#regis should probably pay attention

[ertrunkenerwassergeist]

I was rereading Dreams of Our Past recently, and - well, aside from falling in love with the story all over again, I find myself desperately curious about what happened when Regis met his grandchildren. (Also Cor and Clarus' reaction to the Deep City, because they *never knew it existed* - and I'd imagine that's quite a shock.)

Oh my gosh. Thank you so much! For some reason it always surprises me when peolpe say they like Dreams of Our Past. But I appreciate every single one of you with all my little author heart.

.

Regis felt like his insides had frozen over. His son was in danger. Finally he saw his son again, and he was in danger. But it was not a danger Regis could fight.

He sat in a cluttered kitchen, at an ancient wooden table along with Clarus and Cor and felt... nothing. Nothing but a fathomless pit called dread. His daughter-in-law was with his son. Something about making sure he drank his potions. The untouched tea in front of him had long gone luke warm.

Remembering his son's deathly pale face, the black slashes across his skin broken open and leaking magic so bright it was hard to look at, made his teeth grind together so hard it hurt.

Hushed noises from the door made him look up. Both Clarus and Cor stopped their hushed discussion, faces set in serious frowns. Regis should have been listening to what they were discussing, but he just... couldn't. The door was slightly ajar. Just enough so for a small face to peek halfway through. All he could see was a mop of wild brownish red hair and honey golden eyes blinking cautiously into the room, but that was enough.

For the first time in only the Gods knew how long, Regis moved. His joints protested rather soundly and a flaring pain in his knee made him press his lips into a tight line. Slowly he moved towards the door, leaning heavily on his cane. The little face vanished. Childish whispering came through the door. No sound of little feet running.

Regis pushed the door open and there they were. Two children, a younger boy and an older girl. Both looked up at him with large eyes, their shape nearly identical. Both so very clearly of the Lucis Caelum line. If Regis had been able, he would have knelt down. As his knee made that impossible, he settled for a warm smile. The searing cold freezing his insides started to thaw.

The boy toddled forward a few steps. A huge grin lit up his face, making him look nigh on identtical to Noctis at that age. Regis's heart nearly burst out of his chest.

"'Lo," the boy chirped. "I'm Astra! This's Soli, she don't like people."

"Astra!" the girl hissed.

"Hello," Regis said nearly on auto-pilot. His eyes burnt. "My name is Regis. It's truly a pleasure to meet you. Both of you."

Astra's storm grey eyes grew huge and his mouth fell into an 'o' shape. "You talk like Iggy! Soli, he talks like Iggy!"

The girl huffed at her brother. The grip she had on his jumper loosened. She looked up at Regis again, more curious now than cautious.

"You're him, right? Our grandpa?" she asked.

Regis could not bring himself to say another word, so he nodded. With a high pitched squeal Astra lurched forward, dragging his sister with him. She held her brother back enough to lessen the impact, but Regis still nearly lost his footing when they both collided with his legs.

Astra clung to his healthier leg like a little monkey while Solaris's arms wound around his waist. Regis nearly dropped his cane in his hast to hug both of them at once. He took a large, shuddering breath and silently the tears started to fall.

[dankomanuels]

something i haven't seen discussed in my limited viewing of book-fandom spaces: cahir's attitude towards women and what it says about nilfgaardian attitudes towards women, especially women's health/reproductive health.

there's a throwaway line in baptism of fire where the hansa is discussing regis' danger to them as a vampire, where regis mentions that some cultures make their women isolate during menstruation, and cahir says "only savages" or something similar (it might be "barbarians", i listen to the audiobooks so i have a hard time finding exact wording). there's also the probably more well-known statement that he makes later on in the book when the men are discussing milva's pregnancy and he alludes to women having the absolute/final decision regarding whether to continue a pregnancy or pursue an abortion in his culture.

idk i just think it's neat. and he's an early-twenties soldier, so logically he should be pretty far removed from discussions of that nature - the fact that he's willing and able to make comments like that indicates to me that southern cultures speak pretty freely about menstruation, pregnancy, etc., and of course he mentions his sisters in relation to the comment about a woman's right to choose, but his remark about only savages making their women isolate themselves struck me as really interesting - like at best you would expect a man his age and of his status to just not care or pay attention or more likely to think it's disgusting - but he specifically goes out of his way to indicate his disapproval of women being forced to isolate for something natural and he goes out of his way to express that where he's from, women make their own reproductive choices. i am probably thinking about this more than sapkowski did but daddy i love him.

[queenxxxsupreme]

can i request something where the reader is a higher vampire who lives with regis like as his assistant or smthn and has a crush on dettlaff?

A/N: oof this took in a mind of its own. I may or may not do another installment of this... the reader in this is a younger vampire that Regis sort of took under his wing and mentors. Also vampires get headaches??? And they blush??? Let’s say yes 😂

***

You kicked your feet back and forth, watching Regis as he mixed two foamy substances together. 

“Can you hand me the vial to your left, Y/N?” He asked without looking in your direction. 

You looked to your left, clicking your tongue absentmindedly. You picked up the vial and passed it to him. 

“Thank you, my dear.”

“When are you going to let me do the fun stuff?” You sighed. You leaned back on your hands, still kicking your legs. 

“Can you tell me what these two ingredients are?” He stood up, placing the vial down on to the table you sat on. He held up the jar with the combined foamy substances. 

You looked at them, scrunching your nose up. 

“No. But they have a horrible stench.”

“They do. It’s buckthorn and skunk cabbage.”

“How was I supposed to know what they are?”

“If you studied like you should, you’d know what they were.”

You groaned, letting your head fall back. 

“Regis! Not everyone can sit and read a book in one hour.”

“Ever the dramatic, you are.” Regis smiled a little, shaking his head. “I don’t sit and read one book in an hour.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. 

“Regis, you sit and read three books in an hour when you have nothing else to do.”

“To expand my field of knowledge.”

You groaned again. 

The door to the crypt creaked open. 

You sat up a little straighter and leaned forward, peering around the corner to see if you could see who it was. But you heard his heartbeat, inhaled his scent before you ever saw him. 

“It’s Dettlaff.” You smiled.

“Pass me the bowl next to you, Y/N.” 

You picked up the bowl and handed it to Regis. 

As Dettlaff came around the corner into the main room of the crypt, you slid down from the table. You hadn’t paid attention to the tablecloth being under you. When you moved, you pulled the cloth and the contents of the table down into the floor. 

“Oh, damn it!” You cursed, looking down at the mess. 

“No need to fuss over it, dear.” Regis told you, sighing softly. “We will just have to try this again tomorrow.”

You groaned. 

“Having fun, I see.” Dettlaff spoke, his deep voice making goosebumps rise across your skin. 

“Regis is having all of the fun.” You frowned. “He won’t let me mix anything together.”

“The last time you tried to mix ingredients, you nearly blew the crypt up.” Regis reminded you as he began to clean up the mess of broken glass on the floor. 

You brought your eyes to Dettlaff. 

“It’s been a while since I last saw you.” You tried to hide the excitement you felt just from seeing him, from being in the same room as him. You didn’t want to creep him out.

“I’ve been.... busy.” He nodded, blue eyes lingering on you for a few moments. You swore you could feel your heart racing against your chest. “I came to speak with Regis, but it can wait. I don’t want to interfere with your learning.”

“I think we were about due for a break anyways.” Regis said. “Once I get this cleaned up, we can chat.”

“I’ll be outside.”

You watched the vampire leave, your chest tightening. 

“Of course you came to see him.” You muttered once you were sure Dettlaff was out of hearing range. 

“You should tell him how you feel, Y/N.”

“You are an absolutely brilliant man, Regis. But that is a very stupid idea.” You moved to grab a cloth to help him clean the foam off of the floor. 

“I think it’s rather foolish to keep your feelings to yourself. Our lives are long and can be rather lonesome if you don’t have someone to share it with.”

You got down on the floor on your knees, wiping the foam up. 

“From the way this is going, I’m going to be your apprentice forever. We’ll have each other.” You chuckled a little. You sat back on your knees, looking at the cloth in your hand. “After what happened with that human, the Duchess’s sister, I doubt he’d ever want to be with anyone ever again. I don’t blame him. I want to gut the whore for what she did to him.”

“But we won’t lay a hand on her, will we, Y/N?” Regis raised his brows at you. 

“No.” You muttered, standing to your feet. “Because we don’t like to mess with garbage. It makes us stink.”

Regis chuckled softly at you. 

“I’m going to go out and talk to him. Will you clean the rest of this up for me?”

“Yes, sir.”

***

You spun a vial around on the table, trying to amuse yourself until Regis returned. 

You were a little frustrated. Why couldn’t Dettlaff pay at least a little bit of attention to you? Maybe you were annoying to him. Maybe it was because you weren’t as sophisticated and elegant as most vampires. Your sense of balance was absent and you always managed to break anything you touched. 

You picked the vial up, sighing heavily, and turned to move across the room. 

You jolted, sucking in a breath at the sight of Dettlaff standing in the doorway to the room. The vial fell from your fingers and hit the floor, shattering into a billion pieces.

“Oh dear.” Regis spoke, walking out from behind Dettlaff.

“You scared me.” You told them, kneeling down to pick up the broken glass. 

“No worries, dear. I shall go fetch some more vials. I think we could use them, especially with so many breaking this evening.”

“I’m sorry, Regis. I’ll pay for them.”

“Nonsense.” Regis shook his head at you. He held onto the strap of his satchel that crossed over his chest. “I believe there was something you had to speak with Y/N about, Dettlaff. Isn’t that right?”

The dark haired vampire kept his eyes on Regis. 

“I’ll be back later.” Regis looked at you and nodded his head once before disappearing in a cloud of gray smoke. 

You glanced up at Dettlaff momentarily, cursing in your head when your eyes met. 

“What can I do for you, Dettlaff?” You asked, placing the chunks of broken glass on the table. You’d need to fetch a broom from the other room to clean the rest of it up, but you didn’t want to move. Right now, he was standing in the only doorway leading out of the room and you couldn’t bring yourself to move any closer to him. You didn’t want to scare him away anymore than what you probably already did. 

“I just…. There’s a matter I need to discuss with you.” He spoke, his deep baritone losing a bit of its confidence. “Perhaps we should go outside. There’s so many fumes in here, it’s beginning to give me a headache.”

You would probably have agreed with him had you not been so used to alchemy. 

“Okay.” You quietly agreed. 

He stepped out of the doorway and motioned for you to go first. 

You smoothed out your blouse before moving to exit the crypt. 

You concentrated on each step, not wanting to miss one and embarrass yourself in front of Dettlaff. You thought you were in the clear, that you had- for once -made it up those old and deteriorating steps without tripping. But on the last step, the toe of your boot caught the stone. You started to fall forward, hands flying out to catch yourself. 

Strong hands found your hips, catching you before you could hit the stone. You didn’t realize he had been following you so closely, or perhaps he had just moved so quickly you didn’t notice it. But his body was close to you. You could feel his body heat, smell his scent, hear his breathing. 

“I must say, I’ve never met a vampire so….”

“Clumsy?” You guessed, stepping out of his grasp and out of the crypt entirely. 

“Less than graceful.” He nodded. He was trying to be polite, to not point out how ungainly you were. 

“I’ve been told our kind shouldn’t have balance issues. We shouldn’t break everything we touch.” You started to move away from him, feeling anxious. Now that he’d pointed out how clumsy you were, you knew that was all he thought of you. A graceless, foolish child. “But I have been cursed with the ability to never know how to walk properly. Nor can I seem to hold anything properly in my hands without fucking dropping it.”

“You’re young, Y/N. You’ll learn.”

“I’m seven decades old.” You glanced over your shoulder to him.

“Still young.” He said. 

He clasped his hands behind his back as he moved towards you. 

“Have you…. Do you…. You don’t have anyone.”

Dettlaff’s words caught you off guard. You furrowed your brows together. 

“What?”

“Romantically speaking. You don’t have anyone. Do you?” He was so blunt that you weren’t sure you had heard him correctly.

“I-I don’t.” You sputtered out. “No.”

He nodded, as if fascinated by your answer.

“Why not?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and looked back to the ground to watch where you were going. 

“It’s probably my personality.” You muttered sarcastically, a little irritated. You came to a stop, the irritation festering beneath your skin, and turned to face him. “I just finished explaining to you what is wrong with me, Dettlaff. That’s the reason I have no one.”

He tilted his head to the side a little, brows drawn together. 

“I don’t think that’s what’s wrong with you. Your clumsiness isn’t a flaw.”

“Then you are the only one to think that.” You turned to start walking again. “You and Regis. That saint of a man never loses his patience with me.”

“Do you…. fancy him?”

“Gods no.” You crinkled your nose, shaking your head softly. “He’s like a father to me, one that I never had. What did you want to talk about besides my lack of a romantic partner and my oh so graceful nature?”

He chuckled softly, a noise you rarely heard. It was deep and in his chest, he didn’t part his lips, but an amused grin came to his lips. 

“I wanted to…. I asked Regis if it would be appropriate for me to ask you to join me for dinner sometime.”

You came to a sudden stop and spun around to face him. Your eyes were wide, panicked. Was he joking? Was this some sort of cruel prank? Had he overheard you and Regis talking earlier? Of course this was a joke! He’s witnessed first hand the destruction you can cause! How could an elegant, sophisticated man like Dettlaff ever want to go out to dinner with you?

“I-I- With me?” You pointed at yourself.

He nodded his head. 

You licked your lips and tucked a few pieces of hair behind your ear.

“Yes. I’d-I think that would be lovely.”

A little smile seemed to tug at the corner of his lips. 

“You think so?”

You turned to take a few steps away from him, full of so much excitement you thought you’d explode. But your boot caught on a tree root sticking out of the ground. You had just a split second to fall towards the ground, then Dettlaff was there catching you again. 

“Damn it.” You cursed, one hand on his bicep and the other on his forearm. 

He chuckled softly. 

“Sorry.” You murmured, cheeks blazing red. You couldn’t meet his gaze. Your eyes were stuck on a buckle on his coat. 

“Don’t apologize.” Dettlaff spoke. He hooked two fingers beneath your chin, tilting your head up. “I think it’s quite adorable.”

You wanted to scoff, to roll your eyes and tell him it’s cute when a toddler has trouble walking, but not a seventy year old Higher Vampire. 

But you lost your voice. It was caught somewhere in your throat. Your heart pounded in your chest, threatening to jump out of your ribs. 

Dettlaff leaned in, icy blue eyes flickering down to your lips. 

Your hand came up to the side of his neck, fingertips just barely brushing into his dark hair. 

Your lips met in a tender, gentle kiss. He was hesitant, not wanting to force himself upon you in any way. You appreciated this. You didn’t want your first kiss with him to be fast paced and clumsy. 

Your hand trailed around to the nape of his neck, ebony hair sliding through your fingers like silk. You pulled him a little closer to you, your hand on his arm drawing him in. 

He broke the kiss first, breathing heavily. Your noses brushed and his arm slipped around you. 

“I’m afraid you’re holding on to my arm too tightly.” He chuckled softly. 

You didn’t even realize your grip on him had tightened. Immediately, you released him. 

“I-I’m sorry-,”

“Don’t apologize. It’s okay. It’s easy for one to forget their strength.”

You looked down to where you had been holding him, afraid you’d left a bruise or something. 

Dettlaff took your attention away from the mark, turning your head back to him. 

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time.” He admitted a little quietly. 

You smiled, happy that he was interested in you. 

“Me too.” You nodded. 

He smiled softly. It was foreign, something you knew the man very rarely did. 

“Come on. I believe you have a mess to finish picking up.”

You sighed, nodding your head. Dettlaff turned, taking your hand in his. Together, you walked back to the crypt.

Taglist: @pressedinthepages @mishafaye @whitewolfandthefox @wolfyland07 @belalugosisdead @persephonehemingway @keira-hulmaster @dinonuggs69 @greatestauthorofmygeneration @shadow-hunters-lover @dancingwith-thesunflowers @tedi-fach-las @thecomfortofoldstorries @raspberrydreamclouds @natkowaa @disasteren @weathervanes-my-oneandlonely @onlyhenrys @wackylurker @criminaly-supernatural @magpie343 @permanently-exhausted-witcher @hina-chans-stuff @the-space-between-heartbeats @havenoffandoms @carriebee1 @ger-bearofrivia @naominami @writingawaymylife @reaganjenelle @theawkwardpedestrian @scarlettwitcher @badassspaceprincess @just-a-sad-donut @summersong69 @an--actual--human--disaster @rubyqueen819 @omgkatinka @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @vonxcon @mazakeen @bravelittlesunflower @thereagles @awkward-turtles-world @menalliha @cotton_mo @maan24

[ladyhallen]

When Is A Curse A Gift?

Read on AO3

Cor slumped against a tree and gasped when it pulled at the sloppy bandages on his leg.

He had no idea where he was, the fever was getting high and he was tired.

The cut was probably infected. Hopefully not. 

“Fuck,” he hissed.

Something made him turn around and despite how tired he was, he trusted his instincts. They were the reason he survived when Regis had him discharged from the army outside of the wall with no supplies.

“Shit!” he cursed, standing up and scrabbling for his sword. Gleaming eyes inside the darkness of the forest.

He was wobbling on his feet, but his hands were steady. Fever made his vision hazy but he was sure there was only one set of eyes. He braced himself for a lunge, a bite. Anything.

Whoever owned the set of eyes let out a whine.

Cor had handled a lot of stray animals. He knew what that sounded like.

“A dog,” he sighed.

The sudden influx of relief made him stagger, the absence of the adrenaline making him weak. It took all he had to go back to the tree and not collapse on the grass.

He rested against the tree at a slump, head bowed.

Cor knew the beginnings of infection when he felt it. He was going to die if he didn’t get help soon.

Another whine, this time closer.

He managed to turn his head and the dog was there, just a foot away and looking concerned.

She was bigger than he thought a dog could get. She was a dirty thing, with matted fur and a lot of mud on her tail. But she was healthy. She was well fed. Either the dog was a hunter, or there was someone near feeding her. 

No collar. A stray?

“Hey buddy,” he said, voice soft and coaxing. It made the dog come closer, sniffing him cautiously. “Hey.”

He chanced a look and smiled. “A lady.”

The dog perked up like anything.

Cor wasn’t stupid. “Lady,” he repeated. “Is that your name?”

The dogs tail was wagging. Her whole body was practically moving with the tail wags. It was adorable. 

A cough jolted his entire body and made him curl around his torso. Sleep pulled at him and he swayed with the effort of sitting up. Gravity won and he listed sideways.

The grass was wonderfully cool against his skin, which was alarming because it was midday and the ground was supposed to be hot. 

“Shit,” he sighed again, feeling the edges of his vision beginning to blur. With a resigned hiss, Cor breathed out and let sleep claim him.

The last thing he heard was the dog whining before he fully blacked out.

.

.

When he next woke, he was in a cabin and there were professionally tied bandages around his leg and most of his other injuries. His arm was actually sewed together.

The dog, Lady, was resting on his legs, a heavy and reassuring weight that grounded him.

“What,” he rasped, throat dry and parched.

A clatter and an old woman bundled forward. Her eyes were filmed over and distant. Her hair was fully white kept in a long tail that she wound together in a bun. Her back was straight and poised.

“I’m Marge, this is my cabin. There’s a cup next to you, dear,” she said.

Cor took the cup, a rough hewn thing, filled with water. The taste of water was the best thing he’d ever had in years.

“This your dog?” he asked, voice clearer.

 Marge shook her head. “No. The sweet thing just showed up one day. I think her owner is long dead.”

Cor looked at Lady, and the dog lazily waved her tail at him, eyes clear and intelligent.

“My head was hazy at the end there but I think this dog just saved my life,” he said out loud. 

Marge laughed, a quiet sound. “That she did. She dragged one of my grandsons over with your sword in her mouth. That sure made all the men scramble around.” 

A glance and there was Kotetsu beside him. True enough, there were teeth marks on the handle. Surprisingly, that was the only damage. A good enough exchange for saving his life.

He petted Lady. “Good dog.”

Her tail went crazy. “Whuff,” she rumbled, very clearly pleased.

Cor smiled for the first time in months.

.

.

Cor was feeling better, and that’s what he would tell Marge as an excuse. Currently, since he was feeling better, he was going stir crazy.

Lady had more freedom than he did. Lady had more fucking mobility than he did. Lady was also stronger than him at the moment, since his everything felt so fucking weak.

But his hands were strong and could hold his sword. His steps were sure and he didn’t fall over after five steps. Progress.

So he followed the dog out of the house, at midnight, when she always left.

Cor was careful to keep quiet and keep to the shadows. Lady kept glancing back, and her ears were pricked attentively. It was enough to ring alarm bells in his head.

He had never seen a dog do that before.

He crouched under the bushes and held his breath when the dog jumped into the lake. Her head went under and Cor scrambled up, removing his shoes and just about to jump in after her when the most beautiful woman he had ever seen emerged from where Lady submerged.

Her hair was the same deep red as Lady’s fur, and her eyes the same blue. She was also stark naked.

With a muffled gasp, he scrambled behind a tree as the lady started to wash herself.

Not as quietly as he’d hoped, fuck. She turned around, hands around her breasts and immediately submerging herself under the water.

“Who’s there?” she demanded, voice lower than he expected. And uncertain.

“It’s just me,” he called out. “Cor.”

She stopped moving, the water stopped making splashing sounds. Cor kept his eyes forward and away from her.

“You followed me?” she sounded…not angry? “Why?”

Cor shrugged even if she couldn’t see it. “I was bored.”

She…Lady laughed. “I should have known, you were getting restless.” Which just answered the question. She was Lady.

“Right,” he said. “You were…a dog?”

“Yes,” she said, voice sad. “And only a woman for two hours.”

She sounded so resigned. It just made him see red.

“Why are you like this?” he asked. “And why?”

She sighed. “A long time ago. A man didn’t take well to being rejected. The Adagium with his strange powers cursed me to be this way.”

“Lady – “

“My name is Sansa,” she interrupted. “Sansa Stark.” She announced her name proudly. It must have been ages since she did so and Cor promised himself that he’d remember her name.

“Right. Sansa. Do you know how to undo your curse?” he asked. By Shiva, he hoped she did. He didn’t like the idea of her suffering under it.

“No,” she whispered. “I’ve been this way for a while.”

How long was a while? He wondered. But he couldn’t ask her that. Cor may have the social graces of rampaging behemoth, but even he could knew not to ask that question.

“Do you change back every night?” he asked, changing the topic.

“Yes,” she said, puzzled. “Every night when the clock strikes midnight. Two hours after that, I am a dog again.”

“Okay,” he said with determination. “Do you like cookies?”

He may have not been looking at her, but he could feel Sansa’s stare.

.

. 

Cor asked Marge for spare blankets, cookies and a flask of milk.

The old woman may have been blind, but she gave him such a knowing look that Cor had a feeling that she knew what he was doing.

Which.

Hmm.

Reassuring.

Actually, since the dog just appeared...

“Marge, do you know anything about the Starks?” he asked her. He made sure to ask her when Lady wasn’t in the room.

The old lady dropped her wooden cup, the tea spilling everywhere on the rug.

“Where did you hear that name?” she asked, voice hoarse and unseeing eyes wide.

Cor scrambled up to help her sit down. She trembled in his hold.

“I heard it from the dog herself,” he whispered to her. “And she needs our help.”

Marge gave a weak laugh, a disbelieving one. “She’s not a dog, Cor. She’s a wolf small enough to pass as a dog,” she whispered back just as secretly. “And of course she’s a wolf. The Starks sacred animals were the wolves.”

“Can you tell me more?” he asked voice gentle. “I need to help her.”

Marge nodded, taking a gulp of the tea he handed over to her gratefully. “The Starks were the old ruling family, the descended from Solheim, the family surviving the ravaging. Their magic survived too. The magic to heal. The princess, the most powerful of them all, was approached by the Adagium. He wanted her help. But the Adagium was a repulsive creature that leaked daemons wherever he went. The princess refused. And the Adagium cursed her.”

Here, Marge wept. “Oh, poor princess. No one ever said what her curse was. Only that it was powerful and no one could break it.”

“How long ago was this story?” Cor asked, mind whirring.

“A century ago,” she whispered. “A century. The poor dear has suffered so long.”

Cor wanted to shout. Or to punch something, he wasn’t picky.

“She was young when this happened?” he prodded. 

“She was twelve when it happened. The records are adamant about it,” Marge swore.

Marge was so sure of her information that Cor was getting suspicious about that too. “Marge, who are you?”

Marge smiled a watery smile. “I am Marge Poole, the sworn retainers of the Stark Kings. We have remembered when everyone else forgot.”

What the actual fuck.

.

.

The woman he talked to last night wasn’t twelve, Cor was sure. She was a woman grown.

However, if she had grown while under the curse, it must have been slowly. Enough to prolong her agony.

The sadistic fucker.

Cor breathed in and out to control his temper.

“Did they say anything on how to break her curse?” he asked.

“No,” old Marge breathed out in deep sadness.

Cor stormed out, needing to hit something. His hand found Kotetsu and he started to chop wood aggressively. It would dull the metal if he swung wrong and that was enough to make him pay attention to every swing.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Shit. Sadistic fuckers.”

He was so angry that he was seeing red. A man who was so sick that he asked for help, except that he asked for help from a child. He must have been desperate, and in that desperation, frightened her.

She was a princess, sheltered from any and all things that would make her scared. And the Adagium…!

Cor breathed in again and let it out with one precise swing, chopping the wood cleanly in two.

He would break it, her curse. He promised himself he would. Because she had lived with it for a century. She needed it. She saved his life. He would save hers.

“That’s a promise,” he whispered, and moved his body into a vertical slash, cutting all the wood in a second.

.

.

He spent all his nights with her, now that he knew.

She must have been so alone, and unable to tell anyone. But he was there and he knew. So he spent it with her. Two hours without sleep was an acceptable sacrifice.

The first time she tasted cookies, she started crying.

Cor hugged her, his chest hurting and his eyes prickling with unshed tears.

“I don’t think I can stay here,” he told her when they’d spent every night together. “I have to do something since the King won’t.”

“May I come with you?” she pleaded, those big eyes looking into his.

Cor couldn’t refuse and he would like to see anyone do the same when she was looking like that.

“Might be more dangerous,” he told her. “I sometimes don’t stop at night.”

She smiled at him, looking like a goddess under the moonlight. “As long as I am with you, then I am content, Cor.”

Fuck, Cor was a weak man and he agreed.

.

.

Marge looked upset but not surprised when he said he’d leave.

That was nothing to the upset she got when she realized that Lady was going with him.

“Protect her with your life,” Marge ordered, eyes bloodshot from crying. “Don’t you dare let her get hurt.”

“I will,” he said, the words a promise and a certainty. Nothing would hurt Lady as long as he was there.

They left, heading west to get his bearings. He had no earthly idea where he was and he needed some civilization before their supplies ran out.

Lady helped, hunting down rabbits and alerting him on anything on the road. Her senses were sharper than his and it showed.

At night, he found havens and prepared blankets and food. And Sansa, in the proper light of the havens, seemed more beautiful than ever.

It was a test of his control, but he wasn’t an animal. He never allowed his eyes to stray and his hands to wander. He also paid attention to what she ate and what she avoided.

She picked at bitter food, perked up at sweet food and absolutely gobbled tart dishes.

When she wrinkled her nose at the vegetables, Cor huffed out a laugh. Fuck, he was so in love with her.

And then Sansa started shining.

She cried out in alarm, and Cor immediately ran to her, hand on his sword and eyes scanning the area.

“Sansa, does it hurt?” he asked.

“No?” she said, sounding incredibly confused. “I…Cor, it doesn’t hurt. Cor…I think my curse just broke.”

She sounded so relieved that Cor prayed to Shiva, Ifrit and to fucking Bahamut that it was true.

“You look fine,” he sighed. “Sansa, you…”

Her eyes, which glowed at night like her wolf self, was no longer glowing.

“Sansa, you’re cured,” he said softly.

She jumped into his arms and started crying.

.

.

It took Cor a while to understand what broke her curse.

“I fell in love with you,” he sighed.

She giggled, the most precious sound in the world.

“I fell in love with you the moment you held me,” she said. “You smelled like safety.”

His life was a fucking cliché, but when Sansa smiled at him, Cor didn’t have any regrets.

[secret-engima]

kaelinaloveslomaris

Wait wait wait, did you just imply that Cor is Fang and Vanille’s dad???

Me: *looks you in the eye with a manic grin* Yes. YES I DID. That’s the only reason Fang is younger than Lightning, the shenanigans were too much to resist.

Some more thoughts on this glorious impending firestorm:

-Fang’s mom is a down to earth, take no hits Hunter from some random nook of Lucis mainland. She met Cor in a bar fight when they were both young and dumb(er) and decided a man who could kick that much butt was hot. Cor returned the sentiment. Obviously.

-Fang and her mom are Best of Buds™. Her mom is highly aware her daughter is unnaturally smart and jaded for her age, and Fang knows that it’s not “normal” for her to not “have a dad”. Neither of them care. They are snark buddies and when Fang (called Cynisca in this world) expressed a desire at age 10 to be a Hunter, her mom promptly dug the spare weapons out of the closet and asked which one her daughter wanted. Fang, being Fang, picked the biggest spear in the pile.

-Cynisca/Fang has been going on Hunts since she was 11 and taking her own at like 13 (with Mom there as backup, obviously, but she got to pick the Hunt).

-Fang is 14 when she finds Vanille, who is 11 and has been shuffled around the Lucian foster system since she was like- 8. Fang promptly takes Vanille home and introduces her to her mom.

-And by introduce I mean Fang slammed open the door and sauntered into the house with Vanille on her heels while her mom was in the kitchen. Her mother, hearing the grand entrance, called without looking “How was your day?”

-Fang: Great! Got a new sister! I’ll be helping her get settled in my room!

-Mom, not entirely paying attention and already running on the autopilot of “Fang picked a fight with the local wildlife” routine: That’s great honey don’t get blood on the carpet.

-Mom, twenty seconds later and finally processing the Actual Words: WHAT.

-Of course it only takes Vanille 10 seconds of being adorable for Fang’s mom’s heart to be a puddle of goo. Because obviously. Then she hears the girls explain they’re Really Really sure they share a dad and she’s like “Welp I always wanted another daughter”.

-Fang and Vanille end up figuring out Lightning is the Crown Princess somehow (probably watching her on like- a news broadcast or something and noting how she acts). They IMMEDIATELY conspire to go find a way to meet her.

-The way I see it, either they meet Lightning when she is wandering the wilds after escaping a kidnapping and gleefully talk their mom into driving her to Insomnia, OR they beg their mom to take them on a tour of the Citadel for their birthday present, THEN sneak away into the Citadel in search of her.

-In the latter scenario, Cor’s first look at his two daughters is when, in the middle of having a relaxing quiet moment over a drink with Regis and Clarus in Regis’s, the door to the suite opens and two girls, a teenager and a little one, hurriedly dash inside to avoid the Crownsguard patrol. They shut the door, the little one giggling from nerves and the big one smirking, “Sheesh,” mutters the teen with an odd accent as she flicks the lock on the door, “You’d think the royal Citadel would have smarter guards. Can’t even catch two-” both girls turn around and see the King, the King’s Shield, and Cor the Immortal watching them in open bemusement, “kids.”

-Regis slowly raises one eyebrow, fighting a smile he really shouldn’t be wearing because this IS a major security breach but dang it these two are cute and clearly dressed up for the tour they must have wandered off from, “Hello,” he says mildly.

-Fang mutters a particularly vulgar curse. Vanille is too busy staring at Cor with big eyes to scold for once. Vanille tugs Fang’s sleeve, still staring at Cor, who inwardly braces the the fangirling. Instead, Fang does a double-take at Cor as the Marshal stands up with a sigh and makes his way over to shoo them out and escort them back to their keeper (and to yell at the security because HOW had two girls gotten all the way up here).

-He is not expecting the teenager to suddenly and unhesitatingly SOCK HIM IN THE FACE.

-He recoils with a curse, Regis and Clarus standing up sharply in surprise, and they all hear Fang snarl as Vanille holds her back, “Let go, Vanille! I promised I’d break ‘is arm too!”

-“And why,” Regis asks, his voice deep and solemn, a king that commanded attention, “did you promise that?”

-The teen scoffs but settles down at his tone, “Cause if I’m gonna be saddled with his genes for the rest of my life, I should bloody well get to say I punched my Old Man the Immortal in the face and broke his arm.”

-What.

-Also if they meet post Fang and Vanille finding Lightning in the wilds, Fang STILL punches Cor in the face first chance she gets and the conversation is roughly the same. In either event, Cor angrily demands a blood test, thinking that would teach the kid to not shoot off her mouth and tell such lies, only to find that ... it’s not. It’s not a lie. Then Vanille quietly sticks her arm out for a blood sample too and Cor feels Doom™ approaching.

[gerlat-apreciation]

Vampiric Protectors Part 2

Geralt wakes up to a hideously mangled monster, intestines thrown about like streamers in a party, and a heart resting by his foot. While deep claw marks were buried in the wall ranging from light and barely there to deep and attention seeking, rubble and blood flooding about every sense he had.

Trying to remember what the strange figure who seemed to dance with the shadows itself even remotely looked like, he was rewarded with a terrible headache and a newly throbbing skull. Suddenly he seemed to do something right looking at the walls and the mangled corpse because he remembered a figure who looked suspiciously like his vampiric friend but much healthier. He thought of how shitty his friend looked while working to find Dettlaff.

The figure was kneeling over him, hand tightly wrapped around his thigh and features more human than when he leaped from the wall randomly, like an asshole. Who leaps from walls?

Saving that memory for later, Geralt returned to what the hell happened when he passed out. He really needed to pay better attention to things.

———

Kneeling over him, hand tightly wrapped around his thigh, deep black eyes locking with cloudy gold, watching him frantically.

“Are you well?”

“Who..”

They both spoke at the same time,interrupting each other. While the quite obvious higher vampire was stunned from his voice, Geralt took the time to speak.

“M’ fine.. would be better if you gave me that gold potion, left pocket, smells like fish. And the clear one, smells like honeysuckle..” In an attempt to hurry the stranger along in helping him, he didn’t want to pass out again.

The vampire scrambled to do just that, keeping a hand on his bloody thigh, a cloth wrapped around his nose. Geralt thought it strange but didn’t have the energy to comment on it at the time. Suddenly a potion glass at his lips shook him out of his stupor, Geralt grunted in thanks before downing the potions with the aid of his now strange friend..? Friend.

“Is there anything else I can aid you with little wolf?” The vampire breathed through his mouth, nostrils flaring at the sour smell of his blood. His voice was pleasant, deep with an accent like Regis’, he liked Regis’ voice, and could listen to it for hours while he talked about whatever. Geralt apologized under his breath, Regis told him how rancid his potions were.

“Nah.. m good. White Honey’ll do the most of the work, thanks..” Geralt slurred a lazy concoction of speech to stop thinking about the old bat. The Witcher used the time the vampire was looking for his potions to take in the strangers features.. dark hair, mutton chops, and smelled like blood. Yep.. this was Regis. But younger. Fuck.

Geralt was proven correct soon after

“My name is Emiel Regis Rohlec Terzieff-Godefroy, as you can probably tell, I am a higher vampire of the Garasham tribe.” Regis pressed a bloody hand to his doublet clad chest, motioning to himself while probably staining it with his blood. “And you are?” His nailed hand moved towards the witcher, smooth and graceful. Geralt had always admired how fast and predatory vampires were, respected it as well. It was impressive, and plain damn attractive how strong they were.

Once the vampire raised a thin, regal brow he collected himself once more to reply.

“Geralt of Rivia, Witcher,” He said simply as Regis seemed to go through multiple stages of surprise, amazement, disbelief, and belief before he murmured a simple

“cool.”

Geralt started laughing as soon as Regis looked displeased with himself. Shoulders shaking and lips spreading in a closed smile as his throat tried to release the sound from itself, his gritty huffs soon had him groaning, holding the offending neck with one hand. The Witcher returned his gaze to the vampire, who had a wide grin on his face.

“Enjoying yourself little wolf?” He purred, voice a smooth roll, like the first wave of an ocean being overlapped by another, coming together to make a beautiful scene with calming sounds. Geralt grunted in reply, dragging himself back so he could lean against the wall.

“Watching me, vampire?” He hummed, casting the other a dry look, the other cringed. This was a dangerous change of subject given he had no idea how this Regis acted.

“Ah.. perhaps.. I found very quickly after seeing you that you casted my interest, you smell delightful.. I could just..” Regis’ teeth bare, and he starts to lean forward.

Geralt's heart kicks up from its slow beat, and he wraps a hand around his sword, as soon as Regis lunges at him. He pressed his eyes closed, tense as a siren after a horn blow.

..

.

His body registers the curved nose of Regis pressing his nose against his throat, and smelling.

“What the fuck Regis-“

It was Regis’ turn to laugh now, soft and kind, with an undercurrent of predatory dominance that sent sharp shivers down Geralt’s spine alongside the tame breaths against his exposed clavicle. He pulls away and Geralt finds himself missing the cool breaths.

“Ah.. this was fun, my dear. But I believe you need some rest, it’s required for humans to rejuvenate, is it not?” He tilts his head, black hair falling to the left as he cups his palm against Geralt’s cheek, thumb swiping against the underside of his eye, rubbing the scar gently.

“Aw fuck- don’t tell me you’re gonna-“

And then he was asleep.

——-

So that was what happened.. that headache was worth it, Geralt thought, grabbing his sword and standing, taking the time to sheathe it and grab the heart that was resting at his foot, it would make a good trophy, even if the zeugl he needed to kill wasn’t dead.

Knowing Regis it probably was dead, but he needed to make sure.

Pulling himself up into a platform that, by the smell of it, led him back into the sewers. To pass the time he checked his potion vials, making sure everything was well and in place. He double took when he saw the zeugl, it’s entire head resting over the hole where he fell. What the hell, Regis.

Geralt heaved a heavy sigh, and cut out a tooth from it, and made his way back to the village to receive his pay.

**

A few days have passed since then, and the Witcher had taken up residence inside a nearby inn, after completing two more contracts to pay for it and a good few meals. He hasn’t been interrupted by a certain drunkard vampire as of yet, but he was probably being watched. It didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would, it was comforting almost, that Regis would come in anytime he loses control of a situation or contract.

Currently, Geralt was reclined on a sofa, wrapped in various furs and reading a book in front of the fireplace with a platter of various cheeses and grapes at his side, along with a wonderful goblet of wine the inn owner imported from Toussaint. Witchers here were treated surprisingly well, and Geralt was soaking it in as much as he could, enjoying every moment and every ounce of respect he received for his profession. It was pleasant, that was for sure.

Suddenly, there was a crackle, one of pure power that had Geralt flinging himself over the side of the couch, cheese platter flying everywhere and wine probably staining the soft velvet cushions, and there was a smell that he finally processed as soon as he saw the teal magic forming into a person, snow and lemons. It was Ciri, his pup, his baby. Geralt instantly smiled and lowered his blade, when the projection of Ciri cleared

“You seem to be enjoying yourself” Ciri chuckled, looking around the room with interest.

“Ah.. just got back from a few contracts, it’s nice here.” He hummed, going back to the front of the couch to clean up the cheese that found itself implanted into the walls in front of it.

“I hope I didn’t give you too much of a fright?” Her voice sunk in embarrassment.

“Scared the fuck out of me.” Geralt said simply, prying some cheddar from a brick and plopping it onto his tongue.

“Ew, dad,” Ciri groaned, covering her eyes in disgust, Geralt started laughing.

“Hmm.. Cidaris cheddar.. hints of brick but that’s okay.. nice sharp flavor..cow was in good heath—-“

“Geralt! I didn’t come here for a visit” Ciri wheezed, bending over at the hip to try to regain herself. Once she did she continued “We need to find out what world you are in, so you can come home.”

Geralt sat back down, gathering the furs around himself once more, like a little nest, and hummed. “Already have a good idea, everything’s younger here, I met Regis earlier.. he was blood drunk. Or.. buzzed at least” The Witcher trailed off, turning his gaze to his book.

“You’re in the past?” Ciri tilted her head, and Geralt shrugged

“Dunno.. just found a younger Regis. He saved me from an Arachas.” The Witcher grabbed his book and opened it, turning the pages downward where he left off and returning his full attention to Ciri

Ciri, who now sat cross legged on the floor, nodded. “Just give us a bit longer, I’m still regaining energy, you should be able to come back soon, I’ll find you this time, okay?” His pup smiled at him, and for a moment he saw that little girl who forced them to do tea parties, and forever ruined the way he holds teacups. He could feel his pupils dilating with pure adoration at the other.

Geralt nodded “thanks” he said simply, as Ciri obviously noted the change in his pupils, considering she went wide eyed and cooed at him like a mother looking at a toddler, he cringed.

“Your eyes! Awe Geralt-“ she whined, laughing and shaking her head. Geralt fought back an embarrassed blush.

“Yeah yeah..”

“I love you, dad” Ciri said, firmly and in complete seriousness and suddenly, out of nowhere, Geralt felt an odd knot in his throat.

“Love you too, Ciri” he choked, looking at the other with glassy eyes. His head was filled with a mantra of don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry, and various curses.

Ciri’s smile grew, if it was possible, and she nodded, and as soon as that happened, it was over and Geralt was left staring at the spot she was at, clawing for composure.

A few minutes later his mutations took a firm hold of the offending emotions in a chokehold, and body slammed them back into the void. Where they should be. And Geralt is left feeling hollow. He returns to his book, just as the sound of glass breaking moves him into a shock.

Now, Geralt could tell you right now that this was a bad place to get suddenly attacked. He had no armor besides his white undershirt and his tight form fitting black pants. He wasn’t even wearing shoes , and he was tangled up in various furs to keep him warm. His sword was behind the couch, and he had nothing to defend himself with.

That is why, when he got grabbed by moving smoke like some bride to be on wedding day, he snarled, and raised the book above his head to attack. Not soon after it was pried out of his hand and into the fire.

“FUCK-“ Geralt yelled, attention momentarily diverted to the loss of knowledge to the hungry flames casting mischievous shadows across the room, but that seemed to be enough time for the vampire, inhumanly fast, to jump out the window.

On the third floor of a building.

To say Geralt was angry, was an understatement.

But there was only so much to do when you had tendrils of smoke blocking everything. It was all he saw, smelled, heard, and was able to touch. But he was gratefully able to feel the main issue, an arm wrapped under his knees, and another around his back, pressing him close to a thin chest. Though, the smoke didn’t seem to be just smoke, considering when he struggled (which he couldn’t do much of in the first place considering how strong his kidnapper was) the smoke seemed to press him still as well. Wrapping around him like a- he didn’t quite know how to describe it. But it did smell of anise, wormwood, basil, sage, and cinnamon.

What the fuck, Regis.

Before he knew it, Geralt was plunging through another window, thankfully this one was opened, and directly into a large bed. Regis, still in his smoke form, darted out the window as it slammed shut.

Geralt sat up, processing for a moment what the hell just happened. And then where he was now.

Where he was now seemed to be a very large room, about the size of the entire inn he was in, with a large oak door, with a steel door knob, latched firmly in place with what seemed to be a spell casted on it, if that was why his medallion shivered when he neared it. Close to the door was tapestries, hanging on each side, faded and worn with age. They depicted vampires drinking from humans under the moonlight, covered in blood and garlic and looking piss drunk.

By the tapestries, bookshelves lined the walls which were made of firm stone, filled to the point of overflowing with books and scrolls of varying size and weight. These seemed to be the main thing filling the wall on the left side, as the only other object there was a wardrobe to the direct left of the large bed. Inside it was various outfits, mostly silken robes but held the odd cotton shirt and pants there. All in wonderful condition, bordering on brand new. Geralt sighed and slammed it shut, seemed it was planned for him to stay awhile. He crossed to the right side of the room, and that was when he noticed the bed was about a step higher than the rest of the room, covered in silk blankets and furs, with two large curtains on each side of it, looking at the floor around it.

Regis seemed to be aiming to spoil him. How sweet. Thought the Witcher, sarcasm and annoyance boiling his blood and filling his mind.

Returning to exploring the right side of the room, there were more bookshelves, the large stained glass window depicting once again a vampire symbol, but this time it was the Garasham tribe symbol. It was quite well done, and was so large the moonlight lit it all the way to the other side of the room, across the bed, casting colors of blue, green, brown, and red everywhere. The window seemed to take up most of the wall, and was made of a thick glass, Geralt had no high hopes of breaking it. Around the large window, was two candle filled tables, nothing special.

To the right of the bed, against the wall that lays against its headboard, is a door that leads to a bathroom, a lot like the one he saw in Vizima when he met up with Emhyr.

Geralt groaned, and grabbed a random book, sitting on the bed, which was heavenly soft but he would never admit it aloud, while suddenly missing the weight of his swords as he wrapped himself up once more with the many furs covering it. He leaned against the pillows and headboard and got to reading, with only the candle and moonlight to light the letters.

[emma-what-son]

(Echee post) Emma Watson has stalkers and a bodyguard

Posted on March 23 2014

From dailymail.co.uk March 2014, "Harry Potter star Emma Watson has hired a former NYPD officer as  a bodyguard to protect her from obsessed stalkers. The actress – thought to be worth £23  million – is believed to be paying the female officer £90,000 a year after a number of incidents of threatening behaviour towards her. The latest came as Emma, 23, right, was working on her new movie Noah, when an over-zealous ‘fan’ duped studio security staff and got on to the set. Emma, was left screaming, believing she was in danger, and filming had to stop. The British actress, who played Hermione Granger in the Potter films, is now constantly shadowed by blonde former New York Police Department officer Denise Morrone. A source said: ‘The  one person Emma is never without is Denise. 'Emma has had problems with stalkers in the past and, because of her wealth, there is always the threat of kidnap. 'She pays for her bodyguard out of her own pocket and Denise accompanies her everywhere, even when Emma is out for dinner. Denise is always there, making sure she is safe.’ Another source said: ‘Denise is on high alert for one particular stalker who tracked Emma down on the set of her latest film. ‘She is very discreet and very good at her job. She is always there looking after Emma, but you wouldn’t know. ‘She makes sure Emma has plenty of space and freedom. If they are at dinner, Denise is part of the gathering, but is always on duty.’ The new arrangement marks a departure for Emma, who has seemed determined to try to live a low-key, normal private life unencumbered by a security detail. Post-Potter she went to Brown University in Rhode Island, New England, and Worcester College, Oxford, to study for a degree. When she has appeared in public she has had no visible entourage. A spokesman for Miss Watson, who has homes in  London and New York, declined to comment." ^That's what the dailymail says but here below is what Emma said at the time.

From fansshare.com October 2012, "There was a lot of fuss made recently about the fact that a man who has been stalking Emma Watson managed to get onto her set before being chased off into the woods. It was claimed that Emma was terrified by the incident and feared for her safety.  However, it appears that the claims were not true, as Emma has spoken out about the “incident” stating that nothing of the sort happened. Emma felt that she needed to let everybody know what’s what and hoped to clear up any confusion about the stalker situation. Watson took to her official Twitter account to say, “Ok. Few things to clear up. I was not terrified by a stalker in the woods. And he was not fought off by martial arts experts.#whowrotethisstory”. I don't get this DM article because Emma has had this bodyguard for ten years. I think this might be a great big dose of media sensationalism or maybe a planted story so everyone will go, "Aww poor Emma" because she has said some really dumb things lately. I've seen photos of Denise (the older blonde lady we always see her with) with Emma as far back as 2005 Here they are outside the Regis and Kelly show (USA) in 2005 and to the right currently in 2014

^She still looks 15 doesn't she? I've seen one or two candids of Denise with Emma at Brown. I've read an article from a Brown website (thank anonymous for tipping me off) where they were talking about her bodyguards on campus that followed her around. Here's Emma, some guy and Denise at Brown in the fall of 2010 (I can't find the others)

Here she is talking about stalkers in her GQ interview from last year From gq-magazine.co.uk May 2013, "Did you have stalkers? 'Yes. I do have people who show up from time to time in different parts of the world. I've never really known how to respond; I've never really known if I should be afraid or not. This is how I put it into perspective: thousands of women all over the world have to deal with feeling afraid when they walk home from the Tube, on their way to work, when they go out for a drink. Feeling not safe isn't something that is singular to me or my experience as a woman, and I don't think any of these people mean me any harm. They just tend to be people caught up, who don't really realise what they are doing, and I think it is very important that I don't allow it to isolate me further, to be another reason why I shouldn't go out and meet people or walk down the street. Weird guys sometimes take it too far, and that is it. I just keep a friend with me. I don't have a full-time security guard or anything like that. Even at university I went everywhere completely alone, which looking back was probably a pretty ambitious thing that I tried to do there, but somehow I got away with it. There were times when I did feel stressed and anxious and could probably have done with a bit more support. At the same time I would rather make my own mistakes and learn what I need. I think it is so easy when you get famous to just disengage from having a life and that can make some things really dangerous.'" Remember she told rookie magazine she used to lie about walking to places but had a car waiting for her? She was trying to make it seem she has this normal life. I reckon this could be another little white lie about not having a full-time guard because we've seen Denise with her for years. She's the woman that pushes people away and pulls her from signing autographs and even refuses people. How about other instances like Glastonbury where that big muscular man tailed her everywhere. At airports when Denise is not there she has men which looks to be bodyguards to me. When she went to the Box Night Club she had a bodyguard. They're rare shots because most candids are just of Emma and Denise or Emma and a friend or boyfriend. You really think Emma travels alone? For example

Last photo from 2011: Check this out and seethe altercation You rarely catch her bodyguards photographed other than Denise who looks more than just a bodyguard. I think she's more like a bodyguard/assistant. I bet they are always around but you wouldn't know it. I'd go as far as saying they probably follow her from a distance to make it seem like she's really by herself. Here's something she said in 2009 and it was really stupid From wonderwall.msn.com July 2009 (interview with Dan, Rupert and Emma. she started brown in Sept 09) In this film, Ron has sort of a stalker girlfriend. Has it ever gotten strange where you're dating people who are more interested in dating Harry, Ron or Hermione rather than yourselves? Emma Watson: "I'm dating my stalker, actually." It's dumb to even give a stalker the time or day in a magazine discussing them. It will probably embolden them by fueling whatever twisted fantasies they have in their head. If it were me I would not even mention it. In 2010 she said this From digitalspy.com November 2010, "Emma Watson has revealed that she and her Harry Potter co-stars Daniel Radcliffe and Rupert Grint used to hide from their security guards. The actress admitted that she "hates" having bodyguards and prefers to deal with the attention she receives on her own. Watson explained: "I hate having bodyguards and when we were younger, Dan, Rupert and I used to try to hide from the people trying to keep an eye on us." The 20-year-old went on to say that she now feels comfortable traveling on public transport by herself. She added: "Now it's like, 'Really, I'm fine'. I take the train and the bus and, if I don't dress up too much, I'm usually fine. Occasionally people stop me but I'd rather deal with that than not go out at all. That'd be really tragic." In her most recent interview for Elle she said this From snitchseeker.com March 2014, “So while Radcliffe reportedly rarely leaves his house without a bodyguard, Watson memorably began her college career by moving into the freshman dorm-the very definition of exposed. She lopped off her hair, appeared in a student production of Chekhov. There were moment, she says, when she thought, “I don’t know if I can do this. Or if this is sensible anymore.” But she held firm, turning down high-profile work that would interfere with her studies. “I just don’t want a life where I can’t have a life, “she says. “And so I’ve been just unbelievably stubborn about it.” ^Peculiar and then this article comes out about her hired bodyguard. Could it have been Radcliffe's people saying, "Hey, wait a minute" and then ratted Emma out? That last quote, the newer one, is of course a total contradiction from what she said about Brown before. I don't know it's that's the truth or this is some rouse to plant the idea she was heckled out of college life. I don't know but one thing is for sure I don't believe most of what comes out of this girls mouth. I'm like those towns people that had it with the games of the little boy that cried wolf. As for the stalking it's the only thing I'll give her sympathy for. I think it would suck. If it's an over zealous stan or a weirdo I don't think it's cool. If you like or even dislike her there are still lines you should never cross and that includes invading her space. She's just one fake ass actress that lives in her own head that plays make believe and makes millions off it. Then of course she complains about it and manipulates the media and her fan base to cover up "the real Emma Watson". She's a prettily weaved illusion designed to trick you. There is no such thing as the perfect person and just because she is pretty it does not make her perfect girlfriend material. Stans and weirdos please understand this.

[octothorpetopus]

Have You Ever Wished For An Endless Night?

(Rafael Barba x Sonny Carisi, 7354 words)

By minnesotamemelord on AO3 (me)

Going undercover is one of Sonny Carisi's favorite parts of the job, especially when it involves fancy parties, expensive suits, and an open bar. Plus, he enjoys the drama of a good high-profile arrest, and tonight is no different. Except that tonight, among all of the suits and drinks and criminal elite, a familiar face threatens to blow his cover.

Sonny Carisi straightened his bow tie and frowned at his reflection. He was in the second floor bathroom of NYPD's 16th precinct, dressed to the nines. He gently slicked a lock of hair into place, and the frown turned into a smile. He looked good. That was good.

"Looking good, feeling good," he muttered to himself, and exited back into the squad room. Benson peered at him over the rim of her glasses.

"Nice suit, Carisi."

"Thanks, Lieutenant." Rollins came in holding a tray of coffee cups and gave a low whistle. Sonny rolled his eyes and ignored her. "So, are you bringing the van and sitting outside, or am I on my own for this one?" Benson shook her head.

"We'll be in the van, but you won't need backup. We're just there to listen in and make sure everything goes well." Sonny nodded.

"Are you sure all I've got to do is get Goldberg on tape? And that's all I need to arrest him?" Benson squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

"Carisi, we've got his DNA and all three of the clients are willing to testify. All we need is a confession that he assaulted them." Sonny took in a shaky breath.

"Okay. I'm ready."

The case: Henry Goldberg, a remarkably wealthy criminal defense attorney, sexually assaulted three clients. Sonny Carisi hated rapists, he hated billionaires, and most of all, he hated billionaire rapists. And tonight, he just happened to be throwing a gala for Manhattan’s finest legal professionals. So when Benson had suggested a sting to take him down, he had jumped at the idea to put on a tux and arrest his new least-favorite person.

 ”Wow,” he murmured into his earpiece as he entered the nicest hotel ballroom he had ever seen.

”Act natural, Carisi. You look like a fish out of water.”

”You can’t see me.” Rollins laughed, a tinny sound through the earpiece.

”Yeah, but I just know it.” She was right, of course, and Sonny knew it, so he tried to compose himself. His normal swagger blurred into an affected strut that matched the rest of the crowd, dressed like they belonged at the Oscars. Brilliant lights lit up the front of the St. Regis hotel, but Sonny tried his best to pay them no mind. After all, that wasn't what he came here for.

The ballroom inside the hotel was no less extravagant than the exterior. Crystal chandeliers dotted the ceiling, reflected across the white-gray marble that covered the floor. Well-dressed men and women drifted between tables draped in heavy white tablecloths, sipping champagne and congratulating themselves on having boatloads of money. Sonny’s wallet felt painfully light in his pocket. To him, it didn’t make any sense how people could make so much money and still be looking for more. He liked to think that if he had that much, after he paid off his many, many loans (law school, even at night, had not been cheap), and after buying his parents a new house and his sisters everything they needed but hadn’t been able to afford, he would probably just give it away. He didn’t know what he could do with that amount of money. And yet, the wealthy people surrounding him seemed to find plenty to do with it. 

“Excuse me-” Sonny jumped. He had been so caught up in himself that he hadn’t noticed someone come up behind him until they tapped him on the shoulder. It was someone he vaguely recognized- he had been questioned, but never brought in- someone from Kubrick, Goldberg, Marx, & Associates. “Landon Marx.” He held out a big hand, which Sonny shook with just the right amount of vigor.

“Dominick Smith.”

“I don’t think we’ve met before, Mr. Smith.” Sonny grinned with practiced ease and gave the response he had repeated a dozen times in his mirror last night to burn it into his brain.

“I met Frank Kubrick at an NACDL conference last year, and we’ve kept in touch.”

“Ah.” Marx seemed to accept that with little to no hesitation. Kubrick had been offered a deal in turn for flipping on his partner, so in the event that their relationship was ever called into question, Sonny wouldn’t be caught. “Can I get you a drink, Mr. Smith?”

“I’m alright, thank you. Actually, I’ve been looking for Hank Goldberg. Would you mind giving me an introduction?” Apparently, Sonny was a much more convincing liar than he thought he was, because Marx didn’t even hesitate.

“Absolutely. I think I saw him by the bar.” Sonny trailed behind Marx, scanning the room. He recognized two city councilors, four judges, and the deputy mayor. Goldberg had webs across the entire city. That didn’t bode well, but nobody here could keep Sonny from arresting him.

“There he is.” Sonny saw a face he knew well from staring at a photo of it for the last week from across the squad room. The face belonged to one Henry Goldberg, who was tossing back scotch and laughing. A tiny red flame burned in Sonny’s stomach, but he quieted it. He just needed to wait. To watch, listen, and wait. 

In fact, he was so focused on calming his rage that he didn’t bother to look and see who Goldberg was talking to. He probably should have, he realized later, because it would have saved him a lot of trouble, but the truth of the matter was that it probably wouldn’t, because even if he’d looked, he’d still have only had about ten more seconds to process that the person that Hank Goldberg was speaking to was one Assistant District Attorney Rafael Barba, who had been suspended a week ago and Sonny hadn’t seen since. It was also probably a good thing that Sonny didn’t have a drink, because if he had, he probably would have spit it out. 

When Rafael saw him, his green eyes went wide momentarily, searching Sonny’s face. However, he was smart. Incredibly smart. It didn’t take him long to put two and two together- why would a cop be at a function for legal professionals? If he’d had to, Sonny probably could have covered it up with some bullshit about law school and Rafael would have been bored enough to take it because he just didn’t want to listen anymore. Lucky for both of them, it didn’t come to that. Rafael composed himself and smiled into his drink.

"Hank!" Marx completely ignored Rafael and tapped his friend on the shoulder. Henry Goldberg was thin, tall, with angular features and thick gray hair. If he were Italian, he could have been Sonny's uncle, maybe even his father. But Sonny wasn't focused on that. He was finding it rather difficult to be focused on anything other than Rafael. Still, he managed to pull his attention back to the real reason he was here.

”Dominick Smith.” He shook Goldberg’s hand- well, let Goldberg shake his hand.

”Hank Goldberg. It’s nice to meet you, Dominick.” He seemed to remember his previous conversation and he gestured behind him. “This is Rafael Barba.” Sonny forced a bolt of laughter down into his stomach and smiled pleasantly. He shook Rafael’s hand. Rafael was a much better actor than Sonny would have thought.

“It’s nice to meet you, Son-” His eyes went wide, and he coughed. “Dominick.” Or maybe not. He had fucked up, and he knew it. Luckily, Goldberg didn’t seem to notice.

“Can I get you a drink, Mr. Smith?” Sonny had opted out the first time, but sting operations always made him a little nervous, if he was honest, and with Rafael now thrown into the equation, he could use a little liquid confidence. If there was a little liquid luck in there too, all the better. 

“Yes, please. I’ll have a dirty martini, if you don’t mind.” Rafael raised an eyebrow behind his glass of scotch. It wasn’t Sonny’s usual order (beer- whatever was cheap enough to save his bank account but expensive enough to not poison him). 

A few moments later, Hank Goldberg handed Sonny a martini. It took all of Sonny’s self-control to not down the entire drink in one go. Instead, he took a reserved sip and smiled thinly. 

“I don’t know how it’s possible that we haven’t met before, Mr. Smith. I thought I knew all of the lawyers in New York.” Sonny managed a laugh, but it sounded like a cat being strangled. Rafael shot him a glance that seemed to say get it together before you blow it, and Sonny composed himself. 

“Well, that would probably be because I’m not from New York.” As the words left his mouth, Sonny could hear his own accent, more pronounced than ever. “Well, I’m from New York originally. Born and raised in Staten Island, but I’ve been practicing in DC for the last fifteen years.” 

“I see.” Goldberg paused as Marx leaned over to whisper something in his ear. Sonny and Rafael shared a perplexed glance. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to speak in a bit, and I need a few minutes to prepare.” Sonny and Rafael waved him off, and at last, they were left alone. Sonny opened his mouth to speak, but Rafael silenced him with a hand, grabbing his arm and dragging him through an open door out onto the hotel balcony. It was a freezing February night, and the balcony was empty. 

 “What the hell are you doing here?” Rafael hissed, wrapping his arms around himself to shield him from the cold.

“Me? What the hell are you doing here?” Rafael rolled his eyes.

“Well, it’s a gala for legal professionals, and I don’t know if you remember, but I’m a goddamn assistant district attorney, and as I recall, you turned down that job, so I know exactly what I’m doing here, but I have a number of questions for you, Dominick Smith-” His eyes went wide with realization, and he looked as sheepish as Sonny has ever seen him.

“...you’re undercover, aren’t you?” Sonny nodded.

“You covered for me, why would you do that if you didn’t realize I was UC?” Rafael shrugged. “Marx introduced you as Dominick Smith, I figured you lied to get in here.” Sonny was utterly flabbergasted.

“Why?” Rafael shrugged again. It was infuriating how much shrugging he was doing.

“I don’t know, it’s your business.”

“It’s not my-” Sonny sighed, pinching the bridge of nose. “Whatever.” He leaned against the railing and looked out over the city, careful not to drop his martini, although it would have been interesting to see what would happen to the glass if it were dropped from ten stories up. “So,” he said finally, “you and Hank Goldberg seemed cozy.”

“Oh, come on. He’s an old friend.” Sonny groaned.

“Why am I not surprised?”

“What?” Rafael smiled, but the smile dropped away to reveal pure and unadulterated horror. “You’re not- I mean- your UC operation, it’s not-”

“We got some reports about Henry Goldberg and his interns.”

“And they’re credible?”

“We have DNA, Rafael.” Rafael tapped his toe against the stone tiles lining the balcony, as if impatient, but Sonny had known him long enough to recognize this motion. It was what he did when he was thinking something through, especially something that was difficult to understand. In this case, the idea that his old friend was a rapist. 

“How did I not- how come no one-”

“You know why, Rafael.” 

“Right, I forgot that one thing I did seven years ago in order to put a bad man behind bars means I can’t do my fucking job anymore-”

“Rafael, you’re suspended for two weeks. Stop being so dramatic.” Rafael paused at the railing and then he did something Sonny wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before- he laughed, loudly and clearly into the night. It wasn’t a chuckle or a giggle, it was a full, brilliant laugh, a little raspy, a little gravelly. Sonny quite liked it.

“I am being a little bit dramatic, aren’t I?” Sonny smiled widely and allowed himself a little bit of laughter too.

“Yeah, you are.”

“You’re going to arrest Hank tonight, aren’t you?” The smile dropped off Sonny’s face, and he felt ashamed, somehow. Not that he was arresting someone who had done a bad thing- he could never feel ashamed about that. But he felt ashamed that in doing so, he had hurt Rafael, even without meaning to, even if Rafael didn’t want to be hurt by it. Sometimes hurt was nobody’s fault, but saying that didn’t make the pain go away, and so sometimes it was just better to take blame upon himself so no one else would have to bear it.

“Yeah, I am.” He saw Rafael nod out of the corner of his eye, and when he turned to face him, to his surprise, Rafael was already looking at him. There was a funny sort of expression on his face, one Sonny didn’t think he’d ever seen before. It wasn’t angry or disappointed or upset like he’d expected. Instead, there was a sort of odd… fondness there, behind his eyes.

“Look, I don’t know… I don’t know if you’re right about Hank or not. I’ll be honest, it wouldn’t surprise me if you were. But I want you to know that I’ll back you. I’ll always back you.”

“Thanks, Rafael.” Sonny’s stomach fluttered. There hadn’t been this level of affection between them in a conversation hadn’t occurred since Mike Dodds’s funeral, and Sonny didn’t want to think about that. Still, he had never been one to handle his emotions in a “healthy” way (those were the exact words his childhood therapist used), so he did the only thing he knew how to do- he made a joke. “You’re so much nicer when you’re drunk.” Rafael only smiled and looked down into his glass.

“I’m not drunk. But thanks.” Sonny didn know quite what to make of that, but either luckily or unluckily for him, he didn have to. Before he could respond, there came a squeal of microphone feedback from the ballroom.

“We should head back in. I don’t want Henry to get suspicious because I disappeared.” Rafael looked up at him, that same puzzlingly gentle expression still on his face. He appeared to examine Sonny for a moment, for what Sonny never knew, and then nodded, knocking back the rest of his drink.

“You’re right. We can’t jeopardize your operation.” At the door, he paused, as if he wanted to say something more, but he didn’t. All he said was: “Have fun doing your job. I’m gonna go get shitfaced,” and he disappeared into the crowd. Sonny made a mental note to try to dissect that entire conversation later, but for now, he had a job to do. He turned his attention to the front of the ballroom, where, on a slightly raised platform, Henry Goldberg was beginning to address the gathered crowd. 

“Thank you, everyone, so much for coming tonight. Working in law has always been a bit of a tricky business, and that’s certainly true nowadays.” There was a ripple of laughter. “Still, it’s nice to know that prosecutors and defense attorneys and judges can still be in a room together without ripping each other’s throats out. That being said, I’m watching you guys.” More laughter. Even Sonny was finding it difficult not to laugh, which surprised him. Well, it didn’t really surprise him. Men like Hank Goldberg tended to be incredibly charismatic, which was how they got away with doing the things they did for as long as they had been doing them. “So please- enjoy a drink or several from our open bar- if you need a ride home, we’re happy to call you a cab, and if you decide to do your own thing, you have my business card.” More laughter, mixed with a few “ooh”s of amused horror. “Have fun mingling amongst yourselves, everyone.”

Sonny watched him with a careful eye as the crowd dispersed. From his spot on the very edge of the room, his eyes followed Goldberg to the opposite corner, where he conversed quietly with his partners. Marx looked relaxed and comfortable. That was good. Kubrick looked nervous. That was bad. Sonny began to make his way over to them, trying to hide his desperation. He hated flipping perps to take down others, even if the others were far worse, because they were so rarely decent actors, and half the time they bombed the operation because they were too damn nervous. But if he could just get over there, he could keep Kubrick under control just long enough to get the confession he needed. 

His comms had been relatively silent until now, and he almost jumped when he heard Benson’s voice in his ear.

“How’s it going in there, Carisi?” 

“I’m getting there,” he murmured, moving his mouth as little as possible to hide the fact that he was speaking to evidently no one. “But Barba’s here.”

“What?” She nearly shouted, and this time he did jump, just a little bit. “What the hell is he doing here?”

“It’s a gala for New York legal professionals, Lieu. It’s honestly not that surprising. But he knows the deal, and he won’t out me.”

“Good.” Through the earpiece, he heard her sigh and say something unintelligible. “Just get the confession and make the collar. Preferably as soon as possible. I’d like to get home before we have to get back in.”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” he muttered, and muted the comm. “I hope I’m not interrupting, gentlemen.” Three heads shot up as he approached their small group, but Goldberg greeted him with a friendly smile. A good sign.

“Not at all.” Sonny slipped into their little triangle with a close-lipped grin. 

“So, Mr. Smith, do you work at a firm in DC or are you one of those political fellows?”

“God, no. I’m not a masochist. I’m in-house counsel for a tech company down there.”

“Is the product any good? I’m a big investor in those software companies, but I didn’t know of any in DC.” Sonny froze, coughed, and smiled.

“We’re not actually public yet, but I’ll let you know when we are.” Damn, either Goldberg was incredibly gullible or he just didn’t care enough to be suspicious. Probably the latter.

“Landon.” Kubrick tugged gently on his friend’s arm. “I think I see Judge Horowitz over there. Didn’t you say you had something to discuss with him?” He led Marx away, with one last nervous glance over his shoulder at Sonny.

“So, Mr. Goldberg-”

“Hank, please.”

“Alright, Hank. KGM is a big firm. I’m impressed.”

“Well, I couldn’t have done it without Landon and Frank. And our one hundred and thirty two employees.”

“Wow. My legal department is about seven people total.”

“Nah, man, you have to keep growing. It’s good for everything- your workload, your bank account- hell, sometimes new employees can be good for your eyes, you know?” Sonny couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Goldberg was playing right into his hands.

“I hear you. We just hired a round of new interns and- whoo! That’s all I can say.”

“No kidding. These girls that work at KGM, they’re amazing. And they love me.”

“Really? In a firm that big, they know you well enough to love you?” Goldberg frowned, and Sonny jumped to fix his own mistake. “All I mean is how do you do it? I feel like even with my tiny department, I barely know my interns’ names.”

“It’s easy, man.” Goldberg threw an arm around Sonny, and Sonny knew immediately why he was being so miraculously forthcoming- Hank Goldeberg was hammered. Wasted. Positively shitfaced. “I give them what they want…” he shrugged and Sonny tried not to wince at the overwhelming stench of alcohol. “And they give me what I want.”

“Come on, KGM’s massive. It can’t be all of them.”

“Well…” Sonny held his breath. This was it. His miracle.

And then string music his ears from across the room, and Goldberg lurched away.

“Ah, good, the orchestra’s started.” He patted Sonny once on the shoulder and walked away.

“Shit,” Sonny muttered into his earpiece. “I was so close.”

“You got this, Carisi, just keep at him.”

“I-” Sonny had lost Goldberg in the crowd, but finally located him. Unfortunately, he was dancing with a defense attorney Sonny vaguely recognized. “Shit. He’s dancing right now, there’s no way I can get him to talk.” Benson sighed on the other end of the line.

“Fine. Just keep an eye on him, and the second he frees back up, you get a confession.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sonny leaned against the wall, perfectly content to continue drinking his martini and wait. Unfortunately, that was not what fate had planned for him. And unfortunately, fate’s name was Rafael Barba. 

“This is boring,” Rafael said, folding his arms in that characteristic “too-good-for-this-shit” posture Sonny had seen nearly every day for the last four years.

“Speak for yourself.” Still, he didn’t look like he was having much fun. And then he did something that surprised Sonny more than he thought Rafael was capable for surprising him. “Do you want to dance?” He asked, holding out a hand.

“What?”

“Did you suddenly go deaf?” Sonny rolled his eyes.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Okay, so…” Rafael shrugged, his hand still outstretched.

“I- fine.” He took Rafael’s hand and allowed Rafael to tug him into the dance floor that had been cleared out at the front end of the ballroom. The orchestra was playing a nice mid-tempo waltz, and Sonny found that Rafael led with surprising grace. “You’re pretty good at this.”

“My mother made me take dance classes in middle school.”

“Weird. But not off-brand for you.” Sonny had to admit, this was nice. He liked the feeling of Rafael’s arm around his waist, his hand weighted in Sonny’s own hand.

“You know, you’re not too bad either. For someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Aw, you’re welcome.” The song ended and for just a moment, Sonny and Rafael were frozen, still holding one another in their arms. Rafael let his arms drop to his side with a start, and he cleared his throat, turning vaguely pink. “You should, uh-“

“Yep. Right.” Sonny turned around before he could make any more of a fool of himself and once again searched the room for Goldberg, who had once again relocated to the bar. Good for Sonny. Bad for his liver.

“Ah, Mr. Smith.” Despite being at least five drinks in, and aside from the definitive smell, Hank Goldberg was as composed as ever.

“I was wondering if maybe we could continue our conversation from earlier. Maybe somewhere a little quieter. The balcony’s a nice place to sit and chat.” Goldberg didn’t really respond, but he allowed himself to be led out onto the balcony where Sonny and Rafael had leaned out over the New York night only a few minutes earlier.

“Have you and Rafael met before? You looked, uh, cozy.” Sonny laughed and tried his best not to sound nervous.

“No, not that I can remember. He just seems nice.”

“I think he’s- well, you know.” Goldberg winked and Sonny repressed a gag. 

“Anyway, you were telling me earlier- your interns. How do you do it?” He tried his hardest to sound amazed rather than disgusted.

“It’s easy, Dominick- may I call you Dominick?” Goldberg didn’t wait for Sonny to respond. “Mostly, they give me what I want, ‘cause they know I’ll give them what they want. Promotions, pay raises, second chair on the best cases.”

“And if they don’t?” Goldberg chuckled and for the first time, Sonny saw a glimpse of something dark in his eyes.

“Then I take it.”

“But, I mean…” Sonny conjured a “dumb blond” expression he had perfected in high school after he’d been caught in the bathroom with a still-smoking cigarette in the toilet bowl (smoking was a habit he’d long since given up). “They’re interns. You’re one of the most powerful criminal attorneys in the city. What could they possibly have that you want?” Goldberg scanned him with deeply analytical eyes. Sonny willed him to be convinced, to just say what Sonny needed him to say so that he could go home.

“Come on, what’s the one thing young, pretty interns have to give?” Sonny just stared, wide-eyed and confused. “Oh, right, I forgot you’re-” Goldberg waved a hand and Sonny pretended to laugh it off. If he couldn’t get Goldberg to confess, he might just have to punch him in the face. Just for fun. “Sex, Dominick. Sweet, glorious sex.” 

“Ah.” Sonny blinked, as if it had just dawned on him. “So they give you sex, and you give them whatever they want. And if they won’t do it…”

“They don’t have a choice,” Goldberg finished with a sickeningly sweet smile. Sonny nodded, leaning on the railing with one hand, the other hand steadily creeping to the small of his back where his cuffs were dangling underneath his jacket.

“Right. Obviously. Well, I guess all I can say to that is-” In a flash, he whipped out the cuffs with one hand and pulled his badge out of his jacket with the other. “Henry Goldberg, you’re under arrest.” Goldberg froze. “Can you, uh, put your hands behind your back? Please?” Goldberg stammered, until he finally managed to say: “I- what?”

“Mr. Goldberg, I’m Detective Sonny Carisi with the NYPD. You’re under arrest for rape. Now, would you please put your hands behind your back so I can cuff you? Thanks.” Sonny spared a quick glance toward the doorway. No one had really noticed yet, except Rafael, who hadn’t moved. He leaned against the doorway, watching.

“Rafael, please, help me out here, man,” Goldberg pleaded. Rafael took a long, slow sip of his scotch, and shook his head.

“No, Hank.”

“Come on, you know I’m-”

“I don’t know anything, Hank. Except that I trust Detective Carisi a hell of a lot more than I trust you.” He met Sonny’s eyes and smiled imperceptibly. Sonny, holding onto Goldberg’s cuffed wrists, used his free hand to unmute his earpiece.

“Goldberg is cuffed and ready, would you guys mind pulling around the car?”

“You got it.” Several stories below, Sonny heard the purr of an engine. 

“Come on, Hank.” With a gentle shove, Sonny and Goldberg moved back into the ballroom. This time they caught some attention. “People, if you don’t move back, I will arrest you all for interference in a police investigation!” As the elevator doors closed, Sonny saw Rafael one last time, still leaning against the door, his back to the ballroom, staring out at the indigo evening sky.

Benson and Rollins were waiting outside when Sonny and Goldberg arrived.

“I got him,” Rollins said, and took his place behind Goldberg. Sonny stretched, grinned, and winked at Goldberg.

“This is entrapment. Your case is nothing. I’ll-”

“You’ll do nothing, Hank, except get in the damn car and take responsibility for you actions,” Rafael said, strolling gracefully out the front door of the hotel. “I know you know a good lawyer.” He turned away from Goldberg and came to stand next to Sonny.

“Well.” Sonny looked down at Rafael, who was already looking up at him. They held each other’s gaze for a moment, then promptly burst out laughing.

“What an interesting evening. And I thought events like these were always boring.”

“Good interesting or bad interesting?” Rafael appeared to regard Sonny for a moment with that sort of enigmatic Mona Lisa smile.

“You’re going to put a bad man away, detective. I’d say that’s about as good as it gets.”

“Carisi!” Sonny whirled around to see Rollins gently shove Hank Goldberg into the back of her squad car. “I’ve gotta drop this guy in a holding cell and do some paperwork. I don’t suppose you want to help? ” Sonny laughed and shook his head.

“I did the legwork, I think you can handle the rest.” Rollins groaned.

“Do you want a ride home?”

“My apartment’s not too far. I’ll walk.” She nodded and slid into the front seat of the car, which Sonny and Rafael watched pull out of the hotel’s driveway and into the night. Sonny groaned and ran a hand through his hair.

“What?”

“I lied. I live on Grand Street.” Rafael’s jaw dropped.

“That’s in Little Italy. We’re on the Upper East Side, Carisi.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s seven miles.”

“Yup.”

“Alright, I’m getting you an Uber-“ Rafael moved to reach for his phone, but Sonny held up a hand to stop him.

“Nah, it’s fine, I’ll walk.”

“Why? It’s freezing.”

“I’m not that cold. And I like walking,” Sonny protested.

“Christ.” Rafael pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, then. I’m coming with you.”

“Rafael, it’s over a hundred blocks. You live in Hell’s Kitchen. I can’t ask you to-“

“I’m not letting you walk that far home by yourself this late.”

“Rafael.” Sonny couldn’t help but smile. “I’m a six-foot-one white cop. I’ll be fine.”

“Sonny, we work in sex crimes. There’s literally a zero percent chance I’m letting you do this..” Sonny bit back a smile but nodded.

“Alright, fine. What’s your plan for getting yourself home? I’m not about to let you walk home if you won’t let me.” Rafael nudged Sonny with his elbow.

“I’ll call an Uber from your place. Come on.” He started off down the sidewalk, leaving Sonny behind. “What are you waiting for?”

“You’re going the wrong way, Rafael.”

“Oh.” He jogged lightly back to Sonny’s side and they set off together in the other direction.

 They walked in comfortable silence, side by side, along the dark city streets. Every so often, they would pass under a street lamp and for that brief moment, Rafael was awash in a golden glow that made him seem almost angelic. Once, Sonny could’ve sworn he’d seen a halo over his head. But when they passed out of the light, the halo was gone, and Rafael began to shiver. He wasn’t wearing any kind of jacket over his tux- he hadn’t expected to walk, of course he hadn’t- and it was cold, even for February.

“Here.” Sonny paused and slipped his wool black coat off. He held it out to Rafael. 

“No, it’s freezing-“

“Look, I told you, I’m not that cold. Just take the damn jacket.” Rafael frowned, but allowed Sonny to drape the jacket around his shoulders. It was too long for him, and he was drowning in it. Sonny bit back the urge to laugh. He had never seen Rafael look anything less than perfectly polished before. But now, his hair had been blown about by the wind and Sonny’s jacket was far too big for him. Sonny liked him like this. He looked so much more… real. 

He was actually freezing now, but refused to shiver. He didn’t want Rafael to have any reason to give the jacket back.

“So, what have you been doing?”

“Oh, you mean since I got suspended?” Rafael cleared his throat. “Sorry if that sounded bitter. It’s just that I am.”

“You’re right, I’m- shit, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I… I don’t know what to do. It’s weird. I wake up in the morning and usually I would go down to the Starbucks on the corner and then take the subway to work. But now, I wake up and I go downstairs and I get my coffee, and I just… wander. I’ve seen parts of the city I never knew existed until now. It’s insane. I went to a taxidermy museum in Queens two days ago.” Sonny snorted. “It’s funny, but it makes you think.”

“Think what?”

“That you can spend your whole life in a city and only see about a hundred square blocks.” 

“You know, I didn’t even leave New York for school.”

“Trust me, Sonny, I’m fully aware.” Sonny grimaced, but it was more of a grin.

“Anyway, all I’m saying is that we’re in the same boat.”

“God, that’s depressing.”

“Well, you’re a ray of sunshine.”

“No, I’m not. I’d just like to be in the sun, for once.” Sonny got the sneaking feeling that Rafael wasn’t being quite as literal as he often was. “It’s been a long, long time since I’ve felt the sun on my face, Sonny.”

“Me too.”

“Maybe I’ll ask the DA to extend my suspension and take a trip. Cabo. San Diego. Hell, I’ve always wanted to see Cuba.”

“I hear Havana’s quite nice in March. Care to take me with you?”

“I think we can manage that.” Their eyes met, and Sonny prayed that it was dark enough that Rafael couldn’t see the deep scarlet flush spreading from the tips of his ears across his nose and cheeks.

“We should pick up the pace of you want to get home before two.” He pretended to check his watch.

“In that case…” Rafael patted Sonny’s arm and took a deep breath, before taking off down the sidewalk. “Race you to the next corner!” He called over his shoulder, Sonny’s jacket trailing behind him like a cape. Sonny laughed and took off running behind him, his long strides allowing him to pass Rafael in a matter of seconds. He had never seen Rafael like this before, bounding down the sidewalk like nothing in the world mattered at all. “Oh, come on, that’s not fair! You’re six inches taller than me!”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

They slowed back to a walk, still laughing breathlessly, still side-by-side. A light snow had begun to drift down on them, swirling around them like white confetti.

“I hate winter on Staten Island, but winter in Manhattan… I don’t know what it is.”

“I know what you mean. When I was at Harvard, I thought I would never like winter again because Boston winters are so utterly brutal. But when I got back to New York, I had no idea what the hell I was thinking.”

“Maybe it’s not such a bad thing we’ve never lived anywhere else, then.”

“Yeah.” Rafael stopped, looking up at the sky, and appeared to consider briefly. “And besides,” he said, his words coming out stilted, hesitant, like he was taking great care with his wording. “If we left New York, we never would have ended up working at SVU.” His sentence cut off there. It sounded unfinished, and for a moment, Sonny couldn’t figure out why. Then it dawned on him- there was a word that hadn’t been said, that had simply been left hanging in the air between them: together. We never would have ended up working at SVU together. Sonny’s breath caught in his throat, and suddenly the cold that had been flooding his veins for the last twenty minutes or so melted away until the only trace was in his freezing fingertips. He mirrored Rafael’s gaze and stared straight up. The sky was the same cloudy dark gray it always was, lit up by the odd passenger jet or satellite. And yet, under the mile-thick layer of smog, among all the brilliant light pollution of the city, Sonny Carisi could have sworn he saw stars.

 Grand Street was dark and nearly empty at this time of night. There were street lamps here and there, but most of the light came from the all-night bodega on the corner. Snow had begun to gather on the sidewalk. Sonny kicked it up in bursts with every step, watching it as it whirled around their ankles, glittering in the light from the bodega. Sonny briefly considered “forgetting” to mention when they passed his apartment, but it was cold, and he didn’t want to keep Rafael out any longer than he already had. So he came to a dead stop on the sidewalk, allowing the snow to settle, his face dark, backlit by the light from his apartment building. 

“This is you?” Rafael asked, looking up at the six-story brick walk-up.

“This is me.”

Sonny swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he tried to come up with something to say. He and Rafael had never had a single moment like this, and if he let this one slip between his fingers, they never would again. “Do you want to come upstairs? I have a six-pack eating a hole in my fridge.” Rafael chuckled and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“That… actually sounds really good. But I have to be in the office early to discuss the terms of my suspension tomorrow. And I still have to feed my cat.”

“You have a cat?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s your cat’s name?”

“Thurgood.” Sonny paused.

“You named your cat after Thurgood Marshall?”

“Why not?” Sonny grinned and laughed, the sound of his voice bouncing down the empty street like an echo into a canyon. “What?”

“Every time I think I’ve got you figured out, I realize I don’t.” Rafael beamed. It almost seemed like he gave off a soft glow, and the snow resting on his hair and catching in his eyelashes made him look more angelic than ever.

“That’s my charm, Carisi.” Rafael shrugged, and Sonny’s jacket fell from around his shoulders into his arms. He held it out, but Sonny shook his head.

“Keep it. Give it back to me whenever you see me next.”

“That might not be for awhile if tomorrow morning doesn’t go well.” Sonny shrugged.

“Oh well. I have other jackets.” Rafael looked up at Sonny, puzzled.

“You’re a lot more complicated than people give you credit for.”

“...thank you?” Rafael shook his head and smirked. 

“I’ll see you… sometime.” He spun on his heel and began to walk off. There was an odd sort of afterglow left in the air behind him, one that made Sonny forget it was the middle of February, one that made Sonny feel as if he would never need a jacket again if he could just keep seeing his draped around Rafael’s shoulders.

Sonny wasn’t entirely aware of his own movement until he was sprinting at full speed down the snowy sidewalk. It was a miracle that he didn’t slip and fall flat on his face, but he didn’t, and he caught up to Rafael only halfway to the next corner.

“Carisi, what are you-” Sonny didn’t give him a chance to finish before taking Rafael by the collar (the collar of his own jacket) and tugging upwards just enough that their lips met. Rafael didn’t freeze, even for a second. He wasted no time in throwing his arms around Sonny’s neck. They stood there, intertwined, for what seemed like hours, until Sonny finally let go, panting heavily as he tried to catch his breath. Rafael had flushed a deep red, although whether it was from the cold or just simply that he was as breathless as Sonny was unclear.

“I’d offer to walk you home,” Sonny said, still holding Rafael by the collar, “but I think maybe we’d just get caught in an endless loop.”

“Yeah. Probably for the best.” And then Rafael smiled, as widely as Sonny had ever seen. He paused, his wide green eyes scanning Sonny’s face, and then he backed away, leaving Sonny grasping empty air. As he walked down the sidewalk, kicking up piles of snow, it looked to Sonny as if he were fighting the urge to skip. Sonny chuckled into thin air, ran a hand through his hair, and walked up the stairs and into the building.

 Morning flooded Sonny’s room, and he leapt out of bed, staring out the window at the street below. The snow must have fallen even heavier after he had gone inside, because it had gathered in thick, fluffy piles along the side of the street. He fell back into his bed, smiling broadly, and clutched at the bedside table for his phone. Punching in the number came as easily as breathing this morning, and there were hardly two and a half rings before the familiar click on the other line.

“Good morning,” he said without waiting for a “hello”.

“Morning, yes. Good, we’ll have to see.” Rafael sounded as nervous as Sonny had ever heard him.

“So you haven’t gone to your meeting yet?”

“No, I’m on my way in now.”

“In that case, good luck.” Rafael laughed, a tinny but warm sound.

“I don’t need luck. I thought you’d have figured that out by now.”

“Right. I forgot the great Rafael Barba doesn’t need anything or anyone.” Rafael scoffed, which made Sonny laugh.

“I might not need your luck… but it’s still nice to have.”

“You always have it, whenever you need it. I’ve got it in heaps.”

“Look, I just got to the office…” he sighed reluctantly. “I’ll text you and let you know how it goes.”

“Oh. Okay. And Rafael?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re gonna kill it.” Rafael was still mid-chuckle when he hung up. Sonny let the phone fall onto the bed next to him, and he smiled up at the ceiling. Because just like that, he had an idea, a damn good one if he said so himself. But first, he had to get out of bed. And also maybe put on a shirt.

 It was probably a good thing that Sonny had thought far enough ahead to get an extra coffee on his way. He had been waiting for over an hour, and he was almost done with his second, about to start in on Rafael’s, when Rafael finally appeared through the glass front doors of 1 Hogan Place. His face lit up when he saw Sonny, and lit up even more when he saw the tray of Starbucks cups in Sonny’s hand.

“You’re a god. A six-foot Italian god.”

“Six foot one,” Sonny corrected, and handed Rafael the one full cup. Rafael must have downed about half of it when he finally stopped to ask:

“Wait, what are you doing here?”

“Well, last night you helped me realize that I’ve lived in the city my whole life and I’ve barely seen it. So I thought I would bring you coffee and we could go out and explore.”

“Don’t you have work?”

“I promised Benson and Rollins I would babysit for them whenever they need for the next six months, so please say yes, ‘cause I have to do it either way.” Rafael nodded, and Sonny noticed he was still wearing his coat.

“Okay. Sounds like fun.”

“Nice! So, start at the taxidermy museum in Queens?” he asked as they started down the busy sidewalk.

“God no, that place was terrifying. I’ve never ridden the Staten Island ferry before, though.”

“Nice try. I’m not going to Staten Island. It was bad enough that I had to grow up there. Why don’t we start with a walk on the High Line and figure it out from there?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Rafael kept his eyes fixed in front of him, but his hand edged little by little out of the sleeve of Sonny’s coat until his knuckles brushed against Sonny’s. Sonny, personally, had enough of that slow-burn bullshit for a lifetime. He took Rafael’s hand firmly in his.

“Come on, man. Commit.” Rafael bit back a smile and rolled his eyes.

“God, is this what it’s going to be like all day with you? Because I’ll-” He turned as if to walk back the way they had come, but Sonny stopped him midway with a kiss. This time, Rafael did freeze, but only for a split second. 

“Because you’ll what?” Sonny asked, still gripping Rafael’s hand.

“You know what? Never mind.” Rafael leaned into Sonny just a bit as they kept walking. “It’s going to be a good day,” he said, like he had just had a moment of total clarity.

“You think so?”

“Please.” Rafael squeezed Sonny’s hand and laughed.. “I don’t think. I know,” he said with a wink, and he pulled Sonny down the street, both of them basking in the glow from the steadily rising sun.

It was going to be a good day.

[kaelinaloveslomaris]

Whumptober 23: Bleeding Out

I’ve had this one done for weeks, but since I was stuck on the previous one, I couldn’t post it until I’d finished that one. So I’m really happy to finally be able to share this one.

Drautos decides he’s done playing the long game and would rather take Noctis out.

Warning: this is the bloodiest thing I have ever written. Very graphic depictions of violence and injuries. And (temporary) major character death.

—

He’d stepped away only for a moment to answer a phone call, waving Gladio away when his Shield had moved to follow him. In hindsight, he’d think it should have seemed odd that Drautos had called him directly, but then the captain of the Kingsglaive had mentioned something about wanting to work with him on some aspects of his training, and he’d brushed off every scheduling attempt brought to him by Ignis.

Magic sizzles behind him, the only warning Noctis has before pain erupts in his chest. He stumbles forward with the force of the blow, gasping as the air is punched out of his lungs.

Warp strike, his brain helpfully informs him. He looks down at the point of the blade protruding from his chest, frowning at the familiarity of it. His vision swims as he registers that that is his blood dripping from the blade.

Noctis draws in an agonizing breath to scream for Gladio, but a hand clamps down over his mouth, smothering it. He catches a glimpse of red leather on the arm the hand is attached to, and he feels sick for reasons other than the sword sticking out of his chest.

Drautos, you traitorous bastard!

He doesn’t want to believe it. The man is practically an uncle, and he’s been a loyal member of Regis’s inner circle for as long as Noctis has been alive. But that is his sword and his leather jacket, and Noctis doubts anyone would go to the trouble of trying to steal or replicate them just for this.

The hand over his mouth muffles his shriek as he is pulled back farther onto the sword. His vision sparks and goes black for a moment. When his eyes focus again, his head is leaning back against Drautos’s shoulder and he is looking up into the face of a man who five minutes ago Noctis would have sworn loved him.

He whimpers, feeling the sting of the betrayal stronger than the physical pain. Tears well in his eyes even as nausea stirs in his stomach. He sobs against the hand pressed to his mouth, closing his eyes to avoid seeing Drautos’s cold expression.

Why? is the only thought in his mind. He can’t understand what would drive him to do this, and he doubts he will ever get an answer. Already he can feel the strength ebbing from him with the blood that is soaking his shirt.

The sword slides in him, a sickening drag, and Noctis grasps the blade before he thinks about it, sharp edges slicing into his hands, spilling more of his blood, but he doesn’t want Drautos to remove it. He knows his time is up the instant the sword leaves his body. He’s on borrowed time as it is.

He can taste the blood on his tongue, his throat is thick with it, and he coughs into Drautos’s hand. There’s nowhere for the blood to go, and he gags on it. He tries to swallow it, but he keeps coughing up more until he thinks he’ll suffocate in his own blood.

Noctis’s legs buckle, and Drautos lets him slide to the ground. He keeps a firm grip over his mouth, despite the blood Noctis can feel running down his chin, following him down to kneel behind him. He pulls Noctis against him, and there’s almost something intimate in the way he cradles Noctis. His other hand comes up to brush through Noctis’s hair, and for a moment Noctis wants to believe that he hadn’t wanted to do it, but there is no care in his eyes.

“Why?” he murmurs against Drautos’s hand, the pressure behind his eyes finally spilling over onto his cheeks. Drautos brushes a tear away with his thumb.

“With you dead, the line of Lucis will end and your father’s spirit will break. This war will be over, and Insomnia will be justly destroyed for abandoning the outer territories.” There’s a cold passion in his voice, bitter and harsh, and Noctis flinches. He knew Drautos was a refugee, most of the Kingsglaive are, but he hadn’t thought he held it against them.

This wasn’t a recent change, wasn’t something he or his father had done. He hadn’t been bribed or blackmailed. This was the product of a festering hate he had always harbored, and he had finally grown tired of waiting.

Noctis’s hands are cold and he can’t keep his grip on the blade. It doesn’t matter anyways. Both of Drautos’s hands are on his face, not his sword, and he’s only delaying the inevitable. Noctis can’t fight in this condition. He knows he’s going to die, but he can’t quite summon the fear he thinks he should probably feel. He’s numb, distant.

Drautos runs a hand through Noctis’s hair one more time in a mocking facsimile of affection before both hands are gone from his face. There’s a small shift in the pressure in his chest, and Noctis chokes on a scream as the blade is ripped out of him. He tumbles forward, barely managing to catch himself with his hands before smashing his face into the ground, and spits the blood out of his mouth. He’s now on his hands and knees before Drautos, but he can’t find it in himself to be concerned about his lost dignity. His would-be uncle is going to kill him, meters away from his oblivious Shield.

Noctis doesn’t have the strength to fight as Drautos rests his sword against the back of his neck. He doesn’t have time or the breath to scream. Gladio may only be meters away, but he would never be fast enough. And even though Gladio is an excellent fighter, Drautos has decades more experience and the added bonus of access to the king’s magic. Noctis isn’t sure who would win in that fight, and he doesn’t want to be responsible for anybody else’s death today.

Blood spatters the ground beneath him as Noctis tries to breathe with ruined lungs. He’s not surprised Drautos isn’t content to just let the wound in his chest take him. The man knows the limitations of a phoenix down, knows as well as Noctis does that if he goes for the head, there’s no chance of revival.

Noctis chokes on the blood continuing to fill his mouth, and he spits it at Drautos.

“I hope the Niffs kill you,” he gasps between coughs. “I hope Cor hunts you down… like a daemon.” It’s taking the last of his flagging strength to force out the threats, but it’s all he can manage in his last moments, and he refuses to go down meekly.

Drautos doesn’t respond, just raises his sword for the final blow. Noctis closes his eyes, sending a final apology to Gladio, to Ignis, to his dad, because Drautos is right, his death will destroy Regis, and waits.

But the sword doesn’t fall, and Noctis summons the strength to lift his head at the sound of footsteps in time to watch Gladio throw himself at Drautos.

He’s never seen Gladio move with such fury. His strikes are heavier, faster, and even Drautos falls back under the initial onslaught. But it doesn’t take long for Drautos to recover, and it’s obvious Gladio had the advantage of surprise.

Noctis knows Gladio barely has a chance against Drautos, and he wants to beg Gladio to leave, abandon him and save himself, because at this point, there’s not much that can be done for Noctis. But he also knows that Drautos will never let Gladio live now that he has seen his treason. The only way out for Gladio is to defeat Drautos, and as much faith as Noctis has in his Shield, he’s not certain this is a fight he can win.

Noctis’s arms give out under him, and he collapses in a pool of his own blood. He knows he should try to stay awake, that if he falls asleep he’ll never wake up again, but he can’t keep his eyes open and his vision is going black regardless. He tries to focus on the clash of steel, the heavy footsteps of Gladio and Drautos’s lethal dance, but it takes more energy than he has left.

Astrals, please, give him strength, Noctis begs. It’s all he can do, and he’s sure it isn’t enough, doubts the Astrals are even paying him any attention, but he can’t even raise his hand to reach for his phone to call for help, so it will have to be enough.

Every gargled breath is more blood than oxygen, each one weaker and more painful than the last, and Noctis isn’t sure how much time passes as his life ebbs away before he is startled out of his dying haze by the sound of a sword clattering to the ground and the slump of a body.

“Noctis!” Gladio screams his name before Noctis has time to wonder who won, and the rush of relief is painful.

Gladio is beside him in an instant, his hands in Noctis’s hair, and Noctis shies away from the memory of Drautos’s false affection. But this is Gladio, and there’s nothing artificial in the panicked way he grasps at Noctis, pulling him into his arms and wrapping himself around him as though he can shield him from death even now.

Noctis doesn’t want his last sight to be Drautos’s uncaring expression, so he forces his eyes open, but now he can see the guilt twisting his Shield’s face and he hates it.

“Noct! No, oh Astrals, please no…” Gladio’s voice breaks, and what’s left of Noctis’s heart breaks with it. His ruined hand twitches, and it takes all his focus just to raise his arm enough to touch Gladio’s face. Gladio captures his hand in his, and Noctis doesn’t mind the pain as he laces their fingers together. He’s just glad that Gladio is holding him, that he’s not dying alone.

“Don’t… blame yourself,” he murmurs. He knows it’s an impossible request, knows Gladio will blame himself for the rest of his life, but he still needs to say it so Gladio knows that Noctis doesn’t blame him.

“You’re not supposed to die before me, you idiot!” Gladio snarls. He is angry, but Noctis knows his grief and insecurity has always manifested as anger, knows that it’s not directed at him. Gladio is in pain, and it’s the only way he knows how to express it.

“‘m sorry, Gladdy.” Noctis can’t focus anymore, doesn’t know if the wetness on his cheeks is his own tears or Gladio’s, or maybe both. He can’t remember the last time he saw Gladio cry.

His eyes drift closed, and he can hear Gladio screaming but he can’t make out the words as painless darkness beckons.

~*~

He wakes with fire in his veins.

Noctis gasps, spine arching off the ground as life slams back into him, and he’s surprised when the breath doesn’t hurt. He claws at his chest; there’s still a worrying amount of blood soaking his clothes, but there’s no longer a hole punched through him. He rolls onto his side, coughing the remnants of blood out of his throat and mouth before retching.

“Easy, Noct.” There’s a soothing hand rubbing circles on his back, too small and gentle to be Gladio’s, and Noctis connects it with the familiar voice.

“Ignis?” he rasps.

“I’m here, Highness.” His voice is low and strained, but it is comforting to Noctis, and he takes a moment to rest and try to get his bearings. His entire body aches like he’s been trampled by a dualhorn, and he’s sticky with drying blood, but his body is somehow whole.

Noctis knows he shouldn’t be alive. In fact, he’s pretty sure he died, which means…

He finally pries his eyes open and looks down at his hands. The ashes of a phoenix feather still cling to his skin, and he is surrounded by the fading glow of magic. His eyes fall closed again. He’s been revived.

“Thank you,” Noctis says.

“Of course, Highness.” Ignis is still being unbearably gentle with him, as though he’s afraid Noctis will break. His hand hasn’t left his back, still a cautious pressure that is keeping Noctis grounded, but he has offered nothing more.

Noctis leverages himself up on his forearm, struggling to sit up, but he’s still weak and his arms tremble with the effort. Ignis supports him with sure hands, strong and steady despite their care, and he keeps a grip on Noctis’s shoulder until he stops swaying. Noctis appreciates the silent support. There’s no judgment in it, no condemnation or frustration with his weakness, and even just having Ignis with him helps calm the frantic racing of his heart.

It’s when Noctis finally turns his eyes on Ignis’s face that he sees all the emotions his advisor had managed to keep out of his voice. There are tear tracks down his face, and his eyes glisten behind bloody fingerprint-smudged glasses. His hands and clothes are covered in Noctis’s blood, and Noctis thinks that even all of Ignis’s skills won’t be enough to wash the fabric clean again.

Noctis throws himself at Ignis suddenly, burying his face in the side of Ignis’s neck. Ignis wraps his arms around Noctis, hesitantly at first, then tighter as Noctis clings to him.

Noctis feels Ignis’s breath hitch, and his advisor tilts his head to press his cheek against the top of Noctis’s head. One of his hands comes up to caress his hair, and Noctis stiffens, Drautos’s cold expression flashing behind his eyelids.

Ignis freezes against him, hand dropping from his hair, and Noctis sobs into his shoulder. He curses Drautos for taking away that method of comfort, a gesture Ignis has used since they were children.

Despite his flinch, he wants Ignis’s hand back in his hair, wants his caring fingers to replace the memory of Drautos’s cruel ones. Instead, they stroke down his back as Ignis honors his instinctual unspoken rejection, and Noctis doesn’t know how to ask him not to.

He doesn’t deserve someone like Ignis. Ignis, who would come halfway across the city to revive his childhood friend while kneeling in his blood and somehow remain calm enough to talk him through his first revival. Who could pick up on Noctis’s every twitch and adjust to them without letting his own emotions and desires get in the way, despite that Ignis has to be just as scared, if not more, than Noctis.

He also doesn’t deserve someone like Gladio, who would throw himself at a man he barely has a prayer of winning a fight against to save someone who was already dying.

That thought almost makes Noctis’s heart stop again, and he pulls away from Ignis.

“Where’s Gladio?” It was unusual for his Shield to stray far from his side when he was injured. If Noctis so much as stubbed his toe, Gladio would hover until he was sure Noctis was going to be fine. So if he wasn’t around when Noctis had literally died...

What if Drautos had injured him? Noctis would be surprised if Gladio had managed to fight the captain of the Kingsglaive and get away without a scratch, and with all of Noctis’s blood spilled everywhere, it is impossible to tell if any of it is Gladio’s.

Ignis’s mouth presses into a thin line. “He is cooling his head. He was nearly in hysterics by the time I got here, and was in no fit state to help you through the revival process. It is disorienting enough without a panicked Shield hovering.”

Noctis relaxes. If he had been seriously injured, Ignis would have said something.

“Does he know it was… successful?” he asks, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. There’s never a guarantee that a phoenix down will work. There are time and cause of death parameters that make it more or less likely, but never a guarantee. Noctis would not have been hopeful of his own chance, had he been in Ignis or Gladio’s place.

“Yes. I would never have been able to make him leave your side before he knew.”

His relief wars with his guilt over making them worry. He has come close to death before, very close, but he has never actually died before today. He winces as he remembers the pain on Gladio’s face as he died in his arms.

“Are you alright, Noct?” Ignis asks.

Noctis nods. The phoenix down has done its job, as far as Noctis can tell. He is breathing and no longer bleeding out. He imagines the aching and weakness will go away with time.

He doesn’t remember the experience of being dead. It is like he simply fell into a dreamless sleep and was unexpectedly awoken, but he has the vague feeling that he has forgotten something. It’s unsettling, and he doesn’t want to think about it.

Noctis stands on shaky legs with Ignis’s help, his eyes seeking out Drautos’s body. Gladio had been thorough, beheading the traitor as he had tried to do to Noctis. He knows it is practical, and exactly what Gladio should have done, and he feels a sick sort of vindication, but it still makes nausea curl in Noctis’s stomach.

He stumbles forward a few steps before he regains the feel of his legs under himself. He ignores Ignis’s concerned murmur of his name behind him and calls the Engine Blade to his hand.

He stares down at Drautos’s body, blood soaking his leather jacket around the slash across his chest from Gladio’s sword. His own sword, still stained with Noctis’s blood, is lying on the ground, inches from his still hand, the one he had run through Noctis’s hair. He contemplates it for a moment, kicking it with his toe to hear it clatter against the ground before crouching to pick it up and stashing it in the Armiger.

He stands above Drautos and tightens his grip on the Engine Blade before raising it and plunging it down into Drautos’s heart with a scream.

How dare this man claim to care about him? How dare he stand at Regis’s side, at his back, all those years and not mean a word of his vows of loyalty? How dare he hold their trust for years and drag it out and make them love him before betraying them...

Unexpected grief rises in him and he drops to his knees at Drautos’s side, tears spilling down his cheeks. He screams again, this time in anguish, and he hunches over, arms wrapped around himself, and presses his forehead to his would-be uncle’s chest. He knows, somewhere, that he should not be grieving over the traitor who had killed him, but he can’t hold back the tears.

Dimly, he hears Ignis and Gladio calling his name and their running footsteps behind him before a hand touches his shoulder. He doesn’t know which of his friends’ it is, but he shakes it off. He doesn’t want to think of their disappointment in him when they realize he is crying over Drautos’s death and not his own. He just wants them to leave him alone to mourn, to not see his weakness in the face of this betrayal.

But Ignis sits next to him and reaches out to brush his hand against his hair before stopping himself. He starts to pull away.

“No,” Noctis croaks. He grabs Ignis’s hand and then immediately lets go, embarrassed.

Ignis’s eyes are soft when he catches Noctis’s gaze. He slowly rests his hand back on Noctis’s head, twining his fingers through his hair, and watches him carefully.

“Is this alright?” he asks, concerned.

Noctis nods, tilting his head into the contact. It’s not, he can still feel Drautos’s touch, but he refuses to let him ruin this, so he will let Ignis run his fingers through his hair as much as he wants until the memories are gone.

He leans into Ignis until he’s pressing his face into his shoulder again, and Ignis wraps his free arm around him. He tries to hold back the tears, tries to tell himself that he shouldn’t be crying, but it just makes breathing painful.

He hears Gladio settle himself on the ground next to them, and he places his hand on Noctis’s shoulder, gently rubbing his shoulder with his thumb. Ignis rests his head against Noctis’s.

“It’s okay, Noct. It’s okay,” Ignis murmurs against his ear. “You have the right to mourn.”

Noctis sobs, and Ignis holds him through the tears, until they’re spent and he’s worn himself out. He’s too exhausted to protest as Gladio scoops him up in his arms, cradling him carefully against his chest, and carries him out of the alley.

[heartlessfujoshi]

xvtober day 2: royal

Title: Blending In Fandom: FFXV / A King’s Tale Pairing: RegClar/Clagis (Clarus Amicitia x Regis Lucis Caelum) Rating: Mature (PWP - NSFW - Public Sex - Magic Kink) Word Count: ~2140 Prompt: Royal 

Summary: The group head over to Altissia on an excursion, and Regis decides he wants to remain incognito for a bit. Clarus agrees, but then has regrets when the King decides he wants to do something rather adventurous. 

A/N: Here’s my next offering for FFXVtober! :) Please enjoy! 

***

Clarus looks over at Regis, and sees the cap that he’s wearing obscures his eyes perfectly, but really - it’s a ridiculous incognito disguise. Everyone should be able to recognize him, as it’s not really hiding that many features on his body - just covering his eyes, which are also covered currently by a pair of dark sunglasses. And yet - the crowd around them pays them no mind at all. Which irks him, but he tolerates it because it’s allowing Regis to do something he’s wanted to do for a long time - disappear. 

“Come on, let’s go check out the Colosseum.” Regis turns to him, the smile on his face growing. “You know you want to go and make some fun bets with me.” 

He scoffs, then shakes his head. “We’re lucky that no one is paying mind to us right now. You are going to be tempting fate if we go into a very public place such as that.” He avoids calling him ‘Majesty’, and by his name. If he uses either, people nearby might be listening in and attempt to do things they shouldn’t. “How about we continue to wander around Altissia?” 

“You’re such a spoil sport, Clarus.” The King sticks his tongue out at him, then turns back towards the crowd and begins to walk towards one of the connecting bridges. 

Regis is right - he is a spoilsport but when he has to maintain anonymity, it makes his job a lot less difficult if they keep away from large places. They had arrived in Altissia two nights ago, and while yesterday had been spent touring the city as King and Shield, Regis had gotten it into his head this morning that he wanted to go explore the city as if he wasn’t who he was. Clarus strongly disagreed, but then when Cid joined in and said ‘Reggie should be able to do what he wants’, he had no choice but to agree to the idea. 

They had been traveling across the Lucian country, and taking a boat to Altissia had been last on their agenda. It was meant to be a relaxing time, and it might be for Regis, but for him? It was anything but relaxing. Clarus looks around, following behind Regis to make sure that no one gives them any second glances because then that would cause problems, problems which they should be avoiding but with Regis dead set on wanting to be a ‘commoner’ for the day it makes the probability much higher than normal. 

“Let’s go to the bar.” Regis turns to him, and reaches for his hand. Clarus stares in shock as he feels Regis’ fingers lock with his own, their palms touching in a way that sends heat rushing through his body. The last time they’d held hands in such a fashion had been in the throes of passion the previous evening, Regis moaning his name into his ear as he scratched an itch for Regis that only his body could provide. “I’m thirsty.” 

“You’re insane.” Clarus comments, but follows Regis all the same. They approach one of the gondola stations, and get into a boat. They sit side by side, their hands staying joined together. Again, no one pays them any attention - everyone seems to be preoccupied with their own daily lives to give much thought to the two of them. 

The bar is quiet for this time of the day. There are a few patrons, leftovers from the lunch hour. Clarus orders them a bottle of wine from the bar, then goes to where Regis is standing, looking out towards the harbor. “Are you enjoying yourself?” He asks, as he sets the two glasses down, and pours from the bottle he’s brought over to the table. 

“This is freeing in ways you can’t understand.” Regis nods his head, then picks up the glass. “A Bordeaux?” Clarus nods his head. “You remembered?” 

“It’s my duty to remember what you like.” The words ‘Your Majesty’ stays on his tongue, Clarus catching himself before he announces it to the world. “Are you hungry? Should we order an appetizer?” 

“I am very hungry, but I’m afraid my appetite won’t be settled by anything offered here.” 

He feels his face heat up at the very blatant sexual comment - again, not something that the King would normally say to him, but since Regis is not the ‘King’ right now, he’s taken liberty to say whatever he wants to Clarus. And it’s having a profound effect on him. Wine sloshes out of his glass and onto the back of his hand, Clarus staring at Regis with a dumbfounded look on his face. “You wanted to come here. Would you prefer if we headed back to our hotel?” 

“I want to do everything I can today.” Regis turns his head away, looking back out at the water. “I know that things will have to go back to the way they were tomorrow, but for now - this is nice.” 

“I understand that. But if you’re suggesting that you have a particular craving that can’t be found here, I’m saying that maybe it would be best if we retired for an hour or two to get that body of yours fed properly.” He takes a long sip of wine, trying to calm down his nerves as he would never in his right mind speak to the King in such a way. But since Regis isn’t the ‘King’, he can act as he wants. Within reason, of course. 

Regis looks over at him, a smirk curling up on his lip. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, Clarus?” 

“It’s either that, or we find a private alley - which we both know are in short supply here.” He can feel his pulse beginning to race. “Or, we continue on with this farce so that you can have a nice day.” 

“Farce.” The laugh that leaves his King’s mouth makes him hold his wine glass a little tighter. “You are having as much fun as I’m having. Don’t deny it.” 

“If I could relax, I would say that yes - you are correct. But I’m monitoring to make sure that no one knows who you are.” 

“If we were doing this in Insomnia, we wouldn’t be able to get away with it.” Regis lowers his sunglasses, beautiful blue eyes staring right into his soul. “We’re far away from that reality, friend. Embrace it. Live a little.” His wine glass appears in front of Clarus. “We may only get to do this once.” 

“Once is enough.” He mumbles, but raises his own glass to tap it against Regis’. “Tell me if you get that itch. You know it’s my duty to-” 

“Duty, hmm?” No sooner than he’d said that he instantly regretted it. “Is that how you feel when we bed together?” 

Clarus looks away, and shakes his head. “No, of course not. But you know what I was trying to say. Don’t twist my words around, Reggie.” 

“Ah, finally.” Regis sets his glass down and claps his hands. “I was wondering when you would actually say my name.” 

“You’re being difficult on purpose.” Clarus rolls his eyes, but is happy to see Regis is smiling. “Yes, alright. Maybe I have been avoiding saying it, but no one is around right now.” 

The King nods his head. “Precisely. Enjoy yourself. Please. Don’t make me beg, Clarus.” 

“But you look so nice when you do.” He hits back at him, a smirk on his lips. He sees Regis’ cheeks darken, pleased to see that he got him to blush so beautifully. “Fine, let’s have a little fun.” 

They finish their wine, and take a gondola over to the docks. Regis takes his hand again, and Clarus isn’t at all surprised when they find a private little corner that no one seems to be coming near. He pushes the King up against the wall, standing close to him as he would allow himself, his knee fitting between Regis’ thighs as he leans upwards to press a kiss to his lips. Tongues roll, breaths are exchanged as they keep themselves quiet tucked up against the wall. He feels Regis sink down onto his thigh, his knee staying bent to give him the leverage the King needs to rub himself in a sexual manner. 

Breaking off the kiss, he stares up at him with a wild look in his eyes. “Hotel.” 

“Here.” Regis pleads. “R-Real quick…” 

Clarus knows he can’t argue because he’s as desperate as the King is, needing his own itch scratched. He drops to his knees, and gets Regis’ cock out of his pants, quickly putting his mouth over the tip before it can be exposed to the world. He moans low as he tastes the first few bursts of precum touching the back of his tongue, Clarus all but slurping on the thick flesh between his lips. He feels Regis’ hands touch his hair, and soon feels little shocks of thunder magic coursing through his scalp, his eyes rolling back as he palms his crotch in a poor attempt to keep himself from getting off. But the more Regis humps his mouth, the more aroused he becomes. More magic hits his scalp as he feels the King begin to come, his throbbing cock jerking within the space of his mouth, Clarus gulping down the cum with a deep moan. 

Pulling himself off of Regis’ cock, he is quick to tuck it back into his slacks and stares up at him with swollen lips. “Hotel.” 

“Please…” 

Now it’s his turn to grab the King’s hand, locking their fingers together as he drags him through the streets, and takes him back to their hotel. Once they’re in their suite, Clarus pulls Regis to the bedroom, and is quick to take off all of the King’s clothes, then his own. They lie together, Clarus quick to get his cock ready, and then buries himself into the tight heat of his King’s body. 

“Regis…” He moans his name freely, pushing his cock in and out, the tightness of Regis’ body squeezing the ever living daylights out of his cock. “Gods, Regis…” 

“Yes, Clarus…” Fingernails rake down his back as he slams his cock deep inside of Regis’ body. It’s not yet five in the afternoon, and here they were - having a quick go as they both needed it. 

He gets the King to come again after a few hard thrusts, and a few quick pumps of his hand on Regis’ cock. As he feels him come, he drives his own cock hard into Regis’ body, moaning low against his neck as he spills his own orgasm deep inside of him. It takes him a few minutes to return to this plane of existence, his breathing slowly returning back to normal as he feels Regis’ arms hang loose around his body. 

“Thank you for tolerating my experiment today.” Regis says to him, after he’s gotten the both of them cleaned up. They stare at each other in bed, both laying on their sides looking at one another. “I haven’t had this much fun in years.” 

“Yes, well - consider this a gift. It won’t happen again.” 

“I think it might.” Regis winks, then leans forward to kiss Clarus on the lips. “Come on - we should head back out. I’m sure Cid and Weskham are wondering where we are.” 

“It will not.” Clarus speaks firmly, not at all interested in letting Regis entertain the idea that something like this could happen again. “You had your fun. Now to return to normal, Your Majesty.” 

“Fine, of course.” The King kisses him again. “Come on. I think I want paella again tonight.” 

He sighs, and gets out of bed with him. “Very well, Your Majesty.” Picking up his clothes off the floor, he gets dressed and leaves Regis alone while he takes a shower. 

They meet the other two down in the lobby, everyone looking refreshed after a day off. “What’s on the menu tonight?” Cid asks, as they walk out of the Leville together. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” 

“His Majesty wants paella.” 

“Again?” Weskam turns to look at Regis. “We had that last night.” 

“And I want it again.” No longer wearing sunglasses, or a hat to hide who he is, Regis holds his head up high. “We’ll go someplace that has an assortment.” 

“Sounds great, Reggie.” Cid comments, then laughs. “Let’s go, gentlemen.” 

Clarus walks with them towards the restaurant they’d eaten at the night before. He can see that Regis is more at peace than he had been prior to their excursion out. Maybe letting him get away with pretending to not be the King might be beneficial to all of them. Clarus won’t ever admit that out loud to Regis, though. No, he knows better. 

XxX

Cross-posted to AO3

[gwiiyeoweo]

What Regis believes to be Noctis speaking for his imaginary friend, turns out to not be so imaginary after all.

Pairing: Noctis & Ardyn, Noctis & Regis, Regis & Ardyn Rating: G

"Daddy, can my friend sleep over?" 

Noctis peeks out from under the cover, eyes threatening to resort to his infamous puppy dog look. The boy already has his fingers toying with the top edge of his blanket, like they're little paws instead of hands, and his lower lip is ready for that little soft quiver. Even under the dim glow of his carbuncle-shaped night light, Regis can easily see the wet glassy look of his baby boy’s blue eyes. 

Cor really needs to stop teaching his son these tricks. Horrible influence. 

"Hm," Regis starts, rubbing a hand at his beard. "They can stay as long as they want, so long as they pay the rent. A prince's room does not come cheap, after all."

Immediately Noctis turns that woeful look into a bright pearly smile, his shining eyes no longer threatening tears but radiating genuine joy. He also scoots to the far end of his bed to turn half his body upside down, torso hanging over the edge as he peers into the darkness beneath. 

"Dad says you can stay!" Noctis excitedly whispers to the dust and crumbs under his bed. Or maybe to a stuffed toy. He hefts himself back up and returns to position, wiggling into a comfortable spot smack dab in the middle of bed. 

Regis should make it illegal for any child to be that adorable; it makes him want to clutch his heart and keel over, and Insomnia really can’t afford to have their king die from such unfortunate circumstances at the moment. 

But then Noctis hits him with some fancy wording. "He said he accepts your conditions and will provide proper compensation."

Regis lifts his brows a little at that. Has Noctis secretly been hanging outside his office, or did his governess decide on an accelerated vocabulary curriculum? Regis isn't sure if he should be impressed or concerned. 

Well, kids do tend to say the darndest things anyway. But Noctis doesn’t give him anymore surprises after that, just the usual demand for a goodnight kiss before getting tucked into bed. And Regis can’t quite say no to any of that.

“Hey, dad.”

“Yes?”

“My friend wants to know when he has to pay the rent. For staying in my room.”

Regis was putting away the last of Noctis’ toys into a chest when he looks up to see his boy clearing off the scraps of colored paper and crayons from the floor. With how brazen Niflheim’s become, the war just requires all the more attention and effort from the king; before long, he fears it may soon end up being days before he can even have a little short lunch with his own son. So now, whatever scant time he has, he pours it all upon Noctis, even if that means playing make-believe and acting along to a child’s nonsensical imagination and getting crayon shavings in his beard. 

It’s still adorable though. Especially how Noctis remembers the little “deal” they made with his imaginary friend. 

“Ah, let’s see…” Regis lifts his head up and stares at the ceiling, tapping a finger to his chin as he feigns deep thought trying to remember the week’s schedule. “I do believe I have a nine o’clock opening in my office. Would your friend like to drop off payment then?”

He’s only half serious, curious to see what form of payment Noctis will conjure up, if any. Another drawing to add to Regis’ precious collection, a snack or cookie baked up with the help of their many capable chefs, or maybe a shiny beetle found in their gardens. Hopefully nothing poisonous. Though Regis would accept it with all the same gratitude. 

“Umm, okay, I’ll tell him later,” Noctis answers back, eyes still drawn to his clean-up duty. 

Ah, probably “later” when Regis tucks him into bed. He wonders, briefly, what shape or form this friend comes in — probably Carbuncle-shaped, given his son’s affection for it.

“Noctis!”

“Hi, daddy!” Noctis swivels around, immediately dropping the soccer ball he’s been kicking against a tree and running up to his father. “Did you get the rent?”

Regis has his hands turning Noctis this way and that, searching for any and all signs of damage or wear or blood. His boy just giggles, thinking it’s a game of sorts with the way his father has him spinning around, but Regis is silently screaming inside with panic. 

“Ardyn said he left it on your desk.” Noctis says it with such a chip in his voice, that it’s almost comical.

When Regis had walked into his office this morning with his faithful cup of Joe — in a lumpy ceramic mug crafted by his dear son — it was with the innocent assumption of completing some paperwork and chatting with Clarus over a few pedantic details regarding a couple new bills. 

And not, say, approaching his desk to find a polished platter and cloche waiting for him. Regis had smiled into his mug at that, figuring it was the promised “rent” Noctis — rather, his imaginary friend, of course — mentioned. A little cake, or perhaps breakfast, he had thought.

Not the decapitated head of Iedolas Aldercapt, emperor of Niflheim who’s hellbent on conquering all of Lucis. 

Ex-emperor, now, actually. 

(The head had been surprisingly lacking the mess of blood, he’d later realize.)

But right now, he needs to make sure his son was safe. Granted, there had been no screams of panic or trails of blood, no emergency calls or messengers to rush secrets to him. Even Clarus or Cor, often the first and foremost to report anything awry to him, had been off doing whatever their regular Shield and Marshall duties entailed. Clarus would, of course, naturally gravitate toward Regis’s side once he discovered where his King actually went. And Cor would hunt him down to update him on the list of new Crownsguard recruits and who had actually passed the trials. 

As far as they both know, Regis is supposed to be finishing his cup of coffee in his office but! Strangely clean-cut head of Lucis’ enemy on his desk!

‘On my desk,’ Regis remembers, as he’s done patting down Noctis and the boy looks sick of his prodding now. It clicks, but he’s almost determined not to believe it. He gently places his hands on Noctis' shoulders, trying his best to not appear too grave as he looks into innocent eyes. ‘Where his friend’s rent is supposed to be.’

Well, shit.

“Noctis,” Regis barely manages without choking, “you said your… friend? Left his, ah, rent? On my desk. Do you know what it is?”

Noctis only shakes his head. “No, Ardyn just said it should help with all the fighting outside. He wouldn’t tell me.”

At least that’s something to feel relieved about. Despite knowing his son would have to one day take up the crown and all the world’s burdens surrounding it, he would like to shield his son from it all until he could no longer; a child at Noctis’ age had no business handling, let alone knowing about, a corpse’s head.

Regis sighs and lets his hands go slack, finally releasing Noctis to pinch at the bridge of his nose. There's a hundred and one questions swirling in his head, and each one just adds to the aching pressure in his skull. 

"Ardyn!" 

Regis whips his head up and around, eyes trailing after Noctis sprinting to some particularly shady trees where a tall man emerges. His boy wraps his arms around the stranger's waist, essentially latching onto him like a (freakin' adorable) leech, and the man humors him with a few gentle pats to the head. 

Regis almost mistakes him for a homeless man, mistaking his ornate clothing for rags. His attire is… Unique, to put it in kind terms. Still, odd fashion or not, Regis keeps his guard up, ready to strike at any moment should he feel any threat, magic thrumming just underneath his skin in anticipation. 

"Why, hullo there, Your Majesty." The fellow — Ardyn, according to Noctis — takes his hat off with a flourish and a deep bow at the waist, but the smirk he wears lacks the sincerity and reverence he pretends to hold. "Will my payment be sufficient for the month's rent?" 

Regis has so many questions he doesn't even know where to start. 

So naturally, the first thing that comes out of his mouth isn’t a question at all, though his tone could almost mistake it as one. “You’re not imaginary.”

Ardyn, with his ever-widening (and shit-eating) smile, knows. “I am very much real, Your Majesty.”

Noctis was sent off with hardly a fight, thanks to Ardyn’s bribery. 

“Alright, you little rascal, scamper off to your room now. I’ve left a shiny little present on your bed,” he had said. Noctis didn’t need to be told twice, dashing off and nearly running into a manservant. 

It earned Regis and Ardyn an hour to sit in the office, the silver platter hiding a lifeless head all that separated the two. And it’s a riveting hour: ninety percent of it being Ardyn fluttering his hands and speaking in a fanciful tongue about who he is, what he’s done, and what he will do; ten percent of it being Regis doubting all that he’s believed so far, including what his father and his father’s father has told him and what outlandish claims the Ardyn fellow spieled. 

Ardyn, as in Ardyn Lucis Caelum, by the way. Which only served to throw Regis into another absurd loop.

This great ancestor — the Scourge, Adagium, the Fellstar, whatever — reaches over the desk and helps himself to Regis’ cold mug of coffee, twisting his face into a grimace after a sip. “For a King, one would think he’d care for better beans.”

“One would think the King would not be sharing coffee with someone as you.”

“Ah, touché.” 

“You can’t truly entertain the idea that my trust is to be had so easily.”

“I don’t.” Ardyn shrugs his shoulders, the mug nearly sploshing cold coffee with how carelessly he holds it. “There’s really nothing, aside from myself, stopping you from trying to imprison me back in Angelgard. Or wondering if this is all some scheme of me attempting to worm my way into your good graces, to earn your faith only to trod upon it at the end, delivering darkness everlasting upon this good Star. And I really would prefer you to kindly not try to stick me back into that dusty old crypt.”

Regis only eyes him with suspicion, lips straightened into an unamused line. But despite Ardyn’s terrible personality and ill-timed humor, his gut tells him that Ardyn speaks at least some truth, that this dangerous embodiment of darkness and plague may very well prove to be an invaluable ally. Regis is loathe to admit it, but… he’s already trying to come up with some cover-up story to throw to the council on who Ardyn is and why some strangely-dressed fellow is suddenly leisurely strolling around the Citadel, inevitably with Noctis glued to his heels.

Ugh, that’s a strange image: Noctis clinging to his destined enemy like a curious puppy.  

But Ardyn continues his babbling, setting down Regis’ prized mug back on the desk so he has both hands free to do his dramatic gestures, flitting them in the air and making exaggerated motions. “You see, I’m a stubborn man of sorts. Very stubborn. When a god decrees I abide by his will, to make myself the world’s villain only to let myself die in the end, well — I must say, that sort of thing simply does not sound like a jolly good time. This is me, as the young ones like to say, sticking it to the man.”

Regis glances at the platter, the closed cloche hiding the ashen face of Aldercapt, when he shoots back a dry retort. "Or sticking it to the man's neck." 

"O-ho! So you do have a little humor. Glad to see some of Somnus' drab qualities were bred out." Ardyn claps his hands in joy before reaching his hand out, over the desk and above the platter. "I think we'll get along splendidly, dear nephew. "

Hm. Yeah. Ardyn is definitely not gonna call him nephew around these parts, or the best case scenario is a scandal regarding an ancestor’s infidelity. 

Regis eyes him warily, as if the hand could strike him as does a viper. "Upon your word, you will do no harm to my son or my kingdom. And you would wait upon Noctis' final days, when his hair grows white and his eyes weary, to take your last breath upon this world."

"Oh, must I have everything in writing for you? Shall I sign my name in blood while I'm at it? I'm sure there's some old magicks we can find to swear this oath on, if you're feeling so insistent." Ardyn gives a heavy eye roll. "Yes, Your Majesty, I do so swear. Besides, while I look forward to my day of rest, there is just much to do! Being locked up in a prison for so many centuries then becoming trapped in a perpetual winter steals so much of one's life pleasures. I really would like to visit that famous chocobo ranch Lucis speaks so fondly of. I once had a bird myself, a rare black beauty; and Niflheim, unfortunately, has no such feathery creatures."

Regis extends his hand, albeit just a tad begrudgingly, to shake on their agreement, but he hears a familiar pitter patter outside his door that only grows louder and heavier. 

Noctis bursts through the door, glimmering with a faint blue and smelling of magic; he must have warped his way to Regis' office, running in between each shot to save on stamina. 

The father in him wants to feel pride at how quickly his son has picked up their family tricks, but the other father in him zeroes in on the very large, very sharp thing in Noctis' hands. It's nearly as tall as the boy himself. 

It takes Regis a second too long to realize Noctis holds no ordinary sword. 

It's the Sword of the Mystic. The fucking Mystic. 

"Dad! Dad, look at the sword Ardyn got me!" Noctis nearly topples over trying to lug the thing around, barely avoiding chopping his little leg off. 

Sword who? Ardyn what? 

"How many does that make now?" Ardyn asks, looking as if everything is right as rain. He smiles — something like amusement, something like fondness — when Noctis screws his face up in concentration and a dim shimmer spreads from his hands to the entirety of the sword. 

And poof, the blade disappears in sparks of white and blue. 

"Uhhh. I have a bow, a shield, and a stick." Noctis counts them off on his hand, pulling one finger up for each weapon he lists.

"Scepter, little Noctis."

"Okay."

“Stop right there.” Regis butts in, standing from his seat and circling around the desk to Ardyn. It’s not much, but at least some of his anxiety disappeared when the sword did, the threat of his son slicing off a finger or a hand no longer an immediate threat. But he pauses to look at Noctis, breathing out a weary sigh, and shakes his head. “No, Noctis, not you. Not literally. You may move.”

Noctis unfreezes, who stood ramrod still with his arms in the air when Regis gave the order to ‘stop,’ and lets his hands fall back to his side. He looks ready to vibrate with excitement, no doubt ready to chuck out his newly-acquired sword and start swinging it around. And probably chase Gladiolus down with it, if his past week’s grumblings of “Gladio’s always picking on me!” and “One day I’m gonna beat him up!” are anything to go by. 

‘Oh Six, ’ Regis thinks, ‘how do I begin to explain this. ’

But before he thinks of a cover-up story, Regis has some very choice words to share with Ardyn, none of which are meant for little young ears. So he picks his old, forgotten mug of coffee and hands it off to Noctis, tasking him with a simple enough errand while he picks some bones with Ardyn. “Noctis dear, could you get your father a new warm cup of coffee?”

“Oh! Do bring me one too, little scamp,” Ardyn butts in, despite having complaints of the coffee earlier. 

Noctis totters off, kindly closing the door behind him before gunning it to the kitchens, and Regis hears the tell-tale stomping and the crackling chimes of their family magic.  

Regis hopes the chefs would do him the favor of distracting his son with some freshly baked cookies, because he’s going to crack open the book of scathing tongues and dip Ardyn in boiling words by the time that coffee is brewed.

It occurs to him after he tucks his son into bed, after Noctis asks if Ardyn can stay in his room again. 

“Please tell me that you have, in fact, not been living under my son’s bed this entire time.” Regis asks, though he almost doesn’t want to hear the answer to that. 

“Oh heavens no!” Ardyn looks aghast, splaying his hand across his chest like he’s been affronted. 

Regis wants to believe him, as the idea of a middle-aged man hiding underneath his boy’s bed makes for an uncomfortable image indeed. 

So of course, Ardyn has to ruin it when he opens his mouth again. “Not the entire time. Though your servants could put a little more care into tidying up his room; it is a bit dusty under there.”

[square-enix-headcanons]

Headcanons for chocobros + Luna, Ravus and Ardyn when they see their crush dressed up all fancy and sexy for the first time ~

Yay I get to do Trash Jesus! :D

Noctis

Not quite sure how to react

He didn’t even know you were coming! Regis just told him that he should attend, but Noct hadn’t asked who else was supposed to be coming. He’d assumed it was just the normal formal stuff

And then you show up and look absolutely amazing!

Obviously he likes how you look, but like… How do you say that to people??

“You look… Nice.”

Wow good going Noct… Not like I’d be any better

He tries to make his words sound better, like “Uh, I mean, you look great”, but it’s still pretty obvious he isn’t used to… That

Noctis would like to believe it’d be easier if you were a couple rather than you just being his crush, but honestly… He wouldn’t. He’d stumble over his words just as much.

Prompto

Noctis asked him to come along to some official stuff he had to attend

Neither had any idea you’d be there. But then Prompto sees you and his brain just:

asdhjkhfaldasg!!!!!!

Look. He knew you were amazing and great and beautiful but

He is still completely stunned. His brain just does the equivalent of a keysmash, and for a moment, he just stares at you

Then he remembers that staring is weird, especially if he doesn’t say anything

“Wow, you look amazing!”

He definitely wants to take a picture of and/or with you - Then blushes when he notices that he didn’t just think those words, but that they actually slipped out

So so so happy if you say yes!

If he’s especially bold that night, he might even ask you if you’ve brought someone else, obviously hoping to hear that you didn’t

He probably still isn’t quite brave enough yet to ask you out, though he really wants to

Ignis

He asked you out, so he’s nicely dressed up himself

And he obviously isn’t surprised you’re dressed up, too

(Of course he’s still happy about it!)

He smiles and compliments your choice of wardrobe

While he’s very good at being composed, if you pay attention, you can still see that he’s really happy about it

After all, you chose to make an effort for the date and, by extension, for him, so it’s probably safe to assume that you at least somewhat care about him

Gladio

You had asked him out on a date to a nice restaurant, so he knew you’d be dressed up

He’s very impressed anyway, but at least he’s not at a loss for words

“Wow, you look even more amazing than normal.”

(Gladdy is wearing a suit, so he looks very nice as well)

It’s a great evening

Gladio is a bit more gentlemanly than normal, but that doesn’t stop you and him from some friendly banter

Luna

It’s a complete coincidence that you meet

Luna was travelling in her role as an oracle, and you just happened to have gone to the same city

Neither of you knew the other would be attending the party, since neither of you was even aware the other was there in the first place

She spots you first and comes over

“You look beautiful tonight.”

She’d love to spend the evening with you, but she can’t ignore that part of her responsibility is to talk to several different people

Still, when she can, she is by your side and talking to you

(She’d also take your hand if you let her)

Ravus

Ravus invited you to attend a royal ball with him

You’ve spent a lot of time together beforehand, but this is your first “official” date

When he sees you dressed up, he’s stunned

(Luna has to elbow him to snap him back to reality)

You’re just so beautiful he has trouble handling that

Once he’s done being stunned, he finally manages to walk up to you and offer you his arm; he does know how to be a proper gentleman, after all

Ravus is a great dancer, and will definitely dance with you if you want to

He’s kinda annoyed that he frequently has to leave you to attend this or that official business, and probably neglects a few things to spend some more time with you

Yeah, he’ll have to catch up on that tomorrow, but just for tonight, he’d prefer to be by your side

Ardyn

Ardyn knew you were invited to this ball, too, and was already looking forward to seeing you dressed up

And then you enter

He smirks

He definitely likes what he sees

“You look absolutely ravishing, my dear.”

He gently takes you hand for a hand kiss, and in general decides to use all his charme

And as much of a jerk he may be, that’s a choice he makes - He’s perfectly able to be a gentleman, he just chooses not to

Except for tonight. Tonight, he’s the best gentleman you’ve ever seen

Ardyn may have lived long enough to not be intimidated by something like this, but that doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate it

[archonssun]

Don't Take it to Heart

Chapter Twenty

WC: 1196

Pax felt … warm. She nuzzled closer to the warmth, breathing in the smell of lavender and sunshine. Letting out a pleased sigh, Pax’s arms wrapped around the warmth, feeling something tense beneath her fingertips.

Astrals, this is nice…

A laugh broke into her thoughts, and she frowned.

“Shut up,” she groaned, curling closer to the warmth. Gods, did it feel like sunshine in the summer. It made her nostalgic -- and homesick for Insomnia. What she wouldn’t give to be able to --

“I’m sorry! I can’t!” Noct’s voice caused Pax to crack open her eyes, not processing the patterned fabric in her face.

“I said shut up, you selfish prince!” she growled, closing her eyes once more. But, try as she might to go back to sleep, she just couldn’t, and eventually she sat up, rubbing at her eyes.

“I fucking hate you, Noctis,” she mumbled, not noticing the arms wrapped around her waist until she tried to get out of bed.

What the--

Any thoughts Pax might have had ground to a halt when she saw the mop of blond hair. She could practically hear her body grinding to a stop as she tried to process what she was seeing.

“You guys’re too loud,” Prompto’s voice was husky with sleep as he sat up. Just like Pax, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes before frowning at the others. “I was having a nice dream, too, dammit…”

***

The drive to Cape Caem was utter torture for Pax. As she was seated between the two biggest assholes of the group, they teased her relentlessly. Meanwhile, Prompto could only watch as she was subjected to the combined efforts of Noct and Gladio. It caused a frown to come to his lips as he spectated; he wanted to do something, say something to get them off her back, but nothing came to mind.

When they reached Cape Caem, Pax was beyond thankful. Being stuck between Noct and Gladio for hours would be enough to drive even Ignis mad, and the car had barely come to a stop before she was jumping from it and racing to the house.

Prompto watched with a frown, wanting to go after Pax but not being able to make his body move.

“Gods, it's fun messing with her,” Gladio’s peal of laughter made Prompto frown. His eyes turned hard as he glared at the Shield, but he quickly turned away when he heard a screech coming from the house.

Prompto was off like a shot, racing through the trees and tall grass, not once stopping until he was at the steps of the house. Bursting through the door, his eyes widened at the sight that met him.

Pax was being smothered by Iris and Talcott. Both of their faces were split in a smile as they hugged Pax, only letting go once she began tapping on their backs.

“Can’t … breathe …” she mustered. She gulped in large amounts of air when she was let go, grabbing hold of the table in an effort to keep herself upright.

“Fucking hell,” Pax ground out, glancing at the two kids in mock fear. But her look only made them erupt in laughter.

Pax sighed as the laughter died down, then felt something on her back. Looking up, she met Prompto’s ocean eyes.

“You good?” She nodded in response, and he smiled. The sight made her heart stop.

Gods, you really are like sunshine, Prompto…

***

“Remember those ain’t your bodyguards. They’re your brothers. Trust in ‘em, always.” Cid’s words stuck with Pax, even long after they left from Cape Caem towards Altissia. It hadn’t been two seconds after he said this that his eyes met hers, and he quickly tried to amend his statement to accommodate Pax. if he was being honest, he had forgotten that the girl was there with how quiet she had been.

“It’s fine, Cid,” she had said with a smile. She didn’t hold it against the man that he had forgotten she was there. Hell, she wasn’t even supposed to go on this journey to begin with, but King Regis had talked her into going.

Maybe I should have fought against Regis. I should’ve fought to stay in the Crown City. Maybe then, I could've helped Nyx -- could’ve helped my king. I’m a Kingsglaive, after all. Well -- since the king was dead, I probably wasn’t any longer… 

But now, as she was staring out at the water, she couldn’t help but frown. Had she not accompanied the boys, she probably would have died in Insomnia -- with Nyx, King Regis, and the rest of the Kingsglaive.

Dammit, I shouldn’t have taken Regis up on his offer! I should never have joined the Scientia family! If I hadn’t, then maybe I would have died with Nyx! I would have died with my family, and he wouldn’t have been all alone! Fuck…!

She didn’t pay much attention to her surroundings as they entered Altissia, only moved her head when a man asked for their permit. She couldn’t even remember when they passed through customs and walked around the city. She only snapped out of her daze when Camelia Claustra approached them in Maagho. But she still didn’t follow anything that was said between the First Secretary of Accordo and the King of Lucis.

What would have become of me had I stayed in Insomnia? Would I be dead now? Would I have been able to escape the Fall? Would Nyx or King Regis be alive right now?

Then, as the retinue entered The Leville, Pax was ripped into the real world. Standing before her was the woman she had seen back at The Disc, the one who had spoken with her when she had -- allegedly -- died.

There’s no doubt about it; this is her … Pax’s eyes went as wide as saucers as she gazed at the woman, not noticing Umbra at her side. The hair is the same, clothing is the same -- fuck, even her mannerisms are the same … Why is she here?

“Gentiana?” Noct’s voice made Pax flinch. She hadn’t realized she was staring at the messenger until Noct had spoken up, and now Pax slunk away, going to stand behind Ignis. She wasn’t hiding -- no, she was just trying to get as far away from that woman as possible. Pax just didn’t trust her, but she couldn’t figure out why.

Maybe I should have stayed dead...

***

Pax had settled down somewhat, that much Prompto could see. Ever since they had started sailing to Altissia, he had noticed she was out of it. She didn’t talk at all during the boat ride, nor when they were walking around the city, nor when Noct was speaking with Camelia. It was strange how quiet she was, and it worried the blond.

“Hey, you good?” Prompto watched as Pax flinched, clenching her hands in her lap. When she nodded stiffly, Prompto frowned. Then, he grabbed Pax’s hands and pulled her to her feet. 

“Prom, what--”

“Come on, Dove. We’re going out for a walk,” he smiled, and she stopped fighting, just letting him drag her out of the hotel and around the city.

[ragewerthers]

Raising A Shield

Summary: The adventures of one tiny Shield getting lost in the Citadel

A/n: This is for a prompt from my friend @bgn846 for our F3S! She wanted little Gladio getting lost and finding Cor to help him and this instantly stuck in my head!

You can also read on AO3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20945588

Happy reading! :D

Word Count: 2728

-------------------------------- “This way, Gladiolus.  You said you didn’t want to be carried so you have to make sure you keep an eye on us, okay?” Clarus reminded gently, making the six year old rush to catch up to his Father and the King.  

Gladio had just been looking at a really pretty plant that smelled like his mothers perfume.  The lady who had been watering them had said they were Sylleblossoms and if Gladio remembered correctly they were one of his Mommy’s absolute favorites!  Though she liked all sorts of flowers.  That’s why he was a Gladiolus.  A tough flower!  Tough flowers didn’t need to be carried.

Puffing out his chest as he drew closer to his Father he nodded.  “I’m too big to be carried!  I gotta stand guard with you for Uncle Regis,” he said as he marched to stand beside the King, narrowing his eyes in a way very much like his Dad’s to make sure to scare off bad people.  Once his scan was complete he looked up to his Uncle who seemed to be trying to stifle a sneeze.  At least that’s what Gladio thought as the man covered his mouth and excused himself.

“Bless you,” Gladio said with a bright smile before looking at his Dad and noticing the way he was smiling at him.  “I’m doing good?”

His dad chuckled and nodded.  “Yes.  You’re doing a fine job.  Keep making sure, Uncle Regis doesn’t get in trouble.  He seems to be able to do that when he doesn’t have his Shields here to watch over him,” he warned, giving the King a little look.

Regis gasped at the accusation making Gladio giggle a bit at the surprised look.

“Clarus!  I have never gotten in trouble in my entire life!” he tried to argue as they all began to move down the hallway again, Gladio’s little legs working to keep up with his Dad and Uncle’s.

“Oh?  Then what about the time you managed to walk into a pond?  Or the time you trapped yourself in your offices?  Or the time…,”

“That’s not trouble!  That’s just… bad luck,” Regis grumbled, making Clarus laugh as they continued on the way to the King’s offices.

As the adults continued to talk and Gladio followed, he couldn’t help taking in everything that they passed.  There were always so many interesting things to see in the Citadel!  It’s why he enjoyed coming here with his Dad so much.  There was always something new and fun to see!  He needed to learn about all of these things so that he would know the Citadel as well as his Dad did!  That way he could be the best Shield for his Uncle and for Prince Noctis.

His thoughts of being a mighty Shield were interrupted as he glanced to the side and saw a giant painting hanging on the wall.

Instantly his attention was grabbed and he paused.

The painting showed a noble king, seated on a throne and surrounded by his most trusted friends.  To his left, there was the place of the Shield.  This man wasn’t like his Dad.  He wore a mask and his hair was longer and white, but he still looked really tough.  He was probably a really, really good Shield then.  He was going to have to ask his Dad about him.  Maybe he could even make a scary mask when he got home later!

“Hey, Dad!  Who is this Shield?” he asked, pointing to the painting and turning to his Dad… or… to where his Dad had been.

Gladio’s smile faltered a little and he looked around the now empty corridor.

“Dad?” he called, his little voice echoing into the hall, making it feel like he was talking into the mouth of a giant cave.  “Daddy?  Uncle Regis?”

Once again he paused, but no voices came back to him.  Maybe they were playing hide and seek with him?  Walking forward a few more steps, Gladio peeked his way around the corner of the hallway.

Nothing.

A little spike of fear managed to wiggle its way into his chest, but he frowned and shook his head.  He was a tough Shield!  He could find his Daddy and Uncle Regis without getting upset.

He began to make his way along the hallway, trying to remember if a particular plant or painting looked familiar and always finding himself taking another turn… then another… and another.  There were a few times where he passed a couple of people, but none of them seemed to pay him any mind.  A few of them even almost stumbled over him on their way to wherever they were going.

One particular man was more than a little upset with him.

After pausing in a hallway to try and figure out if he should head back or continue forward, Gladio found someone practically running into him and only managed to stumble out of the way in time before the man tumbled and fell onto the floor.

The man looked around absolutely bewildered, trying to figure out what had disturbed his phone call that he’d been so invested in.  As soon as he caught sight of the small child he glowered and began to get up, dusting off his once neat suit.

“You little brat!  What are you doing just standing there?  Don’t you know to stay out of an adults way?” he growled and Gladio backed away slightly.  He knew he was supposed to be brave, but… but this man was so angry!  He tried to glower like his Dad would when he had his fighting face on, but it only seemed to make the man more angry.

“You can’t talk to me like that!” he countered, and that seemed to set the angry man off again!

“I can and I will!  Get out of here, kid!” he shouted and took a step forward.

Gladio knew he should’ve been braver.  Should’ve held his ground like his Dad would’ve, but… this man was so angry and so scary and he didn’t know where his Dad or his Uncle was, and, and, and....

He knew he had to get away!

Before the man could get too close, Gladio turned on his heel and ran down the hall, unaware of what the man was shouting behind him as he took one corner then another, tears gathering in his eyes from frustration and fear.

Where was his Dad?

Why hadn’t he been found yet?

Was anyone looking for him?

What if no one ever found him again?!

He ran and ran until his legs felt like they were going to fall off, all these questions running through his head.  Until…

He heard it.

A familiar growl of a voice echoing down the corridor as he ran past a slightly open door, stopping him in his tracks.  His eyes widened in realization and he doubled back, peeking through the a jar door and trying to find the person who was speaking.

That’s when he spotted him.

“Keep your eyes up and shoulders squared, Atlia!  If you get caught holding your weapon out like that in battle the Nifs won’t hesitate in making an advance!  The last thing you want is to be taken out by someone as easy as their banner holder shoving his pole up your a-AH!”

Cor Leonis had been trained from an early age to anticipate any and all possibilities in war, to always be onguard and aware of what was going on in his surroundings.

None of his training had prepared him for a terrified six year old to come barreling into his legs at mach twelve speeds and almost taking him out.

After gaining his bearing and stopping himself from falling face first onto the training hall floor, Cor glanced down to see the trembling form of his godson.

“Gladio?  Gladio what are you doing here?” he asked, still trying to reconcile that the boy was here.  He glanced toward the door to see where Clarus was, but when no Shield was forthcoming he couldn’t help looking back down at the poor kid.  “Where’s your Dad?”

“I-I don’t know!” came his muffled reply where Gladio was hiding his face in his Uncles knee, his little hands clinging to his trousers.

Cor’s brow furrowed slightly as he tried to reconcile this, but his ears picked up on some mumblings in the back.  

The training hall was filled with a group of recruits and them seeing the Immortal almost taken down was definitely something they’d be chattering about.  He didn’t miss a few comments and snickers about a child almost taking him down and he instantly turned to face the room at large.

“Is there something funny about a child in distress that I’m missing?” he growled out, his tone instantly quieting the hall, his eyes still scanning the group.  After a few moments he turned his attention back to the boy who was now hiding behind him though was now curiously looking over all of these other people.

“Why are they looking at us?” Gladio asked quietly and Cor couldn’t help smiling a bit before nodding.

“Good point, Gladio.  Why are they looking at us when they should be doing their drills?” he asked loudly enough at the end that the recruits took it for the warning it was.

Soon enough the training hall was back in action with everyone resuming their exercises lest the face the wrath of Cor.

Gladio watched everyone starting up again and looked up at his Uncle.  “They all listened to you,” he said a bit awestruck, making Cor chuckle as he looked down at his godson.

“They better.  I’m training them to become better fighters for the Crown,” Cor explained, watching as Gladio mulled this over in his head.

“Did you train Dad?” he asked, quirking his eyebrow a bit and this time Cor snorted with a laugh.

“No, pipsqueak.  He’s a million years older than me,” he joked, getting a little giggle out of Gladio before continuing.  “But speaking of him, how did you end up here without him?” he asked, watching as Gladio ducked his head a little shamed and hid back against his knee.

“I was lookin’ at a picture of a scary shield and Dad and Uncle Regis left me behind,” he said, knowing full well he should’ve heeded his father’s advice and followed them instead of wandering off.

However, Cor knew better than that, but decided to play along for now.  Gasping slightly he raised his brows in mock shock.

“They did?” Cor asked, ducking down and carefully removing his leg from Gladio’s grasp so he could pick him up.  

As soon as Gladio was in his arms, the little Amicitia wrapped his arms around his Uncles neck and hid against him, peeking out to watch the recruits now and again when he heard a clash or a bang.

“Mmhm.  Then I ran into a scary man who yelled at me so I ran away.  Then I heard you and I knew I’d be safe!  Dad told me that if I ever need help to find Uncle Regis or you,” he said with a little nod, finally leaning back to look at his Uncle, a little smile playing on his lips.  “And I did!  Now I’m safe.”

Cor felt something in his chest tighten to hear that and he couldn’t help but smile a bit more.  “Yeah, pipsqueak.  You’re safe.  Now… why don’t we call your Dad and let him know that too, okay?  I’m sure he’s turning the Citadel upside down looking for you,” he said as he started toward the edge of the room and toward his own duffle bag.

Gladio’s eyes still remained on the recruits training in the hall, watching as various weaponry was used from daggers to swords to polearms.  His eyes widened when he saw someone using a greatsword and he instantly pointed at it with a bright smile.  “That’s gonna be my weapon!” he chirped happily as Cor set him down so he could grab his phone out of his bag.

As the Marshal glanced over and took in what Gladio was looking at he couldn’t help chuckling a little.  “Is that so?” he asked, sending a quick text to Clarus that he had Gladio in his care and where he was at.  It took only a few seconds before a message came through that they were on their way.

Gladio nodded, bouncing a bit where he stood as all his fear disappeared with his Uncle Cor nearby.

“Yeah!  Dad uses a greatsword so I will too!  And I’m gonna be like ‘hiyuh!’ and ‘take that’!” he cheered, pretending to slash through the air with an imaginary sword in hand.

Cor couldn’t help another chuckle as he watched his godson.

“I think you’ll make an excellent fighter, Gladio.  Now… do you think you can stay out of trouble while I look after the recruits?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir!  Uncle Cor!” he said, giving his Uncle a little salute and making Cor narrow his eyes playfully.

“That’s Marshal, pipsqueak,” he warned as Gladio giggled again.

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

Rushing into the Citadels Training Hall, Clarus looked like he’d aged another million years.  Regardless of Cor’s reassurances, he couldn’t get to the hall quick enough.  Regis was right behind him, still trying to make his own reassurances, but the idea that Gladio had been wandering and could’ve ended up anywhere or with anyone was still enough that he would be having nightmares about this for awhile.

However, as he burst through the doors to the training hall he found himself pausing, his eyes trying to reconcile what he was seeing.

The recruits had been lined up and were going through a few drills with their respective training weapons… one particular little recruit toward the front looked like all of his birthdays and Christmas had come early.

Gladio had a small wooden dagger in his hands, enough to make it seem like his own personal sword and he was trying to follow Cors orders as the Marshal made his ways up and down the lines as he shouted orders.

“Front face!” he shouted as they all moved in sync, Gladio following and adding a little slash of his dagger sword.

“Right face!” Cor shouted again, the recruits once more moving together as Gladio turned the wrong way and giggled at his mistake before turning the right way.

By this point Cor had made it to him and looked at the tiny recruit, crossing his arms.

“You need to learn your lefts and right, okay, soldier?” he asked, narrowing his eyes that held no anger and only fondness regardless of his stoic expression.

“Yes Uncle Cor!” Gladio chirped, smiling brightly up at the man.

Cor quirked and eyebrow at that and crossed his arms over his chest.  “What was that recruit?” he growled playfully making Gladio laugh more.

“Yes Uncle Marshal Cor!” he corrected quickly, making Cor fight back a smile as a few recruits already started to chuckle and break composure at the spectacle of their newest member.

Regis couldn’t help laughing as Clarus stood there with his mouth open.

“I think you may have found a new babysitter for Gladiolus,” he joked as he clapped Clarus on the shoulder, bringing him out of his reverie.

“I… I suppose so.  Is he really making my six year old son run drills?” he asked as Gladio accidentally thwacked Cor in the shin with his dagger sword, making the man yelp and Gladio laugh hysterically.

“He is… and it looks like he needs the practice,” Regis joked.

Clarus rolled his eyes at that.

Gladio made to turn around as another order was given and seen his Father, instantly waving at him and in his excitement inadvertently thwacking Cor once more in the shin.

To his credit, Cor was able to keep any curses from crossing his lips.

“Really?  I think he’s doing a fine job,” Clarus joked back, a bit of the tension leaving him.

“Look Dad!  I gotta sword!” Gladio yelled across the training hall, the excitement rippling off of him practically visible.

Perhaps it wasn’t so bad getting lost?

Now all he had to do was see if he could make that scary mask when he got home… for the next time he found his way to the training hall!

[chaniters]

Five Colored Warriors!

Well, Now I have most of the elements in place! This is really a lot of work!

Hope you enjoy it!

Spoilers for fallen hero!

____________________________________

The blue-skinned operators worked feverishly, handling the controls expertly in a unified motion

A few of them were constantly placing small flags over a large table shaped like the entire United States. Most of it was blue, but a stain of red flags was slowly creeping to the southern, Northern and Eastern areas starting in San Francisco.

The gate opened letting in the dark clad man, Doctor Blitz. The operators and soldiers saluted him raising a fist as he strode along, not paying them much attention. He stopped in front of an elevated control station. The figure sitting on the large chair behind it it had her back to him, as she listened to reports from her underlings.

"Grand Director!" He said raising his fist. "I return from my mission. Los Diablos has fallen to the Great Mutant Scorpius!"

She waved the regenes away, and the chair turned to him.

Regis had an amused expression. "Of course it did. They never had a chance against my superior planning. But tell me, Doctor... If it has fallen, then where are their rangers?"

Blitz looked down uncomfortably. "I am sorry... reports are conclusive, they weren't killed by the blast... We believe someone teleported them away at the last moment.They have gone into hiding... but they were no match for our forces"

"Ohh... Teleported you say?" she exclaimed "Only our forces control that technology... Who.. who could have created another teleportation device?"

"We don't know Regis. But we're looking into it right now... We will find them, and destroy them!"

"You don't know..." she repeated. “You don’t know...” And then, in a single swift gesture, she pointed a decorated techno-staff at Blitz. The device emitted a loud buzz, sending over a red stream of lighting, shocking him instantly. Blitz shrieked in pain, falling over and squirmed painfully all over the floor. The regenes looked at him, clearly terrified until the sizzling beam died off, Regis finally deciding it was enough punishment, a cruel glare in her eyes.

"Fool! Is crucial that we find this new enemy! And those rangers should be dead by now... I WILL NOT tolerate this kind of failure Doctor!"

"I'm sorry Grand Director!" he cried painfully "We weren't expecting it! I had them surrounded when..."

"NO EXCUSES!" She said brandishing the staff against him... but she didn't fire this time. She looked startled for a moment… The light on the control room changed, as red light came forth through the ceiling. The hint of a smile crept into her expression.

"You are in luck Doctor Blitz... the apocalypse force itself speaks to me"

"Oh" Blitz bowed down in awe.

"It gives you a second chance Dr. Blitz. Defeat the rangers. Find the teleportation device.  Do this, and your failure will be forgotten"

"Y... yes! I will not fail you again, great Regis!" he said submissively.

A regene quickly took a red flag and placed it decisively over another city.

"It seems Doctor Terror has just taken Las Vegas" she smiled. "Hurry your plans, Doctor. I would love to have a red flag over Los Diablos too."

"Of course! Of course!" Blitz spoke hurriedly "Scorpius will find them, and take them out!"

"Good. You know how I always hated projects going behind schedule..."

"I will not disappoint you!"  he said raising his fist once more.

"Go then" she dismissed her,  turning her chair back onto the screen.

He turned quickly and was about to cross the entrance before she spoke again without turning.

"Oh and Doctor Blitz"

"Yes, my Regis?"

"Fail me, and I'll feed you to the Apocalypse force myself"

He swallowed hard, before leaving, the gate closing behind him.

...................................................................................

"Stay still, will you?" Mortum seems less annoyed than you expected at having the rangers over. You guess his criminal nature loses meaning under this invasion.

You nod and do as he says as he goes on to change the bandages over your wounds. Ortega just walks away at the reminder of your tattoos. Herald's just staring while Argent and Steel have a hushed talk over at the table as Ortega joins them.

"You're a bit unpopular right now, I guess?" he says with a soft smile as he notices you glancing at them.

"Heh...That's putting it mildly," you say flinching as he applies disinfectant

"Well, look on the bright side"

"There is a bright side?"

"Indeed. Now, you don't have to convince anyone that the Special Directive is the enemy"

You raise your arms for him to wrap up the large gash on your chest. So tight.

"Convince them... What's the point now? They're out there toppling the government and taking over city after city."

“Jealous?” He asks managing to make you laugh.

Herald is watching the news. You stopped paying attention a good twenty minutes ago. Apparently, San Francisco's ranger team was killed in action and the city's fallen to this "Apocalypse force" giant monsters. The same thing in Vegas, except the city center was turned to rubble for the second time after the big one when Gigas tried to grow to the same size of the monster they sent there and fight it out only to be killed after good hour rampage. San Diego is still contested.

The army attempted to take the fight to the enemy, but Regina answered by unleashing a barrage of biological warhead missiles over to small towns over to the east Heartland causing thousands of casualties and spread of horrible plagues and diseases. Ever since then, they simply stopped their advance and have been fortifying the border defenses. The West coast is basically on its own and ripe for the taking. A cushion to protect the eastern heartland.

Mortum is looking at the rangers too... he seems focused on Herald and Argent mostly. You know that look and give him and inquiring stare but he just smiles.

"That's it, you're good to go. I'll be right back. Going to get some drinks for everyone"  

"THat's..." you start, but he's already gone. "...very considerate"

Steel raises from his chair and walks up to you.

Crap. Now he's going to tell what a piece of shit you are... how you're going to jail after this is over and...

"Cyrus…  how are you doing?" he asks cautiously.

His mind isn't particularly indicative of deception. He honestly wants to know how are you coping with the new injuries.

"Uh... it's nothing serious. Probably a few new scars" you say looking at your bandaged self. "Not like I was planning to go to the beach anyways" you're too late to stop your own joke...

"I see how that could be a problem" Is there the hint of a smile on his lips?. You shift on your seat, starting to freak out. Is he trying to be friendly?

"Uh... sorry. That's just a joke? I was following up on what you said and..."

"I get it Steel." you stop him. "It' just we don't joke often...

"No. We do not"

"So why start now?" you ask.

"What, can't you read my mind?" he shoots back.

That's more like what you're used to receiving from him.

"I could If you want." you send the words directly into his mind. That just freaks him out. You've never been so direct to him, and you're enjoying each second.

"Don't do that!" he asks

"Fine. Anyways, reading isn't as easy as you think though. It takes a while."

"So you don't know what i'm thinking?"

"I know you're trying to be friendly, but why you want to be friendly is a very complex question. I'd rather you tell me honestly."

He seems to chill out with that. "Sorry... it's just... I think I finally get you?"

"Oh," you say lifting your gaze to meet his "Yeah. I guess it's the first time you see my cards on the table"

"Well not all of them... But I can see where you're coming from"

"Yes.. you can"

“By the way, Ortega’s thankful that you pushed him out of the way… he just needs a bit of time to be able to say it”

“I’m getting the silent treatment… Don’t blame him. I’d be surprised if he ever speaks to me again.”

“Just some time, is all.”

“If you say so…”

"So, how come you're not riding giant beasts and trying to take over the country for the Regis or the Apocalypse Force?"

"It's not Regis... her real name is Regina... And she's the Director of the Special Directive. And the Apocalypse theme is new. They were perverted and evil when I escaped, but taking over the world wasn't on the menu. I have no idea what happened"

You can't help look at Argent and Ricardo behind him. He says a few rushed words at her, then stands from his chair giving you a brief glance and storms towards the other room.

Argent seems exasperated. She stands and walks up to you, sitting over the smaller couch.

"Well I tried, but he's really upset"

"He just needs time," Steel says.

“Well, we don’t have time. He should get his shit together already!”

"What were you trying to do?" You ask

"Get him to talk to you again, genius. He's been mourning your death since before I knew him, you were always this big mystery. THen you come back to life, and all hell breaks loose, and then here you are with all the answers and..."

"... and he doesn't want to talk to me" you sigh.

"Of course not, because you're a really shitty friend, you know that right?" she says "You sent him to the fucking hospital just so you could break your own statue. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I don't know... everything?" you say sinking on your couch.

Mortum walks from the kitchen handing everyone beer drinks. He notices Ortega's gone, heads over to Herald who thanks him for the glass. Mortum seems next to him and they start talking. Ugh. His flirting is so obvious. The tone he's using... you've heard him before... You just shake your head.

"Can you tell us your story?" Steel asks. "It'd be really useful to know what we're up against right now"

"Sure" you offer. You never expected anyone to ask you about this in a way that didn't involve torture or trauma. "But I have no idea why they've rebelled against the government"

"Anything you know will help"

"Ok... let me... think about where to start" you ponder. You glance at the door behind which Ortega disappeared. But he's not coming back right now. Oh well...

And so you start telling your story...

At some point, Herald and Mortum move closer so they can hear too. It takes a long while for you to tell the whole thing. Steel stops you with some questions ever so on, and doesn't rush you. Herald looks at you with a sad expression, the hero he believed in breaking to pieces in front of his eyes as you go over the years of torture and enslavement you endured. Argent claws dig marks into the table at some parts of it. She really doesn't know you that well but hearing how the farm truly works is enough for her to hate them with a passion apparently. Mortum keeps bringing fresh drinks, and finally some tea as you finish your story.

Everyone stays silent as you finish. Herald has some tears running down his cheek ... and Mortum's there to pass him a tissue of course.

Finally Argent decides to break the silence.

"Wow. You're really fucked up, Cyrus" She sums it up with her usual grace.  

"I am"

"It's horrible" Herald lets on.

"Thank you for that" Steel says rubbing your arm.

Wow. He's being honest. He truly cares about the shit you went through. Unexplored ground for you, and you're not sure how to react.

"I'm sorry. I should have told you... but I was just afraid you'd..."

"Hand you over to the government and you'd be tortured again, I get it" Steel completes the sentence for you. “But the villain thing… THat, I still don’t understand…”

"I was confused! Shouldn't have targeted you guys but... that museum... Seeing all the statues just... I don't know. I couldn't stand it. I just wanted to destroy the past… gain notoriety and then fight against the farm... and Now I'm too late... This is all my fault."

"Hey!" Argent snaps her fingers in front of you "Snap out of it! You couldn't fight the Special Directive all by yourself"

"I don't know... I should have found a better plan... I should have..."

"Cyrus" It's Herald this time. "She's right. There was no way."

"Are you hearing this?" Mortum says focused on the TV

"What do you mean?" You ask squinting at him.

“The president just announced a full pardon for any powered criminals that help deal with the Apocalypse force”

“What seriously?” you ask watching the screen as the president goes over a press conference.

“Yep. And that includes regens that switch sides, Cyrus.”

You cross your arms and lean back. "It's too late to know... not like we can do much from here now"

“Oh, I think there’s a lot we can still do,” Mortum says "We can take back the city, and get rid of the Apocalypse Force. ISn't that what you always wanted?" he asks putting his glass aside.

"Can't you see what's going on? We're not an army! We could barely escape because you saved us last time!"

"We don't need an army"

"Is this friend of yours also crazy Cyrus?" Argent asks.

"I'm not crazy! And I believe we can take them down"

"That's Impossible," Herald says sizing him up and down.

"I am Dr. Mortum! And Impossible is what I do!"

"Oooh, now I get it... you're the one handing him his evil gadgets" Steel speaks giving him a distrustful look.

"Evil is a strong word Monsieur. In any case... I am interested in helping the Rangers out"

"So you're just doing this for the pardon? IT's a bit too risky, isn't it?" Steel asks.

"Let's just say I have ... hmm.. many crimes that need washing up. Even more than our fallen hero friend here. It would be on my best interest"

"Wait wait wait, just how do you propose to take them down?" Ortega asks, standing next to you all.

"I'm glad you asked," he says with a smile.

....................................................................

"THe power of Nanites is unexplored! Where others see a blunt weapon of mass destruction, I see a tool to construct a new world!"

"But nanites are dangerous!" Steel complains

"I've completely reprogrammed and redesigned them! The new batch just constructs thing! It doesn't even have a deconstruction setting"

"Let me get this straight" Ortega interrupts. "You want us to use these boxes full of dangerous Nanites you invented..."

"Henshin Bracers. The Nanites are not dangerous. And I didn't invent the bracers, they're already used by special forces in Japan" Mortum corrects him word by word.

"Thank you for the corrections... So, as I was saying, you want us to use the scary nanite device to deploy untested combat armor, battle the enemy, and then use it to create giant robots"

"Battle Titans"

"Yes, yes sorry. Does anyone else think this is insane?" Ortega, he asks the others. The Henshin bracers lie on the table in front of him.

Silence.

"I'll take the pink one," Argent says, simply walking over and taking her new bracer

"WHAT?"

"Oh, you think I'm not feminine enough? I like pink."

"No no... I mean... you're seriously going to use that?"

"Science guy is sure shady, but he saved us from being vaporized by the giant scorpion-thing. I’m going to trust him for now" she smiles at Mortum.

"You just can't..."

"Yellow" You turn. Herald walks over and fetches the second bracer standing by Argent.

"Excellent!" Mortum grins.

"Daniel you don't know what you're..."

"Then I'll take black," you say walking up and fetching one for yourself and taking your place. No way you're going to miss fighting the farm, injured or not.

Chen simple walks over, looks at the two remaining bracers and takes one as well. "Red for me..."

He turns to Ricardo, standing on his own "It's honestly our only chance."

“Seriously?”

You know the true reason he wants nothing to do with it. He had nanites covering his whole body during the nanoswarm. He can’t admit it, but he’s scared of them.

Reluctantly, Ortega goes over and takes the last one. "I guess I'm sticking with blue then."

"Are you getting one too?" You ask Mortum

"Didn't have time to make more than Five... " he ponders "But you should familiarize yourselves with the controls"

All of you examine the bracers.

"They are easy to activate... you just need to..." He starts explaining

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

"Stand back Mr. Governor!"

He hid, behind the historic governor's chair. The security service agents drew pistols aiming at the locked doors. This wasn't supposed to happen to him. Not to cherished governor Jace Bern… first, that lunatic threatening the gold reserves… then a whole invasion.

"Proximity alert! They're on the other side!" Everyone of them took positions, waiting the crucial moment... until the door blew up in pieces unleashing a torrent of Apocalypse soldiers.

The firefight was intense but brief. Several soldiers fell but were quickly replaced, and it wasn't long before the agents started falling one after the other.

"This is madness!" he cried trying to crawl away. An agent tripped and fell on him, his chest smoking from energy impacts. "SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT!" he cried trying to go through the corridor behind him.

He heard the footsteps and knew they were coming for him. He wasn't going to go like this... he had fought in the war.. he turned and took the fallen agent's gun then pointed at the soldiers. Seven of them. all pointing at him.

Well... now it was over...

"Hold" a dark figure walked into the room, as pieces of the wall fell over from the explosions. "Governor Bern..." he says "...I like your spirit."

"Dr. Saito?" Harding asked in disbelief while pointing his gun at the large figure.

"I go by Dr. Blitz now..." He said giving another step

Harding closed his eyes and fired. *BANG!* One shot... *BANG!* ... after another... *BANG!* ... as he started screaming at his enemy. *BANG BANG BANG click click click*

He slowly opened his eyes, and Dr. Blitz was still there, holding a palm to him. The bullets he fired were floating, inmobile, in front of him, surrounded by a dark purple energy field.

"As I said... I like your spirit. And I am in a forgiving mood" he said closing his palm and releasing the bullets, which fell to the floor, harmless. "You're going to be working for us Governor. Before you know it" he said waking the remaining distance as Bern kept pulling the trigger of the empty gun. Finally, his hand took the gun from his hand, and Bern stepped back in fear.

"You won't be needing this. Take him to one of the reconditioning center. Kill everyone else." .............................................................................

You walk through the mansion's ground, droves of apocalypse regenes still combing the area for stray soldiers. A few of them come straight at you.

"Who are you?" he asks pointing his energy rifle.

"Infiltration cuckoo unit. I bring news for Dr. Blitz" you answer calmly.

"Prove it" He barbs back.

You take off your shirt, showing your tattoos. They nod slowly.

"Clear," they say as they walk away.

Now, this is one trick you never thought you'd be using. Your tattoos are your best defense right now. Regen conditioning means they're not easily manipulated. You'd have trouble dealing with more than one or two at a time, even with your increased powers.

You walk to the door... just in time. A group of them is bringing the Cabinet members and the governor outside. A small truck stops nearby  

You time your walking right and...

The driver comes off the vehicle, hands you his hat and you take his place. You push him into entering the manor and looking for something that he lost. It should take him a good half hour to realize that he doesn’t know what he’s looking for.

You can't help notice he has your same hair. You probably share some DNA. He must be one of your many cousins. But he’s blue.

As they load the prisoners on the truck, the intercom on your ear activates.

"Well done. WE'll be waiting by the hill outside. Mortum is ready with his teleporter.  Lower your hat if you hear me"

You do as Steel says.

Saving politicians. Ugh.

But you can't let them take the state so easily. You've got to start somewhere, and Bern is a leader who can probably help organize a resistance, or so Steel thinks. Also, if he's alive he can pressure the Eastern government into sending help.

You start the engine and slowly take your truck towards the gates. Everything's going smoothly...

No. No, something's wrong. The soldiers are fixing on you. One of them's calling Dr. Blitz... he's telling him to stop you...

Your telepathy gives you fair warning before the alarm actually sounds. You have a few seconds...

Fuck.

You step on the gas and accelerate. The guards at the gate jump to the sides as you run it through.

You hear gunshots.

"Coming in hot!" you yell at the intercom.

Shit...

You take a sharp turn, and soon enough you meet up with steel and the others.

"They are coming!" you yell

"I know!" he ushers the prisoners out and gives them the teleporting beacons.

"What the hell is going o..." Harding says as he banishes.

"All hostages are out...!" Mortum announces through the intercom. "Good to finally meet you Mr. Governor! I didn't vote for you but..." his com closes finally.

"They're coming...  It's time for payback!" Steel says standing at the front.

You nod preparing your Henshin bracer. Everyone does the same...

"RANGERS! There's nowhere to run!"  You see Dr. Blitz and his soldiers approaching with motorcycles and trucks as they surround you.

"I’ve been waiting for this! Exterminating you will restore my status with the Regis!"

"NANO RANGER FORCE POWER!" You all shout pulling the levers on your bracers.

The colored nanites surround each of you, instantly generating your combat suits from thin air.

Luckily Mortum allowed you to customize them a bit.

Yours is black with some teal lines, for old times sake. Steel's is bright red, with some white linings and extra armoring. Argent's Silver and Pink, she really spent some time fine-tuning the colors. Herald's is yellow and gold and he added a wing motif to the shoulders. Ortega's blue and white, with lightning details.

You all perform Katas, ready to act as a coordinated team, showing them fierce fighting stances. An excess of colored nanites blows out behind you, forming distinct colored explosion -Red, Blue, Black, Pink, and Yellow- that startles the enemy.

"What Is that supposed to mean?" Dr. Blitz asks surprised

"It means that your days are numbered! Surrender or face us!" Steel threatens him with an aggressive posture.

"Wearing fancy colors won’t change the outcome! Kill them all!!" He orders his minions.

"So be it!" Steel says sprinting forward.

Your team charges onto the incoming enemies.

The suit's power is impressive, to say the least. It points out your next target, lets you know about threats and automatically balances your every move. And you are stronger... MUCH stronger.

A trio of soldiers charges at you. Instead of stopping, you run into them. The armor locks itself into place, making you much heavier as you clash, and the force of the impact is enough to send them flying backward. You smile. This is actually fun.

Someone catches you from behind. Herald. He aims you at an incoming group of the soldiers who stops dead in their tracks seeing what he’s planning

“Oh, I like the way you think!.”

“It’s them who are not going to like it” he chuckles launching you against them.

You actually form a crater sending them flying like bowling pins. You stand to look for your next target.

Argent’s moving faster than a gazelle, clawing at the enemy with no mercy. A few try to escape, but she shoots her bow out of nowhere, blasting them away.

Ortega’s fists sizzle with lighting bolts, blasting opponents easily, sparks flying everywhere. Steel, meanwhile, seems to be impervious to their attacks and is sorting them out with a power sword.

Dr. Blitz seems quite enraged at the turn of events. It's hard to believe these same enemies beat the crap out of you not a day ago.

“Enough of this nonsense rangers! Prepare to fall! TELEKINETIC DARK FORCE!” he says as he starts to drive the energy wave at you once more.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Argent says placing herself in front of him and swiftly slashing at his face with her claws.

“Aaaaargh!” Dr. Blitz cries out in pain, his mask half-destroyed. His energy weave explodes, not strong enough to knock Argent. It simply drives her back next to the rest of you.

“HOW DARE YOU! I will crush you all!” Dr. Blitz says raising both hands, activating his energy suit, creating a large wave of energy aimed at you.

“TEAM NANO BLASTER!” Steel calls out. You have to give it to him, he’s a much better leader than Ortega. You summon your weapon (An oversized axe) as everyone does the same.

“Nano Battle Axe!” you say, following Mortum’s instructions. Where did he come up with all these ideas?!

“Nano Battle Bow!” Argent assembles her bow on your axe, a loud click telling you it’s working.

“Nano Energy Daggers!” Herald says connecting them to Argent's bow.

“Nano Energy Lance!” Charge engages his weapon on top of the device.

“Nano energy Sword!” Steel swiftly drives his sword through the middle of the device. His boots dig into the ground as he braces to fire.

“NANO TEAM BLASTER!” you all command standing behind him, as Steel pulls the trigger.

The weapon emits a strong energy blast that collides with Blitz dark energy wave. For a moment the result is unclear… and then Blitz’s power simply fades against the beams terrible energy.

“Noo… this is impossible…” Blitz cries as the beam strike him causing a loud explosion.

The remaining soldiers start running away seeing the mighty weapon you’ve created.

“Well done rangers!” Steel seems satisfied.

The fire and smoke clear out… revealing Blitz, his armor torn to pieces. He seems badly injured.

“D… damn you rangers!!! But… this isn’t over! Scorpius!” he calls “Come to my aid!”

A teleportation device activates, and the familiar monster materializes.

“GROW Scorpius!” he commands.

A red beam comes from the distance, causing Scorpius to take on a titanic size once more.

“You’re doomed rangers! Hahaha! Doomed!” Blitz screams as he teleports his injured self out of the battle.

“How are we going to deal with that?” You ask as the giant monster turns on you menacingly..

“Remember Mortum’s last weapon!” Steel commands.

You all nod.

“Nano battle Titan!” the five of you command.

Your Henshin bracers emit a cloud of five-colored nanites that quickly begins to take shape, constructing a massive superstructure.

In a matter of moments, the battle-titan is assembled.

Scorpius turns to face the new treat.

“Let's end this!” Steel says jumping inside, followed by the rest of you.

The command section has five chairs that you quickly take.

“Nano Battle Titan activated!” you all say activating your controls. The mecha’s eyes shine brightly as it prepares to face the incoming beast.

Scorpius points at you with his eyes and shoots it’s energy beam, making the titan stumble backward.

“We have to get the fight to him!” Argent says as she and Herald control the legs bringing you closer. You take the right fist, and strike at the monster, sending it down.

“Again!” Steel calls.

This time Ortega controls the left fist, smashing it into the ground.

You’re going to strike it again, when it’s scorpion tail wraps around the arm, then emits a torrent of powerful energy that causes sparks all over the cockpit.

“We have to stop this!” you cry.

“Agreed! Titan Sword!” Steel calls. The Sword instantly materializes in the Titan’s hands.

Using the sword, Ortega cuts the tail in half, causing Scorpius to scream in agony.

“Now’s our chance!”

“ENERGY SLASH!” you all command.

The sword starts shining in five-colored energy, and the Battle Titan slashes through Scorpius in a single movement. It then turns, giving it’s back to it’s defeated enemy. Scorpius falls down to the ground and explodes in pieces.

You all start cheering madly inside the cockpit. Surprisingly, Ortega pats your back… but then he remembers he’s not talking to you and looks away.

Well. That was a different way to go about the hero business… You can’t deny it’s colorful, to say the least.

____________________________ My fanfics: https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/181692759294/my-fanfiction-for-fallen-hero DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction using characters and the setting of the Fallen Hero: Rebirth and upcoming Fallen Hero: Retribution games written by Malin Riden. I do not claim ownership of any characters from the Fallen Hero wold. These stories are a work of my imagination, and I do not ascribe them to the official story canon. These works are intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by the author. I am not profiting financially from the creation of these stories, and thank the author for her wonderful game/s, without which these works would not exist.

[charlottedabookworm]

hamelin-born replied to your ask post:

It's - going to be interesting, for Regis. Because Mat is both /his glaive/ - a legal citizen of Lucis, a member of the military sworn to the crown - and Sylva's son, a Prince of Tenebrae, the /only/ member of the Oracle's bloodline outside of Imperial control. 

Regis probably feels - possessive/protective over /his glaive/ to a certain extent, while feeling guilty as well - he left Sylva to die, after all, he probably feels like he /owes/ Mat and the family Nox Fleuret as well. 

Mat is '?' towards this increased attention from Regis. Although he is - kinda gratified if/when Regis starts paying more attention to /his Glaives/, rather then relying on the secondhand reports from Drautos, who reported that everything was going well. 

Regis does feel guilty because this is Sylva’s son, the only one of his friends - the friend that he had left to die, and he doesn’t regret that because it was for Noctis but he still feels guilt - children that is free. And he feels protective of him for the same reason.

He feels as though he owes it to Sylva, to look after Amatus where he had failed to save Lunafreya and Ravus

And yeah, Mat is both one of his glaives as well as a technical Prince and that makes things a little confusing for a while - because Mat swore himself to Lucis, to Regis, but he’s a Prince of Tenebrae and the only free member of the Line of the Oracle and they mean things

So, that mess is interesting to begin with until Mat manages to convince people that he’s a glaive not a prince leave him alone already

Mat, meanwhile, is very confused by the way that Regis looks at him now because he doesn’t actually know that Regis and Sylva were friends - allies, yes, that much was obvious. But friends?

How would he know?

He hadn’t seen his mother in over 5 years by the time of her death, hadn’t been raised in the Palace with his siblings, he wasn’t a prince, not really.

But yeah, he’s grateful for the attention - as much as he hates it - when things start to improve for the glaive: their pay goes up and they get better weapons and armour and a lot of the verbal abuse from the Guard goes down because people are actually cracking down on it

(And what none of them realise is that these things should have been happening from the beginning)

Mat hates the attention but for his friends he’ll put up with it