#viridi writes

[velociheroviridi]

What's this? I wrote another chapter in a day? Wow that's crazy. Anyways here ya go

More Dick isekai for y'all

[beamclaws]

Shadows of a Past Life

Summary: Pit falls ill with a minor cold, causing Viridi to send Dark Pit on a mission to protect Skyworld while he recovers. He hates every moment of it, truly. But perhaps confronting his past will help him work towards a better future.

Chapters: 4/4

Word count: 14,345

[primamchorus]

Holidays of Eos :: Fabula Finis et Nova

Another year has come and gone, and it is a time of reflection of the year's story one has walked for themselves. Usually, at any rate. Instead of looking behind, the Crown Prince takes it upon himself to ask those in line to be his royal council once the 114th ascends their aspirations for the new year.

Word Count: 5,354

FFXV: Reimagined Table of Contents

Next ->

M.E. 754, December 31st

Live music from a small orchestra filled the ballroom with largely upbeat strings that allowed for those who wanted to dance to do so. This was a rather fancy event, after all. Lingering decorations from Frostbearer's Blessing not even a week prior had been repurposed into decorations to help bring in the new year. A trifling task, it seemed, for the crew in charge of setting up or changing the festive decor.

"Stuffy…" Noctis quietly groaned, tugging at the tie at his neck to loosen it. His hair was still his signature bedhead of a mess, only slightly put together in the front.

"And yet you refuse to take time to head outside for some fresh air," Ignis said, his hands at rest behind his back. He glanced in the prince’s direction. "Surely you would at least care to watch the fireworks happening here in the next hour?"

"Too cold outside," Noctis replied with a huff.

Ignis resisted the urge to bring his index finger and thumb to pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation for the response. Instead, he exhaled slowly through his nose and counted to three in his mind. "Perhaps there is some compromise, then?"

"Prim around?"

"You will not abuse her control over magic to keep you warm," Ignis scolded. He pointed his gaze forward, looking out toward those in attendance to the Fabula Nova gala. He then added, "Nor shall you abuse mine."

Noctis tutted, folding his arms over his chest semi-indignantly.

"You could always lose the jacket," came the voice of Gladiolus. The Shield had been standing close by, sipping away at a flute of champagne.

"And then what?" The indignation was clear in Noctis' tone. "Nowhere to put it."

"Then stay uncomfortable." Gladio shrugged, rolling the flute in his hand before downing the rest of the champagne within.

"Anyone see Prompto?" Noctis ignored Gladio's 'suggestion'.

"With the twins, last I recalled seeing him." Ignis adjusted his posture.

"And where are they?"

Ignis swept an arm to the side, looking in that direction. He had motioned toward the exit that led to the rest of the rooftop belonging to the Caelum Via. Beyond the windows, the white hair of both Primam and Tandem was unmistakable. Not far from them was Prompto's golden hair, nearly just as striking as the twins' own. Especially in comparison to the rest of the noble families.

"Traitor…" Noctis spat, half joking. Was he referring to the twins? Maybe he was referring to Prompto? Perhaps he was referring to all of them. After all, all three of them had been at his side at school, the four of them nigh inseparable.

"Still got us," Gladiolus chuckled, throwing an arm around Noctis' shoulders. He had placed the emptied flute down on a nearby table, and he used his now free hand to ruffle Noctis' hair.

"Cut it out!" Noctis ducked down and brought a hand up to shove away Gladio's arms. He then brought his hands up to straighten out his bangs. Another huff left him once he tided himself, and he then returned his arms to their folded position over his chest. Looking back out the windows, he watched as it looked like Primam brought a hand up to cover her mouth as she laughed — even Tandem looked like he was enjoying himself while Prompto talked with a big smile on his face.

"They look like they're having fun at least…" Noctis commented.

"You could go out there with them if you weren't being such a wuss about how cold it'll be when you go outside," Gladio teased. A smirk had settled upon his lips, and his hands were placed upon his hips. "Unless you're more worried about interrupting."

"As if…" Noctis scoffed. He adjusted his suit, a slight furrow forming between his brow. Still, part of him was a little annoyed — perhaps with himself, perhaps with the other three — that they were not all together as the events pressed on. Shrugging at himself after a moment, Noctis let out a sigh, doing his best to make sure it was not too obvious there was some annoyance there. "There's still plenty of time tonight to catch up with everyone else, I guess."

"A sound idea. The other nobles of the 114th should be glad to have their prince and future king approach them," Ignis concurred, bringing a hand up to adjust his glasses briefly. He had also said this to make somewhat of a point to Noctis. As it stood, Noctis had spent much of his youth and years going to public school in the company of his two future Arms, and the commoner friend they had made. Many of the other nobles sometimes wondered if their prince would ever spare such time for them on many occasions… Mollis most of all, if Ignis remembered correctly.

By the time Ignis thought to tell Noctis, the prince had already started in the direction of a woman. The woman in question was a member of House Vox — the current Head of House and Ears of the King: Vera Vox. She was, as ever, well put together; not a hair was out of place as her obsidian locks were pinned back into an elegant bun that was nestled low at the base of her head. Her dress was fetching; blue that faded into white, its skirt gradually flaring into ruffles. A giant smile was spread upon her face as she interacted with guests to the gala, though her bright green eyes flashed in the prince's direction before he fully approached.

"Noctis!" Vera placed a hand upon one of the women's own and excused herself before she grabbed her dress and hiked it up slightly to hurry toward Noctis. The display left the other women giggling among themselves as they watched Vera meet with the prince.

The more casual greeting was appreciated than anyone calling Noctis 'Highness' or 'Prince Noctis', however. Not that he had a mind to speak up on this fact. Not tonight, at any rate.

"I didn't mean to pull you away from your company…" Noctis remarked. His eyes flicked in the direction of the women, now whispering among themselves — gossiping, no doubt. He returned his attention to his father's Ears. "Just wanted to see how you were doing for the night, and…I suppose ask about if you have anything in mind you wanted to wish for when Fabula Nova strikes?"

Vera brought a gloved hand to her chin, thinking about the question. "My wish for Fabula Nova?" Her expression became somewhat sheepish as she cast her gaze to the side. "I mean…it would be nice if Aestus could come back home. But wishing for someone else's Fabula Nova isn't really in the spirit, is it…? So I suppose my Fabula Nova this next year would be to simply maintain everything as he would — to really grow into my role as Ears of the King with the groundwork he's laid out before me."

There was a moment where Noctis considered anything his father might have said about Vera. If nothing was said, usually that was good news for the most part. It, at the very least, meant that the king had no qualms with the staff and nobles that served him. Plus, from Noctis' own experiences with Vera, she was always good about her duties — smart, even if she sometimes seemed to be in a different world altogether at times. Living up to Aestus' more serious and driven composure that allowed him to meet his tasks with unflagging composure might have been a tall order.

"I'm sure Aestus would at least be proud of everything you've accomplished so far," Noctis replied, doing his best to have been reassuring. "I know I appreciate everything you've done for my dad and me. You and Ignis really make a good team."

"Aw, thanks, Noct!" Vera cooed, coming over and in for a hug. The gesture made Noctis bite back a noise of surprise that got lost in his throat, though he awkwardly hugged her back in turn. "Just know that if you ever need anything from House Vox, I will always be available. After all, my Ears for the king."

"Not king yet."

Vera reached over with both her gloved hands and pressed them against Noctis' cheeks. "'Yet'. Even still, my service is ever yours when it's needed."

Unlike with Gladio, Noctis tolerated Vera's hands upon his cheeks, even if his brow furrowed ever slightly once more. When she let go of him, he watched as she took a step back.

"I assume you're making the rounds." Vera's eyes flicked in Ignis' direction momentarily. The future Hand and Shield were still standing close to one another a good several yards away.

So she had heard their brief discussion — even from all the way over here. Why would that have been surprising? She was probably listening to more than she let on right now with the help of some magic.

Clearing her throat, Vera smiled pleasantly at Noctis and gave a low, elegant curtsy to him. "I shall take your time no longer, Highness. May your Fabula Nova be accomplished this upcoming year."

"… Yeah," Noctis replied. "You, too."

Turning, Noctis scanned the dance hall, a silent sigh falling from his nostrils. He was caught off guard when he felt his hand taken up. Someone had taken advantage of his blind spot and was gently pulling him to join them on the dance floor. Noctis had half a mind to pull away, though when his eyes met Mollis', he hesitated.

Mollis had always been one of the sweetest members of the 114th whenever they had the opportunity to spend time together. Even now, her expression was bright — damn near bright as Prompto's usually was. Disappointing that face would have made Noctis feel bad…if only because he knew the brunt of disappointment would come from the other members of the 114th generation if they found out Mollis had been made any modicum of sad.

"Dance with me, Noct!" Mollis urged, shaking his hand gently to emphasize her request.

"I…don't dance—" Noctis hesitated on his response.

Mollis was a little more casual about how she dressed. She was still dressed nice, certainly…but she definitely had something much more her speed. A long-sleeve white dress with a collar that went up to her neck, its skirt falling just slightly below her knees. There was a sash at her midsection to give more texture and interest to the dress, but overall, it was rather plain.

"Mm, you are looking a little flush…" Mollis observed, letting go of Noctis' hand to scrutinize him. "You didn't show up sick, did you? Should have seen Ros if you are."

"Save me the lecture; I'm not sick…" Again, Noctis found hesitation in wanting to pursue the conversation fully. Not because there was discomfort in speaking to Mollis, nor was there anything he had against her. Speaking was just hard sometimes.

Clearing his throat, he finally asked nearly the same thing he asked Vera: "Do you know what you're wishing for when Fabula Nova hits?"

Mollis' expression brightened again. "Of course! My Fabula Nova is to keep the beauty of everything and everyone I love shining!"

Noctis' brow quirked, and the curl of his lip could not be helped. Amusement had found its way onto his face. What did Mollis even mean by that?

He supposed it mattered little if he understood it, ultimately… What mattered was that Mollis understood what she was wishing for and striving toward. That really was all that mattered when it came to one's wish for Fabula Nova.

Mollis took up Noctis' hand again, shaking him a little more insistently — just a little. She made no comment, just looked at him with a smile. He supposed the Crown Prince should have taken the dance floor…but he really did not want to do so. He always felt like dance lessons went poorly. Mollis surely would have been a better fit for someone like Ignis or Ros than Noctis himself.

Noctis expelled a sigh of defeat and followed Mollis out onto the dance floor. He could feel the jubilation in Mollis as she very nearly skipped out, pulling him along with her. He humored her, if anything, following more her lead rather than leading in the dance himself.

She was a good sport about everything at least… Moments where Noctis seemed to have stumbled or at least missed a dance beat were gently laughed off as Mollis improvised steps to keep their dance going as smoothly as possible. At the very least it seemed like some of Noctis' dance lessons paid off…

Something, however, caught Noctis' eye in the middle of their dance that he halted both he and Mollis for.

"Sorry…" Noctis uttered, letting go of Mollis. Before he turned to leave, he quickly said, "I hope your Fabula Nova wish comes true."

"And to you, too!" Mollis chirped. She waved at him before she turned around and quickly went to find someone else to come and dance with her.

Noctis quickly maneuvered his way through some of the other guests and visitors that were taking up the floor. He made meager attempts at soft apologies to some of the people he ended up disturbing. However, he finally made it to Cor, who looked as if he was ready to leave alongside a woman — his sister, Cera — and a girl who looked to have been in her tweens and ready to have fallen asleep. That must have been Cor's niece, Aura.

"Cor!" Noctis called out, halting all who were of the Leonis family. Cor and Cera turned to face him, whereas the sleepy-looking Aura stuck close to her mother, eyes somewhat pointed downward at the floor. Noctis slowed his gait to a stop before them and glanced between them all. "Leaving already?"

"Just Aura and I," Cera replied, bringing a hand around Aura's shoulders to keep her upright and from wobbling too much from being tired.

"I was going to walk them to the chaperoned vehicle," Cor added. He seemed ever mindful and protective over his family — what of it he had left. However, the Valor addressed Noctis fully: "Is there anything I might do for you, Highness?"

"N-Nah…" Noctis started, bringing a hand up in a half-shrug motion. "I just wanted to see you off before you headed out, that's all. That, and wish you all a good Fabula Nova, or whatever."

"You'll be able to see more of me over the course of the night…" Cor replied. He looked back toward his sister before looking back at Noctis. With a slight bow, Cor then went on to say, "If that will be all for now, Highness, I'd like to see Cera and Aura both safely down to the valet."

"Yeah, of course. Have a good night," Noctis said in response, waving toward Cera and Aura. "Get home safe."

"Thank you, Your Highness," Cera replied. She gently shook Aura and got both of them turned around. Before they started walking to leave, Cera wished Noctis a good rest of the evening. Noctis waved them off, watching after them for a time before he sighed and then looked back around the event.

Really, anyone who was someone was at the event. There were plenty of CEOs and even other celebrities at the event, not that Noctis has a mind to interact with some of them. CEOs were often attempting to make deals or talk business with Regis. Only sometimes, Noctis would get approached — something about having a younger, 'fresher' take on marketing or advertising. Sometimes it would be to run ideas past him; would someone his age be interested in such things. Glowing reviews and endorsement from the prince, of all people, would have been a good look, or something…

Who had time for such things, honestly?

"Peeled yourself off the wall?" The voice was almost unmistakable. Almost. Had it not carried a blasé kind of deadpan tone to it, Noctis could have easily mistook the voice for Vera's. Of course, the tone and inflection made it clearer that it was the voice of Lyra, the third born to House Vox.

Looking to the side, Noctis was only expecting Lyra, though the presence of Ros had nearly surprised him. Both of them were dressed nicely — which was more of a surprise when it came to Lyra than Ros. At least Ros, as far as Noctis knew of his cousin, was always generally well put together. Lyra's green and white dress that fell nearly down to the floor did well to complement Ros' own white suit with red accents. If anything, it at least made it look like they coordinated their attire.

… Did they?

Clearing his throat slightly, Noctis replied in kind: "I see you've done the same. Both of you."

"Ros wouldn't let me stay a pretty little vine against the wall," Lyra said, rolling her eyes. "But perhaps my Fabula Nova wish of being able to stay a wallflower this upcoming year will come true. It's not a particularly hard task to achieve."

Lyra paused, tapping the tip of a folded fan against her chin. "Well… It wouldn't be hard if I didn't have someone annoying me to…'branch' out…"

Noctis was vaguely aware of the bond that Lyra and Ros had. As far as he knew, the two were perhaps some of the closest of the 114th besides himself with the Arms, Hand, and Shield. So while it may have seemed like there was some animosity there, Noctis understood that most of that just maybe stemmed from his perception of Lyra's (and even Ros') delivery when speaking.

"There are better places to be or sleep than my office in the Viridis Medical Center," Ros mentioned.

"And here I was thinking you enjoyed my company." Lyra let out an exaggerated sigh. She then looked at Noctis and reached over, placing a hand on his shoulder briefly. "Fabula Finis, Noct. Was the year everything you hoped it'd be?"

"Can't complain… You?"

"I have plenty of petty complaints," Lyra revealed with a slight shrug to her shoulders.

"Do you remember them all?" Noctis scoffed with some level of amusement at the idea of remembering a myriad of tiny things that built up over time.

"Oh, sure… Like how I didn't get to sleep in for a good number of days. How Vera took my mascara and then didn't get me a new one. Can't forget how Ros took it upon himself to lock me out of his office every few weeks." Lyra extended the folding fan and waved it at herself intermittently. It seemed she was getting a little toasty herself. "Did you also know I went down into the Vox estate kitchen yesterday, and there was a rotting orange in the fruit bowl? No one thought to replace it or at least toss it out?"

She was right. They were petty complaints. But Noctis was sure, at this point, that Lyra made a habit of making mountains out of mole hills. Whether or not they were genuine complaints was something else altogether.

At least he could relate with not being allowed to sleep in.

"Well…any of those inconveniences you wanna address for Fabula Nova, then?" Noctis asked. He noticed the strained sigh that fell from Ros when his name was mentioned.

"Oh, I solved one of them already. I'm not going to say which…" Lyra smirked to herself. "But, I do suppose one of the things I could do is keep my makeup in my room versus the shared bathroom."

"I already noticed when one of my keys went missing and then miraculously came back by the end of the day when I wasn't working in the medical center…" Ros sighed. He ran a hand through his brown locks. "If having an extra key to my office is something that brings you some modicum of comfort, fine, whatever… It's not like anything truly important is kept in there at any rate…"

"You two are unbearable together," Noctis said with a groan to his voice. A part of him was a tiny bit jealous that both Ros and Lyra seemed to have a pretty amicable relationship that allowed them to bicker and tease each other relentlessly. It was hard to imagine that either of them would have tolerated each other's company otherwise. Both of them were prickly and unpleasant in their own ways from time to time — Ros less so than Lyra.

Shaking his head, Noctis then asked the question: "So, do you guys at least have your wish for Fabula Nova figured out? Besides wanting to stay a wallflower for Lyra, that is…"

Lyra looked at Ros, who only seemed to shrug in response to her somewhat expectant look. She then huffed and went on to say, "I have no prospects… I'm simply content to just go with the flow. Seems to me that's what life wants me to do anyway…so why fight it?"

Reaching over, Lyra then pat Ros on the shoulder. "Your turn."

Flicking his eyes toward her, Ros bit back another sigh. Bringing his hands to rest within his pockets, he shrugged slightly with the momentary bob of his head as he considered his overall response. "I don't necessarily have anything planned out myself. Ideally, I'd like to devote more time into making sure my healing magic is in top form for the year. Granted, wishing for that means, in a way, hoping more people to use such abilities on come through the medical center's doors. Double-edged sword, unfortunately."

"Could always see about expanding your efforts toward injured animals if you come across any…" Noctis replied. He had a soft spot for animals ever since he had come back from Tenebrae and getting to hang out with Umbra and Pryna. More now that they were his means of communication with Lunafreya.

"That is an idea, I suppose. Hm…" Ros hummed in thought to the suggestion. "We'll see what happens, then."

"Hope it works out." Noctis adjusted his jacket and looked back toward the exit of the rooftop hall. It was hard to tell who was outside at this point with all the other bodies still in the room. He wondered if the trio of the Chorus twins and Prompto were still out there, goofing off — having fun without him.

Noctis forced himself to look back at Ros and Lyra. He lifted a hand in preparation to excuse himself. "You two take care."

Were any of the 114th other people, Noctis may have found it within himself to leave without saying a word. Of course…he had done just that with Ignis and Gladiolus. Though it felt different with those two. It felt safer to ask forgiveness than permission in a lot of ways. Besides, he knew he could return to them and chat like no time had passed for the most part. The other members of the 114th? Well…sometimes they just felt like distant cousins — and that was nothing to say of Ros who actually was his cousin.

Briskly making his way through the hall, Noctis mentally prepared himself for exiting out onto the rest of the roof. Cold greeted him with that icy embrace, and it was enough to make Noctis scrunch his face briefly as he pulled his suit jacket a little more snugly against himself to savor the lingering warmth of it.

Thankfully for Noctis, it seemed Primam, Prompto, and Tandem were all still in the same place he saw them prior.

Prompto was the first to notice from his peripheral vision. He turned his head away from speaking with the twins and lifted a hand in greeting. "Noct! Hey! Finally decided to come on out and see us, huh?"

"What can I say? Couldn't have you three having too much fun without me." A smirk found its way onto Noctis' lips. He gave a halfhearted wave in greeting to his school troupe the moment all of them had their eyes on him. They really looked a far cry from how they normally did, dressed all fancy for the gala.

It would have been hard to believe that Primam was comfortable — her blue and silver dress left her collar and shoulders bare — though Noctis had been aware that Primam's unusual manifestation of magic dulled her senses to the shifts in temperature. It was a troublesome circumstance, especially since she was not immune to extreme temperatures, merely resistant to the influence. However, Noctis did not dare comment on it. He was sure her brother or even Prompto expressed some form of worry already. And an event like this? She probably heard enough from those she interacted with.

Tandem and Prompto looked to have been dressed sharp themselves, and unlike Primam, looked warmer at a distance. Though with the way Prompto's ears had that rosy hue to them, perhaps he was a little colder than he was willing to admit. Regardless, Tandem's dark green suit with black accents contrasted against the black suit Prompto had that had red accents. The one other thing that Noctis noticed was the small coeurl pin that adorned one of Tandem's lapels.

"A few more minutes before Fabula Finis becomes Fabula Nova," Tandem commented. When Noctis looked at him, he noticed that Tandem's gaze had gone out toward one of the taller buildings in the distance. It had the time on it, and like every year before this one, it started the countdown to Fabula Nova when ten seconds were left.

"That time already?" Noctis held back his surprise. From the time Ignis said that there was an hour left til now…it just felt like time had gone by so fast.

"I'm just glad you're not sleeping through it again this year," Primam said with a gentle giggle. Her laughter clouded into steam in the chilled air.

"Sleep through it once and you never hear the end of it…" Noctis shook his head, waving his hand dismissively. He supposed he had gotten his hopes up after no one else seemed to have brought it up. Really, it had just been a matter of time.

"Oh, it'll come up again. For a different event. Like when you took a nap and nearly slept through our birthday celebration," Tandem teased with a grin.

"Or how about the time he slept through Founder's Day? We were all supposed to go out and check out all the stalls together!" Prompto chimed in.

Tutting sharply, Noctis looked between the three of them in minor disbelief. All three of them? Really?

"Keep it up, and I'll schedule a nap for every important date to you guys," Noctis replied in half-jest.

"You won't need a schedule knowing you," Prompto replied with a chuckle.

"Tch, whatever…" Noctis folded his arms over his chest and pointed his gaze away from them. He had no witty retort to shoot back with. Though, the question may as well have been asked; Noctis had already asked everyone else: "You guys figure out what your Fabula Nova wish is already? And don't tell me it's to help 'keep me awake'."

Primam brought a hand to her mouth, hiding her giggling. Prompto shrugged with that amused grin of his, while Tandem shook his head in equal amusement.

"I want to take more pictures this year. I feel like I spent so much time training with Mollie and Cor this year that I just didn't have enough time to snap some photos…" Prompto replied first and in earnest. His expression mellowed out into something a little more pensive. He took a moment to then dig into his jacket pocket and pulled out the familiar red digital camera. Turning it on with a smile, he held it up. "Speaking of — let's commemorate tonight! C'mon, everyone say 'Fabula Finis!'"

Prompto turned the camera so the lens was facing them. Leaning back, his posture was an open invitation, and Primam was the first to near and lean over, pointing a smile in the camera's direction. Tandem grabbed Noctis and dragged him in, grinning as Noctis protested. Once free from Tandem's grasp, Noctis also pointed his attention toward the camera, a closed-lipped smile.

Prompto held up his free hand, counting down with his fingers along with his words: "Three. Two. One—"

"Fabula Finis!" The chorus came more from Prompto, Primam, and Tandem more than it did Noctis, who remained having his close-lipped smile throughout the process.

Standing back up properly, Prompto took a look at the photo along with everyone else. Everyone at least looked good in the photo.

"Oh, a good first shot, eh?" Tandem commented. "Usually need to take two or three before all of us seem to cooperate with one another."

"A decent — if small — omen for the new year, I'd say." Primam gently nudged Prompto's shoulder with her own.

"Yeah!" Prompto chirped happily. He turned off the camera for now, though kept it out. Just in case. With the picture out of the way, he went on to bring Noctis' question back: "With that distraction done with, what did you guys have in mind for your Fabula Nova wishes?"

"Not off the hook, eh?" Primam hummed in thought.

"While she thinks of that, I actually just want to get some decent things made this year at the forge," Tandem said. It had been no secret that Tandem had been an apprentice with the royal smiths — a good alternative for him to help turn any frustration he had from whatever the Chorus training regimen had him do into something more productive.

"I suppose I was hoping that I could get accepted into LCU once this school year is well and truly over." Primam drew her hands together, looking off to the side.

Noctis noticed the slight shiver. As he had already observed prior: resilient, not immune.

Nearing Prompto, Noctis nudged the back of his knee, making him buckle with a slight yelp.

"Hey man! What the hell!?" Prompto hissed, holding his camera close.

Hooking his arm around Prompto's neck and shoulders and bringing him in close, Noctis lowered his voice. "Give your jacket to Prim, dumb ass…"

"I-I don't know, man…I feel like she'd get mad at me. She's already been shushing me and Tandem up about it…" Prompto replied, equally quiet. "Besides…does she even get cold? She keeps saying she can't feel it…"

"Just give her your jacket," Noctis said, tutting as he did so. Getting into it was too taxing to think about right now.

"Hi, hello. I'm right here. I can hear you," Primam said, leaning down to be eye level with both of them. Tandem could be heard snickering behind her. She then straightened her posture and then reluctantly held out her hand. "If it will make everyone quiet down about it, I'll take your jacket. Either of yours."

Removing his arm from Prompto, Noctis shoved him forward gently, a smirk returning to his face. Meanwhile, Prompto sputtered over himself before he shrugged the garment off and handed it over to Primam.

"Thank you, Prompto…" Primam said, getting the garment fitted on.

"Yeah, of course. Any time." Prompto rubbed at the back of his neck with his free hand and then looked at Noctis. "Well, now that that's out of the way. You're not quite off the hook yourself, now are you? What are you hoping to achieve for Fabula Nova, Noct?"

"Me?" Noctis furrowed his brow slightly. No one else had asked him. He had a thought in mind, but it really was not something of a big, nor important feeling thing. "Well, I guess I ha—"

"Ten!"

Noctis had been interrupted by the excited chant from the people around as everyone's attention had gone to the countdown.

With each change in numbers, another chant. All the way til it reached 'one'.

As soon as the timer hit 00:00, cheering erupted before the whistle and cracks of fireworks popping into the night sky filled the air.

"Fabula Nova!"

[queerfictionwriter]

for the siken asks

sorry about the blood in your mouth i wish it was mine.

Bc I have Steter brainrot, that is what this ended up being. It . . . is not a fic, bc brain refused to play ball that way, but. Here, have a poem instead:

there is blood in your mouth and on your trembling hands, and I won't say "I'm so sorry, darling" no matter how much you want it, because you are the one person I will not lie to; and I always said "you'd make a magnificent wolf" but oh, I never meant like this; I would see you rampant and proud in the full bloom of your dark, armed to and with teeth, your lips painted in the blood you drew from me in a moment of passion, because you finally learned what it is to be unrestrained

if and until then, fix your hunger-dark eyes on me, and let me wash your hands

ask meme

[justabookworm39]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 光神話 | Kid Icarus (Video Games), 新・光神話 パルテナの鏡 | Kid Icarus: Uprising (Video Game) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dark Pit & Viridi (Kid Icarus), Referenced Dark Pit & Pit Characters: Dark Pit (Kid Icarus), Viridi (Kid Icarus) Additional Tags: Zine: Fandom For Choice, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, identity crisis, Existential Angst, Nightmares, Survivor Guilt, (...yeah. I guess that's an accurate term for some of this), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Dark Pit joins the Forces of Nature (Kid Icarus), Death in a nightmare, Some Non-gory but rather disturbing violence at the start, emotional breakdown, Identity Issues, Haircuts, Mostly it's 'underworld army created from souls' angst/trauma, but there's still hints of Chaos Kin trauma, Emotionally Repressed Summary:

Dark Pit still has nightmares about the City of Souls. About what he learned there. About what he is.

---

My full story for Fandom for Choice! Leftover sales are still open until the end of October, so go check it out if you missed it earlier in the year!

Also happy six years to my first KI fanfic!!!

[planeoftheeclectic]

palutena trap! i'm squinting at that filename like "what could this possibly mean" haha

"I just wanted Pandora to forge a signature for me. The mark knows my handwriting already."

"Hmph." Medusa's gaze was impassive. "Pandora's out. I can forge it for you. Whose signature do you need?"

The Falcon cautiously produced the papers, but did not hand them over. "Yours."

[holloworsmth]

It keeps telling me "Take a break" No

It's already too late for me They're just such silly little guys

Big fan of Pittoo, Viridi is kind of based, I've been playing for less than a day and I'm on Chapter 16

[winterdragon101]

Whoops a comic about my book

[vesanal]

Interact with this post to get on the taglist

Because I need know to who to definitively bother for writing and art related stuff >;). Just like or comment or whatever to get on it!! <3

If you do not want on the taglist PLEASE do not interact with this post in any way!!

(Taglist under the cut)

Notify me if you want on or off!!

@seastarblue @seafloor507 @stars-forever @viridis-icithus @estrellasxxminis @synthesistoagreatercreation @ink-stains-and-constellations @wyked-rebellion @satohqbanana @amatowriting @riverstixx @theodora47 @selfemployedmess @thebookishkiwi @17panicattacksinatrenchcoat @memento-morianon @the-ellia-west @write-with-will @jwritesalright @sunflowerrosy @myniceisniceblogbloglog @corinneglass @willtheweaver @looniesandproud @i-do-anything-but-write @onixieisawriterrr @aalinaaaaaa @ominous-faechild

[velociheroviridi]

I don't think anyone follows me on here for my fanfic but I finally updated the second chapter of my Dick Isekai age reversal hurt/comfort fic after like almost a year and a half so check it out if ya want

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

I want to hear from you!

[primamchorus]

When the Rain Falls

Regis may be King of Insomnia, his lineage blessed by the Crystal, but he is still just a man. In the wake of having lost one thing dear to him, he is granted a vision of the future -- his son's future. His son's destiny. But what is a destiny when his son is in a dire state?

Word Count: 2,130

FFXV: Reimagined Table of Contents

Next ->

Insomnia was cast in the shadow of dark clouds, a somber mood that morning. It was fitting.

Several black cars belonging to the royal family had been driving down the streets back to the Citadel, early morning workers and shop owners pausing in their routine to watch the cars return with interest. The cars pressed onward and past the car gates. Past the looming portcullis. Past the gardens and fountains that lined the road before it got to the roundabout driveway.

One black car in particular stopped at the steps leading to the entrance of the Citadel. The door opened, and out stepped a man, his garb regal, though his features disheveled and bereft of a good night's sleep. Even more concerning was the blood that stained his clothing.

In the cloudy overcast of the morn, even the vast image of the Citadel seemed a looming adversary as the regal man looked up at it. To him, it felt like a hollow monument at that moment. It was supposed to feel safe -- like home. But what was a home now?

Turning back toward the car, the man gazed at a woman’s body that had been laid out. Her body had paled, and her blood coated her clothing, skin, and the leather seating. Seeing her again made the man’s breath stutter as he closed his eyes and leaned in. He moved past her to cradle and withdraw another occupant of the car: a boy of only eight years, slumbering away, his own breath pained with the injury that he sustained.

Holding the boy close, the man closed his eyes as he righted himself back up. He stroked the back of the boy's head, sadness hooked in his heart, but a wellspring of relief that this boy -- his boy -- still drew breath. That his boy's heart still beat.

“This is not the life I wanted for you, my dear Noctis…” the man whispered.

‘When darkness veils the world, the King of Light shall come.’

A voice, authoritative and clear, rang out in the man’s mind.

But why now of all times?

The world shifted, and it was like the clouds above sank down and darkened, rolling over the man and the boy. They twisted and coiled, changing the very scene that the man bore witness to. When the clouds finally parted, the man stood before the visage of a young man -- a young man he knew. That young man was a vision of an older Noctis.

This vision of Noctis turned toward the man. For a moment, the man thought they were looking at each other. However, the vision of Noctis was looking through him, his arm going out before a sword appeared in his grasp, materializing in a crystalline shimmer. Then, just as quickly as the weapon appeared, the visage of Noctis rushed forward, through the man, causing him to turn in order to follow the motions that played out.

Noctis rushed in and started trading blows with a being of darkness. While the man had no idea who or what that was on the surface, he knew that whatever it was, was an embodiment of the Scourge that plagued the nights and the people of the star.

A ring appeared within his vision, familiar and glowing with power. It was the same ring he wore on his finger, now resting upon the hand of his son, no longer a prince, but a king.

“Once the sacred Ring is replete with power, the True King will complete his ascension. Only then can he banish the blight upon our star. By the power of the Light alone is the Chosen king made manifest. With the Glaive of Kings, the Stone of Legend, and the Ring of Light in hand, the Chosen's power will surpass that of even the gods themselves. By that selfsame power, with the True King as its vessel, the darkness shall be purged from our star, and dawn shall return to our world once more.”

The vision ended and the voice disappeared. The man was left there holding the boy in his arms as the rain picked up, its downpour a rising chorus upon the city.

“Your Grace…” a voice timidly spoke up, interrupting the man’s thoughts. A mousey looking woman was standing next to the car, her discomfort palpable. Within the car, after all, was the dead woman’s body that he had brought back with him. Blood stained the leather seats, and the woman’s body had paled considerably.

“Shall I see to Aulea’s body?” the woman asked. It seemed she already knew the answer before she asked the question.

“No,” the king said quietly. He motioned with his head to the boy who still slept, unconscious and cradled in the man’s arm. “Take Noctis to House Viridis in the castle as quickly as you can. Aurae will know what to do.”

“Y-yes, your Grace.” The woman approached the king and gingerly took the slumbering Noctis into her arms. She gave a small, courteous bow and went to do as she had been told.

Watching them go, the king pinched the bridge of his nose. Much of this was so much to take in all at once. At least the rain hid any tears that stung his eyes. Sniffling and regaining some of his composure, the king turned back to the car and took up Aulea’s body into his arms, cradling her close. He felt her weight against him, and turned to ascend the stairs and enter the castle.

The king kept walking until he reached the Hall of Kings, where each king of the lands of Lucis was immortalized in one way or another. There was an altar at the back of the room where an old portrait of the very first king was hung. The placard underneath read ‘Somnus Lucis Caelum.’ It was here that the current king laid the body of Aulea and allowed his tears to flow more freely.

“Oh, Aulea…my friend, my love…” the king softly spoke, his voice warbling while he held back any sobs that threatened to leave him. He reached out and affectionately tucked a lock of brown hair behind her ear, her face frozen with a sense of peace on it since getting the blood cleaned off of her.

There were words the king wanted to speak.

Some he wanted to scream.

Despite that, the king merely cried, dropping to his knees at the altar while fruitlessly stroking his deceased wife’s hair. After a few moments, he leaned in and pressed his lips against her forehead for a long moment. He needed this time with her to take it all in, to process his emotions, to get ready to say goodbye.

After what felt like hours of silence, the king took up one of Aulea’s cold, limp hands and clutched it.

“You kept Noctis safe, my love. He’s still alive thanks to you. I’m sure you did what any mother would have, and I am both thankful and proud of you for it,” the king gently spoke, a warble still to his voice. He tried to smile at the dead body, but it quickly vanished. It was hard to smile with how much the pain felt like it dug into his heart and gut.

Again, the king needed a moment to process his feelings. Finding difficulty in keeping any kind of composure, the king moved Aulea’s hands so that they were resting atop one another just below her ribcage. Seeing her look so serene in a way made losing her only the tiniest fraction less painful.

Turning his back to the altar, the king slumped to the floor and sat there before taking his phone from his coat pocket. He scrolled through his contacts before settling on ‘Clarus Amicitia’ and choosing to call him. He was the only one that Regis would allow to hear him in such a state.

The phone only rang once before a concerned voice was heard on the other end: “Regis, what can I do for you?”

“Clarus, please just get me one of House Viridis’ morticians to the Hall of Kings to take Aulea…” King Regis replied hoarsely.

Silence lingered between them for a few seconds.

“Of course, whatever you need...” Clarus finally replied. “Speaking of House Viridis, I ran into one of Aurae’s nurses. Their healing magic is having some difficulty getting Noctis taken care of. They believe a trip to Tenebrae to see Queen and Oracle Sylva is the best course of action to take.”

Regis closed his eyes and brought a hand to the bridge of his nose once more. Of course issues would keep coming one after the other.

“I’ll meet with Aurae shortly. And…thank you, Clarus.”

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

“Queen Sylva might be his only hope, your Grace.” A female was speaking to someone else in the room. That much was clear at first.

“Is there really nothing you can do, Aurae?” a familiar male voice sounded muffled in Noctis’ ears as he slipped in and out of consciousness. He could barely make out the lights in the ceiling as his vision remained blurred from the events prior. His head felt like it was filled with a combination of sand and cotton. Heavy and fuzzy.

“I’m afraid not…” the same female voice responded, equally muffled in Noctis’ ears.

‘Mom... ‘ was the only thing that Noctis could think of as it felt like his body was suspended in water even though he lay upon his own bed. Everything felt so recognizable and yet so foreign all at the same time.

It was terrifying.

“Noctis!” Regis’ voice held equal amounts of excitement and worry. It was now so obvious; that familiar voice belonged to the boy’s dad.

Noctis looked around weakly. Just like his body felt like it was floating on water, so too did his vision grasp at anything like looking under the watery depths. Everything in his body felt disjointed and stiff, as if there were weights tied to every part of him and preventing him from being able to move. The fact that nothing seemed to be responding to his will made fear grip at Noctis -- enough for him to grip back at the bedsheets.

Regis laid his hand upon his son’s head, stroking his hair.

Again, all Noctis could think was ‘Mom.’

The gentle touch reminded him of her -- his mother. It was enough to calm his episode of hyperventilation. Tears stung his eyes, making his face grimace and pucker as he gripped the sheets.

“Regis…” the woman's -- Aurae's -- voice addressed the father, her voice filled with concern. “We can order a wheelchair for Noctis, but the attack that you said happened with the marilith…. I highly suggest traveling to Tenebrae in order to seek Queen Sylva’s aid as the Oracle. We cannot cleanse the touch of the Starscourge from Noctis, even with the healing magicks we have at our disposal, I’m afraid.”

A long pause made the air uncomfortably still as Regis continued to stroke his son’s head. The king was contemplating this. It was evident in his expression, but more so the way he looked at Noctis. It was as if he were on the verge of losing everything.

“If I can save my son, I’ll do whatever it may take. Can you at least assure me that Noctis will be taken care of during the trip, Aurae?” Regis asked, looking up to Aurae.

“Of course, your Grace. Whatever Noctis needs that we can tend to, we will do as best we can. I’ll ask House Vox to take in Ros for the duration that we’re there,” Aurae said.

“Then we’ll get everything prepared for the trip to Fenestala Manor in Tenebrae. I wish this didn’t inconvenience you, Aurae. Especially since…” Regis replied, his hand still on Noctis’ head as his words trailed off.

Regis had lost his wife, and Aurae lost her sister just last night.

Silence lingered between the two as Aurae gathered some of the medical supplies that she had brought into Prince Noctis’ room. A silent sigh escaped her nostrils before she looked over her shoulder and responded with: “ever is it House Viridis’ duty to act as Heart of the King. To see that health and prosperity ring ever true for the Crown. If that means assisting the Prince keep the health he has while on the trip to Tenebrae, then that is my duty.”

Aurae took up her medical bag and approached the king, placing a hand on his shoulder. Quietly, she added: “I would also be a terrible friend and sister-in-law to you if I were to watch you and your son suffer when I know I could make even the slightest difference, Regis. Ros will be fine with House Vox.”

[queerfictionwriter]

Writing Update: June 2023

This was a weird month full of days that swung wildly between writing all the words, and writing none of them. I didn’t get quite as much done as I did in May,  but sometimes reading breaks are necessary, and I’m aware that my preferred output is higher than can be reasonably sustained year-round.

Total wordcount: 12, 293

Highlights: 

Finished chapter 1 of pt. 4 of Demon Eskel AU I’m writing with @piceuscelus

Continuing to make good progress on the BDSM AU! (Steter, unposted)

Clicking away slowly but surely on my first Spideypool fic (unposted)

Completed significant developmental work on novel—which is the hardest part of a rewrite 

I came back to and added ~2k to the arranged marriage fic 

Completed another couple short pieces for Steter week, and started a few more

Goals for July: 

Finish and post Steter week vignettes 

Keep plugging away at novel rewrite 

Keep working on BDSM AU 

Finish the short gift fic I started a while ago for violaceum-vitellina-viridis

[mothhball]

II – VIRIDIS

viridis – marked by youthful vigor

JONATHAN CRANE X FEM!READER

summary Drinking your woes away was a temporary solution, and it ends up in tears. But even in the darkest night, there's the chance of a silver lining. Just be sure you're well-informed about your shiny spark of hope.

warnings NEEDLES, BLOOD SAMPLE, very mild medfet (a whisper for now), alcohol, reader gets drunk, some mildly foul language, unhappy relationship,

notes oooo longer chapter! and things are MOVING

! MINORS DNI !

story masterlist • main masterlist • taglist • kofi word count: 5.2k

The news themselves were already bad, but even worse was the pity from everyone you told about the rejection. Behind every sympathetic smile and half-hug was a hidden “I told you so” that no one said out loud, but was obvious enough.

Despite what people told you, apparently no one had believed that you could make it in the first place, and that realization caused a rage to burn and fester within your guts. A rage which found no outlet since that wretched Thursday that you since then blacked out with a fat sharpie from your calendar. Reading that letter felt like repeatedly getting hit over the head with a steel pipe, beating you into a pathetic, bloody pulp right where you were standing in your kitchen. Your boyfriend tried to rub your back, but you bristled and immediately turned away from him, scowling like it was him specifically who sent the rejection. His little pout disgusted you. But what made you actually nauseous was the relief in his eyes. Never once, in 3 years of this relationship, did you resent him like you did on that Thursday afternoon. Bitter, seething resentment which almost caused you to lash out at him like a riled-up dog.

But instead, you chose to take the high road. Or rather you fled, left the apartment and drove over to your best friend Mina’s to cry and shout into one of her lovely couch pillows. The smart, admirable choice would’ve been to write an email to Potomac. To timidly ask Dr. Rabin to turn a blind eye and allow you to send in a late application. But every time your fingers hovered over the keys of your old, ratty laptop, the embarrassment was too much, and you slammed it shut once more, leaving the unfinished request behind. But your boyfriend Tristan, in his seemingly endless quest of half-heartedly trying to manage your future, urged you to send the email. So, you did. At least that’s what you told him. A little white lie to let him keep his peace of mind. 

Your mood only got worse towards the weekend, prompting a few of your friends and your boyfriend to drag you off to do the responsible thing. Get drunk and shake off the tension during a night out. And now here you are, downing shots on a Saturday night in an attempt to forget your woes at least for a little while.

The club is packed and stuffy, and the lights flicker over a mass of people that seems to have grown into one hive mind of an entity, allowing you to feel swallowed and anonymous for just a few blissful hours. Every mouthful of alcohol that you swallow works in your favor to numb the anxiety gnawing at your bones while the bass gently licks at your feverish skin, causing your heart to vibrate in your ribcage. It’s easy to lose yourself in sips of colorful shots and cocktails. At least until a firm hand on your shoulder prevents you from placing another order. Turning your head, you’re met by Tristan’s disgruntled eyes, and before you can shake off his grip, he’s already pulling you away from the bar to a relatively quiet spot in another hallway of the club. Still, he has to raise his voice when he speaks to you, already laying the foundation for a screaming match.

“What are you doing??” he asks, giving you a once over that only serves to further sour his mood.

“What do you mean? I’m just having a couple of drinks,” you slur back at him, returning that nasty look he’s sending you. Tristan scoffs, shaking his head like you’re a lost cause, even though he’s not exactly sober either.

“You’re getting wasted. Are you still sulking over that rejection? Jesus…”

That actually makes your jaw drop, and you’re speechless for a few seconds, which your boyfriend takes as his cue to continue.

“Just let it go. Some things aren’t meant to be. It’s better this way”

“What the hell do you mean by that?” you hiss back at him, curling your fingers tightly into the fabric of the little dress you’re wearing.

“I… Listen, we both know Arkham isn’t… your style. You… you’re not that kind of person –“ Tristan sighs, somehow trying to make his statement seem less insulting and vague by waving his hands around in your face.

“The kind of person to what??”

“The kind of person who’d make it there! You would’ve quit after two weeks! Let’s be real for once. And then you’d have to start over again and you would have to wait yet another semester to graduate!” Every word that leaves his mouth pisses you off even more, and a truly ugly emotion rears its head within you. Things are escalating. You still have half a mind to realize it. You should call it a night, go home and talk things out in the morning. But this is the first time that Tristan is being brutally honest about your career choices.

“Oh, I didn’t know it was a race, Tristan! How silly of me! I’ll make sure to plan every future decision around your life schedule from now on!” You get in his face, venom dripping off of every shouted syllable that slips from your tongue a little too easily.

“You’re putting words in my mouth! I never said I wanted you to plan your life around me! I’m just worried! All of my friend’s girlfriends –“

“So that’s what this is about? The girlfriends of your little business school friend group?? Am I part of some weird dick measuring contest?” You continue before he gets a word in, asking a question that’s been burning in your throat for a few months now.

“Are you ashamed of me??”

You’re met with silence. Silence that’s so obviously an answer in itself that it causes your heart to slip out of your chest and shatter on the sticky floor below. Tristan notices the devastated expression on your face, but his drunken audacity eggs him on to double down. 

“I wouldn’t have to be if you just acted like an adult! You can’t always get what you want! For fuck’s sake, just be happy with what you have for once!” You wish you had a drink you could throw in his face. But your hands are empty, shaking with anger and disappointment. You can’t look at him anymore.

“Screw you, Tristan.” And with that, you turn, leaving him standing there while you rush to find an exit as tears well up in your eyes. He doesn’t make a move to follow you, and it simultaneously calms and saddens you even more. 

Navigating the club is even more complicated with your blurred vision, and you bump into a few people, no doubt spilling a few overpriced drinks in the process. But you’re either too fast or they’re too drunk to really do anything about it.

Finally, finally, you make it outside, choking out a strangled noise that’s a pathetic mix between a sob and a whine, and you quickly duck into a nearby alley to give way to the tears. You’re drunk and overly emotional, you try to rationalize with yourself, but it doesn’t lessen the ache in any way. So, pressing a palm over your mouth, you reluctantly allow yourself to cry. The night air is icy, but fresh enough to comfort you and slowly clear up the lump in your throat, and after some cathartic five minutes, you start to calm down again. Your tears run black at this point, dragging your favorite mascara down your cheeks, and you sniffle as you into your purse to grab a compact mirror and assess the damage. 

It's in that moment when your phone display lights up, alerting you to an incoming call. Your stomach twists into knots as you fish the phone out of your purse. A call from Tristan might make things worse, and you’re not really in the mood to talk to him right now, so – 

But the call isn’t coming from your boyfriend. Your eyes widen before they narrow into slits, and annoyance bubbles up within your chest. There on the phone display, proudly displayed as the caller ID is Dr. Jonathan Crane’s name. Your thumb hovers over the glass before you decide to pick up the call. As soon as you hear his voice, annoyance gives way to a little spark of hope. It also serves to sober you up a little. You barely have time to rasp out a “Hello?” before he speaks, sounding almost relieved that you picked up.

“I know that calling at such a late hour is quite unusual, but I’m glad I could get ahold of you before it was too late. Believe me, I was just as surprised as you most likely were. To be frank, I was so certain that you'd be joining us that I didn't even check the list to confirm it.” Papers rustle on his end of the line. He must still be in his office.

“Yeah, I… I was optimistic as well. Maybe… Maybe a little too much,” you admit softly, trying to concentrate on your words to avoid slurring. Crane hums, and you can’t tell if it’s in understanding or amusement. Reading him in person was already hard enough, but it’s nigh impossible over the phone.

“Tell you what, I believe you dodged a bullet. I clarified with the other staff members what the responsibilities of those interns will be, and that wouldn’t be right for you. Sorting files and sitting in on group therapy sessions at the Low Security Wing? No, that would be a waste of your time. You’re not that kind of person. Which is why I’m offering you something else.”

You lick your dry lips, still tasting the salt of your tears and some last traces of your lipstick. For a second, you’re unsure if you heard him correctly. “Something else?”

Crane glosses over your question, and in your mind you understand. This might be sensitive information. Drunk-You feels a little like a spy, keeping a secret from Tristan who would surely be mad that you’re even talking to the director of Arkham Asylum right now.

“Are you free to come in tomorrow? I know it’s quite late already –“

“Yes. Yes, I am,” you interrupt, feeling brave. 

“Good. Then let’s meet in my office at… let’s say… 10 am? Is that alright?”

“I… uh, absolutely.” You quickly rummage through your purse, using a lip liner and an old receipt to haphazardly write down the appointment. “I’ll be there.”

“Perfect. Enjoy the rest of your night,” he says before he hangs up right after. You have no chance to say goodbye properly as the line clicks. Maybe it’s for the best. Knowing yourself, you would’ve wished him a great night as well with the addition of a plea to “get home safe”, which would’ve been a little much.

When you head back inside, you’re spotted by your worried friends and an indifferent Tristan, and dear GOD, the urge to boast and gloat has never been this strong before in your life. But you stay quiet as you put on a smile, avoiding to look at your boyfriend. You stay quiet as your group gets into a taxi, and stay quiet as you get back home and head straight for your bed. “You’re not that kind of person” was something you heard twice in one night. And only once did it feel right.

The pounding ache in your skull serves as your alarm clock the next day, tearing you out of a restless sleep only 10 minutes before you were supposed to get up anyway. A frown finds its way onto your features as you tiptoe out of the bedroom, catching a glimpse of the still sleeping Tristan on the couch in the living room. Neither of you have said a word to each other since the fight, and you'll be damned if you start the conversation about something he messed up in the first place.

You walk past him, feeling the cold surface of the floorboards beneath your feet as you head into the bathroom to try to make yourself look (and smell) presentable. The stench of alcohol leaves your tongue after brushing and rinsing with mouthwash thrice, and an overindulgence of body wash in the shower solves everything else. The final touch is a generous amount of concealer under your eyes, and you're surprised that you actually pass off as someone who doesn't have an awful hangover right now.

Getting dressed is another challenge, though. You can't exactly say that Drunk-You had the gift of foresight to pick a suitable outfit for your second meeting with Dr. Crane, so you dig through your closet to make yourself look presentable. Your fingers wander over the different fabrics, tracing cotton and polyester, wool and tweed as you grumble to yourself. Christ, this shouldn’t feel like rocket science.

This dreadful indecisiveness eats up a sizeable chunk of your time, and as you button up your blouse, you realize how late it suddenly is.

Breakfast consists of an aspirin and a large black coffee, and you make sure to let the coffee machine shriek as loudly as it wants just to spite Tristan a little more before you rush out of the apartment. 

This time around, the drive to Arkham Asylum feels a little more familiar. You still depend heavily on your GPS, but you remember some of the turns and streets, and you don’t feel as tiny and insignificant as you did a week ago. You’re here with an explicit purpose now. Crane knows who you are and asked you to come back nevertheless.

Upon entering the still intimidating building, you stop by the reception again, spotting a familiar face. The receptionist seems just as surprised to see you, sharp eyes flicking down to a visitor's list that seems to confirm the validity of your return before she points a manicured nail towards the security check. You raise your hand to wave at her as you pass. She doesn't wave back. Oh well, you can't get them all.

The maze of a third-floor feels straightforward as well today, made possible by the ever-present red lines guiding you to your destination. This time, you're able to meet Crane in his office, and his request to enter can be heard through the door after the first knock.

Everything still looks the same as you enter, save for his now orderly desk. The chaos of files from back then is now a neat stack that the doctor rests his folded hands atop. You open your mouth to greet him, but Crane speaks first, completely catching you off-guard.

"The bunny is back. I'm glad to see it."

"Excuse me?" You blink at him before you look down at yourself. No, no bunny-themed clothes or accessories anywhere that might have given him the idea to call you that. You’re drawing a blank. Unsure whether this is part of a hazing process or an inside joke you must’ve missed, you lift your gaze back up to him. There’s a fleeting look of sardonic amusement on his face before he reels himself back in to elaborate.

“That's what you reminded me of the first time you came here. Glancing around, all skittish and frightened in the hallway…” he explains, already turning his head away from you to reach into one of his desk drawers and retrieve a folder. Your folder. “Please, close the door and take a seat. We’re already running low on time.”

After following his instructions, you find yourself sitting in the same chair from a week ago, foregoing the act of presenting yourself as a confident person. It’s no use, anyway. Crane already knows you’re desperate. It’s seeping out of your every pore, giving your worries a rich and sweet taste that the director of Arkham seems to indulge in for a moment. At least, that’s what you assume based on the expression in his cold eyes. You’re no fool. It’s basically a guarantee that his offer will bite you in the ass in some way or another. 

“You must be a little put-off by this meeting. It’s not exactly orthodox to ask you to come in on a Sunday, but I read the list of this year’s interns just minutes before I called you last night. And that was purely by chance. Like I said, I was positive you’d be one of them.” Crane opens your folder, but his eyes stay on your face. “I have no idea what goes on in the heads of my staff sometimes, and now I’m fairly certain it can’t be much. But I don’t intend to waste a person like you.”

You shift in your seat, listening intently to every word that leaves his lips. It’s your lifeline. And he knows it.

“So, I am making you an offer. Just promise to listen first,” he says, and one of his eyebrows twitches upwards at the intensity in your gaze. “The position I’m offering you would be exclusive. It won’t be approved by anyone else but me and it technically didn’t exist before I made up my mind about it. I am offering you the position of intern assistant.”

Your eyes widen. Even in his darkroom of an office, it feels like the air just became lighter and the colors brighter. Crane lifts a finger, continuing his offer.

“No surface scratching – You’d be my shadow. Which means more work and responsibilities, but also more privileges, more insight, more knowledge. I’ll teach you what you need to know to get ahead in this field, and by the end of it, your fellow students will eat your dust. Your professors as well, if I’m being honest.”

Before you can even respond, he’s already reaching back into his desk, pulling out a massive stack of paperwork. And then the rushing begins. Crane checks his watch, clicking his tongue before he pushes the documents over to you, along with a fountain pen.

“How long would it take you to read this? I have to hand this in within the next 50 minutes to make sure you’re cleared in time. If you even accept my offer, that is. It’s a terrible time crunch, I know, but I’d really like to have you as a member of staff in one week.”

Tentatively, you reach out for the fountain pen, twirling it around in your fingers for a moment as you think about his offer. This hesitancy only causes him to lean forward and flip through the first pages, pointing out a handful of sections for only a few seconds each before he moves on.

“It’s the regular stuff, I guess. Everything I just told you in cumbersome wording. I really wish I could take my time and go through each page with you, but the circumstances just won’t allow it. If you have any questions, I’ll gladly answer all of them once you’ve signed.”

It’s shady as hell. A red flag that’s so glaringly obvious that it makes you wonder how Crane can keep a straight expression. But this is your one chance of getting a look behind the scenes. Your one chance of proving them wrong. Professor Campbell, Tristan, everyone who doubted you could do it. This could go horribly wrong. But it could also be your ticket into the big leagues. Shadowing the asylum’s director would be a privilege that no one else gets. A chance to make connections and grow. Not to mention that your résumé would look incredible with Crane’s recommendation attached to it.

Hell, he may be exploiting you, but who says you can’t exploit him right back? It’s your good right to milk this opportunity as much as you can.

Meanwhile, the psychiatrist continues to ramble on, rattling off half-apologies and made-up reasons why you have to sign as quickly as possible once he reaches the last page of the contract. The page where you have to place your signature on the intended line. Both of you are surprised by how quickly you sign it. 

As you place the cap back onto the fountain pen, it feels like the air has been sucked out of the room, creating a vacuum in which both of you seem to grapple with the reality that you’d be stuck to Dr. Crane’s side for a few months, following every step and instruction of his. You manage to break the silence first.

“There. I have questions now.”

“Of course. I already expected as much,” Crane says as he pulls the freshly signed contract back to his side of the desk, staring down at your signature as if he’s half expecting it to jump off the paper. But then he places the thick document back into the drawer it came from, letting out a quiet breath. You notice that he seems significantly more at ease now, movements once again patient and effortlessly measured, and your brows furrow a little as you speak.

“What’s my hourly rate?”

“There’s nothing of the sort, I’m afraid.” Your blood runs cold at his nonchalance, and your lips part to protest when he cuts you off. “You will be working the same hours as me. And since my overtime and schedule is a little unpredictable at times, we will just have to see. You will be paid at the end of the month, however. The amount will depend on how much we actually did.”

“I… alright.” You bite your tongue, even though your displeasure is obvious. Nevertheless, you proceed with your second question. “You mentioned more responsibilities. I guess there’s a catch, then? Or a few?”

Crane chuckles, getting up from his chair to walk over to a cabinet in search of something specific. He speaks to you from over his shoulder.

“Right to the point. Wonderful. But yes, there are a few peculiarities that come with the position. Starting with – You’re not afraid of needles, are you?”

He closes the cabinet, returning to the desk with a little tray containing various items.

“We’ll start with a mandatory blood sample. I hope this isn’t a problem. I just need to know that my assistant is in peak condition. And didn’t smoke anything on the way here.”

You want to scoff, but swallow the sound at the last second. The fact that you took offense to his unspoken accusation is written across your face, and Crane doesn’t comment any further on it as he sets the tray down on the desk and pulls his chair closer to yours.

“I’m fine with needles,” you murmur, already pulling up your sleeve.

“No trypanophobia? A shame,” Crane chuckles, sitting down again before he reaches out for your arm. Your doubts whether he’s even qualified to do this as a psychiatrist vanish the moment his hands come in contact with your skin. He’s cold. Almost uncomfortably cold as his fingers brush over the bend of your elbow in search of a suitable vein. Once he’s successful, he picks a tourniquet from the tray of equipment and fastens it around your upper arm. His movements seem too perfect to be experienced. As if he’s a green med student working with the textbook perched on his lap. As if he’d burst into flame if he did something wrong.

“So, about the catch,” he continues, grabbing a bottle of disinfectant and spraying it over the spot he picked on your arm. Surprisingly, the liquid isn’t much colder than his touch. “Since you’ll be my shadow, you’re also required to accompany me to appointments outside of Arkham. Conferences, meetings… so on and so forth. I also have some upcoming court dates within the next few months. Obviously, I’m not the defendant. I’m just an advisor.”

You nod along to his words, eyes following his hands as he rubs disinfectant into his own skin before he pulls on a pair of blue nitrile gloves. Crane stretches the material over his hands until it’s taut, making it squeak before he shifts closer until his knees touch yours. At this proximity, you can smell his cologne, and the combination throws you off a little. It’s mainly sandalwood and bergamot, but there’s a hint of something else you can’t quite grasp. Something chemical, almost acidic. The psychiatrist continues to speak, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Another catch is that there’s a required dress code for you. As my assistant, you need to always look presentable. You can’t be running around looking like a hobo since your actions and appearance will reflect on me as well. And I’d rather not be associated with… any of those cheap trends that seem to be popular with the bottom of the barrel nowadays. You’ll have to give me your clothing size so I can prepare a new wardrobe for you. It’ll just save us time in the long run.”

Your brows furrow, but his request seems reasonable. “Alright. I suppose that’s fair,” you say, watching closely as he runs his thumb over the bend of your elbow. Then, he presses down to anchor the vein. It’s right in this moment when he decides to drop another bombshell.

“Which brings me to probably the biggest drawback in all of this.”

Your eyes flicker up to meet his. He’s already looking at your face, watching for the slightest twitch in your expression.

“You’ll have to stay at my place for the duration of your internship.”

What follows is a solid minute of deafening silence. Your pulse races, thumping softly against the pad of Crane’s thumb. He can tell you’re displeased, and he frowns a little, surprisingly empathetic.

“What?” you manage to croak out, swallowing dryly.

“Believe me, I spent all night trying to come up with a better solution. Sometimes, I get emergency calls in the middle of the night and it’s vital that you’re there with me. Those cases are the real deal. They’re raw and unfiltered, often much more than incidents that happen during the day. And as you told me during your interview, you live quite far away from here.”

You nod stiffly, gaze dropping to where he’s still pressing his thumb down on your arm. Crane can see and feel how uneasy this condition makes you, and he tries to lessen the blow.

“You’ll have your own bathroom and bedroom, of course. We will only share the kitchen and living room. And the laundry room, but I suppose that is the least of your worries. I won’t bother you.”

When he sees that you’re still not too happy, he quickly adds, “You can also tell me to be quiet whenever I mention work after hours.”

This at least gets a reaction from you. You force yourself to crack a smile, meeting his eyes once more.

“Okay. I’ll hold you to it.”

“Perfect.” The psychiatrist nods, wasting no time uncapping a butterfly needle and puncturing your skin with it. The sudden sting almost makes you flinch, but his grip suddenly is so tight that you don’t get any wiggle room. You watch as your blood travels down through the attached tube, filling up a small sample bottle and shortly after, a second one.

“You’re pretty brave for a bunny,” he jokes, setting your blood samples down on the tray before he releases the tourniquet and reaches for some gauze. His eyes stay on yours the entire time as he pulls out the needle and presses the gauze against your arm, soaking up your discomfort in a way that only fascinated scientists are capable of. 

“Press down.”

You mutter a “sure” as you obey his instruction, relieved when he finally turns away from you to discard the needle and his gloves. The final touch is a little band-aid over the tiny puncture wound, and you keep your hand over it as Crane pushes his chair back into its rightful place and takes a seat once more. He studies one of the full sample tubes as he speaks up again.

“You must be a little overwhelmed right now. Which is understandable, don’t get me wrong. But I’d like for you to go home and start packing your most important belongings. I’ll text you my address and will take care of the rest. You just need to show up next Sunday and get started on Monday.”

“Do I need to bring anything in specific? Like… a notebook or something?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “You’ll get your stationery and other supplies here. I’ll make sure to try to organize you a separate desk. Maybe even one of the more comfortable office chairs. But I can’t really promise any luxuries.”

“I know this establishment oftentimes seems like a revolving door when it comes to staff applying and quitting. But I don't want that with you.” Crane tears his eyes away from your blood sample, giving you his undivided attention again. “There won't be an easy way out, however. Either you prove yourself and do your job until the end of your internship, or else there will be no certificate and you'll have to try your luck elsewhere. And I hate to worry you, but getting a job without one of my letters of recommendation might be a little tricky. But I assure you, that's the absolute worst-case scenario."

You let out a little breath and nod, straightening in your chair. Your mind is already racing, spinning around in a colorful variety that ranges from dread to genuine excitement. The biggest problem, however, is that you will have to break the news to your boyfriend. The thought makes you a little nauseous, but if Crane notices it, he’s generous enough not to mention it. 

Your goodbyes are brief, and you’re still holding your hand over the band aid as you leave the building and reach your car. Dark clouds are brewing overhead, announcing one of Gotham’s common rainy afternoons, and it already smells earthy with a hint of wet concrete.

The drive home doesn’t take as much time as you would’ve liked, even though you’re stopped plenty of times by red lights or passing cop cars with their sirens turned on. No, you reach the apartment much too soon, climbing the stairs with a heavy heart and sweaty palms. The band aid feels like it’s burning a hole into your flesh, hidden away underneath your sleeve. A secret hint of the meeting with Crane. Your key hovers in front of the lock on your front door as you freeze. Telling Tristan about the internship would mean telling him about your impending new living arrangements. Yes, you’d get the satisfaction of proving him wrong about your capabilities, but he’d blow up about everything else. Even worse, what if he reports the conditions of your internship? What if he ruins everything before it has even begun? 

Another big fight doesn’t fit into your schedule either. Neither does a breakup. Taking a breath, you unlock the door and step into the apartment, almost immediately meeting Tristan in the hallway. Time freezes for a moment, and then you say the first thing that comes to mind.

“I need to pack. They want me back at Potomac.”

It’s okay, right? It’s no big deal. After all, it’s just another little white lie to let him keep his peace of mind.

@ellebelleshelby @cilliansprincess @mcumorningstar @x0xomady @mandies24

@detroitbecomevenom @pretty-bluebird @ink5ouls @flwrs4aust @vampmary1411

@ashdrinksoatmilk @nnattu @ptolemaniac @kiss-me-cill-me @celebrities-imagines

@hanawrites404 @ilovetoxicfictionalmen @nocturnest @biblicallyaccuratebee @red-riding-wood

@luvlloyd @ribbonystar @smxkyqvxrtz @bloodandglitter207

@rosiemarieyn @sagepixie @snickersmee @voltage-supernatural-art @feasibilities

@cilly-murphy @paradiseprincesss @oceanstem @your-nanas-house @fantasmitasolo

@cillianhead @xlostitx @kefi-meraki @ilovepeoplesdads @vegasisthinking

@ryecosse @strangeobsessed @xsweetcatastrophe @cillianslvt @ilovedottore

[planeoftheeclectic]

Perhaps some TFP this fair day?

Three sentences have been edited, and three new ones for palutena trap have been written for your pleasure!

_____

"The blob was out, but the snake decided to do something useful for a change."

"Hey!" Viridi smacked him in the arm, and The Falcon took the opportunity to move to the floor - very gracefully and not at all like losing his balance and toppling off the banister. "I've told you before, no maligning Nature's creatures under this roof!"

[seastarblue]

Writemas Day Ten!

into the double digits! when I saw today’s prompts, I was a little stuck, I admit. But then I decided to take a chance to write something in first person, as a little way to get that writing flow going. And? I got this! Yay.

The prompts I used were:

Rooftop setting (of a sort)

“You’re trembling. Why?”

———

[The following is translated from Wishak]

Tenth Day of the Third Month.

I don’t think I’m much of a scary person. Mama always said I needed to be more aggressive, Papa always said I was too soft for my own good. I suppose I’ve internalized that—I am quiet, I do not shout, nor stand out much. It’s just a fact of life.

Today I was proven wrong. By the person who I’d least expect it from—a coworker a friend.

When I first met Mehri, I pinned them as a good person caught in a bad place at an even worse time. And I was right—out of everyone in our little crew, she is the best of us, I know. How she was imprisoned is beyond me, and I don’t plan on asking them. She is kind, and just, and a very good companion. It seems to me, sometimes, that their smile is permanent; never have I seen it waver, even when faced with powerful adversaries their eyes crinkled in a smile.

So imagine my surprise when I see Mehri— fearless, confident Mehri—visibly scared near me?

~~~

I noticed when we were sitting on a rooftop, watching the movement of the city below. We were waiting for the others to return from a reconnaissance call. We were having a small conversation, about what I do not remember, but that might just go to show how insignificant the topic was. I believe it was about ducks…?

That’s off topic. Out of the corner of my eye I saw their hand shaking.

“You’re trembling,” I said, “why? Are you cold?” It was a chilly morning, one where the whole world seems a little greyer than usual. I myself felt a little chill. But then again, when did I not?

She replied in the negative, saying she simply had tremors on occasion. I noticed then that she put their hands underneath their shawl, obstructing my view.

I didn’t say anything after that, for fear of upsetting Mehri, and silence stretched between us. Soon enough, just as I could not handle it anymore—I like the quiet, but this was too uncomfortable for me—the others arrived, calling us down from our perch.

~~~

I wonder why she was so scared. I don’t try to be frightening, nor do I think I am, as I wrote before, but I wonder if… no.

It’s best not to dwell on these little things. But I do hope that whatever ails Mehri will leave them. That is all.

———

uh.

I’m not too sure if I’m liking this :/

we’ll see how I feel about it tomorrow :>

Anyways. General Writing Taglist! Lemme know if you’d like on via dm!

@bunnymermaidwrites @abiteofhoney @aalinaaaaaa @vesanal @cepheusgalaxy

@fifis-corner @urnumber1star @thebookishkiwi @sunflowerrosy @theink-stainedfolk

@threedaysgross @mundanemoongirl @satohqbanana @bamber344 @imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese

@viridis-icithus @cc-writes-stuff @anothersummerofsleep @sharkblizzardblogs

@verdant-mainframe @kittrrrr @ruvastuon @agirlandherquill (<- the host!) @annothersummerofsleep

@nczaversnick @zerotothex @oliolioxenfreewrites