#but it’s fitting the title was usurped by the uh

[monkiimoment]

man. i miss azure lion. i rlly oughta draw him i still haven’t done that

[coralinnii]

If you’re a villain, then let me be your accomplice feat: Leona genre: romance note: sequel to "being reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy", reader is interpreted as extremely ticklish, roughly 1.6k words,

series masterlist

this was fun to write

Ever since you mysteriously found yourself here, you’ve adjusted fairly well into the world. You had a lot of leeway in learning the world since your character was already an outsider marrying into the royal family of a different kingdom. But your active work as part of the royal family and your unyielding personality, you’ve gained the respect of the people, even earning a title to your name. 

“If it isn’t ‘The Hidden Claws of the palace” your husband snickered at your mortified groaning into your hands. 

“Oh shut up, will you” and Leona doesn’t, even when you shove him. 

Embarrassing nicknames aside, you were happy the citizens had accepted you as their own, which irks the nobles that still hopes to steal the king’s power away from Farena and his son. Because the current King is looking more favorable due to your support, the nobles switch their tactics from luring Leona to destroying you. 

Now, attempts on your life is not an option as you were sent as a peace treaty between your kingdom and the Sunset Savanna and as strong as the kingdom is, war is too expensive and destructive. So, their option is to ruin your reputation.

At first,  the children of the nobles work to isolate you, hoping to break your spirit and perhaps send you into a shameful and destructive rage which would benefit them. 

However, to you these attempts were child’s play and admittedly pathetic in your eyes. To begin with, you never cared to fit in with the world of high society as your upbringing before your arrival here was anything but. You never attempted to socialize with the haughty nobles and with your standing as royalty, you don’t even need to. In fact, you’d think that being raised as nobles they would know that it was considered a felony to spread falsehood about the royal family. 

“Do they not realise I could have them whipped and jailed if I wanted to” you calmly take a sip from your glass as you stand by the side, with Leona next to you. The giggling hens across pointedly stare at you while whispering to themselves, though their actions were obvious to all.

“I’d say you should, make the place a whole lot quieter” your husband let out a growl, his hold on his fragile glass seemed dangerously tight. 

Still, you wouldn’t fall for such blatant baiting. Plus, your positive portrayal in the public eye seems to leave the rumors moot in the end, their tactics a pathetic failure.

However, you still offered a letter to the gossiping nobility a tour of the palace, particularly the armory where your family’s weapons are placed and ready. To show off your husband’s strength and your skills with a whip.

Slander from the noble class failed, so the usurpers thought to turn to the common folk. What could they do to have you seen as an unworthy addition to the family? 

“How about a scandalous affair? The peaceful union tainted by infidelity?” 

This time, their efforts really did irk you as scores of handsome and beautiful people of all backgrounds suddenly appeared before you in hopes to grab your attention. They would always arrive whenever you have time to yourself, away from Leona or any other royal family, trying to woo you with cheap words and lackluster acts of "admiration". 

“You’re not even a quarter as beautiful as Leona. My husband looks better yawning than you have all day with all your preening” you ruthlessly called your guards to escort these eyesores from your sight, leaving you more exhausted than you’ve ever been. 

“Leona, I need a full-time guard. Someone tall and intimidating, but loyal and not a jerk” you expressed your concerns with Leona during your tea time with him, playing chess in the royal gardens as you two always did. 

“Why bother? Just stick with me, problem solved” 

“Nuh uh, you’re actually taking your responsibilities seriously and I can’t be a burden like that” Leona wanted to argue that you would be no such thing but you continued on “Besides, I have my own duties to attend to. I just need an escort” 

And so, Leona handed the assignment to Jack, a new knight who fits your criteria perfectly. His tall stature and gruff appearance wards off most of your pesky “admirers” and the braver ones were quickly blocked from your sight due to the young knight’s quick reflexes. To your added delight, Jack was also a sweet conversation partner during the less disrupted hours, and soon the two of you learned much of each other such as your shared admiration for Leona, and Jack’s adorable hobby of cactus care. 

You were so happy with your arrangement that you couldn’t stop your delight from escaping, to the chagrin of your husband. 

“Jack is a little shy about expressing his feelings but he’s still amazing to be around with!” you gushed over your new companion as you and Leona got ready for sleep together. Tonight was one of the nights where you two would share a room to present an image of an intimate couple. Nothing has ever happened during these nights but things have gotten comfortable, much less awkward than your first night on your wedding day. You learned Leona prefers less clothes to sleep. 

“I wouldn’t imagine a man like him working as a knight, he may be strong but he’s surprisingly sweet. I should get him a present” given your experience with the other knights under Leona’s wing, Jack Howl was certainly the most pleasant to be around.

“What for?” Leona’s tail whipped around in agitation “Damn kid’s just doing his job.” 

Since he saw you, you kept on and on about his knight since his assignment as your guard. Sure, he’s glad enough you’re not complaining about his men but you’ve been praising that mutt like he was your husband instead, which did not sit well with him. 

“I’m just surprised, that’s all. I don’t meet many men that gentle, you know” you smiled recalling how he handles the flowers and pots at the flower store you visited with such care despite how rough his hands were. "He's a good man."

“Quit acting like that’s impressive. Watch” with that said, Leona reached out to you with both hands, firmly but gently holding onto your waist intending to pull you upwards and softly lay you down on the bed, one to prove a point and two, to end the conversation and get to sleep. But things did not go as he planned when he heard something unexpected, a high-pitched tone that pierced through the room.

“....”

"...."

The room went silent, with both of you unsure of the next move. You wanted to hide under the covers and erase the awkwardness but Leona still had a strong grip on you, who stared down at you with his bangs hiding his eyes leaving you unsure of his expression. 

Until he flexed his fingers around your waist again. 

“EEPP!” 

You squirmed in your husband’s grasp, desperate to escape this humiliating situation when you looked to clearly see Leona’s smug expression as he kept his grip on you, even audaciously moving around your body to find more ticklish spots. 

“Huh,” he smirked as he reveled in your form, disheveled in your attempts to flee. “Didn’t know I married a mouse” 

“I will rip that smugness off your face, Leona Kingscholar!” you screamed as you desperately push and pull your way out from Leona’s unrelenting onslaught of torture. You thanked the heavens that your room was far from anyone else as your shrieks continued.

The night felt like a blur to you, only recalling yourself passed out after what felt like hours of Leona’s relentless tickling. You knew Leona had a vindictive side but you haven’t a clue to what compelled him to torture you so. 

Walking the other way, you noticed your brother-in-law, Farena who saw you and waved with a smile. You in turn bowed in respect and smiled in return when you rose. 

“Good morning, King Farena” you greeted to which Farena shook his head graciously. 

“No need for that, we are a family” Farena said then nervously scratched the back of his neck before speaking once more. “As family, I was wondering if I could ask you a favor.” 

Your curiosity has peaked, the young King being this shy over a favor? 

“I understand how…passionate newlyweds can be, believe me I do” Farena smiled but his brows expressed a sense of embarrassment. “But perhaps you could convince Leona to be more discreet about your…nightly adventures” 

Your mind went into overdrive, picking every word and hint to Farena’s words that would clue you in to whatever the King was alluding to. Your mind kept drawing blank after blank, leaving you more confused before ultimately deciding to confront Leona about it. You quickly give your goodbyes to Farena before rushing over to Leona’s location. He left the shared room by the time you woke up that morning but you memorized his schedule to know that he should be at the palace’s training ground. 

And you were right as you saw your husband at the center of the training stage, ready to spar with the royal knights. He left his shirt off which you weren’t surprised over since you knew Leona hates uncomfortable wear, especially when it sticks to his skin. 

So there it was, in its shameful glory for all to see, including the knights who attempted their best to avoid staring, were lines of red markings across Leona’s shoulders and chest. While not bleeding, the redness contrast just enough with Leona's darker skin tone to show off how fresh the marks were made. In the darkness of the night, you couldn’t see the damage you left on Leona in your struggle to free yourself from Leona's grip and when he didn’t voice out his concerns, you were left unaware of such misleading marks. 

Sensing your presence, Leona turned to face you. With a smirk on his lips satisfied with your growing look of shame and embarrassment, Leona called out to you bringing the attention of the knights to you. “So, you finally woke up. Tough night last night?” 

New rumors has spread where now your name, “The Hidden Claws of the palace” has another meaning. 

[slash-em-up]

Marry Your Monsters pt. 1

L2R2 AU: Preston takes a different tactic in his quest to usurp the title of Chromeskull, dragging Mrs. Cromeans into the mix and throwing a once-happy marriage into turmoil.

This came to me at 3 AM this morning... Mainly because I feel like Mrs. Cromeans really got the short end of the stick in L2R2 and I wanted to do something about it.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Miranda Cromeans needed to pee. Again.  

She sighed deeply and glared at the blue glowing clock on the bedside table – it seemed to mock her as the text changed to read 3:05 AM.

The California King-size bed was nearly bare in the humid Florida night; but that didn’t stop the small trickle of sweat from rolling down Miranda’s neck as she pushed herself into a seated position and tilted to her feet.  

The swell of her pregnant belly offering a significant counter-weight and she took a moment to steady herself.

The nurse at her OBGYNs office had looked at her with sympathy when she told her that Jesse was 6’7”.  

Carrying around what amounted to a bowling ball on her stomach for seven months made Miranda understand the look better than she would have liked.

Shuffling to the bedrooms en-suite, she silently cursed her husband for ‘blessing’ her with his gargantuan offspring. Sure, when the baby came she’d love it and nurture it and probably be head over heels for the infant – but that was far from a comfort when she had to pee every hour, could barely fit her swollen feet into her shoes, and threw up at the slightest provocation.  

Pregnancy was great.  

‘And thank you, Jesse, for being here with me through the whole damn ordeal…’

Mentally, she scolded herself for that last thought. Miranda had always accepted that her husband’s work would force him away from her for long periods of time – it came with the territory when you were running your own company, and Jesse always made it up to her when he came back… but it had been nearly three months and she hadn’t even gotten a video-message from her erstwhile spouse. Even for them, that was a very long time…

A voice in the back of her head whispered meanly that it was a good thing that they’d both signed a prenup. Divorce would go a lot smoother that way.

Miranda shook her head to clear those invasive thoughts, as if the motion could literally knock them from her mind.  

Of course she didn’t want to divorce her husband; but what was she supposed to think when she’d only received brisk, one sentence texts from the man for fucking months?!

Waddling back to the bed, she stared longingly at the empty side of the mattress.

She missed him.

Missed his familiar weight at her back; missed the cheeky grin he’d sport after intentionally flustering her; missed the way he smelled; missed the way his eyes softened when he signed her name…

Damn, these hormones were turning her into a sap.

Grabbing her phone from the table Miranda quickly flipped through her texts, hoping for a message from Jesse. Of course there wasn’t, and she immediately felt worse for having checked.  

She opened up their message chain and tapped into the text box, fingers hovering over the letters she desperately wanted to type.

‘Where are you?’

‘I miss you’

‘Do you want to know the sex of the baby? You do remember we’re having a baby, right?’

Instead she wrote;

M: U up?

Fucking hell.

She nearly jumped out of her skin as the phone began to ring in her palm, Jesse’s picture on the screen.

Jesse was CALLING her?!

She pressed the green icon and tentatively raised the phone to her ear.

“…. Jesse?”

A voice answered.

“I’m afraid not Miranda. My name’s Preston – do you remember me?”

Miranda wracked her brain, vaguely recalling a handsome man she’d met some time ago in passing.

“Yeah… you work with my husband, right?”

She didn’t have to see his face to know the smile that could be heard in his voice was less than kind.

“Right. Well, I thought you should know, Jesse’s in the hospital. He’s had a... uh... pretty major accident, and, well… you should probably be here with him.”

A choked “What?!” was all that Miranda could manage as she struggled to sit up.

Her heart simultaneously dropping into her stomach and pounding harder than if she’d run a marathon.

“Where is he?! What happened? I’ll call a cab right now – what hospital is he in?”

Prestons tone didn’t match the level of urgency she was feeling and Miranda was beginning to resent him for it.

“He’s in a private medical facility on the west side. I’ll send a car around for you – pack a bag; you might want to stay for awhile.”

“Of course… please, send the car, I’ll be ready when they get here.”

She was already tossing items onto an overnight case. Pausing for a moment to gather her thoughts she quickly removed the six pairs of socks she’d unwittingly packed.

She needed to focus.  

Preston gave a perfunctory ‘goodbye’ before hanging up, but Miranda has already stopped listening.  

It was time to go see her husband.

[wildfaeworld]

Hey, are you still doing the Bad Things Bingo card? I'd like to request Hand Stomp with Keith if so! And maybe klance! Ty!!

Got a couple requests for this one! Sorry though anons, Keith gets neither Lance nor happiness in this one.   ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Fandom: Voltron Legendary Defender

Character(s): Keith, Zarkon

Length: 1607 words

Warnings: Blood, broken bones, explicit injury. Oh and uh, not a happy ending.

*PSST*: you can also read this on AO3.

Thank you @badthingshappenbingo for the card!

Keith knew loss. Its’ touchpreceded even his lucid memories, slipping through the door left ajar by hismother’s departure. It crept closer in the wake of the fire which took hisfather, and solidified its presence with every return to the social serviceoffices because another family hadn’t quite been able to make him fit.

It had wrapped cold, intimatefingers around his heart when Shiro had boarded the Kerberos craft, and it hadsqueezed, shredding and ripping into him, when the mission was declared afailure. Then it had settled, coiling deep into his bones and chilling himthrough the hot, dusty days in the desert.

He had driven it away when Shiroreturned, beating it back into a gentle, incessant what if by stickingto Shiro like a limpet, training long hours and throwing himself into bondingexercises with Red or formation practice with Voltron in single-mindedintensity that left no room for what if. But loss had been his bedfellowfor too long to ignore the abundant fodder of war.

So he shouldn’t have beensurprised, when Red’s touch stilled and faded to darkness as Zarkon blasted heracross the hull of his central command. He shouldn’t have ached, watching Blackbeing pushed through the wormhole by the other lions while Shiro’s screams torethrough his comms. But he was, and he did. Beyond the burn of his ribs and thescouring fire in his bones from augmenting Red’s reserves with his own spirit,Keith ached as the wormhole blinkedclosed.

And there, pinned under thewreckage of Red’s console, Keith met loss in corporeal form as Zarkon peeledRed’s hull apart. In the deeps of their bond, Red’s unconscious agony resoundedin thin and terrible counterpoint to his own at the deathly cacophony createdby Zarkon’s invasion of his lion.

“Did you see them go, RedPaladin?” The Galran emperor stalked into the cockpit, head tilted to clear theceiling. “Your team has abandoned you, little ember.”

Keith ignored him, strainingagainst the warped metal and melted glass trapping him. If he could just reachhis bayard-

Zarkon plucked the red and whiteweapon from its slot in the console and tucked it away into his armor. He rancoldly evaluating eyes over Keith, watching him struggle.

“The red lion has ever beenVoltron’s right hand,” he mused aloud. “It is the place of any leader tomeasure his subordinates. I measured Alfor, and I found him wanting. And now,little ember, I have measured you.” Abruptly, he was close too close, leaning over Keith’s pinned form to grasp his head inone gargantuan hand. Keith’s helmet cracked, shattering against his head andraining glass across his face as Zarkon squeezed. He shut his eyes against theprojectile rain, feeling the tips of Zarkon’s claws adorn his brow in a macabrediadem of blood.

“Little ember, you have beenweighed, and measured,” Zarkon crooned. “And you are not enough.” His handshifted to Keith’s chestplate, while the other wrapped around the twisted metalpinning Keith in place, and peeled it back. Keith groaned as metal slid out ofthe seat beneath him and up through the meat of his thighs. Blood, held incheck by the pressure that had immobilized him, now sheeted down his legs withmortal abandon.

“You are no right hand ofVoltron,” Zarkon finished, lifting Keith out of the pilot’s chair and dragginghim across the cockpit. “You usurp the title of Red Paladin, and will face myjudgment.”

“The black lion picked Shiro,”Keith wheezed, clawing instinctively, ineffectually, at the thick arm wrappedacross his chest. “It rejected you – Voltron measured you, and you’re the onefound wanting.”

Zarkon’s claws pierced his chestand back as the Galran emperor squeezed Keith in his grip. They stepped out ofthe mangled lion and into the central ship before the emperor replied.

“Little one,” he said finally,his tone a somber cadence to his measured tread through the halls of his ship.“Voltron was mine once and will be again. I was ancient before Voltron. I havewatched the birth of stars, and I have witnessed those same stars die. You andthe rest of your ragtag group, like those paltry few systems which still opposeme, are nothing more than children throwing a tantrum, thinking thathistrionics and drama will get them their way.”

Tall double doors slid openbefore them, and Keith flinched from the wall of noise. Galra generals of allshapes and sizes clustered in the great hall, clearing a path for Zarkon’sentrance as they cheered for him and screamed at Keith in equal measure.

Zarkon stalked up the length ofthe hall, pausing at the foot of the dais to turn and face the assembly. Thegathered generals silenced swiftly, their anticipation hanging thick andcloying in the recycled air. Blood dripped, swift and steady, to puddle atZarkon’s feet. Keith took the moment to breath through the pain of the gapingwounds in his legs, the holes in his torso, his head. This was just thebeginning, and he was determined that whatever Zarkon claimed, he would endthis as befitted a Paladin of Voltron.

Zarkon’s gaze drifted across thecrowd, gathering every scrap of their attention.

“My loyal subjects,” he began,“today we have witnessed Voltron’s latest act of chaos and defiance. They havedared attack me in my home, and though it suited my purposes to allow them toflee in cowardly defeat, I will no longer allow their posturing without a tokenof my disfavor.”

Amid the cheers that erupted, twodrones clanked forward to take Keith from Zarkon’s grip and hoist him high byeach arm, until he hung suspended for all to see.

“Behold!” Zarkon announced. “TheRed Paladin, Voltron’s right hand. The red lion even now lies imprisoned in myvaults. But for its pilot, my justice will be more immediate.”

Keith reeled under the wall ofsound, straining to pull air into lungs pulled tight by his suspended position.Dimly, he watched two more drones approach, bearing thick metal cuffs. Theyattached one to each wrist, and then to Keith’s brief confusion, the first twoset him on the ground. He staggered, his shredded legs unwilling to bear hisweight, and then the cuffs activated, magnets dragging his hands topredetermined points on the floor at the foot of the dais. Keith slammedface-first into the cold metal floor, his arms stretched out spread-eagled.Zarkon’s heavy tread echoed against the shell of his ear, stopping with dread finalitynext to his right hand.

“Voltron’s right hand is aposition of honor, of trust,” he said softly. “You, little ember, are notworthy.” Raising his voice, he addressed the assembly once more. “As withVoltron, so to paladin. Voltron has lost its right hand.” He raised his boot,bringing down to thunderous acclaim upon Keith’s right hand. Keith strangledhis scream, allowing only a hoarse groan to escape as he felt bones snap andtwist, sharp ends digging into his flesh as the Galran emperor ground his heelinto the back of Keith’s hand.

“As with Voltron, so to paladin,”Zarkon repeated, removing his boot and mounting the dais to take his throne.“My loyal generals, I invite you to partake of my justice.”

The Galra needed no moreinvitation. In eager brutality, the first general stalked forward, leering downat Keith. “Death to the enemies of the Galra,” he spat, bringing his bootedheel down upon Keith’s hand. Keith sucked in a sharp gasp, feeling two fingerssnap. The general spun on his heel, leaving a parting gift of spittle onKeith’s face before rejoining his place in the ranks.

The next general leapt in the airwith a shrill battle-cry to land two-footed on Keith’s hand. Keith breathedthrough the pain, feeling his last intact fingers snap.

The next stomp broke open theskin, tearing a gash across the back of his hand from the spikes embedded inthe third general’s boot.

After the fifth stomp, his handstarted to lose shape.

After the ninth, Keith couldn’tmove his fingers. His other limbs twitched spasmodically with each stomp,garnering jeering laughter from the Galra generals, but his hand had stoppedresponding beyond a constant, white-hot scream roaring up his nerve endings andbegging his mouth for release. He clamped his lips shut, refusing to give themthe final satisfaction of hearing him beg.

Keith fixed his gaze on his hand,watching skin break and bleed, feeling bones grind and shatter as general aftergeneral brought one or both feet down upon the mangled lump of flesh that usedto be his sword hand. Blood collected in the hollows of his skin, even as moreseeped from his legs and torso.

By the fifteenth stomp, Keith’sblood had pooled underneath the entirety of his body. The generals had to stepin it to get at his hand, now, and their departing footsteps left spiralingrecord of their visitations.

By the twenty-sixth stomp, Keith’shearing and vision were greying out. The world buzzed distantly under clear andpresent pain.

By the thirty-ninth stomp, Keithcouldn’t feel anything anymore. He watched, dimly surprised that he was stillawake, as feet descended on something that had once meant something to him.

Sometime between the forty-thirdand forty-seventh stomp, Keith started to slip.

It might have been after thefifty-second stomp that he lost count, but at that point he wasn’t sure.

It might have beensixty-eight stomps when his eyes slid closed, but no one was counting anymore.

[tanyawrites]

Kidnapped

**I know this isn’t another update to The Virus, but just something to keep things running smoothly. I was somewhat amused at myself, but it could have just been because it was late at night. We’ll see what happens. Hopefully, I can post a new update for The Virus soon. 

**I used a word prompt I found on Pinterest, “I’ve been kidnapped three times now. And frankly, it’s getting kind of old” I don’t have the link, but when i can remember my Pinterest info, I can link it to you guys. 

Alright, so being a princess kind of sucked. From the etiquette lessons, to the dress fittings, to the piano playing, it was boring and ridiculously tedious. All I wanted to do was sit in my bedroom or the library or in the garden and read my books. But being a princess, I had certain obligations that had to be met. For example, tonight, my family was hosting a ball in honor of a few of the neighboring princesses and princes coming of age. I was supposed to be there because it was my kingdom and I had to represent and practice being in charge. I had already done the “coming of age” ball. I had to stamp down my introverted side and bring out the fake smiles and fake laughs. Or so I’d hoped. As I thought about it, that stuff wasn’t even the worst part about being a princess.

           Being kidnapped was the worst part.

           As a princess, it wasn’t easy to keep everyone happy. In fact, it was rare that every single person was satisfied with what the royals do with the kingdom. And there’s always that one person who takes his or her anger too far. I sighed as I leaned against the wall from the cold hard floor. I wish I could say this was the first time, but by this point, I was getting used to it. It’s a wonder that I wasn’t locked in my room for safety nowadays, but my family always found the best in people. Who knew what he was trying to change? Usually they end up with a purse full of payment and a vow of silence on the matter instead, which tends to change their ways. This time, I didn’t think just money was going to work.

           The door opened a few moments later, letting in the soft lights of the torches from the hallway. The man in question was standing in silhouette with his arms crossed, watching me.

           “Can I go now?” I asked, annoyed at him and the situation. “I’ve been kidnapped three times now. And frankly, it’s getting kind of old.”

           “You can go, when I get what’s owed to me.” He said, matter-of-factly. “See, your family has power. And that power will help me to achieve what’s rightfully mine. And with Princess Lucille in my possession, I have all the power I need.”

           I rolled my eyes. “’And your family is going to get me what I want. I’ll get the ransom. Mwahahah!’” I mocked. “I’ve heard it all before. Just hurry it up. It’s cold in this room.”

           He glared at me through the darkness, though he did produce a small blanket from outside the door. He threw it at me and I covered myself with it. “You laugh, but with you here, I will get what I want, what I deserve.”

           I yawned. “And what would that be, oh great and powerful one?” I wasn’t sure how far I could push my luck, but I was willing to test the boundaries.

           I saw him stiffen before he answered. “My place of glory and honor, back in the king’s royal army.”

           My eyes widened. “That’s all? Really?” Most people wanted lower taxes, or new farm land, or higher wages. No one kidnapped me because they’d wanted to be a guard or a knight. Usually they just went to the king himself and asked him.

           “Well, I could have gotten you that!” I said, exasperated. “Let me go and I’ll have a talk with my father!” I tugged at the ropes that bound my hands to a grate on the wall.

           He chuckled and shook his head. “That won’t do anything. Aren’t you going to ask why I was taken out?”

           “Uh… Why were you taken out?”

           He seemed to stiffen even more. “I was wrongfully accused of treason. I’d caught one of the men spouting about his plan to usurp the throne from your parents. Before I could call them out in front of the king, someone else had done it first, but used my name instead of the real traitors’. But there wasn’t enough proof to really try me. So instead, I was thrown out, my title taken away, half my land sold to the man who ‘turned me in.’” He started pacing. “I had everything taken from me. All because one of your men is a traitor to the crown. That’s really why I kidnapped you. I thought you could help me find the real traitors.”

           I was shocked. Who would want to hurt us? For real, I mean, of course people found kidnapping me a useful tool for their gain, but no one was really going to hurt me, per say. Who was this man that was supposedly ready to take the throne right out from under our noses? Was he going to try and kill us to do it? I felt myself go cold at the thought of someone murdering us for the sake of political gain. I shook my head. Why was I believing this man to begin with? He could be lying, he could be trying to get close to my family to knock them right off the throne and claim the title of royalty for their own. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

           He shrugged. “You don’t. You’d have to trust me. But remember, trusting me is the only way that you’re going to get out of here. So, if you decide you can’t trust me, then I hope you aren’t afraid of the dark.”

           I thought for a moment. This man very well could be telling me the truth about the whole thing. But then again, on the other hand, he could be the real traitor looking for a way back in. I remember a few years ago hearing of the incident, but my father refused to tell me in greater detail what was happening, as he didn’t want to scare anyone. Then, after this man had been thrown out, we hadn’t heard anything again about being hurt or killed. Until now, that is. I could trust this man and get out of here and go home. However, if he’s lying, I could be bringing unsuspected danger to my family and if something bad were to happen, then I’d be at fault and I’d never get over it.

           After a moment or two more, I finally had made my decision. “Ok. Fine. On one condition: If you in anyway, even jokingly, say something about being ‘large and in charge’ of the kingdom, I will end you. I might be just a princess, but I do have ways of getting what I want.”

           He nodded, then took out a knife. He bent down and cut the rope on my hands. “Deal.”

           I rubbed my wrists where the rope cut into them and shot another glare at the man. “You know, I could have just talked to you.”

           He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’ve always been a little dramatic and I figured once you heard my story, you’d turn me in. I needed the ultimatum.”

           I nodded my head in understanding. He had a point. I wouldn’t have helped him, had he told me the story first. I needed motivation. But now that I was free, I didn’t feel the need to go running and alerting the town about this turn of events. I felt like I needed to trust this man, that I should help him. “Ok, so what do we do first? Go to my father?”

           The man shook his head. “No, not without proof. We need to find the men who were, and probably still are, planning on a hostile takeover. Otherwise, I’ll look like a loon and probably be thrown in prison, while your credibility will be destroyed, and I don’t want either of those things to happen. So, once we find the men responsible, we can work out a way to get your father to believe us.”

           “How do we find the men? Do you know who they were?” I asked as we walked out the door. “And another thing: Do you have a name?”

           “Vince. And yes. Have some names.”

           That name sounded familiar. I felt like I should know that name. Have we met before? If we did, maybe he didn’t want me to remember. If he did, he’d have mentioned it before. Maybe I’d let it go this time, but I was going to figure out if and when we’ve met in the past “Ok, lets head back home and see if I can find a list of names from the army in my father’s archives.”

           “Lead the way.”

****

We made it back into the palace a couple of hours later. I, unfortunately, had to sneak Vince into the palace, as he was still under the watchful eye of the guards. Even though there was no proof of treason, no one was going to let him just waltz back into the palace willy-nilly. As we walked up to the archive room, I began to think back, trying to remember this man standing next to me. I was afraid to ask. There had to be a reason that I didn’t remember, and it didn’t seem that he was about to divulge that information willingly.

Little snippets seem to be coming back to me. A cave. Laughing voices. The sounds of coins falling out of a bag. But that wasn’t much to go on. That could have been a dream for all I knew. Somehow, though, I knew those snippets rang true. But what did they have to do with Vince? I shook my head to clear it. We were just arriving at the archive room and I had to have my mind on that and not on some useless memories.

I pulled the key from around my neck and opened the door. I’d taken it from my mother’s nightstand, while she was on her daily walk through the arboretum. After making sure the coast was clear, I waved Vince into the room, locking the door behind me. I hadn’t been in this room in a long time, not since I was young and would play hide and seek with the maid and her children. After being caught in here by my parents, I was forbidden from ever entering again under the fear of messing up the already disorganized room.

For a room that was only used for records, there were certainly a lot of pictures around the walls. Mostly pictures of me and my parents around the room, but also some of another teenager with us, someone I didn’t quite recognize until the man in question stepped next to it. All of the memories came screaming back. The first kidnapping when I was just a little girl, the scuffle, Vince getting hurt, I remembered it all.

I walked over to Vince and stood next to him as he trifled through some papers. “Vince, before we start looking, can I see your arm? Your left arm.” He looked confused then seemed to understand. On his left arm was a very noticeable scar from what had to have been an arrow.

He glanced between me and the scar, before speaking. “Look, I know what you’re thinking and what must be strange for you, but can we talk about this after we find the names? I’ll answer questions, but we need to make sure your family is safe first.” He continued to trifle through papers, looking for the right papers. I grabbed papers off of another table, trying to find the list of foot soldiers and guards that my parents keep.

“Eureka!” I yelled, finding the list from the last ten years. Vince came over and read over the list of names quickly.

“Aha! Those three. Right there.” He pointed to the three names, one after the other, a couple of high ranking officials. “Yes! Those sorry traitors won’t know what hit them!”

**Other than the prompt, this story is mine and mine alone, my own imagination

[gokinjeespot]

off the rack #1168

Monday, June 26, 2017

 It's the last week of June, so Canada Day is soon. With the country celebrating its 150th anniversary, this year is a big deal. I was 10-years-old when we had our centennial in 1967 and I was part of a children's choir that sang at city hall as part of the year-long celebration back then. We're getting together with friends for Canada Day come Saturday and I wish you all a great week and weekend.

 Peter Parker: The Spectacular Spider-Man #1 - Chip Zdarsky (writer) Adam Kubert (art) Jordie Bellaire (colours). Get ready to be assaulted by an explosion of Spider-Man stuff as we near the theatrical release of the movie "Spider-Man Homecoming" on July 7. I still remember picking up Peter Parker: The Spectacular Spider-Man #1 off the spinner rack in 1976, happy that there was another comic book starring my favourite super hero. I wasn't sure I wanted to read this new incarnation because I am not a big fan of Chip's writing. I was not impressed with his work on the new Howard the Duck and Jughead books. My problem is that he comes across as too frenetic and eager to please by writing way too much. The double page spread with Peter and Johnny Storm having lunch together is a great example. Look at all them word balloons. The rest of the book is no better. Almost every panel is jammed full of word balloons. And what's with Peter leaving his mask on during lunch? Johnny knows his secret identity already. Wouldn't it have been more comfortable to take his mask off? I know I'm being picky but it's these little details that annoy me. The other thing that annoyed me was that I had to Google two acronyms to get what was being said. I'm an old fogey so I didn't know what NBD and NPC meant. Maybe it was to balance out all the other words used that "no big deal" and "non player character" were shortened. My quibbles are not enough to keep me from reading the next issue however because Chip pulls something out of the asphalt at the end that makes me want to find out more about the surprise person that Johnny meets. Well played Chip Zdarsky, well played.

 Batwoman #4 - Marguerite Bennett & James Tynion IV (writers) Steve Epting (art) Jeromy Cox (colours) Deron Bennett (letters). The first story arc ends with Kate and company saving the day. I was satisfied with how the story ended and there is enough mystery to keep me wanting to read more. What is Plan B and who is the shadowy figure in the last panel? I want to find out.

 Shirtless Bear-Fighter #1 - Jody Leheup & Sebastian Girner (writers) Nil Vendrell (art) Mike Spicer (colours) Dave Lanphear (letters). This takes place in a land where Yogi Bear would fit right in. The well endowed Shirtless Bear-Fighter's origin story is part Mowgli from Jungle Book and part Superman and part Punisher. This issue was mildly humorous but I didn't chuckle or laugh out loud. Maybe I'm too old. Is this the next Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles #1? Or The Walking Dead #1? Do bears poop in the woods? Buy it, read it and you be the judge. I only read it because Ottawa's own Tom Fowler did one of the variant covers.

 W.M.D. Weapons of Mutant Destruction #1 - Greg Pak (writer) Mahmud Asrar (art) Nolan Woodard (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). I hope you've been reading the new Weapon X comic book with Old Man Logan, Sabretooth, et alia because this is a direct tie-in to what went on there. No worries if you haven't because Greg spells everything out very clearly. The good guys are fighting an evil anti-mutant organization that is creating mutant killers. The Totally Awesome Hulk is one of the good guys so look for part 2, 4 and 6 of the story in that book. Parts 3 and 5 are in Weapon X. I'm reading them all.

 Aquaman #25 - Dan Abnett (writer) Stjepan Sejic (art & colours) Steve Wands (letters). This title has gone "Game of Thrones" but that's not why I took this extra-sized anniversary issue off the racks to read. It was the cover and interior art by Stjepan Sejic that made me want to give this book another try. I sure am glad I did. The story of a new power mad King of Atlantis and the return of the usurped King isn’t anything new but the beautiful art makes it more exciting to me. Stjepan knows how to draw hot women and Mera and Dolphin gives him plenty of opportunity to show that off. Aquaman is going back on my "must read" list.

 Crosswind #5 - Gail Simone (writer) Cat Staggs (illustrator) Simon Bowland (letters). It's nice to see Gail back on the racks again. Here she does a grown up version of Freaky Friday where a housewife and a mob enforcer switch bodies. Juniper and Cason are introduced pre switcheroo, which happens at the end of this issue. I can't wait to see what happens next. Cat's art is nice and that made it easy to put this new book on my "must read" list.

 Plastic #3 - Doug Wagner (writer) Daniel Hillyard (art) Laura Martin (colours) Ed Dukeshire (letters). The "hero" of this story is a psychotic killer but I like him a lot. A damsel in distress who may suffer a fate worst than death (haven't heard that cliché in a while eh?) plays a big role in this issue. Punisher fans will like this series.

 Royal City #4 - Jeff Lemire (writer & illustrator) Steve Wands (letters). This is a really cool ghost story. Patrick's thoughts about aging hit close to home.

 Archie #21 - Mark Waid (writer) Pete Woods (art & colours) Jack Morelli (letters). OMG (I know what that means) they killed…! You have to read this issue to find out who.

 The Mighty Thor #20 - Jason Aaron (writer) Russell Dauterman & Valerio Schiti (art) Matthew Wilson & Veronica Gandini (colours) VC's Joe Sabino (letters). Loved the Walt Simonson tribute cover by Patrick Brown. Speculator alert: it's the first appearance of a new Thor. You won't believe who it is. What motivates this guy to pick up the hammer is heart wrenching and the bad guys are going to get it. I can't wait to see him in action. There's a scene between Jane Foster and the Odinson that puts into question the fate of the Mighty Thor. I really hope she sticks around.

 Batman #25 - Tom King (writer) Mikel Janin (art) June Chung (colours) Clayton Cowles (letters). What made last issue worth reading was the kaboom on the last page. This whole issue is worth it for the build up to "The War of Jokes and Riddles". It's Batman versus the Joker and the Riddler and it's super intense. Mikel's art is the cherry on top and it's yummy. Batman is getting really good again.

 Wildstorm #5 - Warren Ellis (writer) Jon Davis-Hunt (art) Steve Buccellato (colours) Simon Bowland (letters). You should read this. It's all coming together beautifully.

 Luke Cage #2 - David F. Walker (writer) Nelson Blake II (art) Marcio Menyz (colours) VC's Joe Sabino (letters). This is an uh-oh issue as Luke investigates what the scientist that gave him his super powers was up to. Kind of reminded me of Orphan Black.

 Superman #25 - Patrick Gleason & Peter J. Tomasi (writers) Doug Mahnke & Patrick Gleason (pencils) Jaime Mendoza, Mick Gray, Joe Prado, Ray McCarthy, Scott Hanna & Matt Santorelli (inks) Wil Quintana & John Kalisz (colours) Dave Sharpe (letters). The conclusion to "Fade to Black" has guest stars galore and highlights the core of this title as the good guys prevail. I've enjoyed this book more because of the family values that Clark, Lois and Jonathan embody and the art is spectacular.

 Star Wars: Darth Vader #2 - Charles Soule (writer) Giuseppe Camuncoli (pencils) Cam Smith (inks) David Curiel (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). By the way Vader is mowing down storm troopers he must be really pissed at his boss. We find out who he's going to get his light sabre from in this issue. From the looks of the next issue teaser, it's going to be a scorcher.

 Nick Fury #3 - James Robinson (writer) Aco (pencils) Hugo Petrus (inks) Rachelle Rosenberg (colours) Travis Lanham (letters). This is freaking awesome. All you fans out there not reading this are missing out on some excellent writing and art. This reminds me of how I felt when I first saw Jim Steranko's art on Nick Fury Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. in the sixties as a teenager. Aco and Hugo's art with Rachelle's colours is so pretty and pops off the page. Buy this book.

 Super Sons #5 - Peter J. Tomasi (writer) Alisson Borges (art) Hi-Fi (colours) Rob Leigh (letters). Few writers know how to make young adults sound genuine but Peter is one of them. This issue establishes Jon and Damian as the young dynamic duo. I can't wait to see what they get up to next.

 Invincible Iron Man #8 - Brian Michael Bendis (writer) Stefano Caselli (art) Marte Gracia (colours) VC's Clayton Cowles (letters). This sets up next issue's fight with Lady Von Bardas. We'll see how bardas she really is.

[magitek]

no need to read under the cut unless you want major sgt prompto’s spoilers but @strifetown here’s the draft!

“Sir, please,” Brandon said, politeness diminishing by the second.

“Another moment, if you don’t mind. I’m reminiscing.”  It was no small business, taking over an empire, but Ardyn rather thought he’d pulled it off beautifully.  Being the force behind a figurehead was not the path he’d wanted all those ages ago, but it was a fitting one nonetheless.  Who could fault him for stopping to smell the roses, now that they’d finally bloomed?

Over the millennia, Ardyn had lived almost every life imaginable.  The life of a youth, a friend, a messiah.  A pariah.  A chronically drunk hermit (that had been an interesting century), followed by a somewhat less drunk historian (too easy, having lived through so much of the key events).  He might’ve dabbled in theater at some point, before cameras made their way back into the pool of readily available technology.  He’d played more parts than he could count – but each of them men of no consequence.  On the fringes, never acting, always plotting.  Waiting for the right time to act.

As the lifetimes wore on, Ardyn began to see the patterns of humanity.  How certain brands of disruption were purely temporary, and would soon be forgotten. A life spent making fiery statements could easily mean nothing, and a man with nothing to lose could live by his own rules and face no consequences, compared to the eternal sentence he already carried.  Yet history repeated itself, though in more elegant ways.  A simple, subtle action repeated from a bygone age could become the catalyst of chain reactions that started wars, ended dynasties.  Brought chaos – though not enough, never enough for the gods to wake up and understand where they’d failed.  The debt they owed him.

And through all the chaos, Lucis still stood.  Their crystal and their nuisance of a ring, forged from the power of usurpers, protected them from whatever havoc the Aldercapt line dared wreak upon them.  It took a long time – too long – for an opportunity to present itself, so once it did, Ardyn latched onto it with everything he had, bending the paths of history to his will.  After all, revenge was a dish best served cold, and there was nowhere colder than Niflheim.

“Chancellor, sir, the broadcast goes live in two minutes,” Brandon said, holding his clipboard in one hand and a water bottle full of something in the other.  “I know you hate being rushed, but—”

“It’s quite alright – I believe I’m ready,” Ardyn said amicably, adjusting his hat one more time.  He’d decided to keep the title of chancellor for the time being – he’d held most of the power under Iedolas’s rule anyway, and the title of ‘king’ was something he was reluctant to take until…certain plans had come to fruition.

Iedolas, in one of his last orders before Ardyn’s appearance, ordered the construction of a specially fortified balcony on the southwest side of the capitol building.  It was a lavish structure by Gralean standards, though it would seem drab amongst Insomnian architecture.  The late emperor, unfortunately, hadn’t had much use for it – the open architecture made anyone on the balcony an easy target for, say, a bullet to the head.  Security had warned him the press conference would be better located on the front steps, or the throne room, or almost anywhere else, but in the unlikely event the rebels chose to take direct action, they couldn’t touch him anyway. And an attempt on his life would be an excellent excuse for Ardyn to hunt down their so-called ‘president’ and watch as their ranks dispersed.

In short – given the circumstances, it was the perfect place for Ardyn to usher in his new administration.  And as he took a stand at the podium, sizable crowd waiting behind the lines of reporters, he felt the satisfaction of a man who would not be thwarted.

“Citizens of Niflheim,” he began, “it is thanks to the quick work of our ministers that the government has transitioned so quickly following the tragic death of Emperor Iedolas.  I stand before you today as your continued chancellor, prepared to carry out and preserve Iedolas’s vision for this nation.”

It was a short introduction, and not very flashy, but that was the point.  Best to save the flashiness for the bastards who deserved it.

The first reporter to grab his attention was, he was pleased to note, wearing a scarf that nearly matched his in pattern – though it wasn’t Ross (the biographer had requested to be in the public standing room section, in order to capture the moment as a regular citizen, and Ardyn had no reason to deny such an artful request).  “Chancellor Izunia, now that the transition of power has completed, will the restrictions on domestic industries be lifted?”

I sometimes forget how little the common folk care for the things that matter. “There will be a series of new orders in the upcoming weeks outlining the expectations of domestic industries,” Ardyn said.  “I would expect…certain freedoms and protocols to be altered, but other than that, the answer to your question is yes – industries will be allowed to resume production.  The prosperity of our fair empire is, of course, a top priority.”

The next question was on that mistake of a magitek project, the rallying cry of that pesky ‘resistance.’  I should never have allowed Verstael to proceed with that one in the first place. Producing the units with curated daemon souls would have solved the problem, but of course he and Iedolas wanted to create a public relations nightmare first.  “I have no plans at this time to resume the MTP program,” Ardyn said, the polite tones of his voice becoming more forced.  “The invasion of Tenebrae and all subsequent operations have been nothing short of successful, even with the loss of MTP integration – our current production methods are optimal, so there is simply no need to make changes.”

The same reporter had a follow-up question. “Chancellor Izunia, are the current line of magitek soldiers truly optimal if MTP is still a ghost in the system?  What about the recent blackout?”

She had done her research – Ardyn gave her that much.  The blackout that, for a brief period before Iedolas’s death, had oh-so-conveniently rendered most MTs immobile received little more than a passing glance by the media. For good reason – there was no reasonable cause for it.  ‘A freak accident,’ the head of magitek security had called it.  ‘Fatal errors sometimes occur at random, and easily spread through an interconnected system.’

An interconnected system Ardyn had never supported.  “If I could remove all traces of MTP from the magitek army, I would,” Ardyn said.  “As it stands, that program is nothing more than a trace – a label, so to speak, that every MT carries.  It has served as the bedrock for most of our intra-magitek data transfer systems, so removing it would be logistically impossible.  Any further questions on the matter should be directed to the magitek security department.”

Those sorts of painfully detailed questions dominated the press conference for another hour – for the love of fedoras, dramatic press conferences for were dramatic, sweeping statements about Niflheim’s future place in the world, not factual information on policy!  After what would have felt like an eternity if he hadn’t already been acquainted with it, a reporter in the front row finally asked the money question.  “On the topic of carrying out the rest of Emperor Iedolas’s vision – what does that look like to you?”

At long last, the question I came here for.  “It’s fairly obvious, is it not?” Ardyn asked.  “Niflheim possesses the crystals of every nation in the world, save one.  All that’s left to do…is to conquer the kingdom of Lucis.  Which I rather think we have the means to accomplish.  Don’t you all agree?”

A gust of cold wind, blast Shiva, swept through the square, and Ardyn faked shivers as it blew its way home to the ice goddess.  The crowd behind the reporters began shouting chants of ‘Nippleheim,’ like they were so fond of doing whenever Shiva sent chills their way, and Ardyn debated for a moment how to deal with it before settling for a bow.

“In case the winter storm becomes more severe, I think it best we end this little gathering,” Ardyn said, unclipping the microphone from his collar.  Good evening to you all, and whatever Lucian moles have burrowed near.

 ------------------

 The George guy behind the front desk was giving him weird looks, and Prompto pushed his glasses back up for the fourth time in as many minutes, feeling self-conscious (well, more so than usual). Is there something on my face?  I mean, the glasses, but…they don’t look that bad, do they!?  Maybe he’s just high.

“You look uncomfortable,” Ignis said, his own glasses stupidly straight.  Of course they were, Ignis wore his way more often than Prompto did.

“I am,” Prompto said.  “I look stupid and we’re about to be on an actual radio show.  With actual people listening.”

“Don’t be,” Ignis said.  “Prompto, you’ll be fine.”

“Seconded.  I dunno how Iris – uh, Briana does it,” Gladio said, looking around.  “But you should be grateful we’re getting publicity.  And it’s a radio show – no one’s gonna see your glasses.”

Prompto had a hard time finding the words to justify why…I know, Gladio, but I still feel weird about it just didn’t cut it.  Being ushered out the door by Ignis five minutes after waking up (Noct must’ve turned off the alarm so he could rest, but he’d been fine for days) didn’t leave enough time for any part of his morning routine, and Prompto saw too many signs of the chubby boy of yesteryear in the dashboard mirror on the way here.

The guilty boyfriend in question returned from the bathroom with a lazy smirk on his face.  “Man, you look cute in those glasses,” Noctis said absentmindedly, biting his lip once he realized he’d said that out loud.

Oho…that’s something new~.  “I’d ask you if you’re just trying to boost my ego, but…” Prompto said, crossing his arms.  “That look on your face speaks for itself.”

“…What look?  I don’t have a look,” Noctis said, though he was still wincing.

“The first step in recovery is admitting you have a problem, dude,” Prompto said.

“Pfft.  Recovery from what?”

“From thinking I’m cute or something,” Prompto said, pushing up his glasses again.  

Noctis snickered.  “You are, though.”

The unmistakable click of a phone camera drew Prompto’s attention to the other side of the room.  “Another one for the shame album,” Ignis said, motioning for them to follow.  “We’re up next.”

Unless he’d read Iris’s message wrong, the radio station had a weekly show where they interviewed local musicians – and while the content was usually superficial, considering recent events, it was likely they’d be asked about Nifheim’s recent transition.  The timing was, admittedly, super weird for the band’s first public appearance, but they’d take what they could get.  Noctis hadn’t heard the news until it reached the public airwaves, which meant…well, Prompto wasn’t sure what it meant.  The marshal, the king…none of them had said anything.  But they had to have known before the general public.

Wait.  Hold on…is the dinner with Noct’s dad tonight?!?!  Holy shit?!?!?!  “Psst,” Prompto said, poking Noct just as they reached the doorway into the recording room.

“What’s up?”

“When are we having dinner with your dad?”

Noctis shrugged.  “I thought it was tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” Prompto asked.  “Because I thought it was today. And.  There’s kind of a difference.”

“Hmm.  I’ll ask Ignis after this is over,” Noct said, and of course he wasn’t at all anxious about seeing his dad, but by the Six he knows I’m dating Noct now, doesn’t he???  This??? Is suddenly even more terrifying???

The girl giving the interviews gave off a way less creepy vibe than George the receptionist, and she gave them a concise yet fitting introduction as they took seats around the mics.  “I know you boys are musicians, but the public’s buzzing about other things right now, so – if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Noct said, and the others voiced their agreement shortly after.

“Great!  So, folks, to review – the leaked broadcast from a few days ago contained more information than anything that’s reached Lucis so far,” the interviewer said.  “In a matter of days, the old emperor died, and they’ve already got the chancellor in a leading role.  And what’s more, the guy spent ages dishing out the deets on Niff policy.  I’m assuming you boys have all read the full transcript, yes?”

“You betcha!” Prompto said, though it wasn’t entirely truthful.  Skimming counts at least a little, right?

“They won’t get into Lucis,” Noct said, and Prompto could tell he was making an effort not to put more authority into the statement than ‘Nick Callaway’ had any right to.  “It’s been centuries, and they’ve never managed it before.”

“That Izunia dude didn’t even give a timeline or anything for it,” Prompto added.  “He just said ‘oh yeah, we can probably do this.’”  I read that much of it, anyway. That and the MT stuff…

“Well, why would he go into details?” Gladio asked.  “It’s not like that guy’s any stranger to leaks.  Maybe he planned for everything he said to make it to Lucis.”

“The real question I have, Joanne,” Ignis said, who, bless him, had actually managed to ask the interviewer her name, “is not about Izunia’s foreign policy. I think none of us were truly surprised by a promised invasion – this is, after all, the last free nation on Eos.”

“Yeah.  Yeah, I think we can all agree on that,” Joanne said.  “What’s your – wait, we’re getting a caller.  Uh, Nick?”

“Mmhmm?” Noct said.

“Hi Nick, I’m Sophie!  I heard your guys’ new single and it was super cool!” The girl sounded about twelve. Kid fans were good.

“Thanks,” Noct said.  “It really means a lot—”

“And I just wanted to say, you sound so much like Prince Noctis!  And he has, like, a super nice voice, so I definitely mean that as a compliment!”

The girl clearly hadn’t meant it like ‘I think you’re lying about your identity,’ but Prompto cringed all the same.  Well, that was bound to happen at some point.  Let the conspiracy theories begin…

Noct laughed nervously, looking at Ignis for guidance.  Joanne the interviewer gave him the ‘start talking’ gesture, and Noctis shrugged. “Aw…shucks,” he said, and Prompto almost burst out laughing at the words.  Shucks!?  “Though, I’m sure the prince is way…um, sexier than me. In every conceivable way.  Definitelty.”

Gladio snorted, which in turn caused Prompto to start giggling, and it was only thanks to Ignis’s death stare that the two of them managed to calm down in a timely manner.

“Was it something I said?” Noct asked.

“Dude, you don’t just talk about how sexy the crown prince is while you’re on the radio,” Prompto said, despite still being on the radio.  The rumor comes out: is Nick Callaway gay for Prince Noctis?  Lol that’d be hilarious…  “That’d be like me saying that the king should wear booty shorts the next time he goes out in public because he’s, like, the kingdom’s daddy.”

A moment passed.  In complete silence.  Joanne blinked.  Ignis his face in his hands.  Noctis looked absolutely scandalized.  “Oh my gods, I didn’t mean that,” Prompto said.

“That caller, uh, hung up.  So what were you saying about Izunia’s foreign policy, Iggy?” Joanne asked, and it was to her endless credit that she wasn’t cracking up over Prompto’s extreme social mishap.  “Or was it that it wasn’t about foreign policy?”

“The latter, John,” Ignis said.  If people don’t know he’s with the Citadel already, they will by the end of this interview.  Stop being so formal, my Iggs.  Iggy Shears.  “I like to keep up with news from the empire, and many of the policies mentioned are things I’ve never heard of.”

“Yeah, what’s this Employee Discretion Act that he talked about in the middle?” Gladio asked.  “Or the MTP program that one reporter kept asking about? We’ve seen a lot of types of MTs since they started cropping up, but I’ve never heard of MTP.”

“What about when the crowd started chanting Nippleheim?” Noctis said, completely off-topic.

“Haha, that was definitely a highlight,” Joanne said.  “I can imagine some kids out on the edge of the crowd going ‘chancellor of bofa!’  ‘Bofa what?’”

“Bofa deez nips!”

The conversation never quite got back to Niflheim’s domestic policy, which was all good and fine – Prompto planned on rereading the parts of the transcript that talked about it later. For reasons.  MTP…I hadn’t heard of it before seeing it in the news.  At least, I don’t think I have.  But a trace of an obsolete comms system…

 -------------------------

 So…the dinner wasn’t tomorrow, it was tonight – Prompto was, terrifyingly, right about something.  By the time they’d gotten back to Noct’s apartment, they barely had any time to get ready for dinner.

He’d frantically done his hair and contacts after the (gods, why did I say that thing about the booty shorts, what if he heard about it already) interview, putting on the closest thing to a formal shirt he had – though, on second thought, as Ignis pulled in front of the Citadel, he was pretty sure he was wearing one of Noct’s. Captain Yikes strikes again.

Noctis led him (by the hand, which was…distracting) down several hallways to the dining room, and before Prompto had gathered the presence of mind to prepare for seeing the king not only as his son’s friend, but as his boyfriend, and also the guy who kind of suggested he show off his legs to the world, they were there.

Oh gods, it’s just the three of us.  I mean, of course it’s just the three of us it’s a Caelum family dinner oh gods – calm down, Prompto.  He gulped and took his seat on one of the long sides of the table, as Noctis sat opposite his father on either end of the table.  Drinks had already been set out for the three of them, and Prompto took his in hand, almost disappointed it was just water.

“I’m glad you could join our family dinner, Prompto,” Regis said, his voice giving no indications whether or not he was about to turn into a googly-eyed rage monster and smite Prompto where he stood. Worst case scenario, of course. “Do try to relax – this isn’t an interrogation.”

Part of Prompto (the rational part, evidently) was relieved, but the other part didn’t believe it.  “Uh…you sure?  Cause, I always thought ‘meeting the parents’ was supposed to be, y’know…”

“But you’ve already met,” Noctis said. “Unless you mean…oh.”  Yeah.

Regis chuckled.  “I believe it would be an abuse of power if I attempted to intimidate either of you, even more so considering Prompto already seems rather anxious.  Though, if you want the fatherly relationship lecture, so be it.”  

Prompto gulped, expecting the worst.

“Use protection,” Regis said after a moment, prompting both Noctis and Prompto to spit out their drinks.  “Honesty and communication are vital to maintaining a healthy relationship.  Wash stains out sooner rather than later.  Don’t microwave eggs whole – especially not in your significant other’s kitchen.  On that note, there’s a fairly long list of things I hear you shouldn’t put in microwaves.  I think Clarus has it.”

He went on like that for a while, the advice getting stranger and stranger, and Prompto almost thought he was off the hook about his earlier comments.  “Close the blinds, and – I ask this as a father, Prompto, not as a king – do not let my son leave his apartment in booty shorts, as nice as they may look.  And Noctis, if you ever see me frolicking about in those, assume it’s an imposter and stop them.”

Noctis blinked.  “Uh, sure.”

“And you, Prompto?”

He nodded quickly – a little too quickly, bangs falling across his face.  “Yes, sir.  I mean no, sir.  Whatever, sir.”  #Yikes.

“Good.  Noct’s safety and happiness are, of course, the most important things,” Regis said.  “On that note, I think it’s safe to say Izunia’s rhetoric held more promise than suggestion, if you catch my meaning.”

“You want us to skip town,” Noctis said, clearly on the same page as his father.

Skip town… “Yes, that would be wise.  It will be more difficult for your band to gain popularity without access to Insomnia, but ideally, you two, Ignis, and Gladio will leave Lucis as soon as possible,” Regis said.

Prompto gulped.  Already?  “Leave Lucis altogether?”

“That is the end goal.  And if fortune favors you, Altissia is a mere boat ride from Galdin Quay,” Regis said. “The arts flourish nowhere more so than Altissia.”

“Okay…but Dad, what will you do?” Noctis asked.  There was a pleading tone to his voice Prompto hadn’t heard before, and he felt more like an intruder than ever.  He could be the little boy in the courtyard again, wide-eyed and lonely…

Regis shrugged.  “That depends on what Niflheim does.  The fact that Izunia is after the crystal is a given.  What else he might want is…hard to say.”

Noctis took a deep breath and looked up from his plate.  “Don’t…don’t die, Dad.”

His father gave a small smile, eyes unyielding.  “I’ll do my very best not to, son.  I promise.”

Prompto took a sip of his water, trying to take up as little space as possible.

 --------------------------

 “Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, to the counter. I repeat, Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, to the counter.”

Luna stood up in a hurry, earning plenty of stares from the other poor souls in Altissia’s emigration office.  Would they have been more or less surprised if I’d worn Oracle white?  No, what would have been the most surprising was if they all succeeded in booking passage out of Accordo.

The woman behind the counter handed her a booklet that looked remarkably like a passport, giving her a wan smile. “You’re awfully lucky this got pushed through – Oracle or not, closed borders are closed borders,” she said.  “Has Accordo’s novelty worn off already, Your Highness?”

“No, of course not,” Luna said, signing the passport.  “It’s simply…”  Now that the government has fully transitioned, I could be summoned to Gralea any day.  And I…  “I wish to see Lucis, while it remains free.”  While Noctis and King Regis remain free.  The Six know what Ardyn has planned…never mind.  Ardyn may not even know what Ardyn has planned.

“You and everyone else in this office, Lady Lunafreya,” the woman said, stamping the signed passport.  “I hope you find what you’re looking for there – oh, your passport was greenlighted on the condition you take an escort.  He should be at the docks, if you’re ready to leave immediately.”

An escort… The only comfort is that while this ‘escort’ could be any number of magitek monstrosities, the chancellor himself could not leave Gralea unattended under the present circumstances.  So at least he wouldn’t be joining her.  “Thank you,” Luna said, placing the passport in her handbag.

Luna made sure to take in the scenery of Altissia’s winding streets one last time as she walked to the docks, suitcase rolling behind her.  I’ll be back one day, she thought, though…probably not for a long while.

She was pleasantly surprised to see, of all people, Ravus waiting at the docks.  “It took you long enough to get here,” he said. “That boat on the end is assigned to take us to Galdin Quay, and from there, I’ll rent a car and drive you north.”

“Thank you so much, Ravus,” Luna said, “I—”

“It’s no trouble,” Ravus said, though his expression said differently.  Luna could only imagine the strings he’d had to pull to get her through.  I’ll make it up to you later, once we’re both in Gralea.  “I’ll drop you off inside the Crown City and head back to Tenebrae.  The chancellor will most likely send another escort to take you out of the city before…”

“…Before he attacks,” Luna finished, the words sour on her tongue.  At least this gives me time to warn them. Things could always be worse.  “You’re not staying with me?”

“I’m afraid I cannot,” Ravus said.  “Just between you and I, the contest for who will be chosen to lead the invasion of Insomnia is between General Glauca and myself.”

The polite, sisterly thing to say would have been along the lines of ‘I’m rooting for you’ or ‘I pray for your success,’ but the last thing Luna wanted to see was the fall of Insomnia, regardless of who was responsible.  “I pray the operation does not result in many casualties,” she settled on, giving her brother a searching look.  What is it you want?

“Luna, whatever things may look like, know that I’m trying to protect you,” Ravus answered.  Maybe, but you also seek glory. First Son of Tenebrae doesn’t have the same ring to it as it did in ages past.  “Let us hurry – I’m sure you want as much time with the king and prince as possible.”