#un-fixed--stars my beloved friend

[hotshot9]

trick or treat! happy halloween!

Treat! Happy Halloween!

[phantomchick]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

Naruto

Hear the silence by EmptySurface the self insert fic that got me to start giving other SI fic a chance, continues to be great

the name of the game by a_sassin Follows the story of a civilian shogi player in the Naruto world and all the shinobi trouble she gets dragged into.

If You Give Me A Sword by TakaGang Ichigo (from Bleach) is the firstborn of the Uchiha mainhouse and Itachi is relegated to middle child.

Senju Of Wave by TheBeardedOne Naruto raised by Tsunade au

With Friends Like These by RecklessWriter sasuke time travel fix it

BNHA (can't believe the manga's ending in 5 chapters? Time flies)

The Democratic Republic of One for All by featherlessquill (CinnamonScribbles) All Might tells Izuku he can't be a hero, the echoes of One For All vote and decide they think he can and give Izuku the quirk

Harry Potter (disclaimer: I'm not a terf/transphobe fuck jkr)

Encounters of the Future Sort by CalmlyErratic The fifth marauders + Lily and Snape travel forward in time to Harry's fifth year. Chaos and angst ensues.

Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Snake by gonzoclock James and Lily baby trap Voldemort without his knowledge, Harry is Lily and Tom's bio son.

Fascist ideology in the Harry Potter Fandom. [Or, for real everyone, we are in the middle of a global rise in fascism please *think* about the things you're reading and the ideas they're platforming.] by skeli666 excellent meta is excellent

Star Wars

Biting His Own Tale by ADragonsFriend Anakin time travels, this does not make stopping Palpatine's plans magically simpler. Cathartic for those who wanted Darth Vader to actually do the work to atone after Luke redeemed him and for those who find prequel fix its unrealistically easy with just knowledge of Palp's identity/the clone chips sometimes.

Batman

Wings over Gotham by icarus_chained platonic abo my beloved, divergent from no man's land on, one of my favourite series

straight back by TheResurrectionist That oliver gets mad at batman on his friend bruce wayne's behalf fic. If you follow my tumblr you've already seen me reccing this but still can't leave it out

let the light in by TheResurrectionist that other great platonic ollie & bruce fic

Chronicles of Narnia the seas of all i knew by softtooth_jpeg edmund/caspian, I love the way this fic goes into Edmund's psychology and why he acts the way he does at the start of the lion, the witch and the wardrobe, top tier writing

Four Thrones by shinealightonme A short but great fic that shows the Pevensie's transition from the end of the lion, the witch and the wardrobe to kings and queens.

A:TLA

Waiting on that morning sun by DustOnDaydreams

“To the Generals, Admirals, Officers, Soldiers and Sailors of the Fire Nation, Halt your advance. Pull back to your nearest military stronghold, and await further orders. Do not engage any forces unless absolutely necessary for your own defence. Put out any fires you come across. Sign it only with the full list of the Fire Lord's titles." “Your Majesty, do you not want to put your name to the missive?” A young pimpled scribe squeaked out to the shocked silence. “No. I want them to obey the order.” Or Zuko's transition from child soldier to young monarch in charge of a corrupted nation

MARVEL

(Un)Fortunate Circumstances by lomku au where Tony and Steve meet differently

Or how Steve wakes up from the ice in the SHIELD facility, runs into Tony, and kind of kidnaps him in his bid for freedom.

Even the Score by Sineala for phoenixmetaphor stony oneshot, Tony high in the hospital panics and attacks Steve. Super good.

Sucker Punch by Sineala Angst. Angst. Angst. Oneshot. Steve never quite warms to Tony Stark, Avengers benefactor. The Molecule Man never strips Iron Man out of his armor. Life goes on for the Avengers, but as disagreements split the team -- and Shellhead and Winghead -- again and again, Steve wonders why Iron Man always picks Tony over him. And when Steve finds out, it happens in the worst way possible. Captain America was a good man by ElnaK inspired by Sineala's work this is Tony's side of the fic, "Sucker Punch". IT'S SO GOOD BUT PREPARE FOR ANGST.

yugioh

Legally Insane by Xparrot continues to be my fave yugioh fic

Percy Jackson

ATLOP: Trial by Fire by WardofWinters (QoLife)

Percy was having a normal day at the beach, until he decided to try to waterbend like Katara from his favorite show.

Nothing to make a song about but kings by iwillpassthis

It’s a fortune that Poseidon has a mortal son, because when an ancient curse hits his kingdom and all the sea gods disappear… well, someone must rule.

Original work

The Gift of Perfect Knowledge by BookmarkBookworm

[cherrybloomn]

Delicate - Chapter 4

Alright guys, so here it comes.  I am not really sure if anyone is reading this story, but for me it’s a great joy of writing it. I’m not much of a writer, but it’s a nice thing to give it a go. If there is anyone that would like to be tagged, let me know and I will. As for now there’s no tag list as I’m not really sure anyone reads this, lol

Once again, HUGE thank you for my most wonderful beta and supporters @musings-sans-muse​ and @shellbilee​ <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 

Warnings: strong language, (it’s a slow burn so.. no more warnings as for now), a bit of a breakdown. 

Music inspiration: ( as I really love to discover all the music inspirations here on Tumblr, I’ve decided to put all the songs/music that have inspired me to write) -

1) Jacob Banks & Louis the Child - Diddy Bop -https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LxcsoynCkPk

2) Olafur Arnolds - Poland - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZIq55s61KAE

3) Ruelle, Fleurie - Carry you -  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i39fan8ow-o

Storyline: Naomi Poesy is a TV host of the show about acting and contemporary cinema. She is living life to the fullest, but for some reason she promised herself, she will never do any relationships. Much to her surprise she befriends one of her guests. Will she keep her promise?

30th of July, 2020

Naomi was driving her car home from her pure barre classes, when her phone rang. She quickly switched the Bluetooth on and pressed the dial button.

“Hello, boy. How are you doing? It’s your last Friday of freedom! Are you still in London or have you already got to the countryside?”

Henry chuckled. “Thank you I’m actually doing very fine. I can’t wait to get back to work. Finally. I’m in the countryside already. I’m throwing a small party tonight. Just closest friends. Shisha included. Hope you’re on board. Colin said he could pick you up.”

It took Naomi a minute to answer that question, as she was distracted by other drivers’ weird actions on the road.

“What the fuck is he doing!” She looked to her right and gave the driver sitting in the other car the scary look. “Oh, sorry. The party. Yes. Well, no. I’m sorry, I can’t make it. I’d love to though, really. I know we won’t be able to meet for a couple of weeks now, but BBN has a new CEO. Tonight there’s this introductory dinner. I have to be there. To be honest I don’t really know how I feel about it. This guy is so… disturbing. He visited us two days ago and said that he would announce who is going to end their journey with BBN, and I quote,“Some of you have nothing to add to the company”.

“Naomi, come on! You don’t really think you are one of these people! You are nominated to the TV Rising Star Award! Come on!  But when itcomes to your presence at the party, well, I won’t deny I’m a little bit disappointed. I hoped we’d see each other tonight. But I do understand of course. Please let me know tomorrow how the dinner went. Oh, and I am keeping my fingers crossed on Monday. I sincerely think you do deserve to win the award.”

“Thanks. Alright, so, have a great time in the evening and don’t get stoned!”

“Thanks…” There was a short silence between them, Naomi felt like he wanted to add something more, but he didn’t, so she finally broke the silence:

“Ok. Oh, and Hen… I will sincerely miss you. I know how tight your schedule is” she stopped for a brief moment to rethink if she should ask for that, but decided to do so, and continued with soft voice “but just call me from time to time.”

“If I didn’t know you, I would have thought you fell in love with me, or something.” He joked.

Naomi smiled “Hm. I’m just curious. What makes you feel like you know me?” She asked playfully and grinned like a Cheshire cat at her question.

“Should I read between lines??” Naomi could only imagine him raising his eyebrow with the cheeky smile on his face.

“I don’t know. It’s you who said you knew me.” She giggled. “Ok, that’s enough. I’m almost at home, so I need to end this wonderful conversation. Keep in touch.”

“Absolutely. Now that you’ve admitted to falling for me, touching is inevitable.”

Naomi rolled her eyes and exclaimed quickly “Oh dear god, you did not just say that!” And also added with laughter: “Bye!”. She ended the conversation.

To fall in love with. Whatever being in love means. Naomi thought about it for a while. She didn’t really remember what that meant, how it felt. Was she in love with anyone right now? She knew she wasn’t in love with her fuck friend – James. Henry – on the other hand – was important to her. She thought about him every evening beforeshe went to sleep, she thought about him every morning. His messages made her smile, and the thought of their meeting made her feel warm inside. She knew that with every meeting, she wanted more – longer conversations, just one more movie to watch, another joke to share, another (un)accidental touch. She shivered at each thought of his touch. It has always been so casual and innocent, yet so powerful and soothing. Oh, fuck. Enough of this. He’s so not my type. Her own thoughts terrified her, so she tried to push them away.

***

The evening came very fast. Enveloped in a black, knee-length, silky dress by Dior and Coco Mademoiselle by Chanel, Naomi found herself in a cab on the way to the dinner. Her hair was styled in soft waves and her lips painted red. She was very stressed about losing her job, but tried to do as much as possible to make herself presentable and appealing. What a pathetic circus– she thought.

Just before leaving the cab Naomi fixed her makeup. She entered the Ritz, and quickly headed to the hostess, who waited to lead the guests to the tables. The young girl welcomed her with a glass of champagne, which Naomi politely accepted. She took a small sip. Let the shit show begin. Both women headed to the small room just behind the main chamber of the restaurant. Much to Naomi’s surprise the CEO was already sitting at the small table prepared for two. His posture was relaxed, his jacket hung over the backrest of the chair. He must have been waiting here for some time. He was a handsome man in his fifties, but his mischievous smirk was very disturbing. He didn’t bother to stand up to welcome Naomi.

“There you are! Our shining little star. Our nominee. Come closer, darling. Let me finally take a proper look at you.” He beckoned her. Naomi approached him and extended her hand for a professional handshake.

“Mr McKenzie, very nice to meet you.” She faked her sweetest smile and looked around. “Where’s everybody? I was sure I'd heard it was a meeting with all of the presenters.”

“Surprise, surprise!” He exclaimed and took a sip of his whiskey. “Darling I want to talk with you and only you. YOU are our future. I want to transfer you to the news section and make you the main news presenter. Excited?” He looked her up and down. “Turn around”.

“Excuse me..?” She looked at him with her eyes wide open. That request caught her off guard. She quickly looked around. All of the tables were occupied, and Naomi felt like everyone’s eyes were settled on them.

“Darling I said just turn around for me. I want to see you.”

The shit-show indeed. Naomi slowly sat down in front of her boss, never ceasing to look him in the eyes. “No, Mr McKenzie. I’m afraid I can’t do that.” She gave him a sly smile.

“Disobedient. I don’t like disobedience.” He slowly poured whiskey to the empty glass standing on Naomi’s side, and after filling it with the liquid he handed it to her. “Here’s to our new news star.” He took his glass of whiskey and clicked her glass. With his other hand he grabbed her chin and turned her head to her right side and then back to the centre, forcing her to look at him. “You’re so perfect. I will make a star of you. Just be good and obedient.” He let go of her chin and sat comfortably in his chair.

Naomi, usually so outspoken and forward, didn’t know what to say. At the very moment she felt exposed. Vulnerable. Fragile. Lonely.

“Mr McKenzie, I’m sorry but I don’t really see our cooperation like this. I am very grateful for the given opportunity, but I really love my show, and I have put so much effort to make it work. People like it, the guests like it. It’s not just another talk show, it touches important issues in theatre and film industry, it gives information about acting methods. I think it’s very refreshing and I have only got positive feedback from our viewers. We also have the social media account and the show has the biggest number of active followers. People like it and they associate the show with me. I wouldn’t like to give it to anyone else. I feel like it’s my child.”

“Naomi. I don’t really give a fuck about the number of viewers or comments made by spoiled, cocaine addict celebrities. This show is running to its end and you either become the face of the evening news on my terms, or you can consider yourself jobless.”

“Well, if so… I guess you will have the one and only chance to look at my ass, just as you wanted to. I’m sorry, but I can’t take this offer.” She half whispered all these words. She worked very hard on her composure, but inside she felt like bursting out. She quickly stood up, held her bag and left the restaurant. Just when she caught the taxi and sat inside, the tears started running down her cheeks. She couldn’t believe she was deprived of her beloved child, just because someone decided to destroy it.

She gave the taxi driver her home address but after just a minute she changed her destination. Henry.

An hour later, she was standing at the door of Henry’s rented countryside house. She could hear laughter and screams from the inside. She slowly wiped her tears away, trying not to destroy the remains of her makeup. It must have been destroyed, as she felt her cheeks burning from crying. She took a deep sigh and knocked a couple of times. After what it felt like eternity, Henry opened the door.

“Naomi! You made it!” He looked her up and down “You look absolutely amazing! What a sexy dress. It’s more of a sweatpants party, but no worries. You will fit just perfectly.” Henry was in a very good mood, which made her smile a little. When he asked her in, he noticed her puffy eyes. Suddenly he got all serious and frowned at her. “Hey, come here.” He wrapped his big arms around her. He started to gently stroke her back with his left hand, and with the right one, he moved her hair to the side and placed the palm of his hand on the nape of her neck, pushing her even closer towards himself. When he felt that she started sobbing into his chest, he rested his chin on her head. “Do you want to talk?’ He asked gently.

“Not now.” was all she was able to say.

“Henners it’s your turn! What the fuck are you doing with the pizza deliv…” One of Henry’s friends ran into the hall, to check what was going on. “Ouch.. it doesn’t look like pizza delivery.. Sorry, sorry. Take your time guys. I’ve seen nothing.” He quickly got back to the living room. “Hey guys it’s not pizza delivery, it’s a lady!”

The comment kind of lifted Naomi’s spirit. She cry-laughed, and stepped backwards, breaking the embrace. “I’m sorry. Thank you.” She extended her hand and touched his arm. “Thank you. I feel much better now. We’ll talk later, ok? I need to relax. And I should change. I feel so overdressed.”

“Of course. I have my ex’s leggings and t- shirts here, if you want you can wear them. How about me preparing a good drink for you and you in the meantime taking a hot shower and changing?”

“Sounds perfect.” She said with a weak voice and gave him a faint smile. She looked defeated. She felt defeated. After a minute Henry brought her a pair of leggings and white tank top. Naomi took her time in the shower, she then fixed her makeup, dressed up and headed to the living room.

“Hello everyone. To those of you I don’t know yet, I’m Naomi” She smiled and waved her hand. She knew some of Henry’s friends, as they have all met a couple of times at the parties.

When the time passed, this small gathering made Naomi feel much better. Some got burnt down with shisha and weed. One of Henry’s mates was taking the piss at Henry being referred to as “daddy” on the Internet. Another one of his friends, excited with this news, went on the literotica website, picked up some spicy story and both guys started to read it aloud pretending it was about Henry. Naomi found it extremally stupid, but couldn’t stop laughing. Henry was just rolling his eyes and smiling, he was obviously embarrassed.

“Alright, enough!” He shouted after a minute and everyone got silent.

“Oh my god, Henry. That was so dominant” Naomi purred in a seductive voice and everyone started to laugh dramatically. Naomi just couldn’t breathe. “I’m so sorry, oh god. This is too good.” She covered her face with her hands. “I’m sorry…but I have just found out about that kink I had no idea about!”

At around 2 am, when everyone left, Naomi sat with Henry in the kitchen. She told him about her evening. He didn’t talk much, but was very supportive. He was listening to her carefully. He furrowed his brows and grabbed her hand. “I’m really sorry.” He whispered. They talked about it for another hour, and Naomi finally said: “Alright. I’ve got to go. Not that I need to prepare to work or anything, but still.” She laughed bitterly. In the meantime she ordered the Uber.

“You can stay, you know that.” He was still holding her hand gently brushing the inside of her palm with his thumb. Once she realized that, Naomi quickly withdrew her hand and stood up.

“No, you need to get rest before the big day.” Naomi grabbed her dress and high heels and headed to the main hall. Henry followed her.

Once Naomi went out, Henry stopped her by holding her wrist and said “Girl, don’t worry. You are strong. You’ll survive”. He kissed her on the cheek. “Let me know when you arrive home.”

These two sentences crushed Naomi’s heart. She’s heard it before and she’d never forget it. You are strong. You will survive.

As a child, Naomi’s biggest dream was to become the Principal of the Royal Ballet. At the age of three, she started her first ballet classes. She was a natural, and not long after she was accepted to the national ballet school. She was very talented. This is why she started to work in the Royal Opera House at the age of 12.

One summer Naomi had an accident. She fell down from a tree and crushed her ribs and knee. She also suffered a spinal injury. She had to have an operation. She had to spend two months in the hospital.

In the last week of Naomi’s hospital stay, her beloved teacher – Mrs Selena Kurylenko visited her. When Naomi’s mentor entered the room, she quickly exclaimed: “I just cannot wait to get back to school and on stage!”.

Selena Kurylenko sat on the small chair next to the bed. “Naomi. What are you talking about, my silly girl? You are not going back to school, child. After this accident, you will never dance again as a ballet dancer. I only came to bring your stuff and say goodbye.” She said with her thick, Russian accent. Mrs Kurylenko put a small bag on the counter next to the bed. “Your pointe shoes. Keep it as a souvenir.”

Even as a grownup Naomi still perfectly remembered the chills running down her spine on that very moment.  The chills that felt like needles. She still remembered Mrs Kurylenko’s last words: “It’s a shame your mother didn’t tell you that you won’t go back to school. She is a weak woman. Unlike you, Naomi. You are strong. You always have been, and you always will be. You will survive”.

You will survive. Naomi just nodded, said goodbye to Henry and quickly sat inside the car, which had arrived.  The driver asked for the place of destination, but she did not hear him. She hid her face in her palms, and couldn’t help crying. She was so fed up with everyone expecting her to be the strong one.

Suddenly she heard someone knocking on the window, which was followed by opening the car door. She quickly wiped her tears and looked at Henry leaning his shoulder on the opened door.

“I’m sorry, I just needed a moment for myself.” She said to both Henry and the driver.

“Naomi, get your ass out of the car.” Henry turned to the driver “I am very sorry for that situation. Here’s for the drive.” He gave the driver some money. “My friend is a little burned down and it’s better she stayed here. Thank you very much for your service.” Henry extended his hand to help Naomi out of the car. “Come on, get out.”

Reluctantly she went out of the car. The driver was a bit puzzled, but quickly disappeared, probably thinking that the party must have been pretty rough.

Henry raised his eyebrow at her and wrapped his arm around her “Come”.

“Noo.. I’m going home.” Naomi said with a small smile and tried to get out of his embrace. It was more of a tease than a real need to break the embrace of course.

He didn’t let her go and tightened his embrace. He also leaned forward and whispered into her hair: “Don’t push your limit baby girl, daddy will be pissed.” He gave her the strict gaze, but after a split second both of them burst out with laughter.

“This is sooo wrong Henry! So wrong!” She said, shaking her head. She finally got out of his embrace and went inside the house.

They’d been watching the most ridiculous horror movie, and at some point Naomi dozed off on the armchair she was sitting at. She woke up at around 4 am, and with sleepy eyes she looked at Henry, who was lying on his side on the sofa. He must have fallen asleep too. She slowly and silently knelt on the floor in front him and studied his face for a moment. He wasn’t her type, but sure thing he was an extremely attractive man. Naomi smiled at the sight of his curls getting into his eyes. She gently moved a strand of his hair to the side. “Are you sleeping..?” She half whispered. He didn’t react. “Hm.. maybe that’s true what you’ve said in the morning. Maybe I am falling for you after all. Too bad it would never work out though.” She stood up, and covered him with the blanket hanging on the sideboard of the sofa. Afterwards, she called the Uber, and once it arrived, she went home.

[callboxkat]

(Un)Broken - part 4

Author’s note: Deceit is in this part! The plan is to make his storyline separable from the rest of the story, though; so if you’d like to skip parts that include him, you’ll still be able to enjoy the fic.

Warnings: Deceit, death mention, swords, some brief passive aggression

Word count: 1218

Look for the masterpost in the notes!

...

The gallant knight slowly unsheathed his sword and held it aloft in a fighting stance, slowly and purposefully circling his opponent. His feet were sure on the slick floor of the cavern, and his bright eyes gleamed in the dim light as they took in the man before him. His free hand slowly rose to beckon him closer.

The villain smirked and slid his own weapon free of its sheath. He sauntered forward with the sword, and the golden beams of light illuminating the space glinted off of its sleek metal. He pointed it at the knight with a calm, unconcerned ease.

“You will never again terrorize this kingdom, foul demon,” the knight proclaimed, unperturbed. “If we need fight, then we shall. And I will surely triumph. You are surrounded. My fellow knights near with every second. Even so, I offer you one final opportunity: surrender, and I shall spare you your life.”

The villain stared, almost in disbelief. The knight waited, ready. As proof of his claim, the sound of hooves neared, growing louder and louder, a thunder of sound promising death.

The villain’s sword dipped down, just slightly.

“I...” the villain’s eyes, poisonous green, squinted. They drifted down, towards the cold stone floor. The man who had terrorized a kingdom for a decade sighed in defeat. “I accept your gracious offer.”

The knight, satisfied at the villain’s good sense, reached to take the hilt of his weapon.  But then, at the very instant his fingertips brushed the hilt, a loud clang echoed through the cavern. The knight stared in shock as his faithful, beloved sword, a gift from his father the king, was knocked to the ground. The hero was barely able to roll out of the way of the next attack as the villain advanced, his dark cape flowing out behind him.

“Deceiver!” The knight cried, getting to his feet.

The man before him merely grinned, his white teeth glittering. He swung down again for another strike, which the knight dodged. A leather-gloved hand came up and gripped the wrist that held the sword, barely keeping it from claiming his head. His opponent’s eyes widened in surprise.

The knight, without his weapon, had to think fast. He curled his free hand into a fist, and in a desperate hope, he swung—!

And far, far too quickly, Roman’s acting partner jerked away.

Roman pulled back. “What was that? It was going so well!” he cried, practically whining—but who cared? The magic was ruined! He himself had been all but lost in the scene, and judging by the silence around them, so had most of the cast and crew watching the practice. Now they all seemed to be coming out of their trance, and conversation and movement surrounded them once again.

“I told you,” D snapped as the crowd dispersed, dropping his prop sword to the wooden stage with a huff. “Not from the left! The punch has to be from the other side.”

“But that doesn’t work,” Roman pointed out for what was probably the tenth time. “The angle is much better for the audience—and besides, my other arm is kinda busy with your sword.”

D glared at him. “It looks far better the other way.”

“It does not,” Roman countered. “You know that.”

“Well,” D drawled. “I’m glad you’re so sure about that. Perhaps my understudy will agree.”

Roman stared. “What?”

D studied one of his gloves. “It would surely be a shame, wouldn’t it, if you had to switch costars with only a month before the performance?”

Roman gaped at him. “You wouldn’t drop out of the play over one bit of choreography!”

“Oh, no, of course not,” D drawled, looking back up at him, although the glitter in his eyes promised otherwise.

Roman frowned, bending to retrieve his own prop sword from the floor. He slid it slowly back into its faux leather sheath. No, he didn’t really want to test that. As nice as D’s understudy was—a far more pleasant guy, really, who hadn’t abandoned one of Roman’s friends when he was in need—he was not exactly going to win any awards in acting. If Roman wanted this play to turn out as he dreamed, he needed D as his costar.

“I’ll look into it,” he finally obliged, frowning up at D once more before turning and exiting the stage, his scarlet cape billowing out after him.

As he put away his props and costume, several of Roman’s costars came to congratulate him on a great practice, and on his play as a whole.

That was part of why Roman was especially determined to make this play’s performance unforgettable. It was his play. Twice a year, the college he attended put on a play written by one of its students. This honor was almost exclusively offered to senior screenwriters; so the fact that Roman, a junior, was one of the students chosen this year was no small feat.

He had to make sure it was perfect.

…

The next afternoon, although they did not have rehearsal, Roman made his way to the theatre department. He knew the man he was looking for tended to hang out there.

And, indeed, there he was, lounging on top of an old bit of scenery backstage: part of what had probably been a balcony.

“Oh, you. Did you fix it?” D asked as Roman approached, looking down at him from his perch.

“I told you, I’m working on it,” Roman sighed.

“It’s a simple fix, I really don’t see the problem,” he said languidly. “What do you want, then?”

“Well, you know I’m supposed to submit the final promotional flyer tonight,” Roman said. “And, you know, we kinda need your name. For the program.”

“Seth.”

“Seth?”

“That’s my name.”

“I have never once heard you go by Seth. Yesterday you told Camden your name was Dennis.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I never said that,” D said, smirking like a Cheshire cat. “If you simply must know, my name is actually Delilah. Seth is my middle name.”

“Riiiight,” Roman said blandly. “Look, you don’t want to give anyone your actual name, fine! Plenty of people don’t like their given names. Just give me something to put down.”

D opened his mouth again, probably to give him another blatant lie, but Roman cut him off.

“Give me a stage name. You’re never going to get anywhere in theatre if you don’t have a consistent name, are you? It doesn’t have to be your real name. Just give me a stage name. Just pick one.”

D seemed to ponder for a moment. Then he brushed his blonde hair—long on only one side for whatever reason—from his face, leaned forward, and grinned down at Roman. “You know what? You’re the playwright. Surprise me.”

Roman scoffed, turned around, and walked away.

When he sat down at a computer soon after, he sat there for a while watching the cursor blink in the blank spot where his costar’s name was supposed to go.

Finally, he began to type, shaking his head as he did so. If D hated it, it was his own fault for making Roman choose. He hit ‘submit’ on the final document before he could rethink it.

Coming April 26-28:

KNIGHTS OF LIGHT AND SHADOW

Starring: Roman Reyes Espinosa and Deceit.

…

Tag list: @patton-loves-coloring @starryfirefliesbloggo @purplesoul-at-hogwarts  @gaylotusthatexists @quoth-the-sparrow @awesomelissawho @amuthefunperson @faithfreedom @heck-im-lost @gayfandomsaremything @bunny222 @syndianites @astraastro @momolinia @captainswan618 @hamilin-manuel-miranda @goldenkiddos @afilhadehades-blog @virgeofselfdestruction @theresneverenoughfandoms @iris-sanders-athena @super-magical-wizard @rainbow-sides @thefallendog @fanficptsd @zodiac-awesome @lookitsthatquietgirl @nerd-in-space @pearls-of-patton @ab-artist @angered-turtle @im-so-infinitesimal @raygelkitty @dr-gloom @whats-going-on-kiddos @the-dumbster @oh-star-how-the-mighty-fall @fillyourteacup @kittiebrick @youtuberswithalex

[thebigpapilio]

All That Glitters: Chloé Appreciation Week’s “Golden” Prompt!

Hi, everyone! As you’ve most likely picked up, I’m AspergerBloodthirst, and this is my first submission for Chloé Appreciation Week (I call it CAW)! 

The first prompt I needed to do was entitled “Golden.” After some thought, I remembered the lyric “All that glitters is gold, and only shooting stars break the mold.”

The fingers started tapping from there. This fic is Chlonette, and if you don’t like that (or Chloé, or non-hetero ships whatsoever), you don’t have to read it! 

ENJOY!!!

Chloé was 7 and three-fourths years old when she first saw Shrek 1. She had known Adrien for 3-4 years at this point, but the two of them had just been best friends to her at that point. She had been generally uninterested in the movie, to be honest - she was younger and not vain (just spoiled), and these factors led to her not truly understanding why anyone would give up their title and looks for love. But Adrien seemed to love it, and that made her happy. It was that day when she realized she’d fallen for him.

She rewatched Shrek 1 a few days later (she also bought the rest of the movies and was preparing for the soon-to-be-released Shrek 4) so she’d be able to hold conversation with him about it.

She had been planning to surprise him on his next birthday, but it was not to be; Emilie passed away a few days before, so Adrien’s birthday was spent mourning Emilie.

Chloé was 9 and one-half years old when she first met Sabrina. Sabrina and her were only friends then, though Chloé would look back as an adult and occasionally cry about it; Marinette always knew how to comfort her. Things got hairy one time when she heard Sabrina jamming out to All Star and started a fight, but they fixed things quickly. The fact that Sabrina gave up what she liked for Chloé would “earn” her the grand title of Best Friend.

Chloé was 14 and one fourth years old when Ladybug and Chat Noir appeared on the scene. The Bourgeois heiress was in awe of the spotted superheroine, dodging Stoneheart’s attacks like she’d been training exactly for Ivan becoming a weird rock monster her whole life.

Oh, and Chat Noir was good too, she supposed.

She didn’t know it at the time, but she fell in love with Ladybug too. She was in love with Adrien, she thought to herself if her mind ever brought it up.

All that glittered seemed to be gold, and life seemed to be a cool place. Of course, it only got colder.

Chloé was 16 and five-sixths years old, and also in danger of being sent to an orphanage or something like that when she realized her mistakes; at last she figured out that she’d been a massive brat and dangerous to her beloved city. André had finally been busted; he was arrested for robbing folks’ bank accounts blind (among other things), and while Chloé was declared innocent of everything but leading near half of the akumatized victims to the trauma being supervillains gave them, she felt incredibly bad (it wasn’t just because she had nowhere to go). She could have done something if she’d known; the depressive thoughts opened her mind to the truth of her actions. She would have nowhere to go, and so she decided to fix her behavior.

She started with Sabrina, and then the rest of her classmates and teachers followed suit. Not all of them were trusting, but few if any of those people didn’t even give her a chance. Marinette Dupain-Cheng and Adrien were the last ones - she’d forgotten about both of them somehow. She and Dupain-Cheng (stop referring to her as that, she noted to herself) had found a very uneasy truce when Adrien started dating them. She got over that very quickly - as it turned out, they decided to call it off rather quickly, yet they stayed great friends. They probably stopped because of Gabriel saying no, she snarked to herself. One sincere apology to both of them later in which she achieved both of their forgiveness (we’ve been waiting to hear it for far too long, the two said), B.C. had finally reached closure (it stood for Bratty Chloé, and it was the nickname for the past version of herself - it was also a clever quip that made Adrien proud of her).

They celebrated by watching the all 4 Shrek movies - something Chloé had wanted to do for a very long time.

Chloé was 21 and one-sixth years old when she started dating Marinette. The formed rivals had bonded over Adrien, fashion, and other things post-graduation; Tom and Sabine had legally adopted Chloé, given the fact she had nowhere else to go but the foster care system; henceforth, the two former contenders for Adrien’s affections seeing each other and eventually falling in love. After their first date of staying home and watching all the Shrek movies without inviting Adrien (they felt bad later and confessed to him. He forgave them, of course), they started saving for university. Chloé got into an impressive business school, while Marinette made the fashion school of her dreams. While they were in a long-distance relationship, the two did their best to make sure they chatted at least once a week. In fact, Chloé was planning to propose to her when they got back to each other.

When the day came, it turned out that Marinette had a giant (albeit superheroine-themed) surprise for her too. Of course, both agreed to keep these new revelations secret for as long as they needed to. Needless to say, everyone had been very pleased.

It was one month after Chloé’s 26th birthday that she married Ladybug. Sometimes she still couldn’t believe Paris’ savior (and former love rival when a civilian) wanted her for a bride. It was a grand affair - Gabriel (who had lightened up after beginning his relationship with Nathalie, who also helped him to see the immense pain he’d left his own son with) had helped a lot, even agreeing to not only make a dress for the both her and Marinette, (who was his new star designer and possible heir), but he’d walk the blonde down the aisle to her raven-haired bride too (did you really think André was able at the moment?). After all, the Bourgeois and Agreste families were close; not to mention that (alongside Ms. Bustier and their entire class), Chloé & Marinette had made sure that Adrien had a lot of people in his corner when his own father had not been. Heck, even Hawkmoth ended up being merciful during the time of the wedding - he hadn’t made akumas since a few days before their announcement, and it was coming close to a year without akumas. Marinette and Adrien, still amazingly close friends (Chloé had figured out Adrien was Chat Noir before the duo’s first anniversary, so she was surprised she hadn’t figured out Marinette sooner) were half-joking and half-seriously worried that Hawkmoth had figured out Marinette’s identity and was going to swarm the place any second, maybe take Chloé hostage. Chloé’s new hair comb, however, would have perplexed the purple perpetrator, most likely allowing the now-quartet of heroes to finally take him down.

But things never end the way we expect them to, do they?

Chloé was 29 years old when Hawkmoth finally yielded. His moth-made head told the crowd of Parisians led by Mayor Raincomprix (Chloé was still incredibly proud of Sabrina for that) he was giving this speech and then handing over his Miraculous to his two enemies. He did not state why he was going to do this, nor did he explain how he could do this, but in the end, he’d profoundly and professionally apologized for the horrors he had unleashed upon Paris, swept up his un-evilized moths and packed up shop. That was the last the public saw of Hawkmoth for a long time.

Chloé, Adrien, and Marinette were incredibly sure knew it was Gabriel after that, so after transforming, they stormed the mansion with Rena, cornered the fashion mogul, got the details. Ultimately, he was forgiven, so long as he didn’t try anything else (then again, he was not able to - he renounced the Peacock and Moth Miraculi). She’d been Queen Bee for less then two years, and now it ended. She was fine about it, though - she and Rena Rouge only showed up sometimes anyway. The reveal between the four was not particularly interesting to Chloé - she knew all of them except for Rena. Marinette had willingly told her on their engagement day, and Adrien was Chloé Bourgeois-Dupain-Cheng’s best friend! It made sense that Alya was Rena Rouge, Chloé would laugh while reflecting upon her time before and with the hair comb. One trip to Master Fu later, and all Miraculi were safe and where they needed to be when unnecessary. Chloé would miss Pollen, that said, but she hadn’t known her for long enough to have the bond with the bee kwami that Marinette and Adrien had with… Tinky and Lagg, was it? It wasn’t important now - that was the last the public would hear of Ladybug, Chat Noir, Queen Bee and Rena Rouge (really, Miraculous things in general) for a long time.

Chloé was a girl who’d had the best and worst the world had to offer. While it was true that the years had not stopped coming, Chloé just had to remember her loved ones, and then she would be a Believer of their opinion: She was an All Star, and this was the way she liked it (and she never got bored).

[robininthelabyrinth]

FFXV: Eschaton - 4/4

Fic: Eschaton (ao3 link) - chapter 4/4

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Pairing: None (gen)

Summary: Sure, it’s the end of the world, but that just means someone’s got to fix it.

And then the world found its somebodies.

(aka, with Noctis gone into the Crystal and no one sure when he’ll be back, Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto end up saving the world one piece at a time)

——————————————————————————————

After Hammerhead, everything happens, it seems, all at once.

They almost don’t know how to act, seeing Noctis – older, of course, but still Noctis, Noct, their friend, their king, who they had begun to fear they might not live to see again. He’s older, the way they are, and strangely calmer, more serene, more centered, but he’s there.

They fall into old patterns almost immediately, looking to him for the way forward, and the way forward lies to Insomnia and the Citadel and Ardyn.

Noctis asks about armor.

Prompto finds him the old Crownsguard armor that belonged to King Regis, once upon a time, and then stored in a Hammerhead closet by Cid, and with it the golden leg brace that Noctis takes with a sigh of relief.

They wear Crownsguard uniforms themselves, heavy fabric forming protective coats, uniforms they wore in his honor during the Long Night and gladly wear now, the symbols of their roles as royal retainers.

And yet –

Something more.

Ignis’ coat is studded, a feature of dual usage: the studs hook together a tough leather underlayer for additional protection, while the studs themselves form formulae and weaknesses of various daemons written out in the blind-language in the event he would like to double-check a reference.

Gladio’s coat is dark, but not dark enough to fully hide the checkered effect given by the writing – hundreds, thousands of signatures, all his students adult and child, signing their names or designations in a massive effort to wish him good luck and safety on his journeys.

And Prompto –

His coat is the simple black of the Crownsguard. Only on the breast does it differ from the traditional: an intricately embroidered design in reflective light, mimicking the glittering stars of the constellations that form the insignias of the Army of Night. But Prompto, their beloved General, favors no squad or wing and bears upon his chest no constellation but rather a face, a breastplate in the fashion of the dreaded Medusa, and the face picked out in stars is the traditional helmet-mask of the MTs.

Prompto marches, head held high, and where he goes his army marches with him.

They are excited, and they are hopeful, and they are happy.

Noctis does not tell them about the blood price until they sit in the camp, just like they used to, the night before they go to Insomnia, and the Citadel, and Ardyn.

The blood price that means that they will lose Noctis almost as soon as they’ve gotten him back.

The Chosen King can defeat the darkness, but only at the cost of a life – his own.

“Wait, what?!” Prompto exclaims. “That’s bullshit!”

They all missed Noctis like a wound in the side, but none more than Prompto; he would rage at the injustice of it, they all would, they're primed for it, fit to burst, but Noctis holds up a hand, seeking peace.

"It's the will of the Six. But let's not waste the night speaking of that," he says. "Let's talk of good times, the past, instead."

They don’t want to – they’ve missed Noctis so much, and the thought of losing him again is intolerable – but it’s what he wants, and they want to see him happy more than anything else.

So they do.

And in the morning, they go to the Citadel.

Ardyn knows, somehow, that Noct is coming, and he has summoned all the daemons he can, surrounding the Citadel.

The areas around have been cleared by Prompto's armies in the ensuing years, but the area that remains Ardyn's is still a mess, rubble on the ground, cars destroyed, nothing human remaining.

"Looks like we're going to have a fight," Noctis says, standing at the barrier between the city proper and the neighborhood of the Citadel, and summons a sword.

"Noct," Ignis says. "Before we go in –"

Noctis looks at him.

Ignis removes from his pack a sword. It glitters silver even in the darkness, and matches the sword in Noctis' hand precisely but for the wings and stars that decorate the one Ignis holds.

Noctis' eyes widen, the first thing that has surprised him since his return.

"Ignis," he breathes. "It's beautiful."

"It's made just like yours," Gladio says. "The first one, the one you brought with you from the Citadel, the first one you summon, every time, even though it's too weak for you to use now."

Noctis looks at the sword he summoned as if seeing it for the first time.

"We found a special metal," Prompto says, beaming. "It's as light as your original, but much stronger – we had to use a special flame to forge it, and diamonds to carve the designs into it once it was done."

"It's for you," Ignis says, and holds it out.

"Thank you," Noctis breathes. "My friends, thank you all."

Ignis hesitates, as if to say something more, but decides against it. "It's nothing," he says. "We would do far more for you, our king and our friend."

After that, they focus on fighting – first the daemons that stand in their path and then Ifrit himself, the Infernian, the last of the Six that they need to defeat to win for Noctis their power.

Gladio delivers his blows a touch too gleefully, and Prompto aims his shots where they would hurt any male most, and Ignis empties what could have been stretched to a half-year's worth of potions and elixirs keeping them alive and curing their burns.

It’s worth it.

And then they fight on, up to the tower at the highest point of the Citadel, the throne room, standing by Noctis' side only long enough to be swatted away by the Accursed's magic like flies.

They can do nothing but watch as Noctis faces Ardyn alone.

But he is not entirely alone: when he wields his Armiger, Ardyn's own corrupted version shining red, there shines an extra point of light in Noctis' circle.

"What arm is that?" Ardyn sneers, surprised: Noctis spins fourteen arms around him, not thirteen.

Noctis appears equally surprised, but stands tall. "Mine," he says, and charges once more into the fray.

He wins, and Ardyn lies dead upon the ground.

His soul has fled, but his body remains intact: the work is not yet done. The Accursed cannot be killed so easily.

They meet Noctis at the steps to the throne room.

"I know what I must do," he says, and he is noble and tragic and beautiful – and far, far too young – all at once. "I leave it in your hands, my friends."

And he goes as they turn to fight the wave of daemons that rise up behind them in a last-ditch effort to stop the Chosen King.

"You know what," Prompto says, watching them form.

His fellows glance at him, eyebrows raised.

"This is bullshit," Prompto says, and he crosses his arms. "The Six created the Accursed, and they gave Noctis all their signs of favor and blessing – fighting him the whole damn way, wrecking the Disc and Altissia and Niflheim and everything while they did it – and then even after that they steal him away from us, damning us to ten years of darkness and unanswered prayers, and even then, that's not enough? They have to kill him, too?"

"The Astrals are cruel," Ignis says; he has said such things many times before, in the Long Night.

"Too cruel, too selfish," Gladio agrees, his usually cheerful countenance twisted into a scowl. "I'm with Prompto. This is bullshit."

"It's the will of the Six," Ignis tells them. “You heard Noctis.”

The two say nothing. They only look at him, their Supreme Commander during the darkness, and wait for his word.

Ignis tilts his head to the side in thought, considering the unspoken proposal, their unspoken suggestion, even as the daemons mass before them.

"Fuck the Six," he decides. "Prompto?"

"With pleasure," Prompto says, and makes a gesture.

Squadron Orion – named for the constellation called after the very first daemon Hunter, enshrined within the stars themselves for his service – fought very hard for the honor of escorting the royal party, and has hung back only on the strength of their orders and discipline, and now, given freedom, their snipers unleash wave after wave of fire, raining down from the rooftops where they have been watching.

The daemons fall helplessly beneath them.

"Let's go," Ignis commands, and they run up, hoping – none of them is sure what they are hoping for. Not to be too late, perhaps.

They find Noctis upon the throne, his father’s sword through his heart, and the magic in the room fading fast.

The air feels lighter.

“Is the curse gone?” Gladio asks, glancing out of the windows.

“It’s 3AM,” Ignis says, consulting his visor. “We’ll find out in a few hours. Noctis?”

“On the throne,” Prompto says, his voice dull. “He’s been stabbed.”

“Well, unstab him, and check to see if there’s any sign of life,” Ignis snaps.

Prompto and Gladio rush ahead, with Ignis making his way up a little slower, but no less anxious.

“Nothing,” Gladio says, his hands on Noctis’ neck, his hands red with Noctis’ blood from where he removed the sword and cast it aside. “He’s gone.”

Ignis presses a phoenix down into the wound, but nothing happens. “Nothing,” he says bleakly. “The Six do not wish for him to live.”

“He’s still warm,” Prompto says. “And like you said, Iggy; fuck the Six.”

He reaches to his breast and tears at it, the beautiful embroidery shredding under his grasping hands, and beneath his clothing there is the ever-smiling mask of the MT.

“You brought one?” Gladio exclaims.

“One what?” Ignis asks.

“A converter! You guys finally got it small enough to carry!”

“Just one,” Prompto says, already fitting the now-familiar smiling green mask over Noctis’ all-too-pale face. “We’ve only been able to get one down small enough; the power requirements are insane, and the army sort of unanimously agreed that I would carry it and that we wouldn’t tell anyone until we figured out a way to make more. Iggy, will this work?”

“The MT process is man-made,” Ignis says, and his voice strengthens with hope. “It owes nothing to the Six.”

“Will he still be Noctis?” Gladio demands.

“The brain can survive up to eight to twelve hours after death,” Ignis says. “But between three to ten minutes is best for full functionality - under three, if we hope to avoid brain damage entirely.”

“Gladio?” Prompto demands.

“I felt the last of his pulse slip away myself,” Gladio says. “We’re at a minute twenty-five seconds and counting. How long will this take?”

“Fifty-five seconds if I’m lucky,” Prompto says, moving as fast as he can to begin the process. “I've never done this before, just practice. Fuck –”

“Minute thirty,” Gladio says. “Prompto –”

“I’m working on it.”

“Keep up the count,” Ignis orders. “Prompto, can I assist?”

“We need the body to start to heal once it's revived, or at least not be actively trying to die as much,” Prompto says. “Anything non-magical would be best, but potions’ll do in a pinch.”

"Gladio, swap with me," Ignis says. "First aid kit is in my pack. Minute forty."

Ignis puts his hands at Noct's pulse-points. Nothing there.

Gladio grabs the first aid kit. "I have a high powered potion," he reports. "Phoenix down, in case that helps once he's revived. Non-magic items include a local, a surgical staple gun, transfusions, and a shit ton of bandages. Prompto, let me know when you need me."

Prompto nods, putting the nodes into place.

"Minute fifty," Ignis says.

"First start," Prompto says. "Five second count –"

"Minute fifty five."

"Now!"

The mask's eyes glow red, activating, and Noct's body heaves upwards, reacting to the strong electric charge of activation.

"Still no pulse," Ignis reports, hands steady and voice calm. "Two minutes."

"To be expected," Prompto says, too focused for any emotion, not even the desperate scrabbling hope-against-hope they all feel. "Setting up second start."

"Two minutes, ten."

Prompto says nothing, even though it’s clear he’s now running behind.

"Two minutes, fifteen."

"Second start," Prompto says. "Now!"

Noctis' body heaves again, and the sides of the mask begin glowing as processing power begins to churn. The first start creates the connection between mask and existing brainwaves; the second activates the mask's sub-tier control systems.

The ones that assist with involuntary impulses.

"I have a pulse," Ignis reports. "Two minutes, twenty – Gladio, we need healing or he'll bleed out entirely now that his heart's beating again."

Gladio moves quickly. His jaw sets as he reports, "Nothing from the phoenix down, and the potion is doing nothing. The Six want him."

"The Six aren't going to get him," Ignis says harshly. "First aid kid, now. Two minutes, thirty. Prompto, remember, more than three minutes risks brain damage."

“I know,” Prompto snaps.

Gladio reaches for the kit. There's no time to apply the local anesthetic first, but if they don't stop the bleeding, it'll be a moot point. He goes for the surgical staple gun.

Man-made technology.

"Wound is closed," Gladio says, drawing a line of adhesive to keep the lines of it further together. "He's lost a lot of blood - setting up transfusion now."

"Niflheim transfuse unit?" Prompto asks, already working on setting up stage three.

"Only the best," Gladio replies. In developing the MTs, as cruel and horrific a process as it was, Niflheim had developed transfusion devices far more powerful than anything Lucis had ever seen. Usually, of course, it's used for daemon blood, but Ignis packed plenty of regular packets with each of their blood types – Gladio and Noctis share the same, so there is plenty to spare.

"Two minutes forty-five," Ignis says, and the tension shows in his voice. "Gladio?"

"Transfuse unit set up, onto bandaging. It's as good as we're going to get. Prompto, go for it."

"Third start," Prompto says. "Activating – now."

Noctis heaves under their hands one more time, shaking and shuddering and finally still once more.

The mask shines with the light of an activated computer.

All the lights are green.

"Ignis?" Prompto asks.

"His pulse is steady," Ignis says, and checks Noctis' mouth. "And he's breathing. But we won't know for sure until we wake him up."

"I've applied the local anesthetic," Gladio says. "I've got plenty of the stronger stuff here, too, if he wakes up in pain - if he wakes up at all. Let's do a check and then put him back out."

"Ignis?" Prompto asks. He doesn't bother laying out the dangers of waking someone so injured and recently revived; Ignis knows them all.

"I think we need to take the risk of waking him now," Ignis says after a moment of consideration. "We must return to Lestallum triumphantly, with a corpse or with a man; we cannot let their hope linger in between only to die slowly."

Prompto nods. "Voice directed remote activation," he says, and his forcefully calm voice doesn't conceal the tears streaming down his face, or the way his hands clench and unclench spasmodically. "User: Prompto Argentum. Access code: star light, star bright."

The mask flickers confirmation.

"Direction: activate unit. Now."

The mask's lights flicker.

They all wait. The mask's sub-tier commands are responding, stimulating the parts of the brain responsible for awareness. The Empire used the function to regulate sleep; they use it, now, as a pick-me-up wake-up call. Or, in cases like this, to get answers they dearly need.

Noctis groans.

They all tense, staring at him.

"Five more minutes," he grumbles.

"He's alive," Prompto chokes, and covers his face. “He’s him.”

"Gladio," Ignis says, and finds he can say no more.

Gladio moves, applying both anesthetic and sedative, to let Noctis sleep in full before the local wears off and he begins to feel the results of the hole in his chest.

Noctis slips back into sleep without difficulty, the lines on his face fading as he relaxes.

Gladio tests another potion, one of the good ones from before the Long Night. "Still nothing," he reports, and his teeth are clenched.

Ignis reaches for one of his spare potions, one that post-dates the Night, one of the ones they made themselves from mining the remnants of the Disc of Cauthess. Less efficient, they've found, than the old ones made with the magic of the Kings of Lucis behind them, but perhaps...

Gladio takes it from him. His exhale of relief reveals the result even before he reports, "It took. He's healing."

Ignis' shoulders slump. "He's alive," he says, his voice blank with sheer shocked relief.

"He's alive," Prompto echoes.

"I'm really glad most of the Six are dead," Gladio says conversationally, his hands still busily bandaging. "Because I'm pretty sure we just said fuck you to the Revelation of Bahamut."

Ignis snorts, comforted, as always, by Gladio's special mix of a fiery temper and down-to-earth practicality. "The Six have had their Night with Noctis ," he says, ignoring Prompto and Gladio's groans at the pun. "Now it's our turn to have the day."

"Today the dies does not die," Prompto immediately jokes, using the archaic word for 'day'.

"What did I do in a past life to get stuck with the two of you?" Gladio grumbles good-naturedly. "C'mon, let's get Orion to bring in a stretcher. I want Noctis under proper hospital watch as soon as possible."

"Agreed," Ignis says, rising to his feet. He can feel the blood that covers him; he suspects it's covering the other two as well. "Another transfusion unit, perhaps."

"I'm already using everything you had on you," Gladio says wryly. "At this rate, Noctis won't have any blood of his own left in there."

"Given that this whole shitshow started with the blood of the kings of Lucis, maybe that's not such a bad thing," Prompto says, standing as well and calling to the Army squadron outside the doors.

"Indeed," Ignis says thoughtfully. "Perhaps not."

"Doesn't matter," Gladio says. "We're heading to Lestallum. It's time to bring the King in Exile home."

Noctis feels warm and fuzzy, mostly. Like maybe his reward for giving his life to his people was to be reborn as a puppy like Umbra – honestly, that would explain a lot.

Unfortunately, the feeling is only 'mostly'.

The rest of him feels like something died in his mouth.

"Uuuuuugh," he says, and someone lifts up his head and puts a cup of water to his lips.

The feeling is familiar enough – from his childhood, right after the accident – that he forces his eyes open.

He's not sure what he expects to see – Luna, maybe? During his time in the Crystal, he'd seen a quick flash of their wedding and his coronation, a true king of Lucis at last, and he'd vaguely gotten the idea that he would get that after he died as some sort of consolation prize for not being alive anymore. Not that anything was actually consolation for finding out your whole life was good for nothing but being set up as a sacrificial lamb, and that his dad and Luna had known about it the whole time.

Noctis had some not-fully-formed plans to have a word with both of them once he had a chance.

It's not Luna, though.

It's Ignis.

That by itself would've been fine, actually – what heaven is heaven without your friends? – but Ignis is still blind, the scars and the blankness and the visor he'd adopted, and he also looks vaguely distracted, like he's listening to a phone call.

That's distinctly not what Noctis would consider heavenly.

It's even less heavenly when Ignis suddenly says, "Prompto, we agreed to take shifts. He's just drinking water; if he actually wakes up, I'll tell you. You can stop calling every five minutes."

Heh. That sounds like Prompto.

"Gladio!" Ignis abruptly yelps. "What are – You're supposed to be asleep – what do you mean, you 'had a good feeling'? Go back to sleep this instant!"

Poor Ignis. Even death doesn't keep him from being bossy.

Noctis can't see the phone, but he figures Ignis is using some sort of radio, maybe connected to his glasses-goggles-visor thing.

"Say hi for me," he croaks.

Ignis very satisfyingly drops the glass – it bounces, luckily, instead of breaking – and exclaims, "He's awake!"

"Yeah," Noctis says, wondering why it's such a big deal. If he's dead, he's dead, right?

Unless he's gone back in time or something – man, he hopes he hasn't gone back in time. That'd been enough of a trip when he'd done it with Umbra; if he has to relive sacrificing himself again, he doesn't know what he's done to deserve it – he's done everything the Six wanted from him –

He tries to get up.

"No, don't –" Ignis says, but it's too late.

There's an awful pain and Noctis finds himself on his back again. "Ouch," he says, staring at the ceiling. He hurts. Why does he hurt?

"Because you got stabbed with a giant sword," Ignis says. "Try to avoid that in the future, perhaps?"

Stabbed with a –

Wait.

"I'm alive?!" Noctis exclaims, then clutches at his chest. No more yelling.

"Yes," Ignis says. "We revived you after we found you on the throne."

"Phoenix down shouldn't have been able to work," Noctis protests. He'd suggested it to Bahamut, in the Crystal, but Bahamut had been pretty damn clear that it was a no go. "The blood price –"

"The Chosen King defeated the Accursed at the price of a life, his own," Ignis says. "You willingly gave up your life and were definitely, fully, one hundred percent dead for two minutes, fifty seconds. We were counting."

Noctis chews on that for a few minutes. "But – how? The phoenix down…?"

"Phoenix down didn't work," Ignis confirms. "The magic that powers it is from the Six originally; we think that's the issue. We used man-made tech."

"Huh," Noctis says. That sounds - disturbing plausible, actually.

But what about –

"Is the Sun back? The Scourge, is it gone? What about the daemons?"

If all that had all been for nothing...

"The Sun has risen," Ignis says. "Those afflicted with the Scourge have been tested, and their blood is clean. The daemons – well, they're still around, but they've gone back to fleeing sunlight, so defeating them is going to be a lot easier going forward, and we have plenty of very enthusiastic hunters."

It's done.

It's done, it's done, it's done – and Noctis is somehow improbably, impossibly alive.

"What do I do now?" he asks. His whole life, he was meant to be a sacrificial lamb. The lamb has been sacrificed, and he still lives.

"Well," Ignis says dryly. "I know it can be very convenient to have a script that says you bow out dramatically at the end of the final battle and can therefore avoid all the messy rebuilding business that we've been working on, but you are the King of Lucis, so I'm sure we can think of something for you to do."

"Never change, Iggy," Noctis says, and means it, and that's when Prompto and Gladio burst into the room, shouting gleefully.

Noctis holds out his hands and feels nothing but happiness.

Except for that taste in his mouth.

Ick.

Noctis spent ten years in the Crystal, but it didn't feel like it. He'd thought, before he saw Talcott, that it had been a month or two. A year, at most.

Not ten.

Even when he'd gotten out of Angelgard and sailed to the ruined dock – the ferry port by Galdin Quay, because he hadn't been able to face up to seeing the real city further inland and what was left of it – he hadn't really believed it. Sure, there were lots of dead plants rotting in the fields, but he hadn't really been paying attention. It'd been dark, after all.

And then there was Hammerhead, and his friends, and that wasn't so different, either. The garage was the same, and the diner – sure, he noticed that there was a much larger settlement beyond, but Talcott said that it was a base for hunters. It made sense that it'd be bigger, powered by generators and what power could be spared from Lestallum. Talcott said most people went to Lestallum.

And still, Noctis didn't think too much about it.

The Citadel was surrounded by daemons – he expected that. Perhaps he should've thought about how they'd managed to get so far into the city before seeing one, but no; he would've simply assumed that Ardyn had pulled them back to the Citadel.

It's only now that he really starts to notice that things are...different.

Very different.

Ten years, and Noctis hadn't realized how much would change.

The first change he actually notices is the freaking MT coming into his hospital room and saying – saying! – in a static-y robot voice, "Orion Squadron casualty reports are in, General; less than a quarter of the unit."

"Good," Prompto replies, turning to look at the MT. "Give 'em a moon."

"They refuse the commendation," the MT replies, as if what Prompto said made any sense. "They request, instead, the privilege of Orion being named first unit."

Prompto smiles. "Granted." He glances at Ignis. "Unless you have any objections?"

"None," Ignis replies. "They deserve it."

"Orion?" Noctis asks. He's gotten several glasses of water now, and he's feeling much better now that he's been taken off the strongest drugs. Sure, his chest hurts, but three potions in ('new' potions, Ignis called them, though he hasn't explained what the difference is), Noctis is feeling almost up to conversation.

"The Army squadron that escorted us into the city," Ignis explains, like that makes any sense. "They kept us from being shot in the back, and they escorted us back out. They've requested the honor of being named the first unit – that is, the first unit in the assembly order. It means that they stand in the front during parades, and also that they're the first ones assigned in warfare – "

"I know what a first unit is," Noctis interrupts. "I – we have an army?"

He thought most of it had been destroyed in the attack on Insomnia.

Also. Why is there an MT here? Weren't all the MTs trying to kill them, at least before Niflheim had self-destructed?

"Sure," Prompto says eagerly. "It's mixed now, all units. We didn't want to permit any ideas about segregation settling in." He grins. "We call it the Army of Night."

"You didn't," Noctis says, distracted by sheer horror, but Prompto's shit-eating grin suggests that they did, in fact, call it that. That's Noctis' life in a nutshell; doomed to always have night-themed birthday parties and now, apparently, an army along the same lines. Also - "Mixed?"

"Yeah, regs and MTs," Prompto says. "We made sure every squadron has a pretty decent mix of both." He jabs a thumb at the MT. "Jiten here did most of the heavy lifting organization-wise."

MTs have names? Since when?

"I, uh," Noctis says, then hesitates, but no one jumps in to fill the gap. "Hi," he finally says to the MT. "Nice to meet you."

The MT salutes. "It is an honor to serve, Your Majesty," it says.

"Uh," Noctis says. "I'm...glad?"

"Oh, crap," Gladio says. "Noct, do you even know about the MTs?"

The other two look at him.

"Integration first took place during the Long Night," Gladio points out. "He wouldn't have –"

"—known, of course," Ignis finishes. "Noctis, forgive us. Approximately three months after the Long Night began – that is, three months after you disappeared into the Crystal, and the Sun stopped coming up – the MTs that had been deployed in Lucis, which had been left without any guidance from Niflheim, came to Lestallum under offer of parley and offered their assistance in a joint effort to survive the Long Night."

"They've been really helpful," Prompto adds, nodding at Jiten, who quickly retreats out of the room. "They could go out in the dark without worrying about daemons, which helped a lot in collection efforts, rebuilding, farming – refugee evac –"

"Prompto is their General," Gladio says.

Noctis smiles and waits for them to laugh.

They don't.

"Really?" he asks. "Good for you, Prompto!"

Prompto beams. "It's not that impressive," he says, a touch of that old childhood shyness coming back. "Tifor and Jiten – my aides-de-camp – they do a lot of the heavy lifting."

"Don't belittle your accomplishments, Prompto," Ignis says before Noctis can say the same. Prompto! A General! Of MTs! Noctis wouldn't have called that in a million years, but he can't help but be deeply glad that his friend finally has a position that gives him the respect he deserves. Noctis has always known Prompto was great, but he'd secretly feared that Crownsguard appointment or not, no one else would see the true worth behind the bright smiles and self-esteem issues.

But a General – well, that isn't too shabby.

That isn't too shabby at all.

"You'll have to tell me all about it," Noctis tells Prompto, who shoots him a thumbs-up. "How does the Army work, exactly? You and Gladio are Generals? What about Cor? He's still around, right?"

"Prompto is the General," Ignis says, sounding amused. "Singular; we don't really have enough manpower for more at the moment, though I suppose our Wing Commanders would likely be the next in line for promotion."

"You take away my Wing Commanders, I will tell your secretary on you next time you try to go hunting to avoid a meeting with the Laborers' Union," Prompto says immediately, with something of the cadence of an often-repeated argument. "We can worry about generals when – well, I guess Noct is back now, but he's only just woken up! It can wait!"

"Prompto's pretty protective," Gladio tells Noctis in a stage whisper. "I think he just doesn't want to have to do the paperwork necessary."

"You bet I don't," Prompto says. "And no one, not even our dear Supreme Commander, is gonna make me do it."

"Supreme Commander?" Noctis asks. He hopes that's not him. Being 'King' is enough of a title.

"Ignis," Gladio says with a smirk, even as Ignis sighs. "He handles administration – basically, he runs Lucis."

"Mostly Lestallum," Ignis says. "And the few outposts we constructed, such as the one in Galdin Quay."

"So, basically, everything left in Lucis," Prompto says. "He also manages our trade relationships with the MTs in Niflheim – and the remaining people there, though they took a pretty nasty hit – and takes care of our further outposts in Accordo and Tenebrae, though we figure they'll want some independence now that the sun's up again."

Noctis nods. That sounds – well, he supposes it doesn't sound too weird, given that the world was dropped into darkness and all of humanity had to unite to fight the daemon threat. He could see them reaching out to each other, and he knows better than anyone that there's no better administrator than Ignis.

"Technically, I only oversee our relationships with Accordo and Tenebrae," Ignis says mildly. "They've sent delegations here to be incorporated into our Office, but they run their own countries."

"They report to you," Gladio shoots back.

"What do you do?" Noctis asks Gladio. If Prompto's the sole General, then what job did his warlike Shield take up? Leading the Hunters, maybe? Protecting Lestallum with a home guard? Training new fighters?

"Gladio runs the school system," Ignis says.

Noctis blinks. "Really?"

He can't even add anything like he did with the shock of finding out Prompto's role. This is just too weird.

"I'm just as surprised as you," Gladio assures him, taking no offense. "It's just – you know. Someone needed to do it, and no one was doing it, so I just kinda fell into it. Iris runs the Hunters, so the Amicitias are still plenty represented."

"Don't let Gladio mislead you," Prompto says. "He's the most popular guy in all of Lestallum. He could run a coup any day he wanted."

"Luckily for all of you, I don't want!"

"Awww, is widdle Gladio afraid of some paperwork?" Prompto teases.

"I do more than you do, General," Gladio shoots back, but he's grinning.

Noctis chuckles.

"They haven't changed that much," Ignis murmurs to him.

"Yeah," Noctis says, taking another sip of water. "I'm glad."

"Cor runs the Crownsguard," Ignis continues. "Both the training grounds – he and Gladio share responsibility there, with Gladio responsible for the basics that we've required every citizen to know and Cor responsible for further refinement until the trainees are deemed ready to join either the Crownsguard or the Army – and the actual Crownsguard, which functions as our internal police force and external defense of Lestallum proper."

Noctis nods, then remembers a second later to add aloud, "Got it."

"Cindy runs the Hammerhead garage," Ignis says. "Which is to say, she trains our Engineering Corps and makes them field-ready, and then they join up with the Army or the Crownguard and keep our tech working. Cid helps supervise all the repairs in Lestallum."

"Talcott said he retired," Noctis says.

"Talcott is seventeen," Ignis says. "And an idiot."

Noctis chokes a little.

"That's not nice," Gladio says from where he’s wrestled Prompto in a headlock. "The kid's just naive, that's all."

"Cid keeps loudly proclaiming that he's retired and that all he has to look forward to is sitting on his ass and eating Ignis' occasional foray into gourmet seafood," Prompto agrees, not appearing even slightly ruffled by his current position. "And somehow he still gets up every day at 6AM and finds enough to repair in Lestallum's walls, apartments, and streets to keep him busy."

"He's on the Council, too," Ignis says. "Gladio, let Prompto go." Gladio complies, ruffling Prompto's hair. "The Council represents those of us involved in leadership positions. The three of us, Cor, Cid, Cindy, Eufiv – he's an MT, the first one we made contact with – Rissa, from Accordo, Trajan, from Tenebrae, and Aranea -"

"Aranea?"

"Minister of Transportation," Gladio says. "She and Cor can't stand each other; it's hilarious."

"And Rissa? Trajan?"

"Rissa's the Secretary's niece, representing her aunt and Accordo. The Secretary insisted on having a seat at the council, and Tenebrae didn't have a lot of people left but they insisted on sending one anyway because they weren't going to let Accordo get one up on them," Ignis says. "It's been interesting. The other members of the council are Dustin, Holly, and Hatu, the representatives of the Laborer's Guild – Hatu's MT, and I think you know the others – and Zanib and Dethri, who represent our farmers, both regular and MT."

Noctis nods.

"There's probably going to be another Council meeting soon to discuss the whole Sun rising again thing," Prompto grumbles. "You'd think they'd accept it as a good thing, not whine about it."

"Be fair, Prompto," Ignis says. "This has changed a lot. We no longer have to worry about Vitamin D deficiencies, and we can grow our crops using natural cycles instead of artificial lamps."

"Isn't that a positive?"

"Yes," Ignis says patiently, "but a number of our crops were on an accelerated growth schedule that depended on using the lamps to create faster 'days', which will no longer be possible unless we cover those fields - and that seems a bit counterintuitive."

Noctis never much thought about crops. He picked peppers and onions and other wild vegetables as they traveled so that Ignis would have more to cook, but that wasn't enough to feed a city – and they wouldn't have been an option anyway, with no sun.

Crap.

No sun.

Noctis tries to think of all the things the sun is useful for, and the list grows longer and longer and longer –

"How didn't you all freeze?" he asks.

"Hah! That's what I asked!" Prompto exclaims. “And they call called me crazy!”

"Not crazy," Gladio says. "Just hysterical. Which you were."

"We've generally ascribed the effect to ‘just magic’," Ignis tells Noctis. "Our scientists can get you a more complete answer, if you care to learn more -"

"Just magic is good enough," Noctis says hastily. "Just – wow. You guys did a lot. I mean. I know it's been ten years, but – wow. I just. It's a lot."

"You'll have time to adjust," Prompto assures him.

"Only so much," Ignis says. "People are already flooding the area around the hospital, hoping for a glimpse of him. My apologies, Noct; it was rather inevitable."

"I know how to do public appearances," Noctis says, and he does; he has the distinct suspicion that Lestallum is a lot larger than it used to be, but he's used to the annual parades in Insomnia, which he's sure were even bigger. "I can handle that."

"You shouldn't have to," Prompto protests.

"It's his duty," Gladio says firmly. "The King in Exile has returned; people have been having a non-stop party for the last three days. They need to see him long enough to be satisfied and then Cor can kick all their asses and send them home – speaking of which, you wanna see Cor, Noct? He's right outside."

"Absolutely," Noctis says fervently, only realizing a minute later that he would absolutely freak out if Cor the Immortal had grown old over the last ten years.

Luckily, Cor looks the same – maybe a little more salt than there used to be in his hair, but strong and able as ever, thank the Six.

"Good to see that I only have to count two and a half dead Lucis kings on my list," is the first thing he says. "Do me a favor and try to not make it three."

"It's good to see you too, Cor," Noctis says, because it really, really is.

"I've worked out an honor guard," Cor says. "You ready to go say hello to your people?"

"No more than a few minutes," Ignis warns. "He's still healing."

Cor rolls his eyes. "I'm not new at this. Ten minutes, max, and the entire crowd will be able to take a picture, and then he'll be transferred, safely, to the official residence."

"Official residence?" Noctis asks. "Please tell me it's not for me."

"It's not for you," Ignis assures him. "It's for everyone who works at the Office - that is, the administrative center. Thus, 'official residence'."

"We all hate it, too," Prompto says, rolling his eyes. "Ignis and his puns. But the name stuck."

Noctis smiles and puts his hand to his face, planning on making a snarky comment about Ignis' fondness for puns, but then he notices – "My beard's gone!"

"What, you mean the fuzz?" Gladio asks, badly hiding his laughter. "Had to go, sorry. Doc's orders."

"It's the only thing that made me look older than twelve!"

"No one will care," Ignis says.

"I don't care if no one cares!" Noctis yelps. "I care!"

"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Chosen King of Lucis," Cor sighs.

It's been the busiest three months of Noctis' life – and oh, he's alive! He's alive! That's never getting old, unlike him, because he's alive! – and honestly, he still doesn't actually know what exactly he's supposed to do.

Oh, he's definitely a morale booster. No argument there. People have literally fainted in excitement upon hearing that he's coming to visit their area. He can see the way an entire area brightens with excitement when he's around, and the way that excitement remains afterwards. He shakes a lot of hands, to the point that Ignis literally dumps an entire case of hand purifier in front of Noctis one morning as a not-so-subtle pointed comment on the subject.

Noctis doesn't mind it the way he used to before everything, though, back when he was a spoiled prince who whined about how no one seemed to care about who he really was inside. He's moved beyond that. He finds that he likes talking to people, now, hearing about their lives, what they went through during the Long Night; he likes looking them in the eyes and saying, "You did well," and seeing the multitudes of little guilts and worries and regrets just fall off their shoulders.

He likes learning about what they do, now, and how their days are arranged – all so different from how it was before.

He even gets to spend at least one day every week going fishing in a new spot with a new group of fishermen showing him the best places.

But he's the King. His father always spoke of burden, and duty, and responsibility, and he wasn't always just trying to prepare Noctis for what the Six had planned for him – some of it was about the role of King itself.

Noctis is pretty sure he's meant to do something a lot less, well, fun with his time.

Ignis keeps assuring him that it’s fine, that he can take it slow, that it'll be a good while before anyone expects him to be conversant with the issues of the day, much less authoritative on them. That makes sense, since practically every day there's something new he's discovering.

It's not just the big things, like how there's a full on informal economy bartering things like chores or child-care or even what lunch or dinner shift you're on, or how everyone takes at least one shift working in the fields no matter who you are, or how people seem to forget about their nationalities and immigration and all of those earlier concerns that seemed insurmountable, Accordo and Tenebrae and Lucis and Niflheim all merging to an amorphous mass and re-formed instead into supporters of sports teams representing various animals instead of states.

(Noctis has been informed by Gladio and Prompto that he supports the Dualhorns. Ignis says that the King shouldn't play favorites, but that only led to cheerful accusations that Ignis secretly supports the Behemoths.)

Sometimes it's also the small things.

Like language.

A whole new set of slang has popped up, mostly developed by the younger generation – some who are reaching their preteens without ever having memory of the sun, which is so horrifying that Noctis needs to stop thinking about it right away – and it's absolutely fascinating to Noctis.

His favorite development originated with Prompto's army. Apparently, once they settled on the Army of Night theme (thanks, guys) and assigned squadrons based on constellations and legions based on directions, they began to use moon-shaped medals as commendations, leading to the colloquial use of the word "moon" to refer to getting a good thing.

That, in turn, got translated into the civilian population, and someone, somewhere down the line, thought the moon reference was meant to be to Lady Lunafreya.

And that's how it came about that children compliment things they think are awesome by saying "that's really luna!"

Noctis couldn't stop smiling for two days after he worked out what happened and what the term meant. He thinks that Luna would be happy, deeply happy, to have that be her legacy, not the mournful tragic princess figure she'd been remembered as following the disasters at Insomnia and Altissia.

But language issues aside, Noctis is slowly starting to adjust.

He's getting used to seeing MTs everywhere, both the pale rehabilitated and fully armored MTs of various levels, or even people in the middle of transitioning – in both directions!

Noctis himself spent some time as a partial MT, apparently, as a means to save his life. He still has his mask – Prompto gave it to him after he went from the hospital to the Official Residence (Ignis why), saying that since it was coded to Noctis' brainwaves, it wasn't really useful for anyone else, and also in case Noctis wants to use it again.

Noctis felt really weird about it for a month or so, then realized he was (even if only in private) being a bit of a judgy asshole about the whole thing, so he tried on the mask a few times. It's a strange feeling, having it on – almost like he has an extra wing to his brain, like a phone that he can used to store information to pull up later except with his brain. It's pretty cool, actually, and using it in public once – he forgot everybody's names at a Very Important Meeting – actually ended up helping quiet down some people who'd been trying to start some anti-MT stuff. So there's that.

Said Very Important Meeting was actually about how Noctis doesn't seem to have brought back any magic with him when he got revived – the Crystal is a dead rock (they checked) and Noctis got to tell the story of how the ring of the Kings of Lucis had been used to finally destroy Ardyn's spirit and then dissolved, and how he himself had been on the brink of dissolving when his friends had revived him.

A couple of people asked if he felt upset about it, which Noctis supposes is fair – he did his duty to the Six, he ought to get some heavenly reward – but honestly? He's alive. He can get whatever reward the Six want to give him later; right now, he's just enjoying seeing the sun rise every day.

Okay, not every day. More like once in a blue moon. He likes to sleep in, okay?

If anything, though, Noctis is super relieved that no one seems angry about the whole no magic thing – he can still do some basic stuff, like warping or summoning weapons, but that's it. No magic sharing, no Wall, no more super-powerful potions or flasks of fire or lighting, nothing. Some people did seem a bit regretful about it, but basically everyone took it pretty well.

Noctis supposes that they're not upset because they've been without for ten years, working on alternatives (Iris' new 'stun gun' is basically like a strike of lightning, and wow is Noctis happy that the MT squads he went up against didn't have the new souped-up portable flamethrowers Cindy designed, because ouch), so it's not so much a loss as it is a perk they ended up not getting.

The Sun is more than enough for them.

For the earth, too – everything has started growing like it's trying to win a race, bursting out of years-long dormancy, painting the world green.

Noctis heard a kid once say, in a tone of wonder, that the green in the trees really does look just like it did in the old picture books, and it broke his heart.

So, yeah. He brought back the Sun but not magic, everyone's cool with that.

Still doesn't solve the question of what Noctis is actually supposed to do all day beyond talking with people.

Ignis tries to integrate Noctis into politics, and Noctis knows he should but he kinda doesn't really want to? Besides, everyone instinctively looks to Ignis for answers, and Noctis is no exception, so it seems ridiculous to make Noctis the middleman. Like, sure, Noctis can put on some fancy clothing and be all regal when they need to sign official trade agreements or open up new grounds – he got to cut the ribbon on a whole giant set of new fields to be used for growing, and on a brand new plot for a new research facility – and he's totally happy to take on figurehead duties, but there isn't really that much of it yet.

Nor is he really useful the way his father was, the Commander in Chief of the armies of Lucis. Prompto's actually a really great general, managing his army and making sure they're all taken care of just as they take care of their expansive duties - mostly working with the Hunter Division to clear the countryside of daemons, since there isn't an ongoing war.

Nor is there likely to be, what with Ignis commanding the loyalty of delegates from all over Eos.

Besides, the army loves Noctis in the same impersonal way they love their country, or Lestallum, but they're deeply protective of Prompto. Any attempt to take powers from him would be met with what Noctis has already learned is classic MT-style resistance tactics: obedience, yes, but the least efficient, most time-wasting type of obedience possible.

So that's out, especially since Prompto finally agreed to give his Wing Commanders general-level duties, though they'd all, to a man (or woman), refused to actually be promoted to the rank of General, preferring that that be reserved for Prompto.

Prompto turned bright pink with pleasure when they did that. It was a good look on him: pride in respect well-deserved.

After his forays with the Army hadn't really gone anywhere, Noctis wandered over to the Crownsguard instead, wondering if there was anything he could do there. Which there really, really wasn't. Cor was great, but Noctis barely escaped without being conscripted for fighting lessons because Cor still thinks he's fifteen.

No, not fifteen, because Cor's kids are fifteen and them, Cor respects.

No lie, Noctis does too. Who in the Empire thought having three mini-Cors was a good idea?!

Not that they're all that similar to Cor. Maybe Immie, the girl; she's the most warlike of the lot of them.

So yeah, Noctis is staying away from the Crownsguard for anything other than a friendly hello and a morale-boosting time to talk.

One place he has been able to do some stuff is in Gladio's schools – now plural, dividing the youngest kids from the oldest and both of them from the middle set. Noctis' talks are crazy popular, even when he's just talking about fishing or something like that.

Mostly, though, he shares stories.

The most popular are the stories about Gladio, and Ignis, and Prompto, of course, the sillier the better, but even with their entire childhood to mine, Noctis can't talk about them forever. So he starts talking about the things he sees – the fishermen he meets, the farmers, the scientists, the laborers. He shares their stories, the ones they tell him, and everyone loves it, kids and adults and even the people who told them to him.

Noctis hadn't understood the last – it's their story, he's just retelling it – but Cid clapped a hand on his shoulder and told him, "It's different when it comes from you. For us, it's just our lives; but you? You're the King. It doesn't matter if it was yesterday's boring old routine; when you say it, it sounds like a fairy tale."

Noctis has a standing weekly speech at the schools, a different part each week.

Still, it doesn't feel like enough.

The Hunter Division is always happy to have him, but Iris still has that crush on him (Six, why?) and it can be a little awkward.

So Noctis ends up spending his time touring, talking, and talking some more. He gets in practice with his brand new favorite sword – his own Royal Arm! only the best gift ever! even if some asshole did nickname it the Short Sword of Night and the name stuck and if Noctis hears even one more joke about being short he is going to find that person and do something distinctly un-kingly to them – and he gets to hang out with everyone. His people.

"When do I start really working?" he asks Ignis.

Ignis blinks at him. "You already have, Noct," he says. "You can't even imagine how happy you make people."

Well, yeah.

But it still feels like there should be something more.

And then, one day, there is.

It starts off with something small, something so subtle that Noctis almost misses it.

He's touring one of the student fields – not one of the ones that bring in the majority of the vegetables that feed Lestallum with wheat and potatoes and rice and sprouts, not to mention a truly unholy number of mushrooms that had blossomed during the darkness, but one of the experimental gardens staffed primarily by enthusiasts and students. This one's new, actually – it's just growing peppers, a particularly hardy but still excruciatingly spicy breed bred by one of the local transplants from Galdin Quay – but it's being grown in the ground by the younger kids to teach them how this whole cycle of life thing works when the Sun is involved.

Noctis is being led around by a particularly authoritative nine year old, indulgently oohing and aahing over every pepper she points out, when he notices a glimmer of metal out of the corner of his eyes. Used to scouting out threats, Noctis turns to look, but it's not a threat.

It's a shrine.

Looks like a shrine to Ramah, but Noctis can't tell; it's gotten grown over and dusty from years of sitting in darkness, which is fair enough. There are two buckets on the altar.

"No one's had time to clean it up yet?" Noctis asks, nodding at it.

The nine year old – Ferris – blinks at him. "Clean what up?"

Noctis points.

"Why would we clean up the shelf?" she asks, bewildered. "It's not like we keep fruit on it; it's just fertilizer."

Noctis' eyebrows shoot up. "You guys gave Ramah fertilizer?"

"Ramah?" Ferris asks. "Oh, the one with the pictures. No, it's not for him; if he wants some fertilizer, he can get his own. It's just a convenient place to put it, that's all."

"You store fertilizer on the Fulgarian's altar?" Noctis says, still taken aback.

"Why not?" Ferris asks with a shrug. "He's not going to notice."

"I suppose," Noctis says, frowning a little. It still seems bizarre to him. "The altar is usually used to give him offerings, you know."

Ferris shrugs again, interest clearly lost and eyes already fixed on the next row of peppers. "Whatever," she says. "I don't know why we'd give him anything when he doesn't give anything to us. Come look here – I think we've got shoots!"

Noctis doesn't say anything about it that day, but after, he keeps an eye out.

There are a lot of overgrown shrines and altars.

Noctis could understand why the Fulgarian's forest shines might be left unattended, being as there was rarely a way to tell where a lightning-struck tree could be found without light to see by and the dark eaves of the forest were ripe for daemon attacks.

But the local shrines to the Glacian, located at every crossroads, almost universally lack the traditional bowl of milk – the one shrine he found that had one, it had a cat's name on the side and seemed to be in use as someone's front yard.

He looks in the windows of the first out-ward facing house at each village and doesn't see a remembrance-candle for the Inferian.

He doesn't even see the handful of dirt traditionally poured on door-steps in the name of the Archaean – not even on newly broken ground.

"Is there a well around here?" he asks Ignis. "Or a river?"

"Certainly," Ignis replies absently. "Would you like a glass of water?"

"No, just wondering – hey, maybe you'd know. Do the laundresses still pour a glass of water out for the Hydrean before they start cleaning?"

"I doubt it," Ignis says, attention still primarily focused on the report in front of him. "Noct, would you be able to go out on a hunt tomorrow? I think it would be very beneficial to morale in Hammerhead; there have apparently been some disturbances there. The King’s personal presence would be most useful in calming their tempers."

"Sure," Noctis says. "Want me to head out tonight?"

"I'd appreciate that. Prompto will meet you with a guard."

Noct really needs to practice keeping the communication link open at all times; he keeps missing some conversations that he’s pretty sure he should be in on.

"Is a guard really necessary?" he asks instead.

"You're the King, Noct," Ignis says. "Pomp and circumstance is part and parcel with it, I'm afraid."

Prompto isn't able to accompany him, to their mutual regret; they've gotten back into the habit of hanging out every free evening they can. One of the MT squadrons even found an old console and a positively ancient copy of King's Knight for them to play. But Prompto’s duties as General come first, and his presence has been especially requested to clear out a particularly bad daemon nest in Niflheim, so he has to go.

"I'll send Orion with you," Prompto says, holding out his arms as his newest aide-de-camp – Fugit, who's a regular soldier rather than an MT, one worked his way up to the position of aide-de-camp on the strength of sheer enthusiasm alone – clasps armor around him. "You know those guys pretty well by now, and they're used to your antics – you'll hardly notice them."

"Yeah," Noctis says, distracted as he watches the thick metal armor. "Hey, Prompto."

"Yeah?"

"Do you give offerings to the Draconian? Since he's the patron of armored soldiers and all that."

"No," Prompto says. "The MTs don't worship the Six, and neither does anyone else anymore. Pass me the helmet?"

Noctis passes him the helmet. "What do you mean?" he asks. "I noticed the shrines are empty, but...I mean, people still reference the Six in conversation."

"Habit," Prompto says with a shrug. "I mean, some people still do it, but it's not as widespread anymore. After the Oracle died and the Long Night started, and none of the Six were answering anyone for anything, it just sort of...faded, y'know?"

Noctis did not know.

The Orion squad are familiar to him now, and Noctis would even call them friends of a sort, so when they're on the road to Hammerhead, he asks them, "Do you guys give offerings to the Six at all?"

"No," Ifiv, the squad leader says. "I don't know anyone who does."

"What, even regs?"

"Some old people, maybe," Twelf says, but he sounds doubtful. "I think your return was the last straw, honestly."

Noctis frowns. "What do you mean?"

"The Six abandoned mankind long ago," Twelf says. "And set us up for failure and despair. The Oracle gave up her life, and the Six didn't care. The King disappeared, and the Six did nothing but urge it along. The Accursed roamed the land freely, and the Six looked to mankind to fix it instead of doing shit about it themselves. And when you finally returned to clean up their mess, they demanded a blood price to fix what they themselves had wrought. Who’d worship gods like that? And why?"

Noctis stares. "That's blasphemy," he says blankly. "Aren't you all worried about Solheim happening all over again?"

"Solheim's the land that got destroyed by the first Astral war," Vernum, a reg, tells the MTs in the group. "And no, your Majesty, not really. All the stories say that the Inferian turned against Solheim because they actively betrayed him somehow; we're not offending them. We're just choosing not to worship anymore."

"Besides, most of them are dead," Ifiv says. "The Glacian in Niflheim, the Archean in the stone, the Hydrean in Altissia, the Inferian on the steps of the Citadel – whatever's left of them can either be actively helpful, or they can be obsolete, and they've chosen the later." He shrugs. "So fuck 'em. Begging your Majesty's pardon for the language."

"It's fine," Noctis says, his mind awhirl. "And – people agree with you?"

"The Long Night was hard," Vernum says. "The people who thought that praying to the Six would save them tended not to have made it, if you get my gist. The faith’s been dying for ten years now. Though I do think more people would've stuck with it if the leaders hadn't taken a stand against it."

"A stand?"

"The Six wanted you dead," Twelf says. "That's why the phoenix down and the old-style potions didn't work; that's why the magic went away. The Six intended to end the line of Lucis, and fuck whatever people lived in hope for your return. You dying like you were supposed to would've crushed the Triad, you know – Commander Ignis, General Prompto, and Headmaster Gladio, that is. That's when they lost the last bits of faith they had in the Six, and with them everyone else's."

"It's okay," Vernum says encouragingly, slapping Noctis on the shoulder. "We'd rather have you than the Six anyday, your Majesty."

"Oh," Noctis says, because what else is he supposed to say to that? "Thanks."

Less than a week later, the first of the dreams comes to him.

Noctis is standing in that vast emptiness that constituted the center of the Crystal – floating, really, since there's no ground. And before him is the massive form of Bahamut.

Noctis is aware that he's dreaming; he often is, nowadays. He's so distinctly aware of the feeling of being alive, of being where and when he is, that dreams have an immediately detectable difference.

He tries to change the dream – another time, another place.

He fails.

This isn't a regular dream.

“Well-met, Chosen King,” Bahamut rumbles.

Noctis crosses his arms. “Really,” he says flatly. “That’s what you’re going with.”

Bahamut is silent, a moment’s hesitation. He wasn’t expecting that response.

“Now I know why Iggy, Gladio and Prompto gave me such shit for saying ‘Hi’ after being gone for ten years,” Noctis says. “Well, what is it? What do you want now?”

“The present situation is unprecedented,” Bahamut says. His voice is deep and echoing; Noctis thought it was intimidating the first time they met. Now it just feels like a voice ringing in a hollowed out set of armor. “Revelation has been disrupted.”

“I could’ve told you that,” Noctis says. “I am, in fact, alive. Something you might’ve noticed in the last three months.”

He’s angry, he suddenly realizes. He’s actually angry – it’s been so long since he’s been angry at anything, truly angry, enraged. Not even when he was fighting Ardyn – his time in the Crystal filled him with power and with a deadened sort of calm that let him do what he needed to do. The same way a sedative helps you lead a sheep to slaughter, but he supposes that voluntary martyrdom is easier when you’ve had ten years of divine peace poured into your head.

Well, that power – that peace – left him when he died, and he’s back to being just plain old Noctis.

And Noctis, he remembers now, gets angry.

He got angry at Niflheim for doing what it did to his father. He got angry at his father for not telling him the truth. He got angry –

And then he acted.

“The people have foresaken the true ways,” Bahamut says, clearly opting to move on with the conversation. “They no longer call upon the Six. They no longer give forth of the fruits of their labors. The traditional honors due to the Six have fallen to the wayside, and humanity continues on heedless. And so it falls upon you, Chosen King, to –”

“No,” Noctis interrupts.

Bahamut pauses.

“Yes, you heard me,” Noctis says. “No. I did what you wanted me to do – you chose me when I was a little kid, when I was born, you made it so that everyone around me knew I was destined to die –”

His dad. Clarus. Luna. Noctis was just lucky that no one had ever bothered letting Ignis, Gladio and Prompto in on the secret, and Cor had been deliberately sent out of the city, denied the chance to help defend his people, because he was the only one who knew enough of what Noctis needed to do but not everything – because Cor would’ve told Noctis if he’d known. Cor told Noctis as much, and Noctis knew his dad well enough that he agreed with Cor’s conclusion; his dad would’ve lied to spare Cor as much as anyone else.

But the others – every time they looked at him, they knew. They saw someone doomed to die, and it colored every interaction they had with him. His father, who loved him, lived his life with the knowledge that his blood meant Noctis’ death. Luna, who could have been his, knew for years that they would never be together in life; was it ever truly real, the possibility of love between them? Could it ever have been more, tainted with pity and foreknowledge as it was?

That was the true revelation of Bahamut.“– and I did it. I did everything you wanted. I destroyed the Accursed. I returned the light to Eos. I banished the Starscourge. It’s been done. And that’s it. No more.”

“Your duty –”

“What duty?” Noctis demands. “The people losing faith isn’t because of me, it’s because of you. It’s because of your indifference to their pleas for help during the Long Night, because the Six only care about the Oracle and the Kings. We’re the only ones who can summon you, after all. The only ones you give power to – a power with a terrible price. And in the end, all of that was to fulfill your Revelation. All of it was so that I could die to bring light back to the world. Well, I did. I died.”

Bahamut is silent.

“If it was up to you, I’d still be dead. I’d be dead right now and unable to help you – what would you do then?”

Bahamut is silent.

“The Oracle’s line is extinguished,” Noctis says. “The line of Kings died with me upon the throne. Those were the two ways by which the Astrals communicated with mankind – or were you just planning on picking someone else out of a hat?”

Bahamut is silent, still, and his eyes – the only part of him that looks alive – are focused intently on Noctis.

Noctis looks back and does not waver.

He won’t let himself be intimidated. Not this time. Not again.

Never again.

“I was raised with the stories of the Astrals,” he says. “From my father. From Luna, who was your Oracle, and who you let die – no. Who you killed, as part of the price of the covenant, and never mind that Ardyn was the hand that wielded the knife. In all the stories, it’s the same: you are great beings, powerful beyond our knowledge, but you do not claim to be gods. It’s humanity that chose to worship you; that’s what all the stories said. You never demanded it, we just did it anyway. Well, humanity’s made a difference choice now.”

“You will turn against the Six?” Bahamut asks.

“I’m not turning against anyone,” Noctis says. “The Six may do as they please. Humanity will do what it pleases. There is no need for our paths to cross.”

“There are yet threats –”

“If there’s something we should worry about, we appreciate a head’s up,” Noctis interrupts. “But I played your game until the end. I’m done. And judging from what I’ve see, we’re done. Humanity’s done. You helped me, the Six of you, but it was in your interests. My friends? My people? You left them in darkness, and now it’s their turn to leave you in darkness. It’s too late now to think about how much you enjoyed being worshipped and receiving offerings.”

Bahamut stares at him.

“The revelation of Bahamut has been completed,” Noctis says, his voice fierce and unyielding even as his soul shakes within him. “We are finished.”

And then he wakes up with a force of will, eats breakfast while watching the sunrise, and feels –

Pretty damn pleased with himself.

Of course, it’s never that easy.

It’s three days until the next dream.

Three days well spent, in Noctis’ mind. The job’s bigger than Ignis described: nests, multiple nests, of daemons hiding beneath the ground, stalking ever closer to the safety of Hammerhead. They’d been planning an assault for a while, using raider’s hideaways, and the Sun coming up had disrupted but not derailed their plans.

Noctis hunts each day until he’s sore but cheerful, and when the Sun begins to set he does not rest but rather goes among his people. He sees at once the issue that has Ignis concerned: there are those in Hammerhead, hunters and some of the former rich men of Lucis, that are not particularly pleased, and they speak together too often for Noctis’ comfort. The rich men dream of their old positions, the ease and luxury and power they once commanded and feel they ought to command again, greed and ambition lighting their eyes at the thought of all the empty land that could be harnessed for the endless increase of their own wealth, and they speak to the hunters in terms meant to appeal to them. The hunters see their careers, raised during the Long Night to the pinnacle of Lestallum’s defense alongside its Army and its Crownsguard, falling back to the old ways: respected, yes, but a difficult life, a lonely life, and one not compensated by the adulation of the people every time they brought home markers of their progress.

The wiser hunters welcome it. The younger ones – the foolish ones, the ones who follow Iris only in technicality, the ones who think of themselves as a freer, finer breed than those who chose to join the other arms of Lestallum’s defense – grumble, and listen to words they shouldn’t.

Noctis walks through the campfires at night, smiling and shaking hands and talking and listening; the hunters’ complaints fade away at the sight of their King, who hears them speak and asks them what they would think of the installment of a Hunters’ Brigade, separate to the Army and the Crownsguard, designed specifically for long-range missions requiring independent operation.

Ignis hasn’t approved any such thing, but Noctis thinks it’s a good idea – even the hunters who are content with their ways look interested, and Iris is practically overflowing with pleasure. And, hey, in the end, he is the King; he’s allowed to have some ideas himself.

The rich men, though, remain a problem. What use is wealth without power, and what use is power without access to the King? But they don’t like Noctis; they watch him, frowning when they think he’s not looking, and Noctis isn’t sure what to do with them.

He’s still thinking of it when he falls asleep on the third night, and that’s when he dreams.

She comes to him as Gentiana.

“You do know I know you’re Shiva, right?” Noctis asks. He finds himself sitting on a picnic blanket in a field, filled with blue flowers that still strike a pang in his heart: the fields of Tenebrae, where he and Luna went as children, having tea parties and pretending to be so much older than they were.

“You prefer this form, Chosen King,” Gentiana responds, her eyes closed as they always are. “I have seen it in your mind.”

“Well, yeah,” Noctis says wryly, figuring that since she can apparently read his mind, there's no harm in being honest. “Not only is it less associated with terrible memories, it also has the advantage that I don’t constantly feel like no matter where I put my eyes, I’m about to get punched. Or kicked in the balls, and deservedly.”

Gentiana smiles with a touch of wickedness.

“I knew you did it on purpose!” Noctis crows.

“There are advantages to be found in the prudery of mankind,” Gentiana says. She sits next to Noctis. “Do you remember this place?”

“Of course I do,” Noctis says. “Tenebrae. But the fields lie dead after the Long Night.”

“They do not remain so. The Night ends, and the Spring comes, and they grow once more, full and flourishing.”

“Is that supposed to be a metaphor?” Noctis asks, pulling his knees up to his chest and dropping his chin onto them – he doesn’t care if the pose makes him look like a child; Gentiana was there, years ago, when he was a child. “Something about the worship of the Six? Did Bahamut send you?”

“I have always loved humanity best,” Gentiana says, not answering Noctis’ question. He takes that as a yes. “I have always been its defender, and I – I alone – took up arms against the Empire in its might to protect the people of Lucis.”

“There is no more Empire,” Noctis says. “Just people, now. All of Eos has come together to fight the darkness, and that includes Niflheim.”

“You do not blame them for what they wrought?”

“Most of the people who did the, uh, wrought-ing are dead,” Noctis points out. “Many gruesomely. Those who remain disavow the works of their former leaders. I’m not going to hold it against them, especially if they’re not going to be dicks about it. Iggy and the others have done a really good job integrating everyone.”

“You forgive easily, Chosen King,” Gentiana says. “Even in the face of the memory of your father and your people, crushed beneath the Empire’s heel.”

“Are you trying to get me angry or something?” Noctis asks. “I was gone for ten years. Was it easy to swallow, the first time I understood? No. But I wasn’t here. I didn’t do the hard work; I didn’t make the hard choices. And I’m not going to question those that did. We have peace, Shiva - real peace, the sort of peace my father would have barely been able to even dream of. That’s worth a lot.”

“It is,” she conceedes, and the mask of Gentiana fades into the bright blue skin of the goddess – no, of the Astral – beneath. The temperature drops and Noctis feels his skin prickle as the icy winds of the winter begin to blow around them. They sit now picnicking upon a snowy field, the flowers covered, the trees dusted in frost. “And none of that would have happened without the Night. Why then do you turn your anger upon the Six?”

“The fact that good things happened out of a disaster doesn’t actually excuse you for your failure to do anything about it,” Noctis says, ignoring the changes. “Tell Bahamut that he’s not getting out of his own prophecy this time. The story is over. The book is closed.”

“And what of me, Chosen King, beloved of the Oracle?” Shiva asks, her eyes glowing. “Am I to be forgotten too, for all of my love of mankind?”

“You lived and died for humanity,” Noctis tells her, but his voice is gentler now, less angry than when he spoke to Bahamut. “Stories of your grace will be told forever. But your love of humanity has never been contingent on worship – or was Luna wrong to trust in you?”

A moment’s stillness, with no sound but the winter winds.

“The Oracle was not wrong,” Shiva says, and her voice is quiet. “I loved her dearly.”

“I know you did,” Noctis says. He’s always known. “You know, back when I thought my destiny involved marrying Luna, I thought to myself that it was good that you’d be there.”

Shiva looks up, eyes wide and surprised.

“We’d marry in Altissia, then come back to Insomnia,” Noctis says. “Luna’s duties as the Oracle would continue, while I would step up into my role as King-to-be, taking on more and more of the burdens of power. It’s a hard life to lead, being the Queen, and that on top of being the Oracle, far away from her home? I worried that I wouldn’t be able to help her. I worried that she’d be unhappy. And then I thought – no. She won’t be unhappy. She won’t be alone. She’ll have Gentiana, whom she loves.”

Shiva’s eyes close. Her eyelashes are white with frost, but Noctis suspects that if he brushed them now, the snowflakes that would fall would be made of salt.

“Luna believed in you,” Noctis says gently. “What would she think, now?”

“She always wanted to follow in your footsteps, Noctis of Lucis,” Shiva whispers, and Noctis thinks that may be the first time she’s ever seen him as a human being instead of a pawn on Bahamut’s divine chessboard. “Lunafreya was always humanity’s finest champion; you honor her with your actions now.”

And Shiva rises, color filling in her skin until she looks like Gentiana again.

“I will not stand in your path,” she says in her low, sweet voice. “You are right. My love for humanity must be unconditional, lest it be tainted.”

She reaches out and places a finger on Noctis’ lips.

“Go well.”

He wakes up.

In the third dream, he is in a forest.

It starts off like a normal dream, with shifts and changes and strange plots, but then a distinct sense of unreality filters through the dream and it changes. The lines of the trees grow stark and vivid, the bark and each blade of grass suddenly defined so clearly it almost hurts to look at them. Noctis inhales and his lungs fill with the scent of pine and maple and oak, the smell of rotting wood and the faint hints of ash, the comforting petrichor that follows a warm rain.

The sky, which was clear, is covered in clouds, dark and ominous, crawling from each side of the horizon until there's no more blue to be seen. There are flickers of lightning hiding within the clouds, but not a single sound, the dreamland utterly mute in anticipation.

Noctis knows who has come to visit him this time.

"Ramah," he says.

And the ground shifts beneath him, until Noctis finds himself standing on a mountain, looking out at the rolling, endless forests below, and upon the side of the mountain rests the gigantic silent figure of the Fulgarian.

Noctis looks up at him and squints. It’s hard to have a conversation with someone so large. It’s even harder to even think of how to start such a conversation.

“So,” Noctis says after some time has passed without Ramah saying anything. “Hi?”

Ramah says nothing, but Noctis thinks he might be amused, just a little.

Micro-expressions take on a whole new meaning when dealing with the Six.

“I assume you’re also here to demand that humanity worship you again?” Noctis asks.

Ramah shifts, and speaks, his voice as deep and rolling as the thunder.

“The storm comes,” says he. “The storm goes. It cares not for those in its path, but nor does it demand recognition from them.”

Noctis blinks.

That doesn’t sound like an appeal for worship.

“Bahamut sent me,” Ramah says, and his great forehead wrinkles. “He is the leader of the Six. But no one commands the storm.”

“I don’t understand,” Noctis says helplessly.

Ramah’s great face turns to look at him.

“My temples are the trees struck by lightning, that the lost traveler may seek shelter,” he says, and the sound of his voice is louder, now, the rushing of the wind through the trees, the crack of thunder, the inexorable floodwaters rising. “I need no sacrifices. I need no offerings. The Storm has been set in motion from the earliest of days, and the Storm will be there at the end of days, and though it may not be constant, it is everlasting.”

Noctis has to close his eyes briefly to protect himself from the rising wind and rain. “So,” he coughs out. “Does that mean you’re okay with this?”

Ramah rises to his feet.

“Let humanity do as it likes,” he declares, and his eyes are fixed on a point in the horizon. Noctis has the distinct feeling that the Fulgarian is no longer talking to him. “Ramah will not foresake his duties, not even in the face of the Dragon.”

And then he is gone.

“What the fuck just happened?” Noctis asks the air.

It doesn’t respond, and instead leads him down a pathway to a place where the deer have gathered to have tea, while the bears armor up for a daemon hunt.

Typical dream logic.

Noctis finishes the hunt – two weeks of work, all together, and he still hasn’t figured out how to deal with the plotters, because they are plotters. Schemers. He thinks they might actually be considering a coup, based on some easily dismissed hints they’ve dropped around him.

They’re fools if they think they can turn him against Ignis and Prompto and Gladio and Iris and Cor, of course, but he has the feeling that they might still give it a try.

He goes to visit Cindy before he heads back to Lestallum.

Cindy’s taste in clothing hasn’t changed much, and her physical, uh, presence remains just as, uh, striking as ever.

Okay, yes, fine, Noctis still spends a minute sneaking glances at her breasts. He might be a grown man, but those are impressive. He does stop it as soon as he realizes what he’s doing; that’s got to count for something.

He swears he can hear Shiva’s sniggering in his ear.

“You take care now,” she tells him. “Them boys missed you something awful, and the rest of us did too.”

“Thanks, Cindy,” Noctis says with a smile. “How are things going in Hammerhead?”

“Oh, just swell,” Cindy says, beaming. “The Engineering Corps are real fine, don’t you worry – you know, I never did think I’d become a teacher, but then again I don’t reckon anyone thought that of ol’ Gladio neither, so it works. Me and Eufiv, we swap off teaching with the real garage work.” She puts a hand on Eufiv’s shoulder – an old-style MT who looks at her with adoring eyes, and, well, Noctis isn’t going to hold that against him. Cindy has that effect on a lot of people. “I can’t bear to think of not having the old girl running.”

“The garage will outlive us both,” Eufiv says to her, and then, turning his head to Noctis, adds, “We have apprentices.”

“Real ones,” Cindy chimes in. “Ones that care about the work for the sake of the work – the garage work, that is, not the stuff the Engineering Corps needs to take care of. I didn’t think we’d ever get a chance to train people up in cars and engines, what with the need for other stuff, but, well, the Sun’s back up, and here we are.”

She punches Noctis on the arm lightly. “You keep up the good work, you hear me?”

Noctis smiles.

She insists he stay for dinner, which he does, so he only ends up coming into Lestallum when the Sun has long since gone down and everyone’s asleep.

Figuring he can make his report to Ignis in the morning – Iggy hates it when Noctis calls it that, because he’s kind of an idiot about protocol and goes on and on about how he should be making reports to Noctis not vice versa even though Noctis has explained to him that he’s cool with Ignis running everything and also maybe-kinda-sorta being Lucis’ chief spymaster as a hobby – Noctis crawls into his bed in the Official Residence.

He doesn’t even bother changing out of his clothes.

That’s a good thing, he thinks to himself, as he wakes up in the ruins of Altissia still wearing a layer or two of armor, the Leviathan rising above him in all of her terrible splendor.

No – not Altissia, he realizes, looking at it. Ruins, yes, but the columns and the statutary are of a different style, old and crumbled by the sea: copper gone green with exposure, stone faces slicked off by the currents, moss curling up the sides of buildings.

This is not Altissia.

This is –

“Atlantioi,” Noctis says, realizing. “The fallen city, the city beneath the waves.”

Existing in the time of the great Empire of Solheim, Atlantioi had been an island city-state, subordinate to the Empire but run independently. It had been particularly beloved of the Archean, Titan, who had helped build it alongside its citizenry; its destruction by Leviathan had resulted in a terrible feud between the two Astrals.

“A sign of what my wrath can do, pathetic morsel,” Leviathan spits, her wings fanning out, her serpentine body coiling with rage. “I granted you my power, and you turn it against us! You turn humanity against the Six!”

“I thought you wanted to eat all of humanity, Tidemother,” Noctis says, dodging one of her water-bursts. “Wasn’t that what you threatened in Altissia? The Feeding? Are we to think that you care so much about us now?”

“Insignificant pawn,” she hisses. “Lamb to the slaughter; you won over my power for Bahamut’s prophecy, and should have ended then!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Noctis says. “Aren’t you dead already?”

“Humanity has forgotten its place. First to demand power from a goddess, then to cast her aside!”

“You destroyed people,” Noctis says. She spits water at him, guiding it, and he has to run to dodge. He doesn’t think he can die in his dreams, but he’d really rather not find out for sure. “You destroyed Altissia, which was built in your honor! You let the Oracle fall because you were too busy whining about how humanity dared need you! Why should anyone honor you?”

She screams with fury, and lunges at him, massive jaws agape.

Noctis summons a sword – his favorite, the one Ignis and Prompto and Gladio had given him – and tries to parry her, even knowing that the task is likely hopeless.

The sword touches her scales, just barely, and suddenly Leviathan is throwing her head back, recoiling, flinching. The place where the sword hit her is colored sickly silver.

“What have you?” she shrieks. “A royal arm, created without the Six’s blessing? How?!”

Noctis glances at the sword, surprised. He remembers using it in the final battle against Ardyn – fourteen to thirteen – and he’s used it since then, for hunts and other things; it’s his favorite sword, remade in royal glory by his friends, but he hasn’t really thought much of it beyond that.

He sometimes uses it to cut his dinner when he’s feeling particularly lazy, and also because it makes Gladio fall off his chair laughing.

It occurs to him that maybe he should’ve been treating it with more respect, if it can do such damage.

But no, the sword is warm in his hand; he can feel it, suddenly. Warm, loyal and true, a little light-hearted, a little melancholy – it’s him in there, in the sword, his own personality reflected back at him.

It was made just for him. He’s been wearing the sword for months now; it knows him. It is him.

Noctis’ own Royal Arm.

He holds it up before him as the Hydrean thrashses before him, caught in her own ruinous rage.

“It is impossible,” she cries, the moaning of the sea in every harsh word. “The secret of the Arms has long been lost, but for those given by the blessing of the Six.”

Like the one his father had, Noctis remembers suddenly – his father had not had the sword forged for himself, but rather had received it from the Six as a gift upon his completing his own trial, washing up to his feet from the depths of a river, still shining with beauteous light.

A gift from the Six, as if they could make up for the torment they would impose upon him or the knowledge that his son would be doomed to die from the very beginning.

As a child, he’d always wondered why his father had not been more proud to be one of the bearers of the Thirteen; now he knows what his father did, that the gifts of the Six came with burdens and hidden strings attached.

“This sword was not a gift from the Six,” he shouts into the churning waves. “This sword was made by human hands, following the old ways, and if you attack me again, I will use it on you!”

“You cannot defeat me!” she shrieks.

“I’ve done it once already!”

“With the aid of the Six –”

“With the aid of the Empire,” Noctis shouts, pointing his sword at her. “It was the Empire that killed you, in the end! Humans defeated you! And if we need to, we’ll do it again!”

“I am the Hydrean,” she hisses. “The Tidemother. The Leviathan, as endless and enduring as the sea itself!”

“But you’re not the sea,” Noctis says, frustrated. “The sea will be worshiped by sailors, always, but you’re no sea goddess, beneficent and guiding. You gave that up years ago, succumbing to your endless wrath. All you are now is a sea monster, wrecking ships in your path for no cause but fury, and if humanity ever sees you again, so will you be treated!”

She screams again, but this scream is different from the others.

It’s not just rage.

It’s sorrow.

She acknowledges what he’s saying. She knows he’s right.

But she can’t stop being angry, not after so long.

“Go back beneath the waves!” Noctis calls to her. “Go back to being a story to delight children and to make sailors smile! Let them remember the Tidemother that was, long ago – return to the ruins of Atlantioi which you destroyed, and leave us be!”

Large hands reach out from beneath the waves.

Noctis remembers this part.

At Altissia, the Titan rose up to aid him from beneath the waves, and he cast his powers against the Leviathan, huge blocks rising from the deep to slam into her.

Here he does not do anything so gaudy.

His hands wrap around the Leviathan’s snake-like body in a terrible embrace, and he sinks back beneath the waves, slowly, inexorably: the fall of Atlantioi recreated once more, the Titan’s land drowning as the Leviathan screams in fury, but this time it is with the Astrals themselves.

They sink beneath the waves without another word.

And the world begins to disintegrate around Noctis, the ruins falling down and dissolving into dust, and he runs to escape it, but there’s nowhere to go, no land, no –

He wakes up, panting and covered in sweat.

It’s nearly dawn.

Noctis gets up on shaky automatic.

Ifrit's dead, he's pretty sure for good this time, so that's all of the Six that'll come haunting his dreams. They're all dead, actually, for all that they can't seem to accept it.

All but Ramah, who declared his neutrality, and Bahamut, who has not.

What is he doing?

What does he think he can accomplish?

Noctis goes outside. There's a hill just outside Lestallum that he likes to watch the sunrise from, in the instances where he's awake enough for it; he goes there. He still feels cold – colder than he did when the Glacian visited.

It's still dark out, but he's still dressed and has his sword, and anyway there aren't any daemons this close to Lestallum anymore.

He sits on the top of the hill and watches the stars fade out of the sky, wondering if he's insane to do what he's pretty sure he's been doing these last few nights. The Six want him to restore their worship, and as King he probably could do it, too, if he led by example. He's a legend in his own time, the Chosen King of the Six, the King in Exile of Lucis – and of the two he far prefers the latter. But he's refusing the Six's request, spurning them, rejecting them. On humanity's behalf, on his people's behalf – but isn't that the height of arrogance, thinking that he can speak for them against their own former gods?

And even if he's right to do it, that doesn't mean he has any hope of succeeding. Why does he think he can do this – hasn't history shown time and time again that those who go up against the Six ultimately falter?

"Technically false," a voice not dissimilar to Ignis' says from beside him. "The Empire of Niflheim defeated the Glacian, and you yourself defeated the Titan and the Leviathan, not to mention the shadow of Ifrit."

"I meant more long-term," Noctis says dryly, looking to his left. "Callidus."

The King once known as the Clever shrugs. "Your friends seem to be doing all right."

"As much as I hate to agree with the young whippersnapper, he has a point," Prudens, the Wise, says, settling his old ghost on Noctis' right. "The Kings have gone up against the Six before, you know, and sometimes they've been right to do so. The Six are powerful, but they're neither omniscient nor omnipotent, and you do your people a disservice if you think so."

"I suspect the Mystic and the Pious might disagree with you," Noctis says.

"Your suspicions are unfounded," Pius says. He's sitting on the hillside a ways down. "I revered the Six, and honored them at their temples, but I was called the Pious because I built the first of the royal tombs to honor my forefathers."

"You agree with what I'm doing, then?"

"If we didn't, we wouldn't have told your friends the secret of forging a royal arm," Aequitas the Just says. "It is not our place to interfere with the present."

"You knew what I would do?"

"No one may know the future for certain," Aspicio says, the Oracle Queen who is most likely to know the truth of that statement. "But we hoped."

"I kept us hidden from the sight of the Six," Furs, the Rogue, Queen of the Shadows, puts in. "And the others did the rest."

“But why didn’t it happen before?”

"The prophecy of Bahamut was given to the Kings of Lucis alongside the ring and the Crystal," Magus, the Mystic, says, his voice heavy. "By accepting one, we accepted the others; they cannot be separated."

“The prophecy had to be fulfilled,” Supero the Conqueror agrees. “And so it was, through generation upon generation, until at last it came to be fulfilled in you. But being fulfilled, the bindings of the prophecy fall away.”

"Each man's life should be his own," Peregrinus the Wanderer says.

"Not the Six's," Militus the Warrior agrees.

"Yeah," Ferus the Fierce grunts. "Fuck 'em."

"Ferus!" Supero snaps, but Longus the Tall just laughs.

“We’re with you,” Longus tells Noctis, his voice still amused. “We were Kings once, too –”

“And Queens,” Aequitas says mildly.

“Kings and Queens,” Longus amends. “Our duty is to the people first, above all else. You did what the Six wanted because it was the right thing to do, eliminating the Scourge, and when it was done you were saved though the inventions of your people.”

“It is your people now that cast off the Six,” Militus says. “You protect their decisions, as you ought.”

“So, you know,” Callidus says. “Fuck ‘em.”

Pius sighs.

Noctis laughs a little, but the laugh dies in his throat and he swallows before turning his eyes to the last of the figures, standing just down the hill.

Atavus, the others called him; the ancestors. He who bore the Sword of the Father, and that really should’ve given Noctis a heads up that his destiny was something different than what he’d dreamt of as a kid, shouldn’t he? The Father, which meant that he, Noctis, was the Son…

Atavaus, Regis, the Father, is smiling at him.

“You approve?” Noctis asks, and his voice is small. This is his father; the man he idolized as a child, loved as an adult, and the man Noctis convinced to stab him in the heart with his sword so that the Accursed could finally be destroyed and the Scourge ended.

“Always,” his father says. “No matter what path you chose, I would approve; I would be proud. You have always made me proud.”

Noctis smiles.

“And what do you really think?” he jokes.

His father laughs, a side-splitting bellow. “You are my son,” he says. “My Noctis. You can do anything you want, Six or no Six; that’s how I raised you. Go forth and stand tall.”

Noctis closes his eyes and smiles as the first rays of dawn fall upon his face.

“Noctis!”

He opens his eyes.

Prompto is coming up the hill, waving.

The ghosts of the Kings are gone.

“Hi, Prompto,” Noctis says, smiling.

“Want some company?” Prompto asks. “You’ve got some.”

He nods behind him.

Noctis looks, and smiles to see Gladio and Ignis strolling up the hill. Ignis isn’t even using his cane.

“Hey, guys,” he says.

“How did the hunt in Hammerhead go?” Ignis asks. “And please, save the full report for a more human hour. A summary will do.”

Noctis laughs. “I think I’ve got an idea on how to solve the hunter problem,” he says. “But there’s some assholes who spent a lot of their lives being rich and powerful that aren’t too pleased at the idea of having to share that wealth and power with everyone else, and I’m not too sure about what to do about them. Oh, and we got all the daemons, too.”

“Good job,” Gladio says.

“Knew you’d get the hang of the whole King thing eventually,” Prompto jokes, sitting down next to Noctis – right where Callidus had been sitting, actually.

Ignis settles in on Noctis’ left, where Prudens had been sitting. “In fact, Noctis has been doing an exemplary job,” he says. “Particularly in terms of unifying the scattered people of Eos into a single country once again, which I assume is the aim of your planned trips next month to Accordo and Tenebrae and Niflheim?”

“Hey, if we have an opportunity to put aside old feuds, I don’t see what’s wrong with taking advantage of it,” Noctis says, smiling. “People have moved forward a lot during the last ten years. There’s a chance to do what nobody’s done since Solheim, a truly united Eos, and without all the violence Emperor Ieldolas was using to do it, too.”

“It’d be a shame not to try,” Gladio agrees. “So if everything’s going well, what’s got you up here at the crack of dawn? It’s not exactly like you.”

Trust Gladio to notice.

Noctis takes a deep breath and tells them all about it: what he’d noticed, the dreams, the ghosts, everything.

“I agree with them,” Prompto says. “The ghosts, I mean. Fuck the Six; isn’t that right, Ignis?”

“I regret using a profanity,” Ignis says, long-suffering. “If only because you will never let me forget it.”

“It was reasonable under the circumstances,” Gladio says peaceably. “If you want my vote, Noct, you’re doing the right thing.”

Noctis nods slowly. “I think so too,” he confesses. “And I think – I think this is what I want to do.”

“What do you mean?” Prompto asks.

“Refusing to worship the Six does seem like a fairly passive role,” Ignis says.

Noctis rolls his eyes. “No, I mean – I like what I’m doing now, talking with people, going around, trying to make peace and unity. I don’t mind being mostly a figurehead, with Ignis and the Council working out most of the rules – yes, Ignis, I read your proposal about being the executive branch and using the Council as a legislature, but I really do think you’d be better at it than me.”

“If we kept the Council as the executive, and started up a wider body as a legislative, complete with voting, that could deal with the problem you mentioned earlier,” Gladio says. “The rich men who feel like they were robbed. Let them get all their energy out trying to get elected to office.”

“It’s worth considering,” Ignis says. “But I’m more interested in finding out what Noct proposes that he’ll be doing in a mostly figurehead monarchy.”

“Bahamut’s still alive,” Noctis says. “The only one of the Six that’s still alive and has an interest in getting humanity back to the way things were.”

“Hiding away in the Crystal the entire time helps with that,” Prompto says, rolling his eyes. “I guess. So what?”

“He wants humanity’s worship,” Noctis says. “We don’t want to give it to him. He might be content with sending me dreams for the moment, but after a while, he’s going to get impatient. And when he does, he’s going to use all of that power to try to force us back. And I don’t intend to let him.”

“How?” Gladio asks, practical as ever.

“Four of the Six are dead,” Noctis says. He puts his hand on his sword. “If Bahamut starts something, I guess it’s time to slay the dragon.”

“Going up against the Draconian,” Ignis muses. “And uniting all of Eos. You don’t think small, do you?”

“Afraid not,” Noctis says, and sitting there in the light of the dawn of the Sun he rescued, with his friends at his side, it feels right. The questions he’s been having, the concerns, they all fade away, and he feels warm. “You with me?”

“Always,” Ignis says.

“We’ll be by your side the whole way there,” Gladio says.

“You better not leave us behind for another ten years this time,” Prompto says. “That’s all I’m saying.”

“I promise,” Noctis says. “This time, we go together.”

He looks back away from the wilderness, down at the ever-growing metropolis of Lestallum. They have plans to re-enter Insomnia soon and then to expand the pathways between the cities – maybe a nation-wide public transporation system, even, with care taken to protect and prepare each area in case the Long Night and the daemons came back again.

They’re looking at a brand new chapter in human history.

“All of us,” he says, thinking of them: his people. Humanity. “This time, we all go together.”

[tellytantra]

Naina was in her hotel room, tossing and turning on the bed, not understanding why she was not sleepy while Preeti actually passed out after the long but beautiful day in the valley of the heaven on earth as they say, Kashmir. After trying to sleep for past one hour, she sat on the bed, frustrated. She looked at Preeti, who was into deep sleep and she decided to go to the window and get some fresh air. She grabbed her shawl and covered herself and reached to the huge window that opened to a scene to die for, beautiful stars, the moon and....and some music, it wasn't usual that she was hearing some music in the middle of night. She looked near the bank of the river and saw a person, in fact a silhouette of a guy due to the bright moon. Perhaps he was the one singing. She didn't know, she was kind of drawn towards him.  Tamanna chaani deedarukh (Beloved, how I yearn for you) Chumo yimberzaley bumbro (Like the Yemberzal for her bee!) Phaejis yamat, laejjis wechney (Ever since I bloomed, I'm seeing the truth) Gaejis Chaaney Kaley bumbro (And I'm all melted by your love) She took a jacket and slid in her phone and a pepper spray, just in case and headed to the music that was kind of soothing yet very unsettling, quite the irony. She reached to the person and looked at him. A young man in his mid twenties, beautiful hair and, unusually old dressing sense, 90s to be precise. She sat beside him, on the rock. "You sing beautiful." She said without looking at him. He smiled, she could see his smile from the corner of her eyes. "Shukriya Naina." She heard him. He knew her name and she was startled, scolding herself mentally for coming here and he could be a possible danger. She grabbed the pepper spray and was in attack mode, "Sorry, mujhe aapka Naam nahi pata. Bas Dil Ko Laga ki jiski aankhein itni khoobsoorat hain unka Naam Naina hi hona chahiye." She saw him chuckle. That relaxed her a bit. "Flirt kar rahein hain aap? Waise mere Naam Naina hi hai" She asked. That made him chuckle more. "Ek aur Naina nein yahi kaha tha." He said and strum the chords of the guitar again. Tamanna chaani deedarukh (Beloved, how I yearn for you) Chumo yimberzaley bumbro (Like the Yemberzal for her bee!) Phaejis yamat, laejjis wechney (Ever since I bloomed, I'm seeing the truth) Gaejis Chaaney Kaley bumbro (And I'm all melted by your love) "Aap local hain idhar ke?" Naina asked. "Hmm." She heard him say. She, saw his face and those eyes had her heart. They say, eyes are the windows to your soul, they say the truth. "Itni raat ho gayi, neend nahi aa rahi?" She heard him ask. "Nahi. Mujhe kuch Sukoon mil Raha idhar." She replied with a smile. They didn't talk much, maybe they enjoyed just the silence of each other.  Karaan mehjoor Chu husnas Gath (Paying homage to beauty, Mehjoor) Wanaan yaaras pato akh Kath (Makes this pledge to his friend) Karaan mehjoor Chu husnas Gath (Paying homage to beauty, Mehjoor) Wanaan yaaras pato akh Kath (Makes this pledge to his friend) She could see the little sunlight in the sky and that's when she realised it's been long. She got up and was about to leave. "Sameer, mera Naam Sameer hai!  Aapse mil ke accha Laga." She heard him say while his gaze was still fixed on the river in front. "Mujhe bhi. Subah mulaqaat hogi." Naina said but didn't hear a reply. She moved towards her hotel while she could still hear him sing and play the guitar, leaving her with a smile. Yi Dil dewane Gov Che path (This heart is fallen only for you) Beyis seth na Raley bumbro (And will never fall for anyone else) Yi Dil dewane Gov Che path (This heart is fallen only for you) Beyis seth na Raley bumbro (And will never fall for anyone else) After a while, she reached to her room and saw the clock stuck 4 in the morning. She looked outside the window and he was nowhere to be found. She reached to the bed and everything just took over her and she slept, only to be awaken by Preeti. "Behen kab tak soyegi, it's 7 already. Chal jaldi nahi toh breakfast nahi milega." Preeti shook Naina to the best of her might. Naina, got up, with a hope to meet Sameer again and got fresh as soon as possible and both the sisters rushed to the buffet breakfast. While Naina was looking for Sameer amidst the host and the guest at the hotel, Preeti was busy gorging on the Kashmiri cuisine as if she had no food all the life that she was on the planet. Tamanna chaani deedarukh (Beloved, how I yearn for you) Chumo yimberzaley bumbro (Like the Yemberzal for her bee!) Phaejis yamat, laejjis wechney (Ever since I bloomed, I'm seeing the truth) Gaejis Chaaney Kaley bumbro (And I'm all melted by your love) Naina was bit sad that Sameer didn't come. Everyone headed to the next tourist destination with their Guide, Yassir Bhai. "Yassir Bhai, woh ladka Kahan rehta hai jo raat Ko Nadi ke paas Gaana ga Raha tha?" Naina asked at last when they were returning to the hotel room after the day's excursion. "Raat Ko? Aapko sunayi diya kya?" Yassir bhai asked shocked. "Haan, in fact main aayi bhi thi. Meri baat bhi hui Sameer se." Naina told. "Sameer?" Preeti asked. "Ek minute, shhh. Mujhe phir sunayi de Rahi uski awaaz." Naina tried to hear. She followed that voice and reached to the same spot, seeing him sitting at the very same place, in the very same clothes. She sat beside him and closed her eyes to take in the beautiful music. Kahan maykhaney ka darwaza Ghalib aur Kahan waaiz (The preacher and the bar's entrance are way apart, Ghalib) Kahan maykhaney ka darwaza Ghalib aur Kahan waaiz (The preacher and the bar's entrance are way apart, Ghalib) Par itna jaante hain kal, woh jaata tha ki hum niklein (Yet I see him entering the bar as I was leaving!) Par itna jaante hain kal, woh jaata tha ki hum niklein (Yet I see him entering the bar as I was leaving!) Hazaaron khwahishein aisi ki har khwahish mein dum nikle (Thousands of desire, each worth dying for) Bahut nikle mere Armaan, Lekin phir bhi Kam nikle (Many of them I have realised, yet I yearn for more) Yassir Bhai and Preeti followed Naina and saw her sitting alone. "Inhein Sameer Chaudhary dikhai deta hai." Yassir said looking at her. "Sameer Chaudhary Kaun?" Preeti asked. "Sameer Chaudhary, ek Kashmiri Muslim singer jise Naina Naam ki ek Kashmiri pandit se ishq ho Gaya tha. Phir 1990s mein jab Kashmiri pandits Ko Jaana pada yahan se toh shayad unn dangon mein Naina ki death ho gayi thi. Par kuch log kehte hain usnein suicide Kiya tha Kyun ki gharwale uski zabardasti kahin aur shaadi kara rahe the." Yassir bhai said thinking deep. Khuda khud meer-e-majlis Bood andar laamaakan, Khusrau (God himself was master of ceremonies in that heavenly court, oh Khusrau) Khuda khud meer-e-majlis Bood andar laamaakan, Khusrau (God himself was master of ceremonies in that heavenly court, oh Khusrau) Muhammad shamma-e-mehfil bood Shab jaaye ke mann boodam  (Where the face of the prophet Muhammad too was shedding light like a candle) Muhammad shamma-e-mehfil bood Shab jaaye ke mann boodam  (Where the face of the prophet Muhammad too was shedding light like a candle) Nami danam Che Manzil bood Shab jaaye ke mann boodam (I wonder what was the place where I was last night) Baharsu raqs-e-bismil bood shab jaaye ke Mann boodam (All around me were half slaughtered victim of love, tossing in agony) "Phir?" Preeti asked, while she was still looking at her sister smiling and talking to God knows who. "Phir kya, Sameer aur Naina nein yahan Milne ka faisla Kiya tha aur phir kahin door chale Jaana chahte the. Par Naina kabhi aayi hi nahi. Sameer intezaar karta Raha kuch saalon tak aur Gaana Gaya karta tha. Kuch log kehte hain ki usnein iss Nadi mein kood kar Jaan de di thi par kisi Ko uski body nahi Mili. Kabhi kabhi logon Ko uska Wahi Gaana sunne Ko mil jaata tha par woh kahin Nazar nahi aata tha. Pichle kuch saalon se woh bhi sunayi Dena band ho Gaya tha par aaj Naina ji Ko....." Yassir Narrated everything he knew of it. Preeti was terrified. She ran to Naina and pulled her and took her to the room, all this while, Naina was protesting and she didn't know what got into her. She felt someone was trying to separate her from her own flesh and blood. Once, in the room, Preeti narrated everything to her leaving her shocked. She looked out of the window, he was still singing and looking at the river that was casted my the full moon's beauty. Tamanna chaani deedarukh (Beloved, how I yearn for you) Chumo yimberzaley bumbro (Like the Yemberzal for her bee!) Phaejis yamat, laejjis wechney (Ever since I bloomed, I'm seeing the truth) Gaejis Chaaney Kaley bumbro (And I'm all melted by your love) "Ek aur Naina nein bhi yahi kaha tha." That rung in her head. She looked outside again, she could see him disappearing into the thin air while his song echoed in the beautiful valley of the paradise on earth.  Hazaaron khwahishein aisi ki har khwahish mein dum nikle (Thousands of desire, each worth dying for) Bahut nikle mere Armaan, Lekin phir bhi Kam nikle (Many of them I have realised, yet I yearn for more) Octothorpe

http://jodifiction.blogspot.com/2020/04/samaina-os-tamanna-yudkbh-yeh-un-dinon.html

[ilvoloflightcrew]

On August 16th, Piero received an award from his beloved NARO.

Let’s go in order:

This message was published by Piero, I translate the words:

On August 16th evening I will have the pleasure of dedicating time to my splendid NARO: being recognized and honored, from one’s native country, is an honor that is not at all obvious.

Here are the roots, here my story is born: the houses, the alleys, the faces, with which I grew up and of which I could tell a thousand stories.

At the moment, I will tell you only one, the affection I have for my country.

All Naro waits on the beautiful staircase.

Here is the moment of Piero’s arrival.

And here is the awarding of the prize, by the mayor, very proud of our Piero.

Mayor = Meanwhile I wanted to put the institutional band, even if it is wrong (Piero rushes to fix the band), to give the official status of the institution, the solemnity of this moment, to pay our affection, our gratitude, to a great, to an international star, which is Piero. (applause)

Considering that at this moment, I do not feel I am just the mayor of Naro and its 7500 inhabitants, but I feel like the mayor of all the Naresi (inhabitants of Naro) scattered all over the world.

So I make myself an interpreter, of all the Naresi, scattered around the world, to say THANK YOU to Piero, for the emotions he always gives us. I also greet all the friends of Canicattì who are here for Piero.

I will not dwell much, but I must tell you that I am particularly excited. You saw the first part of the video (before calling Piero, they projected a video dedicated to Piero ), well, that little boy was Piero …. (to Piero) I don’t know where your grandfather is … . (Piero indicates with his hand, on the stairway). Pietro, a big hug to Pietro, to whom a family friendship, of many years, binds me.

That mayor of 10 years ago, when Piero started it all, was me.

To give you the prize, I would like to call Magda. (Magda is a small child, new promising star of Naro, Piero goes to meet Magda and kisses her.)

With the hope that in 10 years we will be here again to celebrate even Magda.

Best wishes Piero. (kisses and hugs to Piero and delivery of the prize)

I was at Piero’s house, I saw, how many plaques, how many photos with “the powerful of the world” ….. Piero, but this is the gift of NARO !!! (applause)

One last thing and I finish, a memory, when they, in the theater of Taormina, dedicated the song to their mother, and he bowed and Eleonora, beat the song’s rhythm on his leg ….. Eleonora and Gaetano, thank you for what you you have done, for believing us, for the sacrifices you have made to make him a great man.(applause, a second awarding ceremony continues, during which Vincenzo Porrello gives Piero a special gift.) 

