#but i think they stop. because it’s better not to. it’s easier. and guiltless too. not like a dalek stops to xonsider your personhood.

[quietwingsinthesky]

even has killed people—though perhaps that depends on your definition of people—and it’s not. how do i put it. it’s never cool, you know? it’s never a moment where this puts them in control of a situation, where they can show off some skill in putting someone down. because even is not, generally, very powerful, and they do not know how to do this.

it just gets messy.

which is one of those terrible reasons why they… well, they don’t like the master, but they have to like that she can do it easy, quick, clean. she can give even the ability to, as well, when she wants. if for no other reason than it means that they won’t have to scrub it raw off their skin later, they appreciate that.

#but if left to their own devices? #what im saying i think is: the doctor 🤝 even: has killed someone with a rock #and of course i say whatever your definition of people is because you’d have to ask if you count daleks as people #i’m honestly not sure if even does. they might have pre-getting launched into a pocket dimension war. they really might have. #very expansive definition of people on account of them not really feeling like they should count as one anyway so therefore if they do. lots #of things must. including the murder trash cans. they’re flesh on the inside aren’t they? they speak they think they hate. #but i think they stop. because it’s better not to. it’s easier. and guiltless too. not like a dalek stops to xonsider your personhood. #but to be very very clear. even has also killed just. guys. #actually i have in my notes here that the tone-setting moment of this whole. arc? #is that it really starts with a jailbreak. predicated on lackluster security for one of the prisoners because they are *just* a human. #and the other is. well. and there’s a war that won’t end that there’s no escape from now to worry about. #but the tone-setting part yeah. is that this really starts with even befriending someone like them through the bars. time lords need #janitors too you know? someone has to clean up around the cells. and they let even out for a minute because of that friendship. #as you can imagine. even is not going back in the cell once they’re out of it. no matter what they promised. and their ‘friend’ is going to #alert someone. and. #you need to understand most of all from this first point. that even doesn’t know that regeneration isn’t A) an inherent trait of gallfrey #rather than a granted one and B) infallible. that’s the cslculation they make. that whatever damage they do won’t matter because they’ll #come back from the dead. ………they do not. #it’s reslly a ‘congratulations! you broke free of the narrative constraints (and safeties) of standing near the doctor! murder is now #unlocked! good luck!’ moment akdhfkshdkfj #anyway. <3 makes their life worse on purpose <3 #dw oc

[not-from-the-absence-of-violence]

Guiltless

Summary: Virgil, Roman and Logan need some time to themselves tonight, Patton has other plans.

Pairings: Backround Loceit

Warnings: angst, unsympathetic Patton, mentions of Deceit, very brief mention of Remus, mentions of sensory overload, mentions of RSD and let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: Hey everyone! This is the first fanfic I ever posted, I hope you all like it. reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated :). Thank you  @snixxxsmythe for beta reading <3

you can also find it on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/19870198

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

Virgil slowly makes it to Patton's room, anxiety bubbling in his chest.

He tries to tell himself that it's normal that he's afraid of “confronting” Patton like this.

Because he's Anxiety, after all, and he cares about Patton, and disappointing or making him mad will make him feel bad, for obvious reasons.

 You wouldn't feel this way if it was Logan or Roman, his mind helpfully tells him.

What way? he asks himself.

 “Hey kiddo! You need anything?”

 Patton's voice is sickly sweet, it fills the air just like a fresh batch of cookies.

Guilty. Oh so guilty.

Patton is smiling at him, carefree. Cleary he hasn't been noticing Thomas’ feelings, his feelings.

Or maybe he has, and he just doesn't care.

Virgil shoves the thought down.

 “Well, I do actually, need something, that is, sorta.”

 A flush creeps onto his cheeks. Pattons laugh rings like bells.

 “Ask away.”

 He takes a breath, this should be easier, he's been practicing this for God's sake!

 “You need to let Thomas take a break!” he blurts out.

 Patton looks, well mildly surprised, but mostly he looks amused. Amused.

 “Seems like something you should ask Logan.”

 His tone is light. Virgil he can't help but feel it's the way one would talk to a small child, go talk to your other parent about it.

 But of course if he explains it Patton will understand.

 “Usually, yes. But this is the fourth time this week Thomas has agreed to help one of his friends. Tomorrow we have a get together and we are helping put some furniture together. It's draining him.” he adds a whisper, almost an afterthought. “Its draining me.”

 “You don’t think Thomas’ friends are important?”

 Virgil wants to be surprised, shocked Patton would say something like this.

It feels almost worse than he expected.

It doesn't mean he doesn't feel guilty, perhaps it's the sweetness in Patton's voice, his guiltless smile.

 “Of course, but Thomas is important too.”

 “You sound almost like Deceit.”

 He says it in a joking way, something to brush off.

There is no way Patton doesn't know how on many levels that hits him.

“But maybe you're right, I'll try better in the future, I’m sorry.”

 His tone isn't serious enough, although perhaps that is just Virgil's own imagination.

He'll take what he can anyway.

 “Oh,” he remembered “I also won't be at dinner tonight. I just need some time to myself.”

 It's an understatement, between Thomas not getting any alone time, the pressure to get the next video out and him not getting any rest Virgil was jittery, tired and very overstimulated.

Pattons smile shifts to a hurt expression, it's not even anger, just hurt.

 “OK.”

The word lingers, and there is almost hope rising in Virgil.

 “Although-”

It shatters like glass.

 ”I would say dining with your family would make you feel better.”

 He wishes it sounded passive-aggressive, it doesn't. It sounds just as sweet as anything else Patton says, sweet and perfect.

 Something in him wants to argue, it really does. He knows Patton is wrong.

But he's too tired to argue. 

 “Sure, I’ll help set the table.”

 Patton beams at him.

 “Thanks Virgil, I know you do care about your friends. ”

 It stings, but it's impossible to get moral high ground when debating Morality.

So he doesn't try.

 -----------------

When Roman is working, he feels like he's flying. Sometimes he even is literally flying! How great it is to work in the imagination.

When I am done this will be one of the best things I have made, surely! he thinks, enjoying the feeling of new exciting projects rushing through his veins

 Yes, he just needs to add some-

 He is abruptly cut off by loud knocking on the door.

It yanks him out of his concentration, and then he's literally falling out of the imagination roughly onto his bedroom floor.

 For a second he's too perplexed to think.

 Then he's confused, he has asked the rest not to disturb him while working for exactly this reason. In fact, he had told them today at lunch.

 Perhaps he has been working an unhealthy amount of time and someone is legitimately worried.

He checks the time. No, he has been working a few hours, nothing too bad.

So he goes to the door, mostly annoyed, kind of pissed.

 He is then met with Patton's lovely face.

He doesn’t stop being pissed, but he does promptly swallow whatever he was going to say.

 “Ah, Patton, what brings you to my castle on this fine evening?” he says instead.

 Patton giggles.

 “Just wanted to say dinner is almost ready!”

 Hadn't he said at lunch that he would be working? Perhaps Patton had forgotten.

 “Ah, well, you see, I just started working on my new project! I'm afraid if I stop, I'll just lose my flow, you know?”

 Patton’s disappointment is very tangible, perhaps it is because they're in Romans room, perhaps it's that Patton is emotions, to some extent.

 Whatever it is, it fills the air, and Roman isn't not sure he can breathe anymore.

 “Oh.”

 “Are you mad?”

 Roman does not mean for it to sound desperate.

 “I mean, i'm just disappointed-”

 Whatever else Patton says is left unheard, for Roman feels as he has been stabbed.

Or it could be worse, the sharp pain in his chest. It spreads, hot and thick, burning through his body.

He feels himself blush in deep, deep shame.

 He feels dizzy, he might faint, shut down.

 God it hurts, he feels tears threatening to fall.

 He shouldn't have disappointed anyone.

 He hates this feeling and he hates himself.

 What had Logan called it, the one time he had dared to ever explain it? