with the bloody hand that had been pulled out of his face.“I can’t see!”, he yelled. “Gods, Noct, I can’t see!”

The Kingdom of Lucis had suffered a heavy defeat and the retreat to the well guarded capital was quickly decided.Noctis had Ignis be sent to undergo medical treatment as fast as possible but seeing the damage that had been done, the doctors already warned him to not get his hopes up too high.Ignis’ sight would be lost.

Enraged by what had come to pass through the disobediance of the Crystal, Noctis hurried to the room where it was kept. It was there, silently humming a song in mockery.

“What’s wrong with you?!”, Noctis yelled at the Crystal. “You owe me your loyalty! Ever since I took your trial you’re bound to me! Why didn’t you manifest when I asked you to? Because of you, Ignis is－ Ignis is…”He pressed his lips together in a thin line, brows drawn together in a storm of anger.“You filthy liar!”

In its chamber the Crystal snickered.Your foul mood is misplaced, oh wingless King. It is Ignis himself who has asked for this, a power surpassing the limits of a human. And I did I not bestow upon you the impossible? A second pair of wings and the whole life of a human being at your disposition. How come I attract your wrath? What else could you dare wish for?

The young king’s rage against the Crystal was akin to calamity. With the Empire at their door sill the Gods’ only concern had been to play him for a fool. What had they bestowed upon him but suffering and hardship for himself and the one he loved?It dawned to him, that the sanctuary the kingdom had been venerating for ages was not a blessing but a curse, merely existing to doom the world the Gods had given up upon.

“Now, wouldn’t that be a tragic turn of events?”

Ignis’ heart was beating fast, stirred up by what his history teacher had just portrayed. This could not possibly happen. He would never let it. His small hand absently ghosted over his face.

The middle-aged man tucked his purplish hair behind his ear and rose from the desk to gently ruffle the hair of his young and all too diligent student.“Don’t look so shocked, dear Ignis”, he purred under an amused chuckle. “It was but a wild idea, spinning out the possible consequences.”

Ignis looked up into his teacher’s honey coloured eyes that were returning his gaze with playful urgency.“I only ask you to take one thing with you from this tale. Curiosity is not a sin, but do exercise it with caution, for you can never fully grasp what comes with its wake.”

When Ignis returned to the Citadel that day, it was the first time for him to hear the calling of the Crystal.

[peach-punch-satan]

[xylianna]

....It took Ignis a while to realize that he was shaking, literally trembling where he stood, his jaw hanging inelegantly open as he gaped at the scene before him. Astrals, he hadn’t been this wonder-struck since his first visit to the club.... *blush* ummmm like this whole chapter to be perfectly honest.

You. I like you. 

I’m going to totally commentate the entire freakin’ chapter because insomnia is refusing to let me sleep and I love the chance to blather on about my work to a willing audience!

I will be kind and put it behind a cut, though.

Okay, I’m pulling up the chapter and commenting as I go, so if you read it as you go my comments might make more sense!   Wait, first I should make coffee.  Coffee is love, coffee is life. 

Okay, I’m back with coffee!  So, the first thing I’ll say about this chapter is it’s actually the first thing I wrote. Specifically, the Ignis POV starting with his arrival at the club.  A few days later, I wrote the Gladio POV, and a couple days ago, I added the paragraphs at the beginning about Ignis’s relaxing day going to the farmer’s market, coffee shop, etc to help it flow from chapter 1 better.  I initially was going to have this be maybe chapter 4 or so, but I said fuck it, let’s start the bdsm off right out of the gate so people know what they’re reading, lol.

Lest you think those first few paragraphs are merely filler, let me assure you I love Ignis getting downtime, and I will write it into as many stories as I can.  It’s a good balance for how often I put him through all the angst.

So, Iggy’s outfit I put a lot of thought into!  He’s a strategist, so I figured he’d have his disguise nailed.  First, the suit.  Iggy wears suits all the time, but I headcanon they are perfectly tailored, high class affairs.  So for this, he wears something off the rack.  The red tie was actually an in-joke/call back to a scene in my co-authored fic with @aliatori, This Too Is Sacred (check it out).   He couldn’t take his car, too much of a clue to his identity.  He absolutely cannot speak - his accent?  Way too recognizable.  So we have the silent, carless, off-the-rack suited, masked Hawk, anonymous in the crowd but still a bright beacon to those who are looking closely, because even with the different guise, it’s still Iggy, and he’s still amazing.

Fun fact:  the card Iggy needed to show the doorman to get in?  Based off a local kink party I attended for several years before it stopped running. You had an approval process, and once you were totally vetted you got your card and then you could get into events without signing waivers or being vouched for etc.

I also borrowed heavily from personal experience when I described what he saw/heard/smelled as he walked into the club proper.  The very first kink event I went to had a dress code that was basically formal wear or fetish wear, if you showed up in jeans + tshirt you wouldn’t be allowed in.   While I personally don’t feel the need to be that strict, I like the atmosphere of everyone being formal, whatever that means to them.  I also thought it fit Iggy.

The ridiculous cacophony of conversation/sounds of beatings/loud music takes some getting used to, haha.    And I am here for being in a room that basically overwhelming smells like leather.

The ‘rules’ I put in place are again, stolen from real events I attended. Not that consent is a unique rule since its the law everywhere that I live.   Anonymity is super super important at events like this though.  The best events are the ones that manage to feel exotic, but still like a safe space where you can just be yourself.  The no alcohol thing, too.   You really don’t want to mix consensual beatings with intoxication.

Okay I live for the headcanon that while Ignis’s refusal to speak is part of his effort to keep his identity secret, that his refusal to cry out during play is also a challenge issued to every top he scenes with.  

“Who was that, in the far corner there?”  the point where everyone is hopefully shouting IS IT GLADIO IS IT GLADIO

I stopped typing for several minutes because I read the paragraph describing Gladio giving that beating and… yeah. lol. 

Iggy of course gets pissed seeing him there, because as we established in chapter 1 he has a gigantic unrequited crush on a man he perceives as straight and therefore off-limits.  Also, I try to make the characters human, and Iggy losing his temper at something that isn’t actually a wrong action on anyone’s part makes him very human to me.

One of my favorite lines this chapter: “He cautiously walked closer, knowing he was playing with fire - if anyone could see through his masquerade, it would be Gladiolus - but like the proverbial moth he was drawn ever closer to that brightly burning flame.”     Not to toot my own horn or anything haha!

Now we’re to the section you actually put in my ask box.   Ignis has totally lost hold of his self control at this point. Well, not totally, I suppose.  Totally would have had him going right up to Gladio and kissing the crap out of him, lol.  But seeing the man he’s been crushing on is also a skilled and inventive top, it’s all a little too much for our Igster.

And then, Ignis’s play partner finds him.   I tried to strike a balance between writing their scene so that the reader could tell who Stag was meant to be, without making it blatant. After all, Ignis doesn’t know.   The guise of Stag was directly chosen because of the stylistic details of Nyx’s headgear in Kingsglaive.

Of course Ignis has to hesitate, though, since Gladio is RIGHT FUCKING THERE OMG, but his desire for his monthly fix wins out.

For the beating itself, I won’t say much, except that I do so love writing gladnis bdsm and I never plan to stop.

Now we hit my favorite line of this chapter and I am not at all ashamed to highlight it:  “And then, the kaleidoscope of his waking dream shifted, and he saw nothing but Gladiolus.”

Sigghhhh 

An oops, some clean up, and a little flirty banter, and Iggy’s POV ends with him noticing Gladio staring at him like he’s a Cup Noodles, and he gets a flash of hope that maybe his crush isn’t so hopeless as he’s previously though.

And then we’re over to Gladio.

I shamelessly used the beginning of Gladio’s POV to highlight two issues I’ve seen happen in kink communities.  TOPS NEED AFTERCARE TOO DAMMIT.  FUCK ANYONE WHO SAYS THEY DON’T.  Seriously.  Give your top a fucking hug. A bottle of water.  Make sure they’re as okay as they are making sure are post-scene, ugh.  And don’t treat them like beating dispensers, they have fucking feelings and they are people and and and ooookay, off my soap box. :D

I considered having Gladio also masked, but figured even if his tattoo wasn’t fully done at this point, he’s such a unique figure (even in a fantasy world like Eos, we don’t see that many 6′6″ massive muscular dudes walking around) that it would be rather pointless to try and hide. Plus… I mean, its Gladio. Why would he hide?

And of course I had to have him watch Iggy’s beating and fixate needing to get to know and hopefully play with that masochist because, well, we all know the Gladnis is coming, especially if you’ve read Discretion you know where I am taking this.

I took great delight in writing how meeting Hawk’s eyes reminded Gladio of Ignis’s eyes and then him thinking how ridiculous the idea of Iggy ever being at a place like the club, HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.  Ahem.  Sorry.

So of course Nyx had to be the one to invite Gladio/get him on the approved list, because I just watched Kingsglaive and I’m thirsty for some Nyx.   Also I could see them bro-ing it up and talking about shit like this organically, so it wouldn’t be like Nyx creepily offered “you should come to this elite kink party” so much as they just compared notes on relationships/dating/etc and it came up.

I also headcanon Nyx as an unrepentant flirt, so don’t mind him flirting with Hawk and Gladio with equal ease, lol.

Nyx throwing down the gauntlet to Gladio re: Hawk … nothing like a little trash talk between bros, right?

Gladio gets home and I decide he’s a shower beer guy, because really he’s like 21 years old at this point, he just went to a kink party where he spent most the night beating ungrateful recipients who left him high and dry, and then he watched a masked hottie come from no stimulation other than a flogging.  He needed a fucking drink, why wait til after the shower? 

At the end of the chapter I enjoy Gladio thinking it would be more appropriate to focus his thoughts on Hawk since he doesn’t think Ignis would be into him at all, haha. Those two crazy dumb kids, we’ll get ‘em there, I promise.

So this was WAY MORE INFO than you probably wanted when you sent me your ask but I HAVE COFFEE AND I CAN’T SLEEP AND OKAY THEN.

Thanks for being so kind and supportive.

[countessofsnark]

Thunderbirds Are Go – ‘Eye Of The Storm’

Based on a prompt by @wonderavian

The boys decide to spend some time at the farm. They have some fun, of course, but the universe has an unwelcome surprise for them in the form of a hurricane.

The sky above Kansas began to change. Grandma Tracy sighs as she notices the first signs of possible trouble on the horizon. She zips up her faithful tracksuit and follows the tantalizing smell of pancakes that has made its way to the upper floor of the farmhouse. Downstairs, the boys and Kayo have gathered around the dining room table, all but fighting over who gets the final pancake before Virgil walks in carrying another tray of steaming pancakes.

‘Last one, guys. Dig in,’ Virgil says, quickly claiming some to feed his own stomach, which has been protesting loudly for the past half hour.

Maple syrup, cane sugar, Nutella, and lots of peanut butter are handed around. They even managed to convince John to spend some quality time on Earth while EOS runs Thunderbird 5 and monitors IR’s communication duties from orbit.

‘Wow, I’m stuffed,’ Gordon sighs, loudly pushing his chair back and leaning back to give his bloated stomach some room.

‘Maybe you shouldn’t have attacked your plate like a starving wolf,’ Scott tut-tuts.

‘But they’re so good. Virgil, you are a real kitchen fairy.’

Virgil’s cheeks flush the same shade of red as the plaid shirt he loves to wear.

‘Guys, it’s just a family recipe. Nothing special about that,’ he shrugs.

‘Well, I for one am ready to handle a day of farm work,’ Alan says as he jumps up and shimmies towards the door.

‘Can’t believe Alan is excited about farm chores,’ Gordon moans. He joined his brothers thinking there’d be hammocks and porch swings galore. Instead, he was told to feed the horses and empty out their stables.

‘Remember, Gordon. Work hard, play harder.’

‘Sure, Scott. All work and no play make Gordon a very tired boy.’

‘You’re kind of enjoying the fact that he’s going to suffer through today, aren’t you?’ Virgil smirks behind Scott while Gordon shuffles out the door.

‘Yes and no. We’ve all had to learn to earn our peace and quiet. And these two will never stop surprising me. I figured Alan would put on the biggest show but seems Gordon can sulk for both of them.’

‘Well, better keep an eye on him then.’

‘Sorry, bro. I’ve got business to tend to. So I’m leaving Gordo Watch to you,’ Scott says, patting a visibly disgruntled Virgil.

‘You really are the gift that keeps on giving, Scott.’

Shortly after tea time, the grey skies darken and the breeze that’s been playing about all day intensifies.

Gordon looks up, wiping sweat off his brow. His blonde locks have sagged, much to his dismay. Maybe he’ll just have to add more gel. He looks over at Virgil, who is busy repairing Grandma’s old tractor.

How the devil does he keep that comb looking fly while lying under that smelly rusty thing all day?

The wind chimes outside the porch door begin to swing violently, their sweet tingling turning alarming as the wind sweeps them this way and that.

‘Hey, looks like the weather gods finally turned up the A/C,’ Gordon chuckles, spreading his arms and twirling like a drunk ballerina.

Virgil hoists his body from under the tractor, wiping oil-stained hands on his dirty grey tank top. He looks at the darkening sky above and squints.

Just then, a truck pulls up in the driveway. John jumps out, carrying a stack of maps and measuring equipment. Even during his downtime, he can’t help watching out for meteorological phenomena. However, to him the solitary research is also a handy way to meet his introvert needs while making himself somewhat useful.

‘That is no ordinary breeze,’ John says in a stern voice. ‘Go find Scott. We’ve got a situation.’

Alan races toward the stable, almost stumbling over the raised entrance as he pushes open the heavy wooden door.

‘SCOTT! Scott, we need you! There’s a hurri-a hurricane heading our way!’ Alan blurts out, before looking up at the haystack at the back of the barn. ‘Scott, you gotta-OH MY GOD.’

Alan covers his eyes and spins around as Scott and the girl next door scramble to cover their naked bodies.

‘Alan, I can explain,’ Scott begins, his mouth suddenly drier than a patch of Sahara.

Alan, meanwhile, is producing sounds that are a cross between heaving and crying hysterically at the sight that met his tender eyes. He doesn’t wait for that promised explanation and flees the scene.

A few moments later, Scott and his partner-in-crime have managed to slip back into their crumpled clothes. The barn door, which had been left wide open by Alan’s escape, is now fluttering and flapping madly as the wind howls all around them. Scott’s previously occupied mind has rewon its charge of blood and begins to analyse the severity of the situation.

By the time the hurricane reaches the farm and the surrounding town, it has built up to a fierce category 4. The howling wind has turned into a menacing roar, carrying all matter of swept up debris in its spinning funnel. No further time is wasted evacuating the farm. In the middle of the ensuing chaos, Alan avoids all eye contact with his eldest sibling and the pig-tailed blonde girl with whom he had been frolicking in the hay. Grandma notices the looks Scott and his would-be girlfriend have been exchanging and subtly decides to intervene.

‘Kayo and I will take her home, now you go and make sure the townspeople get all the help they can get.’

Scott understands the message behind those words and nods solemnly in their direction before scooting off to Thunderbird 1, which had been parked not too far from the farm. Virgil and Gordon, meanwhile, had been securing the farm’s storm shelter, while John is already inside, comforting a dead scared Alan.

A few hours later – which feels like an eternity to most of the Tracy boys – the storm has passed on, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. The farm is still standing proudly, built strong and unwavering by Grandma’s late husband.

As the boys, Kayo, and Grandma emerge from the shelter, Thunderbird 1 lands nearby. Scott jumps out, his hair a dusty, dirty mess, his suit torn in places.

‘Thunderbird 1, reporting for debriefing. A few houses have lost the battle with Mother Nature but no one has been injured. Mission accomplished.’

They all gather around Scott, moving in for a classic Tracy family group hug.

This has been such a hoot to write. And yes, I do think my writer’s block is over now. Welcome back, dearest Muse. 

[highwindhq]

HighSpecs Week: A Truth and a Lie

Prompt: Moving In / Drinking Together

AO3 version here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12164622/chapters/27608661

A Truth and a Lie

Aranea Highwind swept through the bar in Lestallum like a woman on a mission. She had a terrible week in field, slaughtering countless daemons that had sprung up around a small settlement in the Duscae region. The people there refused to move, insisting instead on standing their ground. Cor had asked that Aranea and her team at least help them with a bit of daemon clean-up until they got their wits about them. Well, Aranea hated that sort of stubbornness and she needed a drink. The lineup at the bar was too long, but she eyed a better alternative in the corner booth anyway.

She strode over to Ignis, Prompto, and Gladio, and picked up their half-full pitcher of beer without a word, chugging most of it.

“Sorry boys, it’s been a week,” she said.

“Is that the one and only Aranea Highwind, come to pilfer our hard-earned beverage?” Ignis said, giving a smile in her direction.

Her stomach immediately did a little flip, but she ignored it.

“I promise you that you did not earn this more than me after the week I’ve had.” “Wanna sit?” Prompto said, gesturing to the empty spot next to Ignis.

“Sure, thanks. Oh, and next round’s on me.” Ignis shifted over on the bench and Aranea sat down. She was glad that she had the foresight to have the fastest shower in the world before coming down here. A week of dried daemon blood sure stank.

“Cor’s got you working overtime, eh?” Gladio said.

“Yeah, he’s really putting me through the wringer. Not sure I appreciate it right now.” “Take it as a compliment,” Ignis said. “The Marshall knows your skills.”

“I’m also very good at drinking, but you don’t see me doing that full-time.”

Ignis took his glass and offered it to Aranea.

“You can while you’re here with us.”

Aranea took the glass and drained it.

“Thanks. I swear, I’m getting you guys a round. Be right back.” She got back up out of her seat, always fast and efficient with her movements. Or, Ignis wondered at the back of his mind, perhaps she didn’t like sitting next to him.

“She’s looking good,” Gladio said.

“Yeah, she’s a real hottie,” Prompto added.

“I shall take your word for it,” Ignis said, feeling around for the pitcher to refill his glass, whatever was left. Gladio pushed the pitched toward his hand.

“You’ve seen her Iggy,” Gladio said. “She’s still the same, just… freshly showered.” “She smells great, doesn’t she? Like sylleblossoms after the rain,” Prompto said.

Gladio gave him a look and Ignis smirked. Of course Prompto was more interested in Aranea’s bathing products than anything else.

“Well, lucky me then,” Ignis said. “My sense of smell has certainly heightened.” Aranea came back holding a large, unmarked bottle and four shot glasses.

“Okay boys, we’re having some fun tonight. I’ve got the cheapest home-brewed liquor from the bar and the biggest hangover you’ve ever had right here in my capable hands.”

“How kind,” Gladio smirked.

“Oh, but the fun doesn’t stop there,” Aranea continued, as she took her seat next to Ignis again. Her stomach did that little flip once more, but she ignored it. “We’re going to play a little game. We’ll go around the circle and take a shot. With every drink, you have to say one truth and one lie, and the rest of us have to guess which is which.” “I feel like I already know everything I need to about these two,” Gladio said. “But Aranea doesn’t know everything about us,” Prompto countered.

“Exactly. And I want to get to know my new friends a little better,” Aranea said as she divvied out the first round. Ignis caught a strong whiff of Aranea’s scent as she poured. Damn Prompto, but he was right; she really did smell like sylleblossoms after the rain.

“Okay, who wants to go first?” Aranea asked. No one responded.

“I shall,” Ignis offered eventually. He took a shot and grimace at the taste; it was truly something offensive. “My two things: I know how to play the piano, and I do 100 pushups a day.”

“Oh, come on,” Aranea laughed. “Give me something juicier!”

“Alright,” he said after a pause. “I write depressing songs on the piano, and I can do 100 pushups a day—naked.”

Aranea raised her brows and, truthfully, quite liked the thought of the latter.

“I already know the answer,” Gladio said. He looked at Aranea. “Care to hazard a guess?” “Hmm... “ Aranea eyed Ignis up and down. “As much as I’d like to picture you doing naked pushups, that’s the lie.” “What makes you think so?” Ignis asked.

“Your arms are toned, but not enough for 100 pushups a day. Plus, why in the world would you do it naked? There’s no logical reason for it. Now a secret troubadour, I can see that. You have to channel your feelings somewhere, since you’re so repressed all the time.”

Ignis scoffed, but then a corner of his mouth raised to a small smile. “You are correct.”

“What can I say, I’m good at reading even the most closed books,” Aranea said as she looked at Ignis, and she swore it felt like he was making eye contact with her. She quickly deflected. “Blondie, you’re next.”

“Okay, okay.” Prompto took a shot. “Something juicy… Well, I’ve been to a brothel, and I remove all the hair from my body.” “Ha!” Aranea laughed. “You’ve clearly never been to a brothel, kid.” “What makes you think that??” “Oh, I don’t know… something about that hairless chest of yours, I guess.” Prompto made a face at Aranea, and gestured to Gladio. “Your turn, big guy.”

Gladio took a shot. “I’ve had a threesome, and I’ve had a foursome.”

“So unfair,” Prompto moaned under his breath.

“I must admit, even I don’t know the answer to that,” Ignis said.

Aranea squinted her eyes at Gladio. “Hmm… The foursome is the lie.” “What makes you think that?” Gladio asked.

“You want to have a foursome, but it’s still on your bucket list. You’ve only joined the three-way club. Devil’s three-way, maybe?” “A gentleman never tells.”

“Devil’s it is.” “What’s that?” Prompto asked.

“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” Aranea quipped.

“Your turn, Ms. Highwind,” Ignis said.

“Okay then.” Aranea took her shot. “I’m an orphan, and I’ve never been in love.” “Whoa, this got deep real fast,” said Prompto.

“That’s the point. It’s a game to get to know each other,” Aranea winked at him.  

“You’re not an orphan,” Ignis said casually.

“Why do you think that?” Aranea countered.

“Estranged, perhaps. But you still have people out there, don’t you? Or, at least you hope you do. It’s why you accept Cor sending you all over Eos—the hope that you might find someone you’ve lost touch with a long time ago.”

“You’re good, Specs. Real good.” “So I am correct?”

“No. But you almost had me believing you.” Aranea laughed and took an extra shot. “I am an orphan. And I have been in love, once, believe it or not. A long time ago. It’s mostly forgotten now, except for a little bit of warning not to pull that shit again.” “You don’t wish to fall in love again?” Ignis asked.

“Not if I can help it.” “What happens when you can’t?” “Can’t what?” “Help it?” Ignis kept his line of sight in Aranea’s direction, knowing just how much this seemed to unsettle her based on the subtle movements he’d been picking up on. The moment stirred with an invisible electricity.

“Well,” Gladio said, clearing his throat. “Prompto and I are going to play some darts.” “We are?” Prompto said.

“Yeah, we are. Sorry Iggy, I know you can’t join just yet.” Gladio turned to Aranea. “Throwing darts in the dark is still a work in progress after the last incident. Let’s just say Prompto got in Iggy’s way.” “Wish I’d seen it,” Aranea smiled.

“Anyway, we’ll be over there if you guys need anything. We’ll leave the cheap liquor to you.”

Gladio pulled Prompto up from his seat and the two left, leaving Ignis and Aranea alone for the first time. Aranea poured two shots. “So. Should we keep playing?” “Ladies first.”

—

The cheap liquor bottle was nearly empty. Prompto and Gladio had started an impromptu darts tournament with some other hunters, and Ignis and Aranea remained on the bench in the booth. They sat a little closer, a little more comfortably, though something tentative still hung in the air.

“I’m running out of answers,” Aranea said.

“Out of truths, or lies?” Ignis asked.

He had learned a lot about Aranea Highwind in the last hour. He now knew that she had remained adamantly single for the last eight years after her one and only experience of being in love didn’t end so well. He knew that she sometimes had nightmares at night, not for the things that she’s done, but for the things she hadn’t. He knew that she liked to be on top.

Aranea, in turn, was learning an awful lot about Ignis Scientia as well, like how he secretly wanted to have a child one day, or that he had gotten off in the tent once when all the guys were sleeping (he left out the part about it being after meeting Aranea for the first time—her aerial moves had apparently left an impression on the young strategist).

“I’m afraid I don’t have much left in me if I want to be of use tomorrow,” Ignis said, finishing his drink.

“Okay, last one,” Aranea replied, taking a shot. She studied Ignis’ face, the scars looking ever more attractive as they healed onto his skin, his face still handsome and alarmingly refined after so many drinks. Her own head was swimming, her inhibitions loosened. Why did he have to look so good, dammit.

“Which one’s a truth and which one’s a lie,” she continued. “I think Gladio is hot.”

“Okay…”

“Or, I think you are hot.” Ignis blinked. Sure, they had been revealing personal details all evening, but this one caught him off guard. Inside, he felt butterflies at the implication. But outwardly, he kept his cool.

“Interesting options,” he replied coolly.

“Yeah? So what do you think?” Aranea leaned in a little closer. “Well, I believe this is somewhat of a… trick question.”

Ignis tapped his finger on his lips. “How so?”

Aranea licked hers as she watched.

“I believe that you do find Gladio attractive.” “Oh?” “Well, who wouldn’t enjoy his rugged good looks and impressive physique? But I think that, perhaps, you find me even more attractive.”

Aranea let out a small laugh. “And what gives you that idea?”

“Well, for starters, you have been slowly moving closer to me all night. Your breathing has quickened as you asked this question, implying that you’re a touch nervous. And...” Ignis shifted in his seat so he was facing her, breaking the contact of their thighs—Aranea missed the warmth immediately. Ignis then lightly touched her cheek.

“... Your cheeks are hot, meaning that you may be blushing.”

Aranea wanted to move her face away, but his touch felt too good. Ignis gently took her wrist next.

“Ah, and there it is. Your heart rate is increasing. I dare say, you appear to find my touch… exhilarating.”

Aranea didn’t know how to respond; it was so forward of him. But not wrong—no, certainly not wrong.

“You seem speechless, Aranea.” Damn, she liked hearing him say her name.

“Well, you’re giving me quite the analysis.”

Ignis took her hand and placed it on his chest.

“Do you feel that?”

“Your heart?” “Yes. Apparently, I find your touch exhilarating too.”

A part of Aranea wanted to pull her hand away and run from the bar. She wanted to crawl into bed and forget that this ever happened. Pretend that she didn’t love the way Ignis smirked or how he just knew things. Push away the months of invasive thoughts about him that she had tried so hard to keep at bay. Why did she have to approach them in the bar tonight? Why did she pose that truth and lie?

But she stayed there anyway, hand on his heart, feeling it beating beneath her palm. Faster and faster and faster.

“I…”

She had no idea what to say—a novel sensation for her. She kept her hand in place and tilted her head so that it rested on Ignis’ shoulder. She closed her eyes.

Maybe it was the cheap liquor, but Aranea could suddenly see different futures unfolding in front of her eyes, one with Ignis and one without.

Without him, she was strong and independent. She made her way through the darkness with a singular determination to both survive and help as many people as she could. Emotionally, she was even-keeled. She was absolutely fine on her own.

With him, however, she was even better. She was a part of a team, someone to help her survive and help others. Someone to lift her out of darkness in those moments when it all became too much. She was still fine—but often, she was also happy. And scared, and warm, and angry, and safe, and exhilarated. In this dreary darkness, she was alive. Aranea raised her head off Ignis’ shoulder and moved her lips to his ear.

“If this is so exhilarating, then what should we do about it?” she whispered.

Ignis traced her fingers with his own.

“Something tells me you already know,” he whispered back.

A flash interrupted the moment, so strong that even Ignis seemed to sense it. Aranea turned to see Prompto grinning stupidly with his camera. “Sorry guys—had to! Noct will want to see this someday. Carry on!”

He jetted back to the dartboard and Aranea turned to Ignis, feeling slightly sobered from the flash.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” she asked, taking his hand. “Just a walk. Nothing more.” “Nothing more,” Ignis echoed, but he knew better.

They both knew better.

He will kiss her, and she will kiss him back. They will stumble into a small room and make love in tangled sheets. He will find himself quickly falling in love with her, and she the same, though she will try to deny it as long as she could. Eventually, there will be no more denying. There would be no more lies.

Just one truth.

[tarysande]

ME:A Fic: Five Gifts (1/1)

Guys. I don’t think I have ever been the first to invent an AO3 tag before. I made this post yesterday night. It’s... been a wild ride?

Pairing: Vetra Nyx/Jaal Ama Darav

Also on AO3

#

Five Gifts

Voeld

Some time after the first trip to Voeld—where, yes, maybe she’d complained just a little about the ridiculous cold—Vetra finds a piece of fabric on her workbench. It’s the exact color of her markings, which is strange. Even stranger, the small, delicately-embroidered flowers winding around the edges are gold, and if the fabric is a perfect match for her markings, she can’t help noticing the embroidery’s the same color as her eyes.

It’s a kind of tube. Weird. She has no idea what it’s for. Pretty, though. It’s also the softest, silkiest fabric she’s ever felt, which is saying something because she’s sourced some pretty fancy shit over the years.

There’s no note, no explanation. She asks around, discreetly. She knows how to be discreet. Ryder’s as confused as she is. Drack snorts. Peebee jokes about secret admirers. Figuring it might be some kind of angaran thing, she brings it to Jaal. He’s busy with something, but instead of just turning in his chair or speaking over his shoulder, he stops what he’s working on immediately, rises, and faces her directly, as if she’s now the most important thing he has to think about. She not sure she’s ever going to get used to that. He smiles when he sees the fabric in her hands, but the smile fades when she asks if he knows what it’s for.

“Ah,” he says slowly, as if savoring the single syllable. “You did not get the note?”

(She finds it later, after an office-wide search, swept aside with a pile of irritating requisitions and hiding under two boxes of cereal, one empty.)

He takes the fabric from her hands, looking for all the world like he’s about to start performing some kind of ritual, and says, “May I?”

She’s used to people wanting things, of course. Half her life is spent getting things for people who want them. Jaal’s weird, though. When he asks, she always gets the sense that the question is real. If she said, no thanks, he’d only incline his head and accept the refusal. She’s not used to that either.

So she says, “Sure?” still without the first clue what he’s about to do. He lifts the tube, moving his hands toward her, and though she stiffens, she doesn’t pull away. He drops the fabric over her head, where it pools in her cowl, impossibly soft against the hide of her neck. She stops herself from nuzzling into it. His hands fuss a moment longer, and though he does not actually touch her, just the heat of his hands so close is almost a caress.

She’d laugh at herself if the thought wasn’t quite so unexpectedly disconcerting.

“For when you are cold,” he says, stepping out of her personal space and taking his heat with him. She’s not sure if she’s disappointed or relieved. He tilts his head, as if admiring her, though she knows he’s probably just looking at his handiwork. “It suits you. I hoped that it would.”

“Uh, thanks,” she says, managing to keep her voice even, even if her subharmonics are all over the place. She’s pretty sure he can’t tell, anyway. Hopes he can’t.

When she finds a mirror, she has to admit it does look nice. She doesn’t really believe such a flimsy scrap of pretty nothing could possibly keep her warm, though. The next time they’re down on Voeld, though, she humors him and tries it out.

Damn if the thing doesn’t work as advertised.

Aya

She loves Aya. It’s beautiful, sure, but there’s also real trade and so many new things to discover, and she’s always loved new things. And discovery, for that matter. The climate’s a relief after the insanity of Voeld and Eos, and everything smells so damn good. One thing she has to hand to the angara, they’re no slouches when it comes to hygiene. Even up to their damn eyeballs in war with the kett, they still make time for beauty.

She wanders through the market, for once a tourist instead of a trader, smelling perfumes and lotions and whatever other magical potions the angara douse themselves with. Doesn’t buy anything, though; she’s always happy to shop for Sid, but she’s not big on spending on herself. Too many years saving every credit and living job to job; old habits die hard.

Back on the Tempest, though, surrounded by the familiar but uninspiring scents of metal and Nomad and recycled air, she wishes she’d splurged.

“I saw you in the market,” Jaal says later, when it’s just the two of them in the galley.

“I’m hard to miss,” replies Vetra. “Not a lot of turians down there.”

She hasn’t figured out yet if she loves or hates the way he thinks about everything she says, even the flippant stuff. He says, “You did not buy anything.”

She shrugs, pushing food around her plate to give her hands something to do. “Yeah, well. A lot of that stuff’s… it’s nice, but it’s extravagant. Not necessary.”

He leans forward on his forearms, watching her intently. “I disagree. If we do not remember what we fight for, do we not risk becoming no better than our enemies?”

She snorts. “You’re fighting for lotion?”

He laughs, low and deep. She can’t stop the flutter of her mandibles in response. “Yes, Vetra Nyx. I am fighting for lotion.”

Three days later, there’s a small tub of lotion on her desk. She rubs a little onto the hide of her wrist. It’s not too floral, not too sweet. It reminds her—strangely, since she’s pretty sure none of the plants are the same—of her childhood, of soil after a good rain, the feel of her dad’s big hand curled around her little one, and the sweet baby smell of Sid in her skinny arms. You know, with flowers.

Instead of saving it, instead of leaving it on her desk and smelling it, she uses the lotion every day. She finds some fabric in Kadara port she thinks Jaal will like (only, she knows, if he doesn’t realize it’s from Kadara port), and trades him for more lotion when it’s gone. He insists the trade isn’t necessary. She insists it is. Besides, she wants him to have the fabric.

Havarl

After the stress of the whole Sid-pretending-to-be-her thing, when Jaal asks if she—they, she and Sid both—would like to come to meet his family, she accepts.

She worries, of course, only after she’s already agreed to go. When it would be too weird to say hey, about that meet the family thing, what exactly does that mean in angaran?

When she tells Sid, Sid says, “So what does that mean, exactly? Are you two like, a thing now?”

And Vetra thinks about the gifts Jaal’s left on her bench, and the tone of their banter, and the way he always manages to take his meals the same time she does. She thinks about how often he makes her laugh, and how she never stiffens or backs away when his arm brushes hers now, and how once or twice she’s even leaned into that touch and, well, really liked it.

“I don’t know,” she says, because she really doesn’t. “Angara. They’ve got feelings all over the place. I think we’re just friends.”

“You know there’s actually a way to find out, right?”

Vetra raises her brow plates and Sid rolls her eyes.

“I know this is a tough one, Vet, but what you gotta do is open your mouth and let words come out.”

“Ha, ha,” says Vetra, because of course she knows this. She’s just not sure she wants to hear the answer if she asks. She tells herself it’s because she likes things the way they are.

She’s always been able to lie to protect herself.

Jaal’s family is… overwhelming. Everyone talks at the same time. Everyone laughs. Here, people touch each other all the time. Forget arms brushing arms—there are hugs everywhere and it’s more common to see angara in happy piles of arms and legs and leaning heads than standing alone. A handful of cousins closes around a laughing Sid, promising to show her all kinds of exciting things.

“Mother,” Jaal says, when he introduces Vetra to Sahuna, “this is my—Vetra.”

My Vetra, thinks Vetra, as Sahuna’s arms wrap around her. This is my Jaal.

But she can’t say it. Can’t be sure. Doesn’t want to assume. My Vetra could be my friend, Vetra just as easily as it could be the Vetra I want to be mine.

He gives her the stars, just the two of them and whatever it is between them, alone in his childhood room. How different his childhood must have been, surrounded by mothers and siblings and cousins. Like the stones in a wall, he told her once. She thinks she understands better now. The back of his hand brushes the back of her hand and she knows, she knows she could reach out and wrap her fingers around his, but she doesn’t.

She does lean against him, though, just a little. Shoulder to shoulder, looking at a projected sky. My Jaal, she thinks, and wonders, just a little, how well the two stones of Vetra and Sid could fit into this wall.

Elaaden

He gives her a… poem.

She thinks it’s a poem, anyway. She’s never been all that big on… poetry? So she doesn’t understand a bunch of the metaphors and there’s an awful lot of talk about water considering how generally—and specifically—turians avoid splashing around in the stuff. There’s some really nice stuff about beauty though, and courage, and a particularly poignant stanza (she thinks they’re called stanzas?) about survival and determination.

I mean, she’s pretty sure she’d have to be dead to not appreciate that someone (Jaal, especially) thinks (she thinks?) she’s beautiful and courageous and determined. They’re all good things. She’s pretty sure they’re all things no one’s bothered calling her before, not specifically, and certainly not all at once.

He gives it to her almost nervously. She loves when he’s a bit nervous, actually. She feels like it evens the playing field a bit. It’s written on the crisp, beautiful paper one of the krogan merchants on Elaaden was selling—weird, yeah—and she’d bought thinking he’d like it.

“There was… more I wished to say,” he explains. “But I could not find the words.”

“These, um. These words are great, Jaal. I… you know, I really like these words.”

Before she can stop herself (she’s not sure she wants to stop herself) she presses her brow swiftly to his.

He nods. He shakes his head.

He probably doesn’t even know what her gesture means.

“I do not want you to answer now,” he says, bafflingly. “But—thank you, Vetra Nyx. For considering.”

She reads the poem three-hundred and forty-one times after he backs away from her little office, and she still can’t figure out the question it’s supposedly asking.

Kadara

“Hey,” she says. “Wake up.”

She’s careful not to stand too close, in case Jaal wakes the way she would: with a knife or a gun in his hand.

He doesn’t. He rolls to his side and blinks into the near-dark. It’s a couple hours until sunrise and the light filtering through the window is dim. The glow of her visor illuminates his outline, even as it spits information at her, rapid-fire. For the first time in a long time, she reaches up and turns it off. A moment later, she takes off her visor completely. She feels naked without it, strangely vulnerable, but it’s a good sort of vulnerability. She thinks. She hopes.

“What is this?” he asks, and damn if his voice isn’t even better all rough and growly with sleep. “Vetra?”

“I’m giving you a present,” she says. “Ryder’s going into the port today, and I’m getting you out before she makes you go with.”

“I hate Kadara port,” he says with real feeling, and she laughs.

“I know, Jaal. We all know. Everyone in the whole galaxy knows. Come on. Get your big purple ass out of bed. We’re on a schedule, here.”

“My… ass,” he says slowly, pushing back the blankets, “is not big.”

It is, however, definitely naked. Actually naked, not just vulnerable-naked. Angarans. Jaal. She swallows hard and turns around until she hears the rustle of fabric being pulled on.

“You are not wearing your visor,” he says.

“Yeah, well. Hopefully I’m not going to need to kill anything on the way.”

He laughs again. “We are on Kadara, Vetra.”

He doesn’t wear his eyepiece either, though, she notices.

He doesn’t ask where they’re going. She’s still kind of blown away every time he just trusts her like that, without needing anything in return. She drives the borrowed vehicle a little too fast, watching the ever-lightening darkness of the sky. She can feel Jaal watching her with his pretty blue gaze that always sees too much, but it doesn’t make her nervous anymore. Doesn’t make her want to pull back or hide or deflect. The silence now is companionable instead of strained.

He is game when she insists they climb up the cliff. Of course he doesn’t cheat, and though she wins, she doesn’t think it’s because he let her. He’s grinning when he reaches the top, every exhale almost a laugh. She’s never known anyone quite so able to wholeheartedly experience things. He holds nothing back. The sun rise is a ruddy glow on the horizon. “You are right,” he says. “This is much better than Kadara port. Thank you.”

She says, “I read your poem three-hundred and forty-one times, Jaal. I don’t even know what the question is.” She holds up a hand to stop him before he can speak. “But I have a question—there’s a question I want to ask you.”

I know this is a tough one, Vet, but what you gotta do is open your mouth and let words come out.

He nods.

“Is this… real?”

She has no visor to hide behind; he has none to distract her.

“This?”

She flicks her fingers, gesturing to herself and then to him. “This. Between us. The… gifts. And the… everything. You like me, I get that, and we’re friends, but—”

“I do not merely like you, dearest,” he interrupts. “That I thought you knew.” He touches his brow. “You… kissed me, did you not?”

Her mandibles flutter. Her stomach joins them. “I wasn’t sure you’d know what that meant.”

“I have been reading,” he says. “A lot.”

He steps closer, lifting his hands, palms-up. She inhales, catching the faint scent of both his lotion and hers—it’s probably stupid, but they smell good together—and lowers her own hands to his. Their fingers curl around each other. They stand almost as close as angara.

Low, very low, he says, “Do you want this to be, as you say, real?”

She nods. She swallows. She lets the words come out. “Yeah,” she says. “I really do.”

[ignis-scientia-estrogen-brigade]

For some reason Tumblr is being a buttmunch isn’t showing the proper chapter number in the link above, but I have tested it myself and can guarantee that it does, in fact, lead to the final chapter of my ongoing Blind!Ignis fic, Memory Lane and Pastries.

If you’ve been following along with the promises I’ve made thus far, then yOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS HUEHUEHUE ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

[ISEB Author’s Note: It means Ignis gets nekkid. Very, very nekkid.]

I won’t bore you with the details of what was going through my mind when I wrote it, but I will say that it’s another long, rambling story, so feel free to skip ahead to the steamy bits if your eyes start glazing over. I meant to do this last time, but I’m going to go ahead and tag a few peeps who I know might be interested: @thirdstreetcettin, @fencrocks, @roses-and-oceans, @atarostarling why u no let me tag you (´༎ຶོρ༎ຶོ`), @sweetchocobae, @emeraldlatias, @sailorwiggle, @saurgristiel, @diadyn wat u too (´༎ຶོρ༎ຶོ`), @chocobroobsession, @jellybabiestomanual cmon now (´༎ຶོρ༎ຶོ`), @ardorminerva wtf tumblr (´༎ຶོρ༎ຶོ`), @lunar-magnolia, @herondalcarstairs Lastly, I just want to mention that although this is the last chapter of Memory Lane and Pastries, the whole reason I wrote it was to establish an OC in that time frame, so that I may revisit Ignis and Ophelia in future one-shots. I’m going to make a separate post about my plans for the next week, but I do look forward to entertaining people again with my longer fics in the future!

(Abso-fucking-lutely NSFW; Click on the link above or the cut below for the full text of Chapter 5.)

“Tell me more about that Karlabos.”

“Hm?”

“You know—the one that supposedly murdered your mother. Did you ever manage to take your revenge?”

“Ah.” A smile touches the strategist’s lips as they round the usual corner of the alleyway leading back to his apartment. “As a matter of fact, I did.”

“Well? Don’t leave me in suspense.”

Ophelia’s fingers find his and she squeezes his hand teasingly. “My friends and I confronted the colossal beast on a shore overlooking Cape Caem some years ago,” he says. “We’d been sent on a quest to dispose of a Dread Behemoth that had been terrorizing the locals, and there he was—hiding like a coward behind his fellow monstrosity and taunting me with those beady black eyes of his.”

“Did he give you any trouble?”

“Not nearly as much as the prince did. Noct evidently had worse eyesight than me, because I couldn’t take two steps without having my feet frozen to the ground, no thanks to his poorly aimed Blizzaga spells.”

“I presume you were victorious, seeing as how you’re still alive to tell the tale.”

“Indeed. Can’t say it was worth the effort, though—we couldn’t even enjoy a nice lobster meal afterward, since whatever the creature had gained it size, it had seemingly lost in flavor.”

His heart skips a wayward beat when her fingers slip from his hand and move to rest at the small of his back. “I saw a Karlabos, once,” she says, her voice thoughtful. “At the monster arena in Altissia. What was that place called?”

“Totomostro—also known as the gambling addiction I never knew I had. And before you ask, I’d rather not talk about it.”

Her laughs are carried by the breeze as they halt at the front steps of his apartment. “It’s likely your own fault for losing money. You should know you’re always supposed to bet on the Spiny Speedsters.”

“An error in judgment, to be sure,” he says, as her arms slowly encircle his waist. “Maybe my luck will start to look up from here on out.”

“I’d say it already has.”

He then feels her soft lips brush against his, just as he had felt them touching his own every night after work for the last three weeks; it was getting easier for him to show his affection for her in public, the anxiety of being spotted by perfect strangers growing less and less insistent with each passing day, and the weight of the pendant against his neck hadn’t bothered him in quite some time.

It’s a chaste kiss, nothing terribly overt or ambitious, and it’s over nearly as quickly as it had begun. But he can’t fully bring himself to let go of her this time, not tonight, not like he could before, because the warmth of her body beneath her cardigan pressing against his chest was as addicting as the lure of ten-to-one Totomostro odds, and Ignis had almost forgotten what it was like not to feel so completely and utterly alone.

“Would you care to come inside for a moment?” he asks, scrambling for any excuse that would stay her departure for even one minute more. “I wouldn’t dream of forcing a cup of Ebony on you, but I did make some pastries the other day that could use a proper taste test.”

“I’ll pass on the coffee,” she demurs, “but I suppose I am a bit curious to see how well your baking skills stack up to mine.”

So she drops her hands from his waist, and the strategist’s heart cries out only a little at the travesty before he returns his attention to fishing his keys from his pocket. When he’s managed to finally open the stubborn door—‘stubborn’ in the sense that it wouldn’t open under its own free will when his nervous fingers couldn’t seem to find the correct key—he climbs the narrow stairwell leading to the unit two floors up, Ophelia’s footfalls echoing lightly behind him.

Another ‘stubborn’ door later, and he is stepping into the foyer of his apartment and showing her in. The strategist had never actually seen what the inside of his own home looked like, but he’d signed the lease solely based on the layout; the custom built cabinetry was spacious enough to accommodate his extensive collection of cooking utensils, and the open design of the kitchen flowing into the living area helped him to avoid walking headfirst into any unnecessary walls.

He flips a light switch and hangs his keys on a hook he knows is eye-level and exactly eighteen inches to the right of the front door, listening intently as Ophelia strolls into the space. “This is nice,” she says. “Quite comfortable, all things considered.”

He then moves into the kitchen, frowning slightly as he reaches for a clean plate. “All things considered?”

“One generally doesn’t list ‘bright neon lights encroaching on the living room’ as a must-have when apartment hunting.”

Ignis had almost forgotten about the supposed view from his flat; he’d saved a fortune by renting out this particular unit rather than a west-facing one, since his landlord had struggled to find potential tenants who would be unbothered by the bright EXINERIS Industries sign that glowed annoyingly just beyond his easternmost window. “One of the few perks of being blind,” he comments. “It also helps to save money on electrical, since I don’t even have to use the overhead lights when I’m home alone.”

“I was wondering if I might ask you about that.” A gentle creak echoes from the living room as she makes herself comfortable on a leather sofa. “How long precisely did it take you to regain your mobility after you lost your sight? I’ve seen you prepare complex dishes that someone with four working eyes and six arms couldn’t even manage.”

He retrieves a set of tongs hanging above the sink and opens the refrigerator door. “A couple of years, I suppose. Never underestimate the power of a strategist with an obstinate streak.”

“That’s what they call you, right? I’ve seen it in the newspapers—‘Ignis Scientia, also known as The Strategist’.”

“That’s what they used to call me. About the only strategies I work out nowadays is how best to satisfy Cid’s sweet tooth without having to go out and harvest Ulwaat berries myself.” He selects a pastry off the upper shelf of the fridge, then strides into the living room and stops at the sofa. “Speaking of, give this a try.”

“What is it?”

“Memory Lane Pastry—a Tenebraen specialty.”

The plate in his hand disappears. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard of it.”

“They were a favorite of the prince’s when he was recuperating there as a child,” he says, as he lowers himself onto the couch beside her. “I never could get the recipe quite to his liking, but he’s not exactly around to complain about it any longer.”

Either he is unable to entirely conceal the hint of sadness in his voice, or she is more perceptive than he initially gave her credit for; he hears her shift closer to him on the couch, followed by the sensation of her hand squeezing his knee. “I imagine you must miss him a great deal, considering the sacrifices you made for him.”

It was a different kind of pain, losing Noct; as he rests his arm along the back of the sofa, and his lips press together into a thin line, he concedes to himself that honor of serving the last king of Lucis in his final hours far outweighed the burden of sorrow he still carried on his shoulders. “I’ll spare you the grisly details of the time he drove the Regalia off the top of the Duscaean arches,” he says. “Go on—have a bite.”

She must have sensed his desire not to be bogged down by old memories, because she doesn’t press him for details, and instead removes her hand from his leg to focus on the dessert on her plate. It’s only when he hears her nibbling at the soft crust that he realizes he’d forgotten to set out some napkins; as he ruminates over the most polite and gentlemanly way of offering to lick any wayward crumbs off her lips with his tongue, his ears pick up on an audible gasp beside him.

“Are they to your liking?” he asks. “Or should I just set the contents of my kitchen on fire altogether?”

“These are delightful,” she breathes. “How on Eos have you been hiding these from me all this time?”

“They’re not particularly common in Lucis, although I did happen to learn my recipe from an establishment in Galdin Quay. Ulwaat berries inarguably make a superior filling, but they’re fairly hard to import unless you know exactly which merchant to talk to.”

He then hears her set the empty plate aside. “Really, Ignis—have you considered selling these for Mr. Tostwell? They’d certainly give my father’s Baklava pastry a run for its money.”

“I’m not really the competitive sort.” His nose wrinkles, and he pushes back on the lenses of his visor. “Besides, there’s something about capitalizing on nostalgia that doesn’t quite sit right with me. I suppose I’m getting a touch sentimental in my old age.”

“Come now, don’t be obtuse. You’re hardly old.”

“Maybe not, but these scars aren’t doing my features any favors.”

He suddenly feels her fingertips tracing over the lesion nestled above his right eyebrow. “I like your scars,” she says quietly. “More like marks of distinction, in service to the greater good.”

His spine begins to tingle under her gentle touch. “You are perhaps the only one who finds any measure of value in them.”

“Perhaps,” she echoes.

Her fingers then move to the bridge of his nose, pausing over the small scar there before drifting down his cheek. His mouth opens slightly when she glides a thumb across it; before he can sample the flavor of any powdered sugar still clinging to her skin, however, she removes her digit and replaces it with her soft lips.

He needn’t have worried about the sugar, he surmises, because she tastes like Ulwaat Berries and pastry crust and all the things that made her so delightfully sweet. His hand moves from its resting spot on the back of the sofa to sift through her hair and draw her in close, and he’s rewarded with the sensation of her tongue chasing after his. As the scent of her Sylleblossom perfume swirls in his nostrils and muddles his senses, the strategist yields to her playful probing and fronts his own sensual assault.

They’ve kissed before, but it was never like this; something about it was different, something wholly electrifying, and the nerve endings in his brain are firing impulses at light speed. He feels her palm slip under the collar of his dress shirt and caress the crook of his neck, but before he can reach up and entwine his fingers in hers, she ensnares his wrist and drags his hand down toward her thigh.

But a gentle leg caress evidently wasn’t what she was aiming for, because she doesn’t let go of his arm until she’s guided his hand several inches past the hem of her dress; an inkling of doubt worries away at the back of Ignis’ mind, and he withdraws from her slightly as he breaks their kiss.

The confusion in her voice is obvious. “Is this all right?”

He then retrieves his fingers from the edge of her undergarment and frowns. “Yes, of course.”

“So then, how long are you going to play the consummate gentlemen before you allow me to lead you into the bedroom?”

Her hand is still locked around his wrist; when she makes no move to release him, he gives up trying to extricate himself from her clutches and settles for resting it awkwardly on her knee. “I… don’t want you to think that’s why I invited you up here this evening.”

“I’m the one who’s offering, aren’t I?”

“Er—right.”

“Am I being too forward?”

She finally lets go of his arm, and he lets out a defeated sigh. “It’s not that. It’s just been a rather long time since I’ve been this intimate with anyone.”

“That makes no difference to me.”

“That’s kind of you to say, but, well—ah, you see—”

Scarcely anything was shameful enough to ruffle the strategist’s feathers and leave him at a total loss for words, but the matter of his own deficiencies was admittedly a source of embarrassment. “There is some lingering damage from the trauma I’ve sustained,” he says finally, pushing back on his visor again. “I couldn’t even tell you if the parts still worked properly.”

His remark isn’t precisely accurate, although there had been long stretches of years where Ignis had been unable to achieve anything remotely approaching rigidity between his legs. Just when he had begun to believe his impotence was yet another permanent reminder of the physical sacrifices he had made, however, he’d occasionally wake up in the middle of the night with an erection so painful and acute that the only source of relief he’d been able to find was by submerging himself in an icy cold shower and rubbing one out several times over. And while it had mercifully been several months since his last miserable episode, his body’s natural functions had proven to be more than a little erratic, to say the least.

Ophelia returns her hand to his arm, but it’s not to restrain him against his will, and instead she runs it gently across his shoulder. “There’s only one way to find out.”

He gnaws at the inside of his cheek and hesitates. “I would hate to leave you feeling disappointed, is all.”

“Ignis, you couldn’t disappoint me if you tried.” She then captures his face in her small hands, lowering her voice as she brushes her lips against his ear. “Now, are you going to follow me into your bedroom like a proper gentleman, or do I have to throw you over my shoulder and carry you in there myself?”

He feigns a smile, but doesn’t immediately stand up when he feels her rise from the sofa—partly because he hadn’t expected for things to move so quickly and he wasn’t sure whether he was prepared to bare his broken body to her fully just yet, but mostly because he didn’t want to draw attention to the obvious tenting in his trousers—and it’s only when she begins to tug gently on his wrist that he swallows his reticence and gathers himself to his feet.

But she doesn’t promptly tackle the buttons of his shirt the instant they step foot into the bedroom, nor does she launch herself at him like a rabid Voretooth as her insinuation might’ve suggested; if anything, she seems entirely unhurried in her plot to assess his virility, and simply asks him to remove his shoes while she briefly excuses herself from the room.

“I’m going to freshen up a tad,” she says. “I’ll be just a moment.”

And then she’s gone, and he’s left with nothing but bare feet and a testy groin to distract him from the fears that are currently plaguing his thoughts. Leaping out a window seemed like a disproportionate response to an unusual dilemma, but he can feel the bulging in his pants already starting to soften; when the silence in the bedroom grows increasingly deafening in his ears, and he’s spent five whole minutes calculating the odds of surviving a fall from the nearest fire escape, his mind slowly begins to registers the smell of newly applied Sylleblossom perfume.

He then feels her hands snake around his waist from behind, and when he turns to face her, he discovers she’s removed the cardigan she was wearing earlier; the skin on her arms is soft and velvety smooth, the scent of her floral fragrance both mild on his delicate senses and wholly seductive to the primal part of his brain, and his reservations ebb somewhat when he traces his fingers along her shoulders and collarbone.

But a flicker of panic returns when her own fingers move to his face and touch the sides of his visor, and he seizes her wrists before she is able to fully remove it. “You may want to consider turning out the lights first,” he says. “For your own benefit—I wouldn’t want you to have to stare at my bare face all night.”

“I look forward to staring at your bare face all night,” she teases, brushing his hands aside. “In fact, I’m counting on it.”

There was a deep-seeded insecurity buried somewhere in the depths of the strategist’s psyche, the origins of which could be traced back to long before he had ever lost his sight. Corrective lenses or frosted visor, the absence of the comforting weight across the bridge of his nose made him feel altogether more naked and vulnerable than even the worst torture he had endured during the Hydraean catastrophe. So when Ophelia does finally remove his visor, and he hears the sound of her setting it carefully on the nightstand behind him, Ignis is unable to entirely quell the distress poisoning his insides; he remains paralyzed in place when she caresses his disfigured left eyelid, and it’s only after her hands finally fall from his face that he lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

But one anxiety is quickly replaced by another as she fingers the top button of his shirt. “There’s something you ought to know,” he whispers, grasping her by the wrists again to slow her progress. “My injuries, they—well, they’re not limited to my face.”

The strategist is beginning to think she is either braver than Bahamut or more reckless than the Infernian, because her only response to his warning is to touch her lips lightly to his mouth before resuming her efforts. His heart beats hard against his ribcage with each inch of his torso she exposes to air, until there’s nothing left for him to hide behind and she’s pushing his shirt down around his elbows.

She then runs a hand tentatively across the gruesome laceration that bisects him from shoulder to navel. “Does it hurt?” she asks.

He shakes his head wordlessly, and at the back of his mind he wonders how on Eos she is able to stomach the view as he feels her rake her teeth across his pectorals. He doesn’t have time to ponder the enigma for very long, however, because her mouth soon drifts to his right nipple, and the tongue she is circling it with is working wonders to distract him from his own self loathing. He briefly considers staging one last protest—his occluded eye is sensitive enough to note she had not turned the bedroom lights off when she went to remove his visor—but he abandons all argument when her hands drop to the waistband of his trousers.

She hadn’t show the slightest hint of doubt in her resolve until now, and it’s only when several moments pass without hearing the audible whir of his zipper being released that he notices her struggling with the notches of his belt. “Sorry,” she laughs. “It seems you aren’t the only one who’s been through a bit of a dry spell as of late.”

The tension in his chest eases a tad and he offers a her small smile, running his fingertips lightly along her arms until goosebumps appear on the skin there. When she finally manages to discard the stubborn piece of equipment, he feels her grip him gently by the forearm to steady him; he acknowledges her silent signal and steps out of his trousers, kicking them far enough away so as not to be a walking hazard on the path toward the bed.

For a moment, he isn’t quite sure what to do with himself; the mental picture he conjures of standing blind and nearly naked before her doesn’t exactly recall to mind the dignity and decorum of his former self. But she offers up her own answer to his conundrum by wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning into his embrace, and his cheeks warm slightly when he feels her hips pressing against the fabric of his briefs. The tightening there has resumed its arbitrary behavior and is now standing at embarrassingly full attention, but she doesn’t appear to care—the hands gliding down his buttocks being her only outward reaction to his uncontrollable prodding—so he simply enjoys the sensation of her small figure nestled comfortably against his torso before reaching around her back to finger the zipper of her dress.

It hadn’t felt like all that long ago when he was the one quieting the trembling hands of a nervous lover; the strategist of old had always been in control, his nerves seemingly tempered in steel, and there was a period in his life when he would’ve rather been publicly flogged than ever be caught dead showing the slightest sign of weakness. But Ignis Scientia isn’t the same man he was before, and its his own hands that are trembling now, and he bites back a curse as he fights with the leading hook that evidently required the use of an electron microscope to unfasten.

But then he does finally manage to unfasten it, and relief washes over him when the zipper mercifully comes undone without further issue. Ophelia steps away long enough for him to hear the sound of her dress pooling to the floor; he had tried never to get into the habit of resenting his circumstances, but he can’t quite help the bitterness he feels at being denied the rapture of gazing upon her figure with his own two eyes.

But he still has two hands, and she is seemingly well aware of this fact as well, because she guides him to sit on the edge of the bed before grasping his palms and placing them on either side of her waist. He flexes his fingers tentatively, only allowing them to make contact with parts that weren’t explicitly covered up by her undergarments—he finds the flesh of her belly is as delicate as silk and twice as smooth, while the taut muscles of her back ripple and yield as he draws his fingernails lightly down her spine—and he takes the opportunity to nuzzle his nose against the softest part of her neck when she moves to settle herself in his lap.

The wetness he can feel even even through her undergarment is positively tortuous against aching groin, but old habits die hard, and he chokes back the growl threatening to claw its way up his throat. He had always been a quiet lover, because he’d always preferred listening to melody of his partners’ ecstasy over the sound of his own ardor, and it was even more critical to him now that he relied so heavily on his hearing; as he grips her buttocks and angles his hips against her heat, he is rewarded with exactly the moan he was hoping to elicit from her.

So he allows her vocalizations to feed his inquisitiveness and finally lets his idle hands wander, teasing his fingers under the straps of her brassiere while his other hand circles around her torso to tackle the clasp at her back. His grip is steadier now, a little of his former confidence returning each time she presses her lips hungrily to his, and he feels her nails dig into the thickest part of his shoulders when he liberates her from the constricting garment; a moment later, and she’s arching her neck against his open mouth and drawing his hands to her chest to make her insistence known.

As much as he would’ve liked nothing more than to ravage her nipples with his tongue, however, her hips bucking hard against his erection is distracting him from the effort, so he shifts his weight and guides her to lay down on the bed beside him. A frustrated whine escapes her at not having her immediate desires fulfilled, but it’s soon replaced by a whispered gasp when he settles in between her legs and draws his teeth across her belly. His fingers slip under the waistband of the lace separating him from the last of her nakedness, but he doesn’t immediately tear them off in a fit of lust; stoking the flames of passion took time and patience, and although the strategist might’ve been a little out of practice, he had never forgotten the fundamentals of his basic training.

He can’t resist indulging in a smile when he feels her writhing beneath him, and he opens himself fully to the sensations his four other senses are currently experiencing all at once. The scent of her perfume swirls in the air around his nostrils each time he glides a hand across her breasts, his fingertips lingering at her nipples and pinching them lightly until they’ve grow hard against his unyielding touch, while her soft moans reverberate like an aria in his ears. It’s the way she tastes, however, that perhaps ignites his libido the most; the delectable flavor of her skin is a borderline aphrodisiac, and the hardening between his legs strengthens with every inch he comes to closer to stripping her of her panties.

But if he thought she’d immediately wrap her thighs around his neck like angry Malboro tentacles the instant he freed her from her underwear, he is sorely mistaken. “Ignis,” she says hoarsely, as he draws the lacy accoutrement down around her ankles. “Consider trading places with me for a moment. This was my idea, after all.”

He brushes his lips against the inside of her thighs before drawing them over each of his shoulders. “You wouldn’t deny a starving man a few bread crumbs, now would you?”

His desire to please her has less to do with wanting to oversee the direction of their activities, and more to do with logistics; the evening wouldn’t be a completely wasted effort if he could at the very least bring her to climax, in the likely event that his body eventually betrayed him. It helped that the single greatest joy the strategist generally took in life was the sampling of new, unexplored flavors, and he doesn’t waste any time burying his maimed face into the warmth of her flesh.