And here is the video broadcast by local television. At the beginning Piero sings a beautiful song “NARO FULGENTISSIMA” (I think his grandfather composed it, during the video, while Piero sings, you can see his father Gaetano and his mother Eleonora, sitting on the staircase, near a white lantern.)

Mayor = For us it is a source of great pride, to celebrate 10 years of IL VOLO activity, but in particular, allow me, of our fellow citizen Piero Barone. A boy who is an international star, but who has remained a humble boy, has remained a boy devoted to his city.

I am the mayor of all the Naresi scattered in the world and for us, having Piero Barone this evening, who is the ambassador of the beauties of this city, but above all of the heart and love, of this city, can only make me absolutely happy.

Piero = My first thought, but I also think of all of you here, goes to the Bracco family, for the pain that struck them. (a young citizen of Naro, on vacation on the lake near Rome, drowned … applause).

The love I have for this country, and for our city, will never end.

Host = What do you feel for this city?

Piero= Naro, it’s me, it’s my blood. I grew up here, my whole story is here.

If it’s about my past, it’s all my grandfather’s fault, he gave me my passion for music.

When I was 8, it was he, my grandfather Pietro, who had me engraved,  “UN AMORE COSÌ GRANDE”. 

In one of those beautiful summer evenings over 10 years ago, my grandfather made my father hear that song, and from that moment, my father, stubborn as he is, every time someone came into the garage (he repaired cars), put me up on the bonnet of cars and made me sing either “GRANADA” or “UN AMORE COSÌ GRANDE”. I couldn’t take any more, every customer heard “GRANADA” or “UN AMORE COSÌ GRANDE” (Piero’s parents laugh).

In the same evening, there was the election of Miss Naro, and here is Piero photographed with all the participants.

Some shots of the evening, thanks to Il Volo Sicilia fanpage.

What a beautiful emotion Piero, to hear you sing that beautiful song dedicated to Naro.

And your words, for your city, fill every citizen with pride. 

Bravo Piero !!

Daniela

  Credit to owners of all photos and videos.

NARO, AN AWARD FOR PIERO by Daniela On August 16th, Piero received an award from his beloved NARO.

[erickmalpicaflores]

Erik Malpica Flores Erik Malpica Flores recommends: What is Coming to Netflix in March 2019

QUEER EYE is returning to Netflix with a new season in March 2019, as is the second half of ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT’s fifth season. The Netflix film THE DIRT will be a dramatization of Mötley Crüe’s autobiography, while Stella and Joel will also return for a new season of SANTA CLARITA DIET.

Related: What’s coming to Netflix Canada in March 2019?

March 1

A Clockwork Orange

Apollo 13

Budapest (FR) (Netflix Film): Two friends quit their boring jobs to start a company that plans bachelor parties in Budapest. Their wives, however, have mixed feelings about this.

Cricket Fever: Mumbai Indians (Netflix Original): In the world’s toughest cricket league, every game is a battle. Can Mumbai Indians come together and bring home another trophy?

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon

Disney’s Saving Mr. Banks

Emma

Junebug

Larva Island: Season 2 (Netflix Original): A new season of hilariously zany adventures for larva pals Red and Yellow includes an invasion of their island!

Losers (Netflix Original): In a “winning is everything” society, how do we handle failure? Using sports as its guide, this documentary series examines the psychology of losing.

Music and Lyrics

Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist

Northern Rescue (Netflix Original):  After the sudden death of his wife, search and rescue commander John West relocates with his three kids to his rural hometown of Turtle Island Bay.

River’s Edge (JP) (Netflix Film): High schooler Haruna befriends loner Yamada, then is drawn into the tangled relationship between him, a model and the girl who loves him unreasonably.

Stuart Little

Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street

The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind (Netflix Film): Inspired by a science book, 13-year-old William Kamkwamba builds a wind turbine to save his Malawian village from famine. Based on a true story.

The Hurt Locker

The Notebook

Tyson

Wet Hot American Summer

Winter’s Bone

Your Son (ES) (Netflix Film): After his son is brutally beaten outside a nightclub, a surgeon takes the law into his own hands and seeks vengeance against the perpetrators.

March 2

Romance is a Bonus Book (Korea) (Streaming Every Saturday) (Netflix Original): A gifted writer who’s the youngest editor-in-chief ever at his publishing company gets enmeshed in the life of a former copywriter desperate for a job.

March 3

Patriot Act with Hasan Minhaj: Volume 2 (Streaming Every Sunday) (Netflix Original): Hasan Minhaj returns with new episodes every Sunday, bringing his unique, unexpected comedic perspective to current global events and culture.

March 5

Disney’s Christopher Robin

March 6

Secret City: Under the Eagle: Season 2 (Netflix Original): Journalist Harriet Dunkley finds herself enmeshed in a conspiracy while striving to clear the name of a former cellmate accused of murder.

March 7

Doubt

The Order (Netflix Original): Out to avenge his mother’s death, a college student pledges a secret order and lands in a war between werewolves and practitioners of dark magic.

March 8

After Life (Netflix Original): Struggling to come to terms with his wife’s death, a writer for a newspaper adopts a gruff new persona in an effort to push away those trying to help.

Bangkok Love Stories: Hey You! (Netflix Original): A loving couple become rivals when Belle opens a fusion bistro next to her ex-boyfriend Kram’s traditional restaurant in Bangkok’s chic Ari district.

Bangkok Love Stories: Innocence (Netflix Original): From a teenage parkour enthusiast to a bawdy restaurateur, an eclectic group of characters find romance in Bangkok’s glittering Silom district.

Blue Jasmine

Formula 1: Drive to Survive (Netflix Original): Drivers, managers and team owners live life in the fast lane — both on and off the track during one cutthroat season of Formula 1 racing.

Hunter X Hunter (2011): Seasons 1-3

Immortals (Netflix Original): Driven by revenge, human-turned-vampire Mia sets out to vanquish Dmitry, a ruthless vampire leader who seeks an artifact that grants immortality.

Juanita (Netflix Film): Fed up with her life, Juanita leaves her grown kids behind and hits the road in search of a fresh start.

Lady J (FR) (Netflix Film): When her love affair with a lustful marquis takes a sudden turn, a wealthy widow concocts a scheme to get revenge — with help from a younger woman.

Shadow (Netflix Original): Haunted by a tragic loss, an ex-cop with a rare inability to feel pain strikes out on his own to catch offenders who’ve eluded Johannesburg police.

Spy Kids 2: The Island of Lost Dreams

The Jane Austen Book Club

Walk. Ride. Rodeo. (Netflix Film): In the wake of an accident that leaves her paralyzed, a champion barrel racer is determined to get back on her horse and ride again.

March 12

Jimmy Carr: The Best of Ultimate Gold Greatest Hits (Netflix Original): Jimmy Carr has gathered a selection of his very best jokes for the ultimate comedy special. A man who has devoted his life to crafting perfect gags and brutally brilliant one-liners, Jimmy’s new show distils everything we love to laugh at and be shocked by into one incredible stand-up special. Featuring clever jokes, rude jokes, and a few jokes that are totally unacceptable. Filmed at The Olympia Theatre in Dublin, Ireland, “The Best of, Ultimate, Gold, Greatest Hits” launches globally on Netflix, Tuesday, March 12th. Carr is also the host of the Netflix original show, “The Fix.”

Terrace House: Opening New Doors: Part 6 (Netflix Original): Kaito and Risako hang out with their housemates while Yui and Aio try to decide their next steps. Nothing is certain except their bonds of friendship.

March 13

Triple Frontier (Netflix Film): Struggling to make ends meet, five former U.S. soldiers set out to steal millions from a drug lord’s lair — and end up with a target on their backs.

March 15

A Separation

Arrested Development: Season 5 B (Netflix Original): As the Bluths continue to make a mess of their personal and professional lives, Michael again can’t quite abandon the family that makes him miserable.

Burn Out (FR) (Netflix Film): When his son’s mom runs afoul of Paris’s criminal underworld, a thrill-seeking superbike racer begins moonlighting as a drug courier to clear her debt.

Dry Martina (AR) (Netflix Film): An odd encounter with a fan and a tryst with that fan’s ex-boyfriend leads a sexually adventurous singer on an escapade in Chile.

Girl (BE) (Netflix Film): With the support of her father, a 15-year-old transgender girl pursues her dream of becoming a professional ballerina. Winner of the Camera d’Or for best first film at this year’s Cannes Film Festival as well as the Best Actor Prize for Un Certain Regard, the FIPRESCI International Critics Award for Best Film (Un Certain Regard) and the Queer Palm. The feature directorial debut of Lukas Dhont, the film was written by Dhont and Angelo Tijssens, and produced by Dirk Impens (Menuet). Girl stars Victor Polster and Arieh Worthalter.

If I Hadn’t Met You (Netflix Original): Eduard, a husband and father who loses his family in a tragic accident, travels to parallel universes to seek a better fate for his beloved wife.

Kung Fu Hustle

Las muñecas de la mafia: Season 2 (Netflix Original): Lucrecia, Brenda and Olivia are once again entangled in the world of the drug lords as Janeth and Martha are introduced to its dark dangers.

Love, Death & Robots (Netflix Original): An animated anthology series presented by Tim Miller and David Fincher.

Paskal (MY) (Netflix Film): Naval unit PASKAL is among the most elite special forces in Malaysia. But all bets are off when one of its own stages a hijacking. Based on true events.

Queer Eye: Season 3 (Netflix Original): The Fab Five hit the road and head to Kansas City, Missouri, for another season of emotional makeovers and stunning transformations.

Robozuna: Season 2 (Netflix Original): Ariston, Mangle and the Freebot Fighters are back, but protecting their home gets tougher when evil Danuvia unveils a powerful robot named Dominatus.

The Lives of Others

Turn Up Charlie (Netflix Original): A down-and-out DJ plots to rebuild his music career while working as a nanny for his famous best friend’s wild 11-year-old daughter.

YooHoo to the Rescue (Netflix Original): Five cuddly pals from the magical land of YooTopia use teamwork and special gadgets to help animals in trouble and make new friends along the way!

March 16

Green Door (Netflix Original): A troubled psychologist returns from the U.S. and sets up a clinic in Taiwan, where mysterious patients and uncanny events shed light on his murky past.

March 19

Amy Schumer Growing (Netflix Original): Amy Schumer gives a refreshingly honest and hilarious take on marriage, pregnancy and personal growth in her new Netflix comedy special, Amy Schumer Growing. Filmed in front of a packed house in Chicago, the comedian talks about the joys of womanhood, settling into marital bliss, and yes also you guessed it, sex!

March 21

Antoine Griezmann: The Making of a Legend (Netflix Original): With heart and determination, Antoine Griezmann overcame his small stature to become one of the world’s top soccer players and a World Cup champion.

March 22

Carlo & Malik (Netflix Original): A veteran homicide cop is forced to confront his own biases when he’s paired up with an Ivory Coast-born rookie on a string of murder cases in Rome.

Charlie’s Colorforms City (Netflix Original): Loveable, hilarious Charlie leads you on unpredictable and imaginative shape-filled story expeditions alongside a colorful cast of characters.

Delhi Crime (Netflix Original): As Delhi reels in the aftermath of a gang rape, a female police officer leads an eye-opening search for the culprits in this retelling of true events.

Historia de un crimen: Colosio (Netflix Original): Dramatization of Mexican presidential candidate Luis Donaldo Colosio’s 1994 assassination. Part of an anthology on unsolved crimes in Latin America.

Mirage (ES) (Netflix Film): A space-time continuum glitch allows Vera to save a boy’s life 25 years earlier, but results in the loss of her daughter, whom she fights to get back.

Most Beautiful Thing (Netflix Original): A sheltered woman moves to Rio to start a new life and a journey of self-discovery among the dreamy views of the city’s beaches and hills.

ReMastered: The Miami Showband Massacre (Netflix Original): Ambushed by Ulster loyalists, three members of the Miami Showband were killed in Northern Ireland in 1975. Was the crime linked to the government?

Selling Sunset (Netflix Original): The elite real estate brokers at the Oppenheim Group sell the luxe life to affluent buyers in LA. The drama ramps up when a new agent joins the team.

The Dirt (Netflix Film): In this dramatization of Mötley Crüe’s no-holds-barred autobiography, the band hits the monster highs and savage lows of heavy metal superstardom.

March 26

Nate Bargatze: The Tennessee Kid (Netflix Original): Comedian Nate Bargatze takes aim at the absurdity of everyday life in an approachable and deadpan stand-up set shot in Duluth, Georgia.

March 28

Ainori Love Wagon: Asian Journey: Season 2 (Netflix Original): The love wagon rides again! Seven strangers board the famous van on a journey through Asia in search of a ticket home to Japan with a partner.

March 29

15 August (IN) (Netflix Film): Veteran Bollywood actress Madhuri Dixit turns producer for this lighthearted snapshot of life in the chawls of Mumbai.

Bayoneta (MX) (Netflix Film): A retired Mexican boxer living alone in Finland gets a shot to redeem himself in the ring, forcing him to confront his painful past in the process.

Osmosis (Netflix Original): In a near-future Paris, an app uses personal memories to decode the mysteries of love. But what happens if your memories, like all data, are subject to manipulation?

Santa Clarita Diet: Season 3 (Netflix Original): Sheila searches for meaning, Joel investigates a secret society, and Abby struggles with her feelings for Eric. Life and undeath can be so stressful.

The Highwaymen (Netflix Film): The outlaws made headlines. The lawmen made history. From director John Lee Hancock (The Blind Side), THE HIGHWAYMEN follows the untold true story of the legendary detectives who brought down Bonnie and Clyde. When the full force of the FBI and the latest forensic technology aren’t enough to capture the nation’s most notorious criminals, two former Texas Rangers (Kevin Costner and Woody Harrelson) must rely on their gut instincts and old school skills to get the job done.

The Legend of Cocaine Island (Netflix Original): A businessman who is down on his luck hatches a plan to retrieve a mythical $2-million stash of cocaine from its reported hiding place in the Caribbean.

Traitors (Netflix Original): As World War II ends, a young English woman agrees to help an enigmatic American agent root out Russian infiltration of the British government.

Tucker and Dale vs. Evil

March 30

How to Get Away with Murder: Season 5

March 31

El sabor de las margaritas (Netflix Original): While investigating the disappearance of a teen girl in a tight-knit Galician town, a Civil Guard officer uncovers secrets linked to a loss of her own.

The Burial of Kojo

Trailer Park Boys: The Animated Series (Netflix Original): The trailer park just got a lot weirder. Picking up where Season 12 left off — and higher than ever — the entire gang has turned into cartoons.

Last Call – Titles Rotating Off the Service in March 2019

March 1

Bruce Almighty

Fair Game – Director’s Cut

Ghostbusters

Ghostbusters 2

Hostage

Pearl Harbor

The Breakfast Club

The Cider House Rules

The Gift

The Little Rascals

United 93

March 2

Law & Order: Special Victims Unit: The Eighteenth Year

March 3

Drop Dead Diva: Seasons 1-6

March 4

Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End

March 5

Newsies: The Broadway Musical

March 8

March 16

Baby Mama

Charlie St. Cloud

Role Models

March 18

Disney’s Beauty and the Beast

March 31

Party of Five: Seasons 1-6

The Real Ghostbusters: Seasons 1-5

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[nikihawkes]

Title: Obsidian and Stars

Author: Julie Eshbaugh

Series: Ivory and Bone #2

Genre: Teen Fiction

Rating: 2.5/5 stars

The Overview: After surviving the chaotic battle that erupted after Lo and the Bosha clan attacked, now Mya is looking ahead to her future with Kol. All the things that once felt so uncertain are finally falling into place. But the same night as Kol and Mya’s betrothal announcement, Mya’s brother Chev reveals his plan to marry his youngest sister Lees to his friend Morsk. The only way to avoid this terrible turn of events, Morsk informs Mya when he corners her later, is for Mya to take Lees’ place and marry him herself. Refusing to marry anyone other than her beloved, and in an effort to protect her sister, Mya runs away to a secret island with Lees. And though it seems like the safest place to hide until things back home blow over, Mya soon realizes she’s been followed. Lurking deep in the recesses of this dangerous place are rivals from Mya’s past whose thirst for revenge exceeds all reason. With the lives of her loved ones on the line, Mya must make a move before the enemies of her past become the undoing of her future. -Goodreads

The Review:

If you caught my recent review of Ivory and Bone, you’ll remember me saying I really enjoyed the book, but had a few issues with the logistics feeling a bit forced. Eshbaugh was modeling the story after Pride and Prejudice, trying to follow the same basic storyline. My hope going into Obsidian and Stars was that it would feel a little more organic and free-flowing – which it actually did. The trouble is, I found a different set of issues to complain about long the way…

Obsidian and Stars lost a bit of the magic that made Ivory and Bone so unique. The creative story construction in I&B around an atypical narrative was my favorite part – it was presented as recounting, where a boy told the girl his perspective from the point when they first met. It was so cool! In O&S, however, the POV switched to straightforward first-person. There was also very minimal cultural immersion, which took away the other element that set Ivory and Bone apart. The one consistency I can praise is Eshbaugh’s beautiful writing voice – if I finish the series, it might be for that alone.

My biggest issue, however, were the conflicts.

Most of the obstacles the character faced in Obsidian and Stars were caused by what I viewed as bad decision-making and a general lack of common sense… almost to an infuriating degree. Because of this, I felt very un-invested for most of the novel while they ran around fixing these self-induced problems (most of which also felt incredibly unfeasible – the juxtaposition between teen angst toleration and the harsh realities of prehistoric life are pretty laughable. I overlooked it in I&B, but I lost patience in the second). Furthermore, all of the remaining conflicts were so similar to what happened in the first book that I found myself losing interest even further to the point where it was a struggle to finish.

I’d really hoped the second book would’ve taken the story beyond the narrow framework of the first and really expanded on this cool setting. Despite my disappointment with Obsidian and Stars, I like Eshbaugh’s writing voice and the basic components to her story well enough that I might still pick up the third book when it comes out in 2018. I’m just really hoping when I do I’ll see stronger conflicts and a heavier focus on the things that make this series special.

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by Niki Hawkes

Book Review: Obsidian and Stars by Julie Eshbaugh Title: Obsidian and Stars Author: Julie Eshbaugh Series: Ivory and Bone #2 Genre: Teen Fiction Rating: