#ulric the skull.

[mortuarymorticia]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 02.06.24. [ 1/3 ] final exams down. i'm so drained today. i had a huge task list that i'm slowly working my way through & i feel like i'm drowning in course evaluations & final exams & scholarship applications. my partner's grandmother passed away today so he's planning to go back home which means that for the first time since we've moved in together, i'll be in the home we've created together alone for a few days. i'm not looking forward to it, especially with my break coming up. how was everyone's first week of february? 🎧: voices - motionless in white. 📖: lo, streyga - jazlen bella. ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[caparrucia]

Cor and Nyx getting into trouble together, or anything CorNyx, I love the way you write them

"So..." Nyx began, when the silence had stretched beyond uncomfortable past awkward and straight up into hilarious. "Is this a thing you're into?"

"Shut up, Ulric," Cor hissed out of the tiniest corner of his mouth, not taking his ear off the solid wooden door he'd shoved them through a few minutes ago.

Nyx, who did not, despite common slander to his name, have a death wish, did in fact shut up.

For five minutes.

It was the longest five minutes of his life and he spent them being mostly keenly aware of how small a space they were shoved into and how very much it didn't seem designed to house two full grown men in it. He counted the number of tiny skulls in the print of Cor's shirt - 438 - and tried his best to pin down the scent of his aftershave, and then, just as he reached peak restlessness, just as he was about to open his mouth and say something dumb or improper or suicidal or all three, Cor sighed and slouched down against the solid door.

"So..." Nyx tried again, resisting the urge to nuzzle into the underside of Cor's chin, because whatever that aftershave was, it smelled nice. "Why are we hiding in a closet?"

"I'm not hiding in a closet, I happen to have chosen the strategic retreat when in the face of the Lord Shield's rampaging fury," Cor said, eloquent and not the least bit bothered by the fact Nyx had a foot trapped between his and he was desperately trying not to make their already awkward position somehow worse. "You're here because you're an idiot with bad luck and you don't know how to duck properly."

"Hey," Nyx protested, almost on reflex. "I'm excellent at ducking." Cor stared down his nose at him. And then Nyx blinked. "Why was the Lord Shield so rampagingly furious at you?"

Cor shrugged.

"Because I put a glitter bomb in his desk drawer," he said, utterly deadpan.

Nyx reached several important, earth shattering realizations in quick succession, and then, in true Nyx fashion, opened his mouth and said:

"If you buy me dinner, I'll teach you how to do it without him knowing it was you."

[kharrneth]

Now, for the uninitiated, Bloodthirsters – as the name might suggest – ain’t exactly the sorts of chaps you invite over for a bit of socialising. They’re greater daemons of Khorne. You know, the Blood God? Taker of Skulls? Lord of Slaughter? Always a mite angry, so I understand, and his Bloodthirsters are every bit as bad. Also, they’re bleeding enormous and nigh unkillable; slayers of heroes and levellers of armies. I’m not in the business of ranking monstrosities, but if I were, Bloodthirsters’d place somewhere near the top of the list. And this one in particular is, as my old mother would have said “bloody enormous”, so he probably ranks even higher still. That being the case, I’m inclined to believe these legends when they talk about the showdown with this Bloodthirster – Va’Kharr’oth – “laying waste the mountain”. Daft bugger found himself beaten down, overpowered and sealed away inside the mountain – trapped in a cage of living rock for millennia to come. Impressive work, and no mistake. Thing is, there’s a bit of a conflict when it comes to who actually did the beating down and sealing away. The dwarfs claim it was Grimnir, which is credible enough as daemon-hunting was very much in his wheelhouse. Adepts of the White Wolf point to Ulric, citing the icy shackles as definitive proof, while in Kislev they tell stories of an epic mauling delivered by Ursun himself. The elves, of course, tell it differently. They say they’re perfectly aware of who did a number on Va’Kharr’oth, but that “we’re not ready for the knowledge”, which is exactly the kind of thing an elf always says, regardless of whether or not they actually know the truth. One thing’s for certain. You can bet Va’Kharr’oth’s not in the happiest of moods right now. If he ever gets out, I’d rather yours truly wasn’t in his path. I mean, the Ubersreik Five are good, but we’ve all got our limits. Fortunately, I don’t see anyone setting him free any time soon. I mean, what kind of idiot would do that?

Franz Lohner's Chronicle - A Prison of Ice (Vermintide II)

[djpain619]

Warhammer Fantasy/Warhammer The Old World/Blood Bowl Homebrew Lore

The Tyrant of Totengrad

On the Eastern Fringe of Sylvania, shrouded by Mists, Nestled atop a Tall Foothill of the World's Edge Mountains, Lies a Fortress City. With imposing walls forming a ring encircling the Hills Base. At the Cities center, pearched at the peak of the Hill, is a single Gargantuan Tower. Squat in Proportion, but Formidable in sheer Bulk. So wide is this tower in fact, that atop the Tower Is Constructed a Small Citadel with a Humble Keep.

This Citadel is none other than Castle Totenkopf, its Master is none other then Lord Baron Sigfried Von Totenkopf, and His City is None Other then Totengrad.

Totengrad was Founded during the first Vampire War, By a Volunteer Army of Kislevites and Middenlanders Lead by The exiled Kislevite Noble; Igor Blyatcycavitch and the Middenlander Knight Errant; Archibald Todbringer.

With the Help of the Knights of Morr they defeated a Massive undead hoard by Massing upon a Large Hill and holding the high ground against Wave after wave after wave of the Living Dead. When overwhelmed and pushed back they retreated and found respite in the Ruins of a Dwarven Fortress at the top of the Hill.

From these Ruins they were able to weather the onslaught and eventually turn the tide. Expelling the Zombified masses from the ruins, and casting them down as they counter charged downhill. During the counterattack, Archibald and Several Wolf Priests of Ulric lead a push that created a large bulge in the Zombie line. Through this bulge, Igor, his Winged Hussar Companion Calvary and the Knights of Morr managed to break out through the undead battleline and charge the necromancer leading the horde. Igor himself claimed the Necromancer's Head with two blows of his axe. A horizontal slash to the neck severed the Sorcerers Spine. Then a downward blow to the cranium embedded the axe in the wizards skull. A firm yank of the axe tore the remaining sinew and flesh, freeing the Necromancer's head from his shoulders, but not from the head of Igor's Axe. Igor Roared a mighty Battlecry as he raised his axe and the attached head above his own in triumph.

Once the Wretched Warlock was mercilessly dispatched the undead horde crumbled to dust and the day was won.

The Middenlanders erupted with cheers in Reikspiel; "Totenkopf, Totenkopf, Totenkopf". "Deaths Head, Deaths Head, Deaths Head". The Kislevites soon joined in, as the Army celebrated its hard won victory.

The Kislevites and Middenlanders then settled down and founded the City of Totengrad upon the hill and Igor Blyatcycavitch changed his name to Totenkopf after the name his new Middenlander subjects had bestowed upon him.

[toggle1-mrfipp]

Opera Omnia Burst Theme 5/?

Time for the second set of music selections for other possible characters.

Final Fantasy XII Larsa Ferrinas Solidor: The Stone's Secret Vossler: Among Savages Reddas: Ascent Rasler Heois Nabradia: The Fates Filo: Giza Plains (Zodiac Age) Kytes: Dalmasca Westersand (Zodiac Age) Ba'gamnan: Drums of War Dr Cidolfus Demen Bunansa: The Esper Mydia: Battle With An Esper (Zodiac Age) Feolthanos: The Ultimate Trial (Zodiac Age)

Final Fantasy XIII Yaag Rosch: Eden Under Siege Amador: Saber's Edge Galenth Dysley/Barthandelus: Fighting Fate Lumia: The Showdown

Final Fantasy XIV Urianger Augurelt: Nemesis G'raha Tia: Where All Roads Lead Estinein Wyrmblood: Revenge of the Horde Krile Mayer Baldesion: Magicked Skulls Minfillia Ward: The Aetherial Sea Moenbryda Wilfsunnwyn: Hard to Miss Loiusoux Leveilleur: From Ashes Kan-E Senna: Dewdrops & Moonbeams Merlwyb Bloefhiswyn: Ripples in the Sea Raubahn Aldynn: The Sand's Secret Gaius van Baelsar: Imperial Will Nael van Darnus: Rise of the White Raven Lahabrea: Thunderer Haurchefant Greystone: For the Sky Ysayle Dangoulain: Oblivion Aymeric de Borel: Stone and Steel Lucia Junius: Faith in Her Fury Hilda Ware: Melt Yugiri Mistwalker: Triumph Gosetsu Daito: Earth, Wind and Water Hein Rijin: Gates of the Moon Cirina Mol: Looping in the Deepest Fringes Sadu Dotharl: Most Unworthy Magnai Oronir: Drowning in the Horizon Fordola Lupis: Songs of Salt and Suffering Yotsuyu goe Brutus: Wayward Daughter Ryne: Insatiable Ardbert: Who Brings Shadow Lyna: To Fire and Sword Gaia: Promises to Keep Vauthry: Insanity Emet-Selch: Invincible Elidibus: To The Edge Venat: Your Answer Hythlodaues: Heroes Forge Ahead Fandaniel: Endcaller Meteion: The Final Day Zenos viator Galvus: The Worm's Tail or Endwalker depending on how he is represented. Zero: The Red Wings (FFXIV) Edda Blackbosom: Blackbosom Inspector Hildibrand Helidor Maximillian Manderville: Agent of Inquiry

Final Fantasy XV Ravus Nox Fleuret: A United Front Regis Lucis Caelum: The Final Battle Nyx Ulric: Battle for the Crown City Libertus Ostium: A Daunting Challenge Crowe Altius: Under Siege Somnus Lucis Caelum: [Untitled Somnus Battle Theme]

Final Fantasy XVI Clive Rosfield: Find the Flame Torgal: To Sail Forbidden Seas Cidolfus Telamon: The Outlaw Jill Warrick: Winter's Bound Joshua Rosfield: Away Dion Lesage: Ascension Gav: No Risk, No Reward Byron Rosfield: A Rose is a Rose Wade: Sixteen Bells Bendedikta Harman: Control Hugo Kupka: Titan Lost Sleipnir Harbard: On the Shoulders of Giants Barnabas Tharmr: The Riddle Ultima: Hymn of The Penitent

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[wintersweetbou]

Nyx Ulric Week 2022- Day 1: Hunter’s Moon

Hi Guys! I am a little late uploading these, but here you go! 

Summary: The Hunter’s Moon Festival is tomorrow and Nyx has yet to make a kill worthy of being offered to the Great Huntress. Libertus bets he will bring down the biggest buck of the festival. Nyx takes the bet and forges unwisely on. Who brings home the biggest buck? 

Nyx huffed in impatience, wanting to stalk his prey instead of waiting. He crouched in the ferns covering the forest floor waiting for the sound or sight of deer before night fell. The weight of his task kept him from vibrating out of his skin. 

The Hunter’s Moon Festival was tomorrow. The elders and young worked with the adults to complete deer drives and gather enough vegetables, herbs, and spices for a feast on top of preparing for winter. It was the duty of the ascending clan members to offer their kills to the great huntress in thanks and proven skill, showing the strength of the clans. Not having a kill to offer was better than offering a kill sloppily made, but Nyx had bet Libertus that he would be bringing in the biggest buck for the festival. He had prepared well- trained with his bow until his shot was perfect, scouted out game trails until he found the perfect spot, even burned wet leaves to coat himself in smoke to mask his scent. He had to bring at least something home, dammit. 

The sun slowly fell towards the horizon and Nyx felt despair wash over him. Nobody could hunt in the dark- that was when the larger predators came out. Coeurls claimed the forest at night, if something else didn’t end up killing you first. The smart thing would be to tell Libertus that he won, that fate was not with him this year. There would be no shame in that, just a slightly stung pride. 

However, Nyx did not do the smart thing. Nyx waited on, fingers ready on his bowstring, ready to draw. Shadows lengthened and began to move- playing with his weak human eyesight. Crickets chirped and flies buzzed their last rounds. Suddenly, an ungodly crashing- incoming fast.

Nyx drew smoothly, raising his bow towards the deer that careened onto the game trail. It was a grand beast. Probably weighed more than Nyx himself did, barreling down upon the trail full tilt. There was no time to shoot but nyx shot anyway- the arrow still on his bowstring as it bit deep into flesh. 

The buck’s legs slackened mid stride but could not slow the crazy momentum. It slammed into the underbrush, taking Nyx with it. The impact drove the young hunter down into the ground, cracking his skull against a tree trunk. Predator and prey laid deathly still together on the forest floor as another soul approached. 

“...And then I found this idiot under my deer with a chocobo egg on his skull. Had to drag his delirious ass back to the village and leave my kill for the coeurls. My clan head was against offering a person, but I argued that I shot one hundred and fifty pounds of meat and dragged one hundred and fifty pounds of meat out of the woods, so it counts.” Libertus snickered to their gathering of glaives in the guts of Insomnia. 

“You don’t have to tell this story every hunter’s moon, you know.” Nyx whined and buried his face in his hands. 

“Do too. It counted! I brought home the biggest buck for the festival. Even got Elder Narue to allow it at the main feast- the old bat was going to croak from laughing on the spot.” 

“Shut it. My shot was cleaner and actually killed the beast while yours just spooked it.” 

“I didn’t get my ass knocked out in the middle of the woods. I swear common sense was knocked out of you that day.” Libertus chuckled and sipped his beer. 

The other glaives laughed and bumped shoulders, enjoying the blush that dripped down Ulric’s face and up his ears.

[dailycharacteroption]

Arsenal Chaplain (Warpriest Archetype)

 Among the faiths of the gods of war, there are plenty of warpriests, but then there are also those who go beyond being warrior priests to becoming something more, figures that support their allies in battle.

Also known as Molthuni Arsenal Chaplains, today’s archetype revolves around the priests found within the aries of Molthune, a budding empire that is very much on the rise, rapidly preparing itself for the great conquest they seek to expand their territory and their power.

Outside of that context, however, these chaplains might appear in any military, and devote themselves more to supporting their allies than seeking personal glory in combat.

As we’ll see, they take on a much more supporting role than you average warpriest.

 This archetype starts with the blessing of war, which is the only blessing these holy warriors gain. This blessing grants two different combat-related buffs, but they can use it much faster than others, and eventually, they can use it at range by expending more energy. What’s more, they later learn to utilize it on multiple allies at once near the zenith of their ability.

However, this costs them their mystical enhancements to their sacred armaments, keeping the harm their weapons can cause to mundane levels. However, they do make up for it by being uncannily accurate with said weaponry.

A simple archetype, but one that promises the ability to quickly provide buffs to allies while being on the back line or fighting alongside allies. While they aren’t as heavy of hitters as other warpriests, they still bring a lot with their buffs. I’d recommend either balancing with support and combat, or else focusing support to keep allies in the fight longer and only fight directly as a last resort.

 The role of chaplain is to provide spiritual guidance to soldiers in the military, reconciling their beliefs with a life of warfare. Given their association of war gods, this is likely easier than it would be with other faiths.

On that note, however, this archetype’s primary experiment lies in enhancing a single blessing, so it might provide a useful template for homebrewing similar archetypes that focus on other blessings.

  The siege of Burnagrad’s Keep has gone on for months now. If it were not for the magic and ministrations of the keep’s chaplain, Father Ulric. When he is murdered, the soldiers and civilians within are on the verge of panic. Either the siege is broken soon, or the keep will fall to starvation and infighting before the enemy even makes their final push.

 Like most exploration wars, the invading force often vastly underestimates the unfamiliar terrain and natives, but the push into Gorewood has been especially punishing, the fey within fighting back with hit and run tactics and vexing magic. What’s more, the chaplain must push in again, for the unthinkable has happened, a chaneque fey managed to steal the soul of the prince leading the expedition, and the holy warrior must find the enchanted skull that holds it to restore him.

 The party enters the World Below, and finds themselves in the no mans land between two sides, the imperial drow, and the rebellious driders who have decided to overthrow them. What’s more, the driders have a new god that has taught the faithful the ways of blessing their troops in the field, making the driders especially dangerous even though they are relatively few compared to the dark elves.

[ertrunkenerwassergeist]

I have a question. I read the selkie!Nyx and I'm wondering how that could tie into Heart of Thunder. Because didn't Cor give Nyx white coeurl pelts? So let's twist that a little what if he gave him back his pelt that was confiscated? Wouldn't it still kind of be the same marriage proposal? Also how would everyone's reaction from the King himself all the way down to Cor what would their reactions be when Nyx puts on the pelt, lo and behold, there now stands a coeurl...who Cor is now engaged to?

Hi!

Thanks for the prompt! *jumps around* I’m an excited little gremlin when it comes to prompts. I just hardly ever get any XD

The pelt Cor gave Nyx in Heart of Thunder, was grey with silvery spots. In that ‘verse and Born Into the Wilds white coeurls are a species native to Galahd that went extinct. The colours of the others haven’t been mentioned yet.

But.

Let’s make an AU of an AU.

One where there is an Official Thing in the National Museum of Lucis, and Cor has to be there as protection for Regis. He’s bored out of his skull by all the pomp and tamtam.

Until, in a room dedicated to Galahd, he finds a pelt. It’s from a coeurl and pure white. Cor has also seen it before. Years ago, back when he helped to process all those refugees. But he would recognize it anywhere. It had been a personal possession. How has it gotten here of all places?

The plaque isn’t of any help. It describes the fur as a donation from a generous source that wished to remain anonymous. Which is basically code for ‘rich noble’.

Cor smells something foul is afoot. So he starts digging.

It takes him some time, too many all-nighters and headaches to count. There’s not enough coffee in the world to pay him for this. But he does it anyway. Something tells him this is important and he has always trusted his instincts.

(Some days, when he feels like he shouldn’t intrude in another culture that already has been mistreated by Lucians for so long, he feels like something is tugging him further down a path Cor cannot see.)

By the end of it, it’s not just the pelt he gets to take with him, but over half of the Galahdian exhibition. He probably would also manage to take the rest with a bit more digging, but for now this is enough.

(No it’s not, something nameless on the wind screams and Cor wonders...)

So when all is said and done (for now), and even more nobles hate him now than before (which is really an accomplishment at this point), he packs all the stuff he got into a truck and drives straight to the Kingsglaive HQ.

They’re not exactly enthusiastic to have him there. Especially when he practically orders every Glaive present outside, where the truck is parked.

The first thing he takes out is the white coeurl pelt. Because it’s not only hideously expensive for its rarity, but there is also something about it. Something that makes it important.

The moment they see the pelt in his arms there is

Silence.

Then, a strangled cry.

And a man stumbles forward. Cor recognizes him as Nyx Ulric.

There has always been something strange about the man. Something jagged and broken. The way he seemed trapped and not quite there sometimes. Now there is an expression of such deep longing on his face, Cor cannot comprehend it.

There’s also naked hope there, and a deep seated despair, and it makes Cor’s throat constrict. Just looking at Nyx’ face and the way his whole body trembles as he takes stumbling steps forward hurts. Libertus Ostium and Crowe Altius are close behind him. Their eyes daring him to do something stupid.

All words Cor had wanted to say, die on his tongue. So he just hold out his arms and waits. It feels like an eternity.

The moment Nyx has the pelt in his arms, he breaks down and cries. Heaving, ugly sobs, as he sinks to his knees and buries his face in the white fur. Words tumble over his libs, unintelligible to Cor’s ears.

He cannot believe-

He never thought that he would-

Nyx Ulric looks up at Cor Leonis, the man who brought back half of his soul, half of his very being, and he swears to follow this man above all others.

He can do nothing less.

It is like a damn broke. The other Glaives crowd close, and Cor finds himself with no time to contemplate what Nyx just did. Voices rise as they ask after lost possessions, old heirlooms, things the Lucians stole and called “payment” or their “just due”.

That evening, Cor finds himself in Little Galahd amidst a joyous people. There are tears of gratitude, words of thanks and declared debts. “Friend” is the most harmless of titles people call him. It makes Cor decidedly uncomfortable.

And he cannot help but wonder just how bad the Galahdians - the Galahkari, as they introduced themselves - have had it in Insomnia. He knows it’s an answer he won’t like.

[secret-engima]

Got any Deleantur verse or Nox verse snips you feel like sharing? Pref Del verse but eithet, as you likr.

Sure! I haven’t written in either of those verses in a while but I should have something from Deleantur at least. Here we go! Have a long snippet, but then I think I’m out of snippets, sorry.

...

     Deleantur’s magic rippled outward as he reached the doors, forced them to fly off their hinges without physically touching them as he charged inside without slowing. The first of the ten Reds was killed by the doors, smashing into at just the wrong angle and sent flying in a limp sprawl. The fourth was the one who actually saw him and managed to scream a warning before Deleantur’s blades found his heart and he kicked the corpse to the far wall —the second and third were already dead with a torn open throat and a knife through the skull—.

     The remaining three whirled away from the Elders they had been about to tear apart for trying to shield the sobbing little ones, one of the Reds lunged at him with a spear while the second bounded sideways to get a clear shot at him with her bow and arrow. Deleantur ducked under the spear lunge, sidestepped the next two swipes before stepping into his opponent’s guard and bringing one blade slicing upward.

     The wooden spear haft shattered into two pieces, the Red holding it leaned away from Deleantur’s other blade going for his throat and began spinning the two halves of the spear like they where dual weapons. Deleantur let his magic curl under his skin and pull him half-in-half-out of reality so that the spear head slid harmlessly through air where his temple was-but-wasn’t then threw one blade out and away to —strike down the arrow the woman had finally dared to fire before it could reach his ribs— free up one hand to grab the blade-less spear half coming for his neck. The Red faltered, gaping in surprise and disbelief at Deleantur’s warp dodge, then he screamed in fearful shock as Deleantur clenched his hand on the spear haft and willed it to freeze —not burn, there were other things that might catch fire, just like how he couldn’t bring these people to their knees with his raw magic because there were children and elders nearby who would die from the weight of his power—.

     The Red abandoned his offense, jerked his frostbitten hand away from the frozen over spear haft then gurgled in pain as the blade he’d forgotten Deleantur still had slid through his ribcage once-twice-thrice. Deleantur kicked over the body and turned toward the archer woman —the last, the elders and one of the tweens had fallen on the third and killed him with their own hidden weapons and fire hardened walking sticks—. Deleantur took a deep, slow breath to keep his magic from unfurling and crushing everything around him in the weight of his fury when he saw that she had dropped her bow and now had a small dagger in one hand while her other arm…

     “Woman,” Deleantur hissed and in his voice he could hear-feel-remember the thunderous tones of the Lucii —Rogue and Oracle and Fierce and Father and so-many-too-many-others—, “release the child and you might live.” The woman’s already bloodless skin got paler at the sound of his voice —their voices, the voices of kings and queens long gone but here and furious— but she didn’t let go of the whimpering toddler pinned against her body by her arm.

     She pressed her dagger blade closer to the vulnerable skin of the child and wheezed, “Stay b-back-! Stay back or he’s dead!”

     Fury said to lunge, the Old Kings and Queens seething in the back of his mind said to just let go of his magic and let the pressure drive her to her knees and steal the strength from her bones —but those would kill the child, those would possibly kill everyone else in the building and Deleantur didn’t want that—. He narrowed his eyes and took a slow step back in obedience. She jerked her chin towards the blade still clenched in his hand, “D-drop it.” His fingers squeezed tighter on the hilt, then he slowly crouched down and set the blade on the floor. With a flick of his wrist he sent it sliding across the floor to rest at her feet. He looked up and saw her muscles beginning to relax, one foot coming up to step on the blade and pin it down.

     Her foot was still half an inch away from the scrollwork of the blade when Deleantur mentally tugged with his magic and fell into the spaces-between-worlds-time-reality-life-death. He ripped clear of the gaps with a crack of magic-power-light, hand already closing on the hilt of the blade at the woman’s feet as he lunged upward with it in one hand while his other reached for the child’s neck.

     His blade slid home in the same instant hers tried to bury into young, vulnerable flesh as a flinch response to the crack-snap-light of his warp. The dagger instead skidded against his black gauntlet, bit into the flesh of his forearm and got stuck there in the mix of leather armor and skin-blood-bone. Deleantur breathed past the pain and watched the life bleed from the woman’s eyes with a grim rumble of, “I told you to let the child go.” Her body went slack and Deleantur used his bleeding arm to pull the child clear of the body while his hand absently tugged his blade free.

     For a moment, there was no sound beyond the muffled chaos outside and the sob of the children. Deleantur tilted his head back toward the ceiling and breathed, carefully pulled his magic back into his core and pushed back the clamoring voices of memories that didn’t really belong to him. Then he lowered his head and opened his eyes again —when had they closed?—. He gently let go of the toddler and turned toward the elders he could sense skittishly approaching him. He spotted his other blade, the one he’d thrown earlier, in a gnarled old hand and frowned, “Give that-” he paused, tugged tiredly at his limited knowledge of Galahd and his strained manners, “Return that to me. Please.”

     The old woman, hair done up in an elaborate nest of braids and beads and ribbons that must have meant something very impressive, glanced shakily from the blade to him, then firmed, “This belongs to a chieftain and a chieftain alone. How did you come by it?” Deleantur stared at her in momentary confusion, then fully realized what blades he had pulled out of his armiger to fight. He almost laughed at the irony —“This is not an order from a king to his glaive this is a plea from one man to another-” “Rule well, Young King”—. Ulric’s Kukris. The blades he had pried free of the corpse of a daemon in the last days of Insomnia, the ones he had sensed-known-recognized from memories that weren’t his own and offered back to Libertus Ostium —they had belonged to his friend after all, his brother-in-arms and fellow Galahdian— but Ostium had just told him to keep them with tears in his eyes, insisted that Nyx would want them to still be in service to the king even if he wasn’t there to wield them. He hadn’t … he hadn’t realized they belonged to chieftains.

     It explained a few things though.

     He carefully pulled the dagger free of his arm, pushed a wave of healing magic into it without a thought and then held out his hand for the kukri, “It is mine. I …” words caught in his throat, a hundred thousand ways of explaining a situation he didn’t think these people would believe and a million more ways to just lie. Finally, he reached up and tugged on his braid to draw her attention to it, then held out his hand again, “Please. It belonged to a great … a great man of my kin,” because Nyx Ulric might have not been a Lucis Caelum, but he had been a Kingsglaive, he had been with Regis when Deleantur’s father had died —and Noctis hadn’t been there, hadn’t even known— and he had wielded the full magic of the Lucii for a time. He deserved to be remembered as family, and if Deleantur had lived in his own time, in the aftermath of the Endless Night, then Nyx Ulric would have been added to the royal tapestries and his name would have been added to the memorial plaque with the rest of Noctis’s family —alongside the rest of the Kingsglaive who fought and died for him and those others in ancient times who had been adopted for their light and bravery and loyalty that Deleantur remembered far more clearly than he had any right to—.

     He looked into the elder’s pale face and repeated softly, “He was kin. These blades passed on to me when he died.” He saw her hesitate and took a shuddering breath —he wasn’t going to fight these people that he had just saved, but he wouldn’t, couldn’t, let them withhold the blade—, “Please, Great Matriarch. It’s all I have left of him.”

[gwiiyeoweo]

Lunafreya and the boys go for a walk around town.

Pairing: Lunafreya/Prompto/Noctis Rating: M

Luna is used to having all eyes turned toward her, has even practiced pretending to not see all the wide-eyes stares full of wonder aimed right at her as she passes by. Oftentimes, she doesn’t care for it; other times, she just wishes she could cover a shawl over her head and disappear from their sights. If she were in Insomnia or Tenebrae or even Niflheim, no doubt there would be pedestrians trying to crowd up to her and paparazzi snapping away their phones and cameras for their latest magazine articles. 

But instead of the grand cities overrun by fast people and faster cars, she’s finally able to stroll around in public and enjoy the tepid weather without fear of being overtaken by fans looking for an autograph. 

Here, in this little cozy seaside town, she can even show off her pretty darlings.

She’s fancied them up in dresses from her most recent collection, a line of summer clothes ready to debut next season. The fashion world and big brand stores have been eagerly waiting for her next big pieces to line their shelves and fatten their numbers, but genius isn’t meant to be rushed, and she hates being rushed. So she’ll wait a bit longer to let the news slip and enjoy this time she has until her babies meet their big reveal. 

For now, her models will be her boys and the runway this little town. 

She’s had them styled accordingly, of course, with soft extensions pinned to their hair and light makeup to brighten up the ensemble. 

They cross the street, waiting for their green light and following the crosswalk like the good “girls” they are, but that still doesn’t stop some heads from turning. That fills her up with a certain sense of pride she’ll never tire of; no matter how the camera flashes in her eyes or how the obnoxious voices of reporters frantically vye for her attention, she absolutely loves it when that attention is more centered on the two lovelies beside her.

There’s no paparazzi here though, only the town’s residents and some tourists, but she recognizes those little bated breaths and envious and admiring eyes.  

She’d like to see the public’s reaction when they learn the collection was not only a very personal one but also designed specifically with Noctis and Prompto in mind. 

And they both feel the gazes too. Noctis and Prompto trade glances with one another and with Luna, then decide to put on a little show. 

Prompto reaches a hand to his shoulder and tosses his hair back, soft waves of gold that flow down to his waist. The silver sapphire earrings jingle with the movement, catching light and returning a shimmer as they settle back into place. His other hand smooths down his front, delicately padded to give the illusion of a chest, and brushes over the pale chiffon that cascades his dress in layers, light and floral. He pretends to dust something off, hiking the hem just a few inches higher and showing off the white lace garter wrapped around a smooth thigh. 

Loose and flowing, Luna designed it with his body image in mind, something offering breathability yet closure; Prompto still struggles with clothes that fit too snug, reminding him of his childhood days of tight waistbands and choking collars. Yet now, he’s a little too thin, not yet recovering from his ‘overachievement,’ and constantly teeters in his self-confidence. But seeing him like this, glowing with pride and wearing a coy smile, Luna remembers her clothes are more than just a temporary fashion craze. 

Beside Prompto, Noctis is a stark contrast with his dark, form-fitting ensemble. He’s clad in high-waisted shorts that hug this thighs, emblazoned with two columns of decorative silver buttons that follow the curve of his waist. Luna had Nyx Ulric handcraft those buttons specifically for that pair, feeding into Noctis’ knack for skulls and the like, and seeing the little smile on his lips as he ran his fingers along the metal was worth listening to Nyx’s little quips. Loosely tucked in is an awfully sheer halter top, revealing his toned stomach and the padded bra, studded with the same metalwork along the top outline of the cups. There isn’t much left to the imagination, but it’d only pale in comparison to the real thing anyway.

They’re near opposites of each other. Prompto with his blonde hair, a light and colorful dress; Noctis with his entirely black outfit and even darker hair. 

When Noctis wraps a hand around Prompto’s waist and leans in dangerously close to whisper some pretend nonsense in his ear, they all hear a loud thunk and a clatter. A few feet away, a man has hit his head against a streetlamp, a broken phone screen on the sidewalk and a coffee stain on his shirt.

Something must have distracted him, seeing that the metal pole was quite out of the way of pedestrians.

Luna covers her smile with a dainty hand, trying to hide her amusement but her giggle is apparent. Noctis and Prompto don’t even try; they huddle into one another in free laughter. She corrals them across the street before they cause more havoc, in case they actually do stop traffic and cause a car accident with their antics. 

She’ll have to punish them later. Or reward them. It’s all the same, really.

Shower them in kisses and praise as she takes them to bed, the perfect size for the three, and slowly take them apart as she would the threads of their clothes. Her works look magnificent whenever her two darlings are concerned, dressed up and prettied with a certain freedom her clothes grant them, but damn do they look good on the floor of their bedroom as well. 

Maybe she’ll have them do a little striptease for her. For each other. And maybe she’ll sit back and have them take their clothes off each other, slow and with teasing hands and with more teasing lips. Watch their fingers ghost over their waists and hips and ass, tangle a hand in their locks and pull to reveal that gorgeous arch of a neck and leave blooming marks across it. 

She’d definitely like to put her lips on them, paint their pale skin with red lipstains like roses on a blank canvas, and press their faces into the sheets, stain their pillows with makeup and rouge. Spoil them rotten and leave them breathless. 

And have their lips be put to good use — on her.

Noctis blushes when she whispers all the lovely things she has planned for them tonight, but Prompto nearly bounces with excitement as his eyes light up in attention. He even gives his own suggestion with a, “Ooh, can we use those fuzzy handcuffs?”

“On you? Or Noctis?”

“On Noct,” he says almost immediately, looking over to Noctis, “if you’re cool with it.”

“I — um, yeah, actually. I’d really… like that.” Noctis’ voice goes smaller as the pink across his face grows deeper. Bless his sweet soul; for as loud and demanding as Noctis can be, he shrinks like a precious violet despite all their bedroom rowdiness. But when they finally get to strip those thin layers and have him bare before them, oh how does he bloom in the most magnificent ways, wild and vivacious in both body and soul.

“Perfect.” Luna claps her hands together and brings their impromptu meeting to a close, then wiggles herself between them to hook one arm with one of theirs — Prompto to her left and Noctis to her right. “And while we’re on the topic, I’ve been wanting to design a line of lingerie. White leather and black lace.”

She’s sure to get plenty of inspiration tonight.

[charlottedabookworm]

That Cruellest Cut/I Swear It By The Styx fusion thing that is totally @hamelin-born‘s fault:

Styx had never really taken much interest in the Lucian military system.

Well, she knew a fair bit about how the Glaive worked, mostly by osmosis and the desperate need to know what Nyx had gotten himself into, but she hadn't cared enough to learn anything about the rest of it, to put faces to the names that she'd learnt out of necessity.

She just. She hadn't cared.

Now, with an extra twenty years of memories knocking about in her skull - memories of a life where this world had been a game - she regretted that.

Because she'd been living in this city for nearly a decade and, if these memories were right, if she wasn't making connections were there weren't any, then her and Nyx's parents were alive and one of them was in Insomnia.

And Styx hadn't known.

The moment that that occurred to her, the moment that she connects that name that she'd heard in rumours to the face from her new memories, she dropped everything she was doing and stormed to the Citadel.

She had to know, had to be sure before she could tell Nyx - who was on duty anyway.

It didn't take long to make her way to the office of the Marshall of the Crownsguard - because she'd memorised floor plans where she hadn't faces and isn't that fucking ironic - but when she got there, she was stalled.

Styx could sense a presence in the office, knew that only a wooden door separated her from a man thought long dead, but the secretary refused to let her through without an appointment - and, any other time, Styx would understand, but not right now.

"Fine." Styx snapped. "I'll make an appointment." And then she raised her voice to the point that it would be easily audible to anyone in the office. "PENCIL IN THAT STYX HELIOS ULRIC WANTS TO SEE LORD MARSHALL COR LEONIS - “ 

There's a deafening crash and then the office door is flung open, slamming against the opposing wall, and her faeder is standing there - dishevelled and wide-eyed and panting slightly and staring at her in shock and hope and he's alive.

She wanted to laugh at the shocked look on the face of the secretary, but her breath caught in her throat as she stared. Her faeder was alive.

She'd known, she'd hoped, but...

And then his arms were around her and she was clinging to a man who she was certain that she had watched die millennia ago and gods, she wished that Nyx was here instead of on-duty - wished their father was here, that their family was together again - even as she revelled in the comfort of her faeder's arms.

"Faeder," She sobbed into his shoulder, fisting her hands in the back of his shirt like she had when she was a kid and didn't want to let him go.

"Styx," The word sounded as though it had ripped itself out of his chest, but his voice was so familiar that it ached. She'd missed him, so much, and she hadn’t even realised how much she’d forgotten about him until now. "Your brother-?" He choked on hope and tears, unable to continue, and Styx rushed to answer.

"Alive." She said, feeling him relax. "He's alive. We both made it, faeder, they didn't catch us. Nyx is even a glaive." She laughed at the bitter irony, her brother and faeder had been working in the same place for years and had never once run into other.

The gods just couldn't let them have anything, could they?

[mortuarymorticia]

did you find ulric?

i'm so flattered that a small corner of the internet remembers ulric -- yes! i did find him, he is safe & will be featured in my mid-week post on wednesday. i'll relay the concern to him.

[thedarklordmegatron]

Wicked Games

Libertus Ostium/Nyx Ulric

Warnings for swearing, major character death, skeletons and an ambiguous ending!

He would never understand what it was exactly that possessed him to return to Insomnia and alone at that.

It was stupid. Completely and utterly stupid, and if he did by some miracle make it back to Lestallum in one piece, which he seriously doubted he would, Amicitia was going to kill him just so Leonis could revive him and kill him again. Had Iris not mentioned that one of her scouts claimed to have seen Glauca’s armour whilst doing recon, he would have happily stayed in Lestallum organising the remaining Glaives, all while ignoring Insomnia as he had successfully done so for the past nine years. As it was, his stupid ass just had to go and dig through the ruined city with nothing but a torch, a bottle of water and some vague idea as to where he should begin his search.

That being said, if Cor hadn’t been dealing with the movement of a large caravan, the Marshal would already have been scouring the city, looking for whatever remained of Drautos. Back before the fall, it had been no secret among the Citadel’s staff that the Marshal of the Crownsguard and the Captain of the Kingsglaive had been intimately involved. Pelna never had managed to erase the image of them fucking like a pair of rabbits out of his head.

He and many others had questioned Leonis’ loyalty after the news of Drautos’ betrayal began to spread. Cor had been less than impressed when the Hunters had briefly turned against him, informed him that they would not follow the man who had slept with the enemy. It had taken months or hard work, Six knows how much blood, and the word of those who had survived Insomnia because of him, before people had begun to trust him again.

Looking back on it, he really ought to have admitted his own guilt, let the people attack him instead of the man who would give everything to protect the people of Lucis. But he was a coward and he’d stayed silent. While he was not here for Glauca and could not carry whatever remained of him back to Lestallum, not when he had every intention of finding Nyx, he could at least return a portion of that armour as an apology for his cowardice.

There was, however, a little hope in his heart, that should he find the traitor, Nyx might be somewhere nearby. The last time he’d seen him, he’d been wearing the Ring of the Lucii, the damned ring that Leonis claimed would burn a man not of royal blood from the inside out; if that were the truth then he very much doubted his husband would have walked away in one piece.

A shriek from up ahead had him throwing himself behind the nearest piece of debris, the remains of an upturned van, and smothering the light from his torch. Taking care not to make any sound or give away his position in any manner, he peered around the edge of the metal just in time to see an Iron Giant emerge from behind a building. As was just his luck, the Daemon paused and looked in his general direction. Holding his breath he stayed completely still, waiting with bated breath for the blasted creature to move on.

After what felt like an eternity it did wander off, though not before crushing a few minor Daemons beneath its feet. Staying still, Libertus watched on for a few more minutes until he was absolutely certain that no other Daemons would be making an appearance.

“Okay,” He muttered softly, switching his torch back on and looking around. He had two options. One, navigate his way through a minefield of sinkholes, glass and god knows what else, risking making one hell of a noise and potentially killing himself by falling into a hole. Or two, clamber over the seriously unstable looking stack of concrete and steel that had to have come from one of the collapsed skyscrapers. As if making his decision for him, a group of imps appeared in the same place as the Iron Giant had been. Concrete it was.

Cracking his knuckles he shook his hands out and slowly climbed the unstable mound, taking great care to be as silent as possible. The last thing he needed was for the imps to see him and decide he’d make a good dinner. But for once luck was on his side. Nothing fell out from beneath him and there were enough footholds that he was able to scale the debris relatively quickly. Once atop the pile, he glanced back at the imps and was relieved to find them squabbling among themselves a fair distance away.

He made sure to climb down a few paces, ensuring that he was suitably hidden from sight before raising the torch and looking around. Something had happened here, that much was certain, if not by the sheer amount of destruction, then by the fact it looked like a giant foot had literally crushed the entire area. Nothing immediately jumped out at him, Daemonic or armour-wise, so he continued to move further down.

Had it not been for the fact that his foot literally sank through the metal, successfully through his boot in the process, he would have easily missed the remains.

“Fucking-!” He hissed, instinctively reaching down to grab hold of the injured leg. It was only then, as he attempted to pry his leg free without causing any further damage, that he realised what it was his foot had gone through. Despite being warped and rusted, the result of being exposed to the elements for nearly a decade, the metal was still somewhat recognisable. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” Very slowly, he moved closer, taking care to keep his foot as still as possible when it became clear that he’d gone through the chest “Of all the gods damned rotten luck” Sighing heavily, Libertus moved his torch into a more convenient position, illuminating the small area.

Muttering under his breath, he placed a hand on either side of the armour and very slowly wriggled his foot free, hissing as the sight of his shredded leg. That was going to be a bitch to walk on but was certainly not worth using a potion on. The boot, on the other hand, was going to be a hard one to explain away, the younger Amicitia was going to murder him, she’d only just given him the new pair.

Once certain that his leg was not going to kill him, he turned his attention to the remains of the man he had once called ‘Captain’. For a moment he did nothing but stare. Had it not been for the armour he’d never have been able to identify him, after all, everyone’s bones looked the same.

Removing the body, well skeleton really, was impossible. Whilst he did admittedly have an empty bag, he’d brought it with the intention of finding his husband and giving him a proper burial; not to carry the remains of a traitor back to the one person on the planet who missed him. Personally, he would much rather leave the man’s bones to continue to rot or eventually be eaten by a Daemon, whichever came first; but at the same time, he’d seen the way Cor sat upon the rooftops after a long shift, running his fingers over a well-worn ring.

“By the Six I hate you,” He muttered softly, closing the distance between them. Leaning over the armour he paused. There, laying embedded in what would have been Drautos’ chest, was one very familiar Kukri. With shaking fingers he reached out to cautiously run his fingers over the hilt. “Nyx,” He paused for a second before pulling it free and sitting back on his heels. There was no mistaking the detailing and the familiar if damaged beads. So Nyx had been the one to kill him. Not that he was particularly surprised, Nyx was a stubborn bastard and considering Nyx hadn’t met up with him, he suspected that Drautos had been the one to seriously injure, if not kill, his husband. Although he suspected the Ring of the Lucii had something to do with the significant lack of a second body; unless Nyx had somehow managed to put some distance between himself and the traitor.

“You fucking bastard.” He hissed, holding the Kukri over his heart and glaring at the skull. “You absolute fucking bastard!” In a fit of rage, he grabbed hold of the nearest movable object, a fairly large piece of debris, and slammed it onto the skull, watching in satisfaction as the bone gave way and crumbled. “I hope you burn in whatever hell awaits you!” He repeated before slamming the rubble down once again, suitably destroying the remaining shards. The shriek of an imp had him falling silent, Nyx’s Kukri held firmly in place against his chest. He sat in silence, waiting for the imps to move on.

When it became increasingly obvious that the creatures were not going to be leaving any time soon, he slipped the bag off his shoulder and tucked the blade away among his supplies, pausing only briefly to touch it once more. With it secured safely, Libertus turned back to Drautos’ remains before reluctantly leaning back over the armour and digging around inside. He hadn’t expected to find the ring, but it was a pleasant surprise to find a simple gold band and chain buried among the bones of his neck.

“I’m not doing this for you,” He whispered, sparing a quick glance to the top of the debris pile and the imp that had crested it “This is for Cor. He didn’t deserve any of the shit you put him through. And if you think for a moment any of us will ever forgive you for what you’ve done, you’re wrong. I will never forgive you for killing Nyx. Never. You’re a traitorous piece of shit and every single child born will know that it was you who did this to us.” With the ring safely in his possession, Libertus clambered to his feet and stumbled off in the opposite direction to whence he came, the screams and footsteps of the Daemons spurring him on.

Of course, Drauatos screwed him over again. Of course, he wouldn’t be able to look for his husband because the gods-damned traitor took up too much time and still managed to hurt him despite being long dead. With shaking fingers he freed his phone from his pocket, activated the voicemail and continued running. He shouldn’t have gone alone. He should have just bitten the bullet and brought Cor with him. That being said, if he was going to die, if a Daemon did decide to make him dinner, he’d gone down with Nyx’s voice still ringing in his ears.

“Hey Libs, it’s me. Just making sure you’re okay. You’re not replying to any of our texts and I’m just a bit worried. Give me a call or drop me a text when you get the chance. Love you.”

“To listen to your message again, press one. To save your message press two-”

“Message saved. Next message. Received on Friday the sixteenth of May, M.E. 756 at eight o’three am.”

“Hey Libs, it’s me. You didn’t come home last night and you’ve got me worrying. Please tell me you’re okay or do me a favour and text Pelna. I just want to know that you’re somewhere safe. I’m heading off to the signing now, Drautos called me in early, so I’ll try to give you a ring when I get a chance. Love you.”

“To listen to your message again, press one-”

[lj-todd]

are you still doing challenges? I want to see your take on Ardyn/Nyx

Ardyn stormed from the throne room in a flourish of dark fabric, his eyes blazing with barely controlled disgust and rage, taking a small bit of satisfaction in the knowledge that the day of Iedolas Aldercapt’s death was coming soon.He had managed all of ten steps when a shadowy young man fell into step beside him.Nyx Ulric, his darling little ward turned assassin, taken in the early days of the Empire’s push into Galahd. Ardyn had chosen to save the boy from one of his rampaging daemons, whisking him away with honey whispered words of protection and safety all while plans formed in his mind about how to best use the boy.He had, naturally, failed to consider the possibility that he would actually come to care for Nyx, would come to love him, and by the time he had come to realize it there was nothing he could do about it. Especially not when Nyx, barely more than a teenager, crawled into bed with him, kissing and touching and whispering how much he loved Ardyn and how he would do anything, everything, for the man. After that Arydn knew he would never be able to go another day denying his feelings or denying himself having the young man in his life.“Do you need me to handle things,” Nyx asked softly, as aware as Ardyn was of how, even in the Empire’s capital, they were never truly safe.Ardyn hummed softly, reaching out to brush his fingers over Nyx’ cheek, following the pencil thin tattoo beneath the young man’s eyes, smirking when Nyx leaned, ever so slightly, into his touch.

“We’ve only a few more weeks, dearest,” Ardyn explained as they rounded a corner. “And then Lucis will fall and with it, the King. After that, well, time will handle everything else.”Nyx grunted.“I could have Regis bound and gagged and at your feet in…”“I’ve told you,” Ardyn cut in sharply, his tone and look even to make Nyx fall silent immediately. “Regis’ death is promised to our glorious General. Without him we never would have gotten so far so quickly.”Nyx made a throaty sound, almost a purr, at the mention of General Glauca.“Lucky bastard,” the young assassin said, grinning wickedly. “I wonder if he’d bring me Regis’ skull if I asked sweetly enough.”Ardyn chuckled.“I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if you remember your manners this time.”Nyx laughed before he caught Ardyn’s arm, surprising the older man as he spun them, pinning Ardyn  to the wall, grinning at him lasciviously.“I can remember my manners plenty,” Nyx purred, hands running down Ardyn’s chest, one straying daringly close to the older man’s groin. “Or should I give you a repeat performance of last night?”Ardyn grinned and moved, surging forward to tangle a hand in Nyx’ hair, the braids there twisting around his fingers, using that grip to drag his lover forward, capturing pale lips in a fiercely passionate kiss. Nyx moaned into the kiss, all but molding himself to Ardyn, their bodies fitting perfectly and Ardyn let out a low sound as he deepened the kiss.This, this passion, this fire that burned between them, was what Ardyn couldn’t let go of his boy. This desire. This love. This shared connection with another living human being.A deep sound, a throat being cleared loudly, caused Nyx to jerk back with a snarl, hand going for the dagger on his belt, only to be stilled when a strong hand snared his wrist.“Mind yourself, boy,” the deep voice of General Glauca merely caused Nyx to bristle further at the interruption of his moment with Ardyn.“Stand down, dearest,” Ardyn purred, slowly disentangling himself from his lover, turning to face Glauca even as Nyx jerked free of the massive man’s hold. “I’m sure the good General has a good reason for the interruption.”Glauca grunted, giving Nyx a warning look, which prompted the young Galahdian to blow a raspberry at him, before looking at Ardyn.“There’s been a change with Prince Noctis,” Glauca explained. “Regis is planning to have him out of the city before the Emperor and you arrive for the treaty signing. He plans to have him meet Lady Lunafreya so that they can be married and prepare the Prince for his destiny.”Ardyn scowled for a moment before a sly smile spread across his face.“Where are they to meet?”“Altissia.”Ardyn’s smile grew and he looked at Nyx.“I have a mission for you, dearest,” he purred, cupping Nyx’ chin, leaning in to peck his lips. “I know you so wanted to play with the King but do you think you can content yourself playing with the Prince for a little while until I can join you?”Nyx grinned wickedly. “Oh I think I can manage that.”Nyx turned and all but bounced away, making Ardyn chuckle as he watched him go, enjoying how excited his lover was by his new task. It would be a little while before he saw Nyx again but, he knew, when they were reunited it would make things all the hotter. And he couldn’t wait.

[ao3feed-ignoct]

Fits the Crime

read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2Y0SuaZ

by raspberrymocha

An old Lucian law states that any servant who dares to look upon his king should have the eyes plucked from their skull. Ignis has done far more than look at Noctis.

Words: 1489, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Final Fantasy XV

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: M/M

Characters: Noctis Lucis Caelum, Ignis Scientia, Nyx Ulric, Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII

Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia

Additional Tags: Secret Relationship, Canon Disabled Character, Eventual Happy Ending, Angst, Mild Sexual Content, Regis is kind of a dick, Nyx as written by someone who hasn’t seen Kingsglaive, Violence, Basically this is an alternate take on Ignis’s blindness

read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2Y0SuaZ

[lhugbereth]

Chapters: 23/? Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia, Gladiolus Amicitia/Prompto Argentum Characters: Ignis Scientia, Noctis Lucis Caelum, Prompto Argentum, Gladiolus Amicitia, Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII, Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, Nyx Ulric, Cor Leonis, Ravus Nox Fleuret, Ardyn Izunia, Aranea Highwind, Iris Amicitia, Iedolas Aldercapt, Cindy Aurum Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Violence, Gore, Fluff and Smut, Oral Sex, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Child Abuse, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide Series: Part 1 of Death Fears Not the Reaper (Yakuza AU)

Chapter 23: Enemy At the Gates summary:

With a harbinger of death standing at their doorstep, Noct and Ignis must decide quickly where they place their trust. Allies are falling, and perhaps the only defense they have left is their castle itself.

(Quicksilver Chapter 12 is here)

”In all the years he had served the Caelum family, through all the blood he had spilled and souls he had claimed in the name of honor, Ignis the Reaper had never once doubted his place. Where he went, shadows followed; hopelessness and fear, the tools that had served him as readily as his blades, strongest in the moments before he took a life. His victims always knew that to see him meant to see the approach their own inevitable end.

He had always thought himself an efficient servant of Death, and he had embraced his gifts.

Yet the last seventy-two hours had changed everything. All Ignis thought he knew about the darkness he served had been stripped away, laid bare for him to question, to analyze. He had watched as death nearly claimed the one life that was most precious to him. Had felt it’s cruel grip around his own wrists, driving the dagger deeper into Noctis’ heart. Had seen it defeated - nay, undone, as his prince had been brought back from a place that should have been final.

And now, with Aranea Highwind’s words echoing in his skull, he had also learned that Death was incarnate.”