Every partner tasted a little different, but no more or less decadent than any other, and one of the perks of having a palate as sophisticated as his own was being able to distinguish the subtle nuances between each one. He feels her legs relax around his shoulders as he nuzzles her sensitive hood, and his mind picks apart the fragrances of her natural odors and Sylleblossom perfume much like he would if he were nosing a glass of fine wine. She flinches slightly when he presses a rough tongue against her folds, but he doesn’t yield or shy away; he probes onward instead, allowing her soft gasps to entice his exploration further.

Even if his better days were behind him, the strategist was always a man with a plan, and tonight is no different; as he settles into a measured pace with his tongue, and he feels her thighs finally begin to tighten around his shoulders, he moves to wrap a hand around the back of her knee; the artery there is close enough to the surface of the skin to detect the slightest fluctuations in her rising pulse—the human body surrendered all the knowledge a lover could possibly require in order activate a pleasurable release, if one were shrewd enough to know just how to decipher its secrets—and he slips his other hand between her legs and presses a finger inside of her, alternating the pressure on her nub between his thumb and his mouth.

His dedication to maintaining a methodical cadence quickly begins to yield positive results; he can hear her breath shortening in her lungs, the whimpers escaping her lips wavering in volume depending on the pressure he is bringing to bear against her hood. It may have been eons since his last intimate encounter with anyone, but the muscle memory is still there, and as she rakes her fingers through his tawny hair, he can feel her walls trembling with each of his deft caresses. He focuses most of his efforts on employing his tongue, but he can’t resist the urge to nibble gently at her hardening nub, and it takes all of his willpower not to ravage it altogether every time her gasps echo in his ears.

At the back of his mind, though, he knows he’s losing himself in the moment; he’d be of better service to her if he could rein himself in and extend her ecstasy for just a little longer, but the stalwart discipline that had defined the strategist in years past is in direct conflict with his selfish desire to hear his own name on her lips. Which is exactly what is on them right now, because his mouth is pressed hard against her sex, his tongue lashing back and forth against her quivering hood, and his fingers are buried to the knuckle in her warm and dripping fluids. The sharp tug of his hair being yanked on and the vice grip her legs now have over his neck seem only to heighten the fervor that is overtaking his senses, and he casts aside the last of his restraint in his unwavering mission to push her over the final edge.

“Ignis,” she whispers, her fingers nearly tearing his hair out. “Please, I—”

There was something wholly otherworldly about bringing a woman to orgasm; the way Ophelia’s body writhes beneath his touch without rhyme or reason and entirely of its own accord was a curious sight for any man to behold. But Ignis doesn’t immediately cease his ministrations the instant he feels her walls clench tightly around his fingers, and instead keeps his tongue pressed firmly against her nub as he carries her through each wave of her climax, until he feels the tension in his scalp and around his neck suddenly ease and her body grows still on the bed.

Only then does he grudgingly pry himself away from her warmth, running a cheek tenderly against her thigh before moving to rest beside her on the comforter. He feels her arms snake around his neck and draw him in close, and the only sound that can be heard for a long moment is her labored exhales and her heartbeat resuming a more measured pace inside her chest.

He then feels a finger brush the lock of hair that falls across his forehead. “If you ask me,” she says quietly, “I wouldn’t have said you were out of practice in the least.”

He smiles softly and runs a hand along her bare arm. “This retired strategist still has a few methods left at his disposal.”

“Care to let me show you some of my own methods?”

“Hm, maybe not. It’s getting rather late, and I’m feeling a bit tired.”

It’s a lie, and he knows it’s a lie, and he also knows that she knows it’s a lie; she guides him to roll over onto his back before pressing an open palm against the flesh that is still—mercifully—rigid between his legs. “Then perhaps you’d agree to lie back and let me do a bit of the legwork.”

She somehow manages to push his briefs down around his ankles before he even has time to object. “Really, Ophelia—it’s fine. You know how irritable Mr. Tostwell gets when any of his employees are late for wor—”

But his words are cut off by the sharp hiss that escapes his lungs when he feels the sensation of her tongue slowly circling the head of his shaft. It had been an eternity and a day since he’d exposed his manhood to anything other than ice water or his own calloused hand, and he bites down on the inside of his cheek so hard and so suddenly he can taste blood.

If he thought that would be the extent of her delightful torture, however, he quickly begins to realize the worst is yet to come; she was merely priming his equipment, evidently, because her mouth lingers on his aching cock only long enough to deposit a copious amount of saliva there before she is straddling his waist like an armored paladin and guiding him inside of her with a gentle hand.

The flavor of blood intensifies on his tongue as he bites down on the urge to scream; his eyes roll back against his closed eyelids and he arches himself against her heat, a warmth that is at once both comfortable and inviting yet so searingly hot it feels like he is quenching his flesh-and-blood sword in a vat of boiling liquid. His breath escapes him and he gasps for air, and it’s only when she presses a palm to his forehead that he is able to regain control over his senses—but only just a little, because she’s already beginning to rock her hips, and it takes everything in his power not to immediately fire his empty rounds inside of her right then and there. He gropes for her arms in an attempt to curtail her momentum—she isn’t even moving that fast, he concedes, but anything quicker than a snail’s pace would almost assuredly bring an abrupt and embarrassing end to the evening—and she responds to his flailing by leaning over his chest and pressing her mouth hard against his.

His fingers sift through her hair, and for a moment he forgets altogether that he is blind and broken and a bitter husk of his old self, because he can see her, somehow; maybe not with his eyes, but in his mind he can envision the lithe body that fits together with his like pieces of a puzzle, can hear the smile in her voice when she moans aloud, can feel the warmth and kindness emanating from every cell and fiber of her being, and Ignis doesn’t need the use of his sight to recognize it was undoubtedly the work of the Six that set her path on a collision course with his.

Heartwarming as the sentiments may be, however, they’re little help in the fight against the growing insistence in his loins; he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold fast against her jostling, and if he doesn’t take matters into his own hands soon, he might find out a little sooner than he prefers. So he slips a hand around her waist and takes firm hold, rolling her onto her back without disturbing the union of his cock buried deep within her cunt.

But being on top has its disadvantages, the strategist suddenly—and regretfully—surmises, because now she doesn’t have the annoying nuisance of the bed getting in the way of her legs. When he feels her ankles lock around his hips to accommodate his girth more fully, and the telltale sign of his own imminent climax pulses at the base of his pelvis, he forces himself to a halt.

“I’m sorry,” he pants, desperate to delay the inevitable. “I—give me just a moment, if you would.”

He feels her nose nuzzle his damp cheek, followed by the sensation of her lips pressing lightly against his own. He yields to her kiss in an effort to distract himself from his own hypersensitivity afflicting every inch of his flesh, but the fingernails she is dragging up his spine is causing the nerves in his lower back to tingle, and he lets out a frustrated growl as the carnal side of his brain wrenches free will away from the rational one.

His hips move without thinking, his thrusts growing more erratic as her hands find his fingers and entwine them with her own. There was a time in his life that being in control was the difference between life and death, and that losing firm grip over himself meant risking the safety and wellbeing of the people he loved; that time has long since passed, however, and not even the Knights of the Round could save him now, because the blood locked away in the hard tissues of his shaft have reached a saturation point, the hormones flooding his brain sending the appropriate signals to direct the proper flow of seminal fluid, and he is suddenly spilling his hot seed inside of a woman for the first time in over a decade.

But not even a whisper escapes his lips when he climaxes, because old habits really did die hard, and instead he simply allows his body to relay the messages he cannot adequately express vocally himself. She holds him tightly in her arms through his final throes, raking a gentle hand through his hair and brushing her lips across the light perspiration dotting his forehead, until the last of his strength fails him and his biceps begin to tremble under the strain of his own weight.

For a long moment, neither one of them moves; the stillness of the bedroom is in sharp contrast to his screaming pulse galloping throughout every vein and capillary of his body. Then he feels Ophelia push back on him slightly, followed by the sensation of her fingertips tracing the outline of his jaw. “So much for not being the touchy-feely sort.”

He finally finds enough strength to withdraw from her, and pushes himself upright on the edge of the bed. “Right.”

“You clearly had nothing to worry about. Seems to me all the parts work just fine, after all.”

He then rises from the bed and moves to open the nearest window; whether it was merely a coincidence of his namesake, Ignis wasn’t sure, but his skin always felt like it was on fire after making love, and suddenly the room feels rather asphyxiating. “I suppose not.”

The worry in her voice is evident. “Is everything all right?”

His feature crumple into a frown as he leans his head out the open window. The humid breeze of nighttime Lestallum is doing little to lower his internal body temperature, and he narrows his eyes against the glare of the neon EXINERIS sign he can sense off in the distance. “Yes, of course.”

But he’s not all right, not really, because as the chaos of the last few lustful minutes begins to clear from his mind, and his feet slowly return to this plane of existence, one singular thought turns over and over in his head: What have I done?

It’s her earnestness that defines her, and he knows it, which is why he isn’t surprised in the least at her next words. “I can’t very well put your mind at ease if you don’t tell me what’s bothering you. Spit it out.”

It wasn’t Ophelia’s fault; he’d always been like this, growing ever more aloof in the aftermath of intimate relations, even when he was younger and the only thing at stake was his reputation, and even—nay, especially—when he was with the one who visited him in his dreams, because while chaste kisses and benign handholding were relatively harmless in the grand scheme of things, there was something about consummating a relationship that put a spotlight on the harsher realities of life.

He gives up on his effort at cooling off and heaves a heavy sigh, retrieving his trousers from the floor as he makes his way back toward the edge of the bed. “I can’t give you what you want, Ophelia.”

“You don’t even know what I want.”

“I don’t think you are fully aware of the challenges that lie ahead. I’d rather not put someone in a position where they have to double as my caretaker.”

“You seem to be under the impression that I am unable to make my own decisions,” she snaps. “And besides—there isn’t a thing I can’t do that I haven’t seen you do twice as well.”

“I can’t read. I can’t drive. I can’t even father a bloody child.”

Her ire suddenly dissipates, and she pauses. “You can’t?”

He resorts to stepping into his pant legs to hide his scowl. “I told you, my injuries are not limited to my face.”

She grows quiet on the bed behind him for a long while; it’s only when he is sure his argument has likely spurred her to silently weep into a pillow that he feels her fingers reach out and touch his shoulder. “I’m not asking for a marriage proposal—I’m only asking you to take things one day at a time. Preferably with me.”

A younger, more prideful version of himself might’ve deflected her advances, letting her down gently with the same words he’d used on countless other lovers in the past. But the sincerity in her voice strikes an annoyingly sensitive chord inside of him, and he’s more tired than he used to be; tired of the aches and pains of his lingering injuries, tired of carrying the grief of losing Noct and the redhead and the hundreds of thousands of people he couldn’t save from the Empire and the starscourge, and—most of all—tired of maintaining the walls that still guarded his wounded heart.

So he swallows his dismay and turns to face her, covering the hand she has on his shoulder with his own. “I would hate to be the reason your prospects wind up so limited. You have such a bright future ahead of you, and I feel like I would serve only to weigh you down.”

Her fingers lace with his, and she leans to rest her head against his chest. “Are you happy being alone, Ignis?”

“Not particularly.”

“That makes two of us, then. And if I had to take an educated guess, I’d say there there’s scarcely a person who has ever crossed paths with you who didn’t think you deserved to be happy—not Noctis, not her, not anyone.”

He thinks back to what Cid had said to him, about something tying him down here in Lestallum; maybe there was and maybe there wasn’t, and maybe one day he would eventually return to Insomnia and resurrect his hopes and dreams that had died there all those years ago.

But maybe there was actually something worth staying here for, a seed worth planting, a relationship worth cultivating. The weight of his skull necklace feels as light as a feather now, and the scent of Ophelia’s Sylleblossom perfume is unlocking a long-forgotten door inside his heart. “Perhaps you’re right,” he says simply.

[oakpodcast]

Transmission 6 Transcript

Transmission 6 is live on Patreon. It will go live to the general public Saturday.

This is the season 1 finale. Season 2 will return later this month.

HOLLY: If you're a new listener, make sure to start at the very beginning.

MUSIC: “SOLITUDE” BY MUCIOJAD

HOLLY: Before I get started, I want to thank Jemma, Melissa, Liam, and a bunch of other new listeners for supporting me on Patreon.

HOLLY: And to everyone funding my coffee habit dollar by dollar, THANK YOU. It's a serious morale booster to know that someone is out there listening, and not only that, but cares enough to buy me a cup of coffee. So seriously, thank you so much.

HOLLY: All right, so, it's about 9 a.m., July 23rd. I'm sitting outside the Walmart with a jug of chocolate milk I got on sale around 6 a.m. when I couldn't sleep.

HOLLY: Anyway, I figured I'd reply to your email and then hopefully finish this stupid assignment, pending the armored truck getting here when I'm expecting it to.

HOLLY: And if my stupid hands cooperate. I know I'm clumsy, especially lately, but normally I'm at least good with my hands, right? No dirty jokes about that. Let's keep this PG-rated, thank you very fucking much.

HOLLY: But honestly, this is getting so annoying! I took the Chromebook apart last night and I swear I dropped the fucking screwdriver every five minutes. (Sighs) I know the fact that I haven't had a good night's sleep in a few months doesn't help anything. Whatever.

HOLLY: (Tense) Uh, so, what's going on with your email address? Why does it keep bouncing when I try to email you? Hopefully that means you've finished up and you're on your way home? Never hurts to be optimistic, I guess…

HOLLY: I mean, I know you're busy, but there are some things I'd rather talk about privately, so... yeah. Send me your new email address when you get a chance, thanks.

SOUND: NOISY PICKUP TRUCK DRIVING PAST

HOLLY: Okay, I'm going to read part of your email and then respond to it. (Deep breath) Here goes.

HOLLY AS OAK: Hey Holly, how are you feeling today?

HOLLY: I'm fine. Like I said, tired... aside from not being able to sleep, I'm okay. Well, I did pass out in the laundromat yesterday, but there's probably no reason to worry. I'm just not used to the heat affecting me like this.

HOLLY AS OAK: (Reading) I know this random, but did you turn Cosette off between when I left and when you left?

HOLLY: (Sighs) The answer to that is no. No, Cosette is probably still Roomba-ing around the apartment every day, dragging her… exploded dust tank behind her. Do you remember if she stops if the tank gets full? (More quietly and uncertainly) Roombas can't... catch on fire... right? Nnnnnnnnn.

HOLLY: Well, I texted Cami and asked her to try to shut off Cosette if she happens to go by the apartment, so... anyway...

HOLLY AS OAK: (Reading monotonously) Mission is good. Can't say much obviously, but I should be back next week.

HOLLY: Great, so that gives me at least a few days to fix any damage Cosette did before you get home.

HOLLY AS OAK: Man, Holly, I had the craziest dream last night slash this morning. There was this werewolf, and first it ate Willard, and I was like "Fuck yeah!!!" (Three exclamation marks) but then it ate you, and then it ate me, and then I looked down and I was holding a cage with Frogger—remember the rabbit I accidentally killed when I was 10?—and I was like "OH SHIT" (in all caps) and started running, but I was dead, right?

HOLLY AS OAK: (Reading monotonously) So then I remembered my legs were eaten, and that's when I dropped Frogger's cage down a storm drain. And I don't know how the entire fucking cage even fit, but it did, and it went into the storm drain and I was like "NOOOOOOOOO!!!" (With, mm, eight... nine?! O's and three exclamation marks.) But anyway yeah, then the werewolf was down there eating Frogger. I don't know what that means but I'm really fucking stressed every time I wake up from it.

HOLLY: Yeah, I don't know what that means either, sorry Oak.

HOLLY AS OAK: (Reading) I'm also having a recurring nightmare about me and you playing street hockey with the Goldsteins and their neighbors. Everyone is playing hockey really gently, and you pass the puck to me, and I'm like "YEAH" (all caps) and hit a slapshot right into Emma Rosen's goaltender mask. Except for some reason we were using an egg for a puck, so, yeah, kind of a gross and disturbing dream.

HOLLY: (Laughs) Uh, yeah, what the fuck? Are you eating pizza before bed again? You know that gives you weird dreams!

HOLLY AS OAK: Anyway, it's probably just anxiety or whatever. I sent you some vitamins and supplements. Did you get them?

HOLLY: Yes, thanks. I've been taking them every day, so stop stressing about that. I'm fine. I could be way more malnourished and sleep-deprived than I am.

HOLLY AS OAK: Are you getting enough sleep and staying hydrated?

HOLLY: Like I said, I can't sleep, but I think it's just because the shelter beds are really uncomfortable. I take naps sometimes in the park, like, under a shady tree with a cheap blanket and an inflatable bath pillow I carry around. No one bothers me during the day because I just prop a library book near me, so it looks like I just fell asleep reading.

HOLLY: As for staying hydrated... I mean, I'm trying. The water here still makes me gag, but I sneak lemon packets and get free ice water whenever I can. Like I said, I did pass out in the laundromat yesterday, but I'm just not used to being quite this overheated all the time. I'm fine now. I drank some water, and I'll try to go at night next time.

HOLLY AS OAK: So you're going with Ivy for sure? The finalists are all pretty good, so I don't think there's a right choice. You should go with your gut. I trust your judgment on this.

HOLLY: Well, thank you, and yes, I'm pretty sure I'm going with Ivy and the other one we discussed? I haven't decided for sure yet, but I have a good feeling about those two.

HOLLY AS OAK: Has Leia Janeway forgiven you yet? Don't feel bad. It could happen to anyone. You're not exactly graceful even under the best of circumstances.

HOLLY: (Sighs) I think she's forgiven me, it's just that every time she starts to trust me again I step on some new part of her body and the cycle starts all over. She acts like she understands and doesn't hold it against me, but she also acts like "WHY GOD WHY," which apparently are not mutually exclusive feelings. Hopefully she'll forgive me.

HOLLY AS OAK: I know I say this every time, but please make sure you're ready to run at a moment's notice. I promise I'm doing my best to make sure nothing happens, but it scares the ever-living shit out of me that I'm over here and you're in a godforsaken place like Alabama and no one but the U.S. government is watching out for you. Nothing is going to happen, but if anything does happen—

HOLLY: (Annoyed) Yeah, I know, I know, I need to go dark if anything happens to you. I don't understand why you won't tell me why, though! Or what could possibly be going on.

HOLLY AS OAK: I'm fucking over this assignment already and can't wait to inhale some Thai food with you the second I get back. Can you eat Thai food right now, or will you spontaneously combust? Whatever, we'll celebrate with something yummy. Maybe Mexican, since they don't have that over here.

HOLLY: I don't know, I'm, I’m pretty sure I can eat Thai food. And I know I can eat Mexican. (Hungrily) Both of those sound great, actually. (A very soft moan, as if she's imagining the food.) All right, that's the new plan: Thai or Mexican food next week, as soon as you get home. Whatever we don't eat for lunch we'll eat for dinner and... hm, yeah. I like this plan.

HOLLY AS OAK: Holy fuck, did you see this?

HOLLY: And, uh, I clicked on it, and it's a link to the BBC article about Jodie Whittaker as the new Doctor. Yeah, I saw, and... what a time to be alive! I just hope they don't change anything about River Song being her wife.

HOLLY AS OAK: I'm totally caught up on Greater Boston and Jim Robbie now. You were right—they're totally my jam. Got any other recommendations?

HOLLY: Yeah, I do. So the first one I'd recommend is a British comedy called Wooden Overcoats. It's about these siblings who work in a funeral home in the English Channel, I think, and… and anyway, this really hot guy moves in across the street and starts stealing all of their business. And the narrator is a mouse. So it's this weird mix of morbid humor and uplifting shit that, I don't know, it completely reminds me of you.

HOLLY: Another one I think you'd like is called EOS 10. It's kind of like Scrubs meets Futurama, so obviously it's right up your alley. Wooden Overcoats and EOS 10 are both pretty short, but hopefully since you're supposed to get back next week—

SOUND: PHONE VIBRATING

HOLLY: Huh, speak of the devil. I am getting a text from you right now. 

HOLLY: "I'm sorry"? Oh. Goddammit, what did you do?

SOUND: PHONE VIBRATING

HOLLY: "Run and hide"— Why? Why??? What did you do?!

SOUND: PHONE VIBRATING

HOLLY: I can't run! Why the fuck would you think I can run right now?

SOUND: PHONE VIBRATING REPEATEDLY

SOUND: HELICOPTER IN DISTANCE

HOLLY: Okay, fine! Not that you can hear me, but I'm going, I'm going right now.

SOUND: HOLLY STRUGGLING TO HER FEET

SOUND: MILITARY HELICOPTER APPROACHING

SOUND: HOLLY RUNNING ON PAVEMENT

HOLLY: (Running with difficulty, muttering under her breath) Goddammit, Mica!

SOUND: INT WALMART NOISES

SOUND: HOLLY RUNNING ON TILE

HOLLY: (Panting) Excuse me, where (gasps) where are the fireworks?! ... Thank you!

SOUND: HOLLY RUNNING

HOLLY: (To Oak) Anyway, (panting) fuck you, (pant) fuck General Willard, (pant) fuck everyone who took his side, and (pant) fuck society, fuck Walmart for being so big, and f–fuck everything! I'm fucking sick to death of this goddamn fucking shit! 

SOUND: A LIGHTER FLICKING

HOLLY: Okay, signing off! (softer) Fuck...

SOUND: FIREWORKS EXPLODING

MUSIC: OUTRO (“SOLITUDE” BY MUCIOJAD)

[backseat-imagines]

sleepsunderthesun: Can you do more spy s/o with the baby? I'm especially interested in Gladio possibly wanting to bond with his baby but his s/o is having a hard time letting him in again? But if you have ideas for the other chocobros for this chocohoe then I totally don't mind. :)

Why yes I can friend~ And because I too am a massive chocohoe, I’ll do a little something for all the guys!(based off of this post)

  Things were already getting awkward with Noctis, and the longer everything went on the more awkward it got. He had this partner, who was now pregnant, to worry about. But then there was the matter of Lady Lunafreya as well and he wasn’t sure how this was going to play out.  Ultimately he knew who he was likely going to choose, if he had to choose, and he really didn’t actually want to do that. In either case he would look like a bad guy to the common people and it all depended on which reputation he wanted.  Did he want to be known as the irresponsible king who couldn’t keep it in his pants where people would speculate him abandoning his bastard child? Or did he want the people to be angry with him because the peace between lands rested on his shoulders, and he would have “sacrificed” that for his own selfish heart? And he’d hate for either of them to have the possible chance of being called homewreckers. So unless he kept them a secret entirely…  As unhappy as it makes them, he has them stay behind in Cape Caem, where Iris and Talcott would keep them company and Monica would be able to help guide them along through this.  But then the unexpected happens, and after breaking into the labs in Gralea, Noctis goes missing. No one ends up sure how to break the news to them, but someone has to.  “He’ll come back,” Everyone keeps promising. But it’s been years and it’s hard to hold out hope for that Noctis will ever come back. It’s been a decade…  At this point they’re delivering supplies back and forth along with driving other hunters to and fro, always keeping their kid beside them. It’s a usual and mundane task, but sometimes life changes scenery unexpectedly; with Ignis accompanying them, they drive back to hammerhead to where Prompto and Gladio is also waiting.  It’s so rare for everyone to be gathered up like this (it’s nice, but it also creates a pang of sadness because there is one missing piece to this puzzle), but it almost seems like everyone is waiting. For what?  But then… Off in the distance there was a trail of bright lights blazing through at high speeds, cutting through the darkness and parting the sea of daemons.  Talcott was coming through and parked right in front of the garage. Suddenly it felt like the Astrals themselves came down to grace Eos that day as the passenger door opened and they saw who it was that climbed out.It’s him… They rushed towards him.  The reunion between the two of them is awkward. There’s the fear that time has turned them back into strangers. But back in the day there was a lot of unspoken feelings and they find out those has a funny way of surfacing and catching back up in their throats. So many false starts on sentences as both of them want to say something, how they felt about events of back then and how it is now, but where do they even begin to process the infatuation from ten long years ago?  Noctis almost finds himself at a loss of words because in all this time everyone else had matured and changed so much, but he was a little behind them all now. The that had changed around him, besides his appearance and acceptance to his duty clung right to the leg of his old flame; his child. Noctis finds himself speechless as he approaches his kid.  He looks at his child’s eyes and he sees so much of himself in them; uncertain and afraid. His child seems shy, but at the same time he can’t even begin to go on about how brave his kid must be because every day they’re facing a world of monsters, even if they are afraid.  And it saddens him to know that their whole life they’ve known no world outside of a monster filled one and it’s not right…  “I’ll beat the biggest, baddest and most terrifying one of them all and end this once and for all.” Noctis promises and tells them that they’ll soon get to experience a world so bright and where they won’t have to fear playing in the streets and how they’ll be able to scale the tallest mountains or catch the biggest fish- if that’s what they so wish.   Just have to wait a little longer…  Though he knows he’ll have to go soon, he still takes a couple of days to catch back up with the guys, and his partner (though could he call them that still? He’s not even sure), and to get to know his own kid as well as two days can even permit him.  And it hurts him to know this is his only and last chance to even do this…

—————————-

  Good luck seemed scarce these days and the bad luck seemed to be always looming over in one form or another. Or so it felt. Ignis’s partner did manage to make a brief return to the Empire, but that didn’t last very long… And so they came back and rushed for the well needed warmth of his arms.  At long last their time with the Nifs was coming to an end. At least they could try to reforge a life away from then and all that and he would support them and try to offer any help he could, when he could. And so he and the rest safely escorted them to Meldacio. Surrounded by mostly strong and skilled hunters, it was quiet and perhaps they could find some peace with it being in such a remote location.  But then Altissia happened…  Despite all recommendation of them needing to sit back and take it easy just to help the pregnancy along, they came on out anyways- much to even Ignis’s dismay. But what else were they supposed to do? The team was nearly one man down entirely(he shouldn’t push himself like this either) so briefly coming back to aid them was a risk they were willing to take. At least for now.   Though everyone did come to a compromise where they could come with, but they’d stay back and play healer by tossing the potions out. And they would help guide Ignis along when he needed it.  Things were a tad difficult. Ignis got frequently annoyed as his partner tried to help him adjust because he felt that they were trying to baby him too often, even if they really weren’t, and it sometimes had him feeling useless and lord knows that wasn’t a good combination with their heightened emotions from the hormones. So many silly misunderstandings got caused by this.  However, after the last incident on the train just shortly after finding the last tomb, it was agreed on that from here on out it was too risky for his partner to remain with the group. They stayed back with Aranea, who later took them back to Lucis and would wait for him.  Ignis comes back, and the both of them try to adjust to the new fate that’s been handed down to them. He hears the sadness in their voice when they say how short the days are getting and when it fades into nothing but a constant night. He can sense light and it saddens him when he stops noticing any adjustments through the day, but it’s only so much sadder when they talk about it. That’s not a world he wants them to live in, nor his child, and he’s not going to let anything stop him from changing the current state of it.  Once the child is a few years old, the two of them start to switch up who’s at home and who’s out to hunt. Ignis wishes this could be different, he wants more time with the both his partner and child, but he can at the very least cherish the time he gets with his kid when he’s back on his downtime.  He may be blind, but Ignis knows that his child is the most beautiful one in the world. And about the most spoiled as well…

—————————-

The Amicitia line has not been one to so quickly abandoned any of their own flesh and blood. And Gladio isn’t wanting to be the one who changes that now. If Gladio didn’t know better, just by the thought alone he could swear that the spirits of his parents where there behind him and breathing down his neck, ready to shake their heads in disappointment over the possibility of it.  But the problem here wasn’t that he didn’t want to be in his child’s life (the child was his, he ought to be there for them), but it’s that his ex partner… isn’t so keen on the idea.  “I’m fine Gladio. I’ve been taking care of the kid just fine on my own so far, I don’t need your help.”  “It’s not a matter of help-”  “I know…” They interrupted.  “It’s probably a matter of pride.”   “Don’t start putting words in my mouth…”  They were set firmly in their stance and was trying to keep Gladio at arm’s length so to speak. Not that he could really blame them. That fight was more than enough to ruin what they had and keep it all strained. But it also didn’t help his case that they were already fairly independent too.  When they said they didn’t need him they meant it. With sheer determination alone he was sure they would make it through any struggle, and they were sure of that too. But again, it’s not a matter of need.  Nor obligation either. Gladio wanted to be a part of his own kids life and- “The kid needs a father,” he tries to reason- as far as he was concerned it was unfair for the child to not have both of them in their life. But as hard work as being a parent is he didn’t think it was fair for all responsibility to rest on their shoulders. He helped make this bed, he should be able to lie in it by splitting that duty.  But try as Gladio might, he was unable to sway them. However this was not the last of this they’d hear of the subject for he already vowed to come back when all is said and done.  And he does… When the world turns to darkness Gladio is desperate to know if the two of them are okay. Are they still alive? Are they okay? Where are they at and how are they managing? He finally finds the two out in the wilderness and somehow avoiding all the daemons as they try to travel to where it’s rumored to be safe.  That’s when things start to change.  They and Gladio aren’t exactly together, but they go back to being on decent terms. Enough so that they share their home with Gladio. They take turns on who goes out to hunt, which means Gladio gets to be a bigger part of his child’s life now since he watches over the kid while the other is out to fight daemons.

—————————-

  By the end of the day, it’s just the two of them; them and Prompto. And if there was one thing they could take any kind of comfort in it’s that at least they still have him… They have him.  And Prompto still can’t to help but to be a worrywart about them either. He’s so far away now that he’s convinced them to go back to hammerhead. But it’s where they’ll be safe, back with Cid and Cindy, and Takka too. Just he sometimes he wonders if maybe he wasn’t being selfish about sending them away, and he feels guilty for not being around to keep an eye on them and make sure they’ll be okay.  But he keeps calling in every day. Or at least tries to; sometimes he gets so exhausted that he finally sits down and passes out nigh instantly, and remains out for the rest of that night and until the middle of the next day. Which is something he always profusely apologizes for.  “It won’t be like this for long! I promise I’ll be back to you in the blink of an eye!” He promises once he’s back that the both of them can start making plans.  The plans, however, was going from Hammerhead to Lestallum once Eos found itself lost. Naturally it was something Prompto was already going to suggest with the daemons being everywhere (though Hammerhead was always bright and safe) just because he wanted them to be safe. But doubly so now that they were with child and it wouldn’t be too long before he was a father. He wanted to ensure that day would come.  Though once the children had been born, Prompto took quite a bit of time away from the daemon hunting- something that him and Gladio had gotten into a spat over; him disapproving because Prompto should be out there fighting to help make sure the world was going to be safe. Stress and tension had been high and Prompto understood that, but he didn’t stand for being told if he really loved or cared then he should be out their taking a stand and risking himself… His partner needed this time with him now more than ever, and so did his child. And him being around to help take care of the kids helped when it came to them and having to work through postpartum.  Prompto tries his best to be a good father during the time he’s getting to spend there. The children don’t understand everything of what he’s saying yet, they’re still too young for that yet, but that doesn’t stop him from telling about his journey to the little ones. Or from pampering them constantly.  The world might be dark, but there is those little bright moments where he falls asleep with one or both children resting on his chest- they break out his now-cracked camera to snap a quick one, or the fun of them getting to witness a baby puking on him for the first time.Eventually the day comes where he has to go back out; continue his training and go back to fight the good fight. It’s hard for him to depart his home like this, it’s hard on them all. But he must… He must.

[brightlotusmoon]

Sneak Peek, “The Spirit Within” #2

So, @lacrymosa99 had joyfully requested that I expand my TMNT 2012 Season 5 headcanon of “Leo and Mikey become Spiritual Intuition Bros, discover their powers together, have loads of fun, and hang out with Ghost Dad Splinter and become like psychic mediums for the family and Unfairly Departed Rat Dad, with hilarious results.” And I was all excited and got to work, because that does make for a really good story with tons of character development. I posted some of the start a few days back. Now I decided to post some more. Except it is still in the Angsty-Fluff stage, not the Sweet-Fluff stage or the Silly-Fluff. The boys gotta practice! And there are side effects! And Leo has no freaking clue what he’s doing! And Mikey may have all that raw talent but he needs discipline and commitment! And Donnie has a new toy! And I am actually learning to write Leo better because of this, I can totally sympathize with him for the first time without muttering “Wonder Boy” under my breath. Turns out, using Mikey as the focal point lets me dive into the turtle’s heads easily, as long as they care about Mikey, I can work with them like whoa. I shall also tag @jumpybox and @mysillylittlesoapbox because there was interest expressed, and Angel123, who doesn’t have a Tumblr. Not gonna apologize for repeated themes, because you should know me by now. This story, which when finished will become part two of The Sunshine Child series, is Canon Divergent. I shall be following the show for the most part, but these stories are meant to be supplemental and take place in that mysterious time lapse between episodes that Ciro loves to gloss over. Who knows what happens offscreen? They don’t really tell us. This is actually a good thing for us writers, because we can write little things that could or should happen in the show but obviously won’t. I am rambling. All right. Lacrymosa, I hope you like where this is going. I mean, you can totally ask for it to change, I give you permission since you made the request. But I have Plans and Plots, sooo. Yeah.

He waited a few days before testing his unspoken theory; he didn’t want to spook his brothers, But it was time now.

Leonardo settled himself before the dojo tree, calling up this new spiritual power like the flow of a river. He sensed Michelangelo kneeling beside him, and that rush of spiritual power from his baby brother was like a burst of oxygen, blooming life and warmth and sunlight. He reminded himself to not feel envy or jealousy. It was just Mikey.

Mikey spoke in a whisper, but to Leo it was a shout. “It’s like my whole brain just expanded and I feel everything.”

Leo frowned. That wasn’t quite his experience; his spiritual feelers were more refined and detailed, seeking out information. Mikey’s seemed more like a solid mist spreading everywhere, eager and childlike in curiosity. How deeply could Mikey sense things? Has Sensei known all this time? Should Leo have known? Why hadn’t Sensei prepared him for something like this?

Sighing, Leo bit his lip, huffed, and concentrated again. His aura rose around him, streamlined and steady, taut and waiting, patient and quiet. It hummed comfortingly.

And then that flowing sunset orange mist nudged it, carefully wrapping around the edges of Leo’s energy, prodding so gently, trying to find a way to ask politely. Leo reminded himself to relax completely. Mikey had an insatiably curious nature, naturally his spiritual energy would be the same. But Master Splinter had never mentioned auras being able to expand so rapidly outside their own boundaries.

“Mikey,” he hissed. “Quit poking me.”

“M’not,” Mikey hissed back. “It’s doing that by itself.”

“What, you can’t control it?” Leo jerked back in horror, his eyes snapped open, his head whipping to the side.

Michelangelo slowly opened his eyes and turned to smile at Leo. It was a kind, gentle smile, easy and delicate. Something in his eyes…his pupils were dilated and the strips of summer blue were glittering. “I never said that,” and Mikey’s voice was different, soft and sweet like a kitten’s purr. Leo blinked, and sunset color surrounded Mikey, tapping and bouncing against his skin like waves. Around his head, the aura looked like a radiating star, like a solar eclipse with Mikey’s head as the moon. Mikey opened his mouth in a grin, and the color was there too, puffing like vapor from his mouth.

“Leo,” the colors said, “Don’t worry. It’s all good. Everything is awesome.”

Leo watched as Mikey’s aura only brightened and widened, spilling out into the dojo, colliding with the tree and lighting it up with colors he had only seen in outer space. He couldn’t breathe. He pressed both hands to his chest. It was too much. As Leo felt himself slide sideways, he saw a white core of power, ringed in summer blue, the color of his brother’s eyes.

 . . . .

“…eo? Leo, I’m sorry. You gotta wake up. Can you hear me? Please, big brother, we need you!”

It was Mikey’s voice, but it was Mikey as a child, tormented by endless nightmares, scrabbling to cling to Leonardo’s plastron in tears, and Leo would automatically embrace him tightly, so tightly, and murmur, “Shh, little brother. I’m here. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll always keep you safe.”

“Guys, did you hear that? He said something!”

“Are you sure, Mikey? He hasn’t even moved in six hours.”

“Donnie, I swear, he said something! Leo, say it again? Leo! Leo, please! Wake up, wake up!”

“Mikey, don’t shake him! Quit it, ya shellhead. What did you do again?”

“Stop it, Raph, I didn’t do anything, I swear! No! Lemme go! Leo!”

“Ow! Mikey! Stop hitting me!”

“Raph, ease up. Maybe Mikey can connect with him. They were meditating with their new spiritual intuitions, after all.”

“It’s been six hours, Don. Ya think something would’ve, y’know, happened?”

“M-maybe he’s lost. In the colors.”

“Mikey, you’re making less sense than usual.”

There was blackness, then whiteness, then a rush of colors like a rainbow erupting. His own dark gray-blue, Mikey’s amber orange, Donnie’s soft violet purple, Raph’s deep crimson red. They danced around each other frenetically, and the orange fringed them all, mist flowing like water and air, curling in a strange attempt to calm them.

“Leo, I had a bad dream, there was a big monster with teeth and he hurt Papa and then he tried to hurt you, and I couldn’t find Raphie or Donnie, and I was alone and no one could help…”

“Mikey, it wasn’t real, you know that. Dreams aren’t real. They’re all in your mind. Your mind wants to scare you so you can learn to be brave.” Those lamp-like eyes shone at him. “You’re already brave. I bet you don’t have nightmares.”

He smiled. “Of course I do Mikey. I have nightmares about losing all of you. But then I remember that I will wake up and you’ll all be here.”

The hug got tighter. “I’ll always be here, Leo. Promise you will be too?”

“I promise, Mikey…promise…s’okay…it’s okay…”

“LEO!” The shout was full of amber orange and he flinched. He felt something – someone – close to his head.

“Leo? Can you hear me?”

He groaned, his entire body feeling weighed down. “D-Don?”

“Oh, thank science. Can you open your eyes?”

“Nnngghh…” He pried his eyelids open and his vision was filled with russet eyes framed in purple. He decided to try breathing, and was grateful when oxygen filled his lungs. “Donnie. Mikey? What happened?”

“Leeoo!” And then Mikey’s freckled face was all he could see as Donnie was shoved aside with a grunt. “Leo, what happened? What did you see? I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do whatever I did. It just went everywhere. I couldn’t figure out how to pull it back. I think I exploded you! I’m so so sor--”

“Mikey, Mikey…” As he struggled on his elbows, Leo realized he was lying on a mattress, still in the dojo, his head on a pillow. There was equipment lying around him. His head was pounding. He took several deep gulps of air and rolled his head, neck, shoulders. Everything seemed to be all right. He was just wrung out. Donnie was holding up a tablet-like device pointed at Leo.

“What is that, Don?”

“Hm? Oh, something Dr. Rockwell built for me. It scans the body and the brain like a CT scan. Neat, huh? Anyway, you’re completely fine, except you went into a near coma for six hours, and your brain activity was wild.”

“When did Rockwell build that?”

Don waved a hand. “I dunno, a week ago. I hadn’t gotten a chance to use it on anyone but myself. It uses Kraang tech to pinpoint accuracy, so I can tell if there’s internal damage, brain injury…plus, it helps keep track of April’s psionic powers. I figured I could track these new abilities you and Mikey have been displaying.”

“Don, can you look at me while you’re talking?”

“Sorry.” Donatello, glanced up from the screen, frowning. “Does anything hurt? Do you think you can stand up?”

Leo rubbed his head. “I’d love something for this migraine. Raph, help me up.”

Standing was much better than he had expected. Raph held onto him like he expected Leo to fall, but Leo squared his shoulders, cracked his neck, and sighed. Ugh, Sensei had not prepared him for this. “That feels better. Now. Mikey…”

And when he looked next to Donnie, he realized that Mikey had taken a few steps back and was trembling, head down, hands twisting.

“Mikey, wait. Hey. It’s okay. I’m fine.” Leo spread his arms, spun easily on one foot, grinned widely. But his littlest brother stayed, and the shaking increased, until there were tears at the corners of his eyes and tiny whimpers in the back of his throat.

Raphael ran to his side, throwing an arm around him, green eyes wide and alarmed. “Mikey, what’s the matter with you? Don’t tell me you’re gonna pass out too!”

But Mikey could only shake his head back and forth, and his breathing became harsh, and Raph was now embracing him completely, staring at Leo and Donnie in utter frustration and worry. “Donnie, use that thingy, quick! Make him stop!”

As Don scanned the freckled turtle, small beeps came from the tablet and Don jumped back, frowning. “Wait, I don’t get…hang on…there’s a massive energy fluctuation! Can you hold him still? I need to bring this closer to his head…”

Leo began to feel the rush of his spiritual energy flow and expand, and this time it felt insistent, impatient, searching. All he could do was hang on and watch as his aura moved toward Mikey’s aura, which responded by widening and enfolding Leo’s own. Leo gawped, watching the colors curl and wrap around each other. But then, dark spots began to appear in Mikey’s orange, and Leo suddenly felt chilled. His blue appeared to be trying to cover the spots.

Donnie was tapping furiously on the screen. “It’s like an electric storm. It looks like his neurons are rapidly misfiring.”

“English, please!” Raph snarled.

“I think he’s having some sort of seizure!” Don yelled. And then Mikey let out a strangled scream and slumped bonelessly in Raph’s arms.

Leo’s scream was just as strangled.

Sensei hadn’t prepared him for this!

[gldngrl7]

Karamel Fic: Permission to Flourish (1/11)

Title: Permission to Flourish

Author: gldngrl7

Date Started: February 12, 2017

Rating: T for Teen (I know!  I can’t believe it either!)

  Author’s Notes:  

This story is the sequel to Bulletproof. Please read that one-shot before diving into this one.

I swear – sometimes I have no idea where some stories come from – and this is one of those stories that’s a complete mystery to me. It just came to me not long after writing Bulletproof of the vocation where Mon-El would find his calling after leaving National City and I just couldn’t NOT write it.

There is angst in this story but I promise a happy ending.

There’s a few original characters in this story. I hope you like them.  I hope you love them.

Comments are welcomed, flames are destroyed with my freeze breath.

  Chapter 1/11

         I've been around for you

                       I've been up and down for you

                                         But I just can't get any relief

        I've swallowed my pride for you

                        I've lived and I’ve lied for you

                                         But you still make me feel like a thief

         You got me stealing your love away

                           'Cause you never give it

                                           Peeling the years away and we can't relive it

           I make you laugh

                    And you make me cry

                                            I believe it's time for me to fly

       --REO Speedwagon - “Time for Me to Fly”

  Six years after leaving National City:

Mike Matthews’ day job was stressful and noisy and, not infrequently, leaked into his nighttime, despite his ability to work efficiently and occasionally at super speed when not observed by others. So when he had time alone in the peace and quiet of his secluded garage apartment, he liked to veg in front of the television – at least during weeknights.  He flipped on the television to watch a favorite sci-fi program – the one indulgence he seemed to be allowed during his busy week.  But just as he got comfortable, his hand tucked behind his head on the couch, his show cut away and a news crawl immediately appeared on the screen.

A nationally recognized news anchor appeared on the screen, her face stricken and pale.  Mike knew immediately something was horribly awry somewhere and straightened up, sitting at the edge of his seat.

“Breaking news from National City this evening.  Reports are pouring in, confirming that…what appears to be alien spaceships have arrived on the outskirts of the city near the Port.  We are hearing reports that these aliens are hostile – I repeat…they are hostile.  Forces are gathering in the city to repel the aliens at this time, with Supergirl being at the forefront of this fight…..”

The news report droned on but Mike heard none of it, his attention diverted by the buzzing of his cell phone on the coffee table. Sensing who was on the other end of the call, he answered it in a flash.  “I’m watching,” he announced, before the caller could even ask.  “Am I ready for this?  I don’t see how I have a choice.”  Mike whisked out of the room and returned with a duffel bag, dropping it on the floor at his feet.    “I’m already getting my things.  Just going to lock up before I leave.  See you there?”  Mike hung up the phone and dropped it into his bag.

It took less than a handful of seconds to lock the deadbolts on his door, hoist the duffel over his shoulder and take to the sky like he’d never known anything else.

*****

 Dominators!  He should have known.  After Kara fought the Dominators years ago on Earth Prime, it seemed only a matter of time before they’d show up here on Earth-38.  Arriving just in the nick of time to join the fight, as Supergirl, Superman and Martian Manhunter, along with a throng of heroes he’d never seen before, struggled to bring down a horde of berserkers, Valor wasted no time jumping into the fray.  And ‘fray’ it was, to be sure.  It appeared Supergirl and her team had invited others to their fight, including heroes he could only assume were her allies from another Earth.  Mike caught sight of Guardian fending off a Dominator with his shield, as well as Alex using her powered exoskeleton to toss one of the aliens into the waiting blast of fire from a man he can only assume was Heatwave.

He hovered over the Dominator shuttle plying it with his heat vision until is sputtered and then exploded.  Gathered Dominators stopped for a moment, realizing that their ride back to the mothership just bit the dust, which allowed Valor to invite himself to the party.  Landing on the ground, he puts his weight behind a single punch that sent one careening back into the ship’s fire.

“One down,” he told himself.

“Behind you,” someone shouted.  An orange streak flashed before his eyes and the apparent Dominator behind him disappeared to…he didn’t know where.

A second later, the orange flash materialized into a person beside him.  “I’m Barry,” the man in the blood red suit announced, an open grin on his masked face.

“Ah!”  Mike immediately recognized the name as the speedster from Earth Prime who befriended Kara long before Mike’s arrival on this planet.  “Barry Allen…nice to meet you finally.  I’m Mike…uh…Valor,” he indicated his suit.  “Is there a plan here?”

Barry tossed him a small bag.  “Put one of these behind the ear of each Dominator you come across.  Other than that, knock them around until the tech geniuses get their stuff set up. Then get clear when we get the signal.”

“And the signal is…?”

“You have super hearing?” the speedster asked.

“Yes.”

“Then keep your ears tuned to the comms. You’ll hear the signal when it comes,” he answered cryptically.

So they went to hand-to-hand, taking out the horde and trying to stay alive.  Dominators were extremely strong, their strength rivaling that of Superman, Supergirl and Valor, so as they fought, it was best to avoid physical contact whatsoever. He concentrated on using his speed to place the tiny transmitters.  At one point he looked around, but Supergirl was nowhere to be found.

An ally went down and Mike went after her, pulling her from the melee of attacking aliens.  He dragged her from beneath the body of a Dominator and removed her from the fight. She looked up at him and smiled behind her red mask.  “I’m Speedy and you can fly.”

“Valor,” he provided his codename for her. “And…yes I can.”

“Cool.”

“Are you okay?” he shouted over the noise.

“I’ve had worse,” she pluckily replied, rubbing at an injured shoulder.  She came off as much more petite than she actually was, and she wore an outfit made of thick red leather.  Whipping an arrow out of her quiver attached to her back, Speedy notched it into her bow. “Thanks for the assist, but there’s no rest for the wicked,” she said with a roguish smile, before diving back into the fight.

Valor flew up for an overhead view, taking out a few Dominators with his heat vision and by diving down upon them with his super speed and a punch combination.  It went on and on, a seemingly endless supply of attacking Dominators, until finally the signal was given and Mike soared above the crowd to watch as high pitched whine pass over the city in a giant wave, taking out all of the remaining Dominators.  The creatures grabbed for their “ears” and screeched in pain before crumpling to the ground, dead.

When it was over, he dropped like a stone, slamming feet first into the pavement, his knees bending to absorb the impact, his royal blue cape fluttering dramatically around him.  Clark was the first to approach him, their matching grins telling the tale of a long-held friendship.

“Clark,” he greeted, joyfully.  Clark’s impossibly strong arms wrapped him in a welcome embrace, his hands slapping Mike powerfully on the back.  Mike returned the embrace with equal back-slapping fervor, as men do.

“What kept you?” Clark joked.

“Can’t believe you started the party without me?” Mike shook his head.

“Well, if you hadn’t decided you needed to make a dramatic and well-timed entrance….”

“I’m on the other side of the country,” Mike reminded his friend and mentor.  “Philadelphia isn’t exactly a stone’s throw.  Besides, it looks like you had everything handled.”

“Come and meet the rest,” Clark grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the milling crowd.  He took them through each of their names, assuming that the others had already experienced their introductions.  He had already met Barry and Speedy, but there was also Vibe, Black Canary, Mr. Terrific, Wild Dog, Jesse Quick, as well as the team of time travelers that included Heatwave, Vixen, White Canary and Firestorm.

He looked for her.  Surreptitiously, unwillingly, his eyes darting away from each face, hoping to find hers somewhere in the crowd, but to no avail.  He felt his heart sink, though he hadn’t been wholly unaware of the hope he’d been carrying within.  Even through the supersonic flight to National City, he hadn’t really taken the time to truly consider seeing her again.  He’d been more concerned about an alien attack and what it might mean.  Or maybe he hadn’t wanted to examine the possibility too closely.  

“She’s with J’onn and Bruce,” Clark told him.

“I wasn’t—“

“You were,” Clark insisted firmly.  Mike’s shoulders slumped with defeat, finally admitting to himself that his heart had been searching for her in the crowd. “It’s okay,” Clark said, his hand grasping Mike’s shoulders in comfort.  “She’s returned to the DEO.  They managed to capture a Dominator and they wanted to secure it before interrogating it. Kara’s there to keep Bruce from killing it.”

“I see.”

“Do you want to join them?” Clark asked, expecting his friend to jump at the chance to see Kara again.

“No,” Mike replied, shaking his head and taking a step back.  “Probably not a good idea.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Clark exclaimed. “You’re going to come all this way and not even see her?  After six years?”

“Just a coward, I guess,” he shrugged, a kernel of truth hiding beneath the sarcasm.

“She doesn’t think that about you, Mike.”

“Doesn’t matter anyway,” Mike said, placing his hands on his hips.  “It’s been six years.  Maybe it’s best if we just…forget.”

‘Then why haven’t you done that already?” Clark needled him.  “You think I haven’t noticed that there hasn’t been anyone in your life?”

‘There has—“

“Anyone real, I meant.  Sure, there have been dates here and there, but no one you’ve considered committing to long-term.”

“You know as well as I do, it’s not that easy.  Not every woman is like Lois,” Mike pointed out. He hadn’t seen Lois in over nine months, not since Samuel was born, and though they emailed on a weekly basis he still missed her.  She was the big sister he’d never had.

“You’ll never find your Lois if you don’t try,” Clark argued.

“How do you--?”

“I know you,” Clark cut him off.  “I know you – maybe even better than you know yourself. Maybe you’re not looking because you know you’ve already found her.”

“C’mon, Clark,” Mike begged, studying the tips of his blue boots.

“I know it’s hard,” Clark placed a hand on Mike’s shoulder.  “The first step is the hardest.”

Mike considered Clark’s position a moment before shaking his head.  “I can’t,” he decided.  “I just…can’t.  I’m sorry if that disappoints you.”

“You could never disappoint me,” Clark promised, a sad smile on his face.  “If you’re not ready, you’re not ready.  I’ll tell her.”

“Damn it, Clark!”

“She asks about you,” Clark confessed.  “When you were training, I made a promise to you that I wouldn’t talk about what we were doing or how you were progressing.  And I’ve kept that promise, even though it made her angry.  But those days are gone and all she wants is to know how you are.”

“Really?” Mike asked.  Why would she possibly want to know about his life?  He left after coming to the realization that she would never feel about him the way he felt about her.  He wanted to respect and honor that, so he removed himself from her sphere in hopes of easing her awkward discomfort.  “Why?”

“She cares about you, Mike,” Clark replied. “Maybe your leaving made her realize just how much….”

“No,” Mike shook his head.  “She was very clear.  She did not have those kinds of feelings for me.”

“We have a saying here on Earth about absence making the heart grow fonder.”

“I don’t want ‘fond’,” Mike answered, sadly.  “I never did.”

Clark tilted his head to one side for a second and listened to something outside of the human range of hearing.  Mike attempted to tune in, but without knowing where to focus, Clark could be listening to a football game on a television set three miles away for all he knew.

“Apparently defending the Earth against alien invaders makes the humans hungry.  Big Belly Burger?”

“Nah,” he answered, nonchalantly.  “I’m not—“

 “You don’t need to rush back,” Clark said, ramping up a pitch to convince him to stay, that Mike already knew was going to succeed.  Mike rarely denied Clark anything.  Logically, he knew that Clark was simply playing for time, in an effort to get Mike to stick around for a while longer.  Time he would use to try to convince him to see Kara, or worse, orchestrate an ‘accidental’ meeting.  But he’d rarely been able to withstand a full on Clark Kent Mid-western charm offensive. “Stay for one meal.  Meet the rest of the gang.  Get to know them for five minutes.  I know they have a lot of questions about you.”  Clark chuckled, indicating that Mike was going to be in for an intense but friendly interrogation, before adding, “You just flew three thousand miles across country at hypersonic speeds and then fought a cadre of Dominators.  You need to eat.  I insist. I’ll even pay.”  Clark used his mentor voice, which made staying for dinner non-negotiable, but then lightened the conversational tone by grinning, “And I’m sure Bruce would love to see you.”

“Great,” Mike sighed, his voice notably lacking in enthusiasm.  He had a complicated relationship with Bruce Wayne, a.k.a. The Dark Knight.  They were allies and, with Philadelphia being closer to Gotham than Metropolis, had proved over time that they would always have each other’s back when in a tight spot.  

But Bruce wasn’t his friend, so much as he was Clark’s and it was a dynamic not unlike befriending the best friend of one’s older sibling.  While anyone who gave Mike a hard time would feel Clark’s wrath, Bruce was given carte blanche in this arena and took a nearly sadistic pleasure in running roughshod over Mike at every opportunity.

“Clark, please tell me you haven’t told Bruce about what happened with me and Kara six years ago,” Mike’s stormy grey eyes begged. Between the three of them, Kara hadn’t been a forbidden subject, after all, she was Clark’s beloved cousin.  But Mike had always steered clear of divulging the specifics of the night that drove him away from National City.  Away from her.  Instead, Mike had always chosen to speak of Kara’s positive qualities whenever the subject came up in Bruce’s presence.  To that day, Clark and Lois were the only ones that knew the full extent of Mike’s heartbreak.

Clark’s grimace was all the answer that Mike needed to his query, but he compounded the already sinking feeling in Mike’s gut by adding, “How could I predict that a situation like this would bring us all together?”

“How could you not? This,” Mike indicated the field of battle, strewn with Dominator corpses, “was bound to happen sooner or later.”

Clark looked around and nodded.  “Point taken.”

“All you did was give him ammunition.”

“You know he’s just baiting you.  You should try standing up to him.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s just baiting me.”

After a moment a wide grin spread across Clark’s face, and he sighed in a somewhat melodramatic fashion, a hand over his heart. “The student has become the master.  I couldn’t be more proud.  I’ll tell him he can knock it off now.”

Mike did a double-take, his eyes widening to a nearly impossible size.   “Are you kidding me?” he asked, stupefied.  “This is all been some sort of an elaborate test?”

Clark’s laugh was hardy and unrepentant, his eyes sparkling with mirth.  “In the beginning it was just supposed to be a joke, but then it just became a kind of tradition.  We wanted to see what it would take to break you…but we never could.”

“Good to know I make an excellent verbal punching bag.”

“Hey,” Clark defended.  “It wasn’t without purpose.  You’ve seen how it can be, people wanting to tear you down even though all you want to do is help them.  Sometimes it’s hard not to lash out, not to get angry—sometimes it’s hard not to say, ‘I quit.  These people can save themselves.’  Bruce and I just wanted to thicken your skin a bit, especially in light of the reason you came to me in the first place.”

“My skin wasn’t the problem,” Mike pointed out. “It was my heart.”

“Well, you know what I think.  You’ve made your heart so bulletproof nothing’s getting through, and that’s no way to live.  You need something to remind you of why you keeping fighting.”

“I have something,” Mike reminded his friend.  “I have twenty-four somethings, which is why I need to get back to Philly sooner rather than later.”

“Let’s get changed and we can meet the others at Big Belly.  It’s just a few blocks down.” Clark threw an arm over Mike’s shoulder and led him from the field of battle, leaving the agents of the DEO to clean up the mess.

TBC

[bladestruck-info]

RULES

Hey, welcome to my rules! These are here to make clear my expectations up front so you can make an informed decision about whether we’d get along as rp partners before following me, so thanks in advance for reading!

01. I reserve the right to unfollow at any time and for any reason.

I do not owe an explanation. I reserve the right to revoke my consent to an interaction at any time. Reasons I may choose to unfollow include:

After spending a little time getting to know you, I can’t see us interacting or vibing well as partners.

You’re not a bad person, but the things you post wear me out. Too much ooc, too much vaguecanoning other peoples’ headcanons or characterization, too much negativity, or you post too many emotionally manipulative posts ( which I have an extremely low tolerance for for personal reasons ).

You’re a bad person. You’re racist, sexist, any kind of -phobic, controlling, or your behavior sends up red flags that you may be an abusive person behind closed doors.

I will likely softblock you if I have chosen to unfollow you to prevent confusion. Do not approach me asking if/why I softblocked you. The ‘unfollow glitch’ is a myth. If for some unlikely reason I ‘accidentally’ unfollowed you I will probably figure it out eventually and refollow.

I can and will block at my discretion for the purpose of restricting your access to me and my blog. Trying to smear me for doing so is manipulative and just proves I made the right choice. Simply put, a block means I don’t want to interact with you and I don’t want you interacting with me.

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Please don’t like my starter calls or send me ic memes unless we’re following each other. I will ignore ic asks from non-mutuals. I have a hard time keeping up with new followers, but generally try to check every once in a while, so if I don’t follow you back within about 2~ weeks, I probably will not be choosing to follow you. Just know if I don’t follow you back or I turn down an rp request, it’s nothing personal. We may just not be compatible as rp partners and that’s fine.

To keep my dash from devolving into chaos, I will generally only follow back characters based in canons I know ( i.e. Dragon Age, Horizon Zero Dawn, The Witcher, et cetera. This does not include any other Final Fantasy games, because I haven’t played them! Sorry. )

03. Dupes.

I may not always follow back since I don’t really do twinverses and want to keep my dash tidy, but I love you! I support you! You’re great and keep doing what you’re doing.

I do ask that you stay in your lane and I’ll stay in mine—don’t steal from me, don’t flip out all over the dash about your insecurities, don’t ‘competitively headcanon’ at me, don’t vague me because you think my characterization is wrong ( I’m Right™. I’ll bring receipts to prove it. Seriously, just don’t pick that fight ). We all have equal right to be here, so all I ask is that we share this space amenably.

04. My blog is 18+.

I will only follow back and interact with users over the age of 18. I likely won’t follow back if you don’t list your age as 18+ somewhere on your blog.

05. I don’t practice exclusivity in any form.

This includes ship exclusivity. I am not at all comfortable with the practice and would prefer to avoid it - I consider this a hobby, not a dating relationship. If you require ship exclusivity from your partners, I won’t ship with you; if you require general exclusivity from your partners, I won’t rp with you at all. If you’re not comfortable with my interacting with other roleplayers (particularly of the same character) in whatever way I please, I’d suggest not following.

06. Shipping!

I don’t care about your ships, do what you want, it’s none of my business. I play Noct as bisexual and am open to a lot of possibilities, barring a few squicks ( i.e. Ardynoct ), and obviously I won’t ship anything involving underage characters ( i.e. Iris, even with the timeskip ).

I don’t default to Luna as a ‘canon’ ship, but Noct still cares deeply about her, even if he’s not sure if those feelings are necessarily romantic ( and I’m not eliminating the possibility, so they could be! ). Some ships are just going to be a lot easier for me to jump right into ( Luna, any of the Bros ) than, say, ships with characters Noct has little to no interaction with, but if we’ve interacted a bit, have good writing chemistry, and you’re wondering about a possible ship, just ask! The worst I can say is no thanks.

P.S. Just as a general heads’ up, continuously hinting at/dancing around a desire to ship with me ( or trying to bait me into giving you a greenlight ) without ever asking outright is a major peeve and tends to turn me way off of ever shipping with you, as this places the burden of being direct on me while also refusing me the opportunity to tell you ‘no’ if I’m not into it. Please do both of us the courtesy of being up front instead of passively pushy.

07. About smut.

I am 21+ and may occasionally write nsfw content on this blog, but it’s not my main interest and I will generally only play out smut with trusted ship partners I’ve known for a while, or occasionally for memes. I do not accept unplotted smut threads. This doesn’t mean I’m opposed to writing smut! I’ll happily write it, but there has to be more in it for me than just the smut, because I’m Very Asexual™ and writing pwp is like watching paint dry for me. Thus I’m highly selective about who I write smut with and when.

08. Formatting

I use smalltext and game icons I made myself, but I don’t heavily format other than that. I don’t mind whatever formatting you want to use, but I probably won’t match it. Exception: if you have any kind of visual impairment that makes it hard for you to read my posts, let me know and I’ll absolutely adjust to accommodate your needs.

About me: Ruddy, she/her, 21+, EST. I’m a full-time graphic designer who works 9-5 Mondays through Fridays, so I’m really only online in the evenings and on weekends. Add to this the 938439843 mental/physical health issues I’m progressively dealing with and it means I’m pretty much always low on spoons and super slow. It’s not you, it’s me, I love you, I promise.

Tongue in cheek is my Brand and if I ever stop making Hamlet jokes on this blog, assume I’ve shaken off my mortal coil.

Credit: Icon psd by Crystalia Icons. Background graphic is a visual homage to the promo for NeedtoBreathe’s single Brother, which is a hella big FFXV mood. Credit to Wonders of Eos for a few of the screenshots I used to make my icons. Finally, all icons were made by me, mostly with my own screenshots, and are not free for use. Trust me, if you don’t think I’ll find out: I will. Even if you steal from my dreamwidth journal (surprise, I am everywhere and practically omniscient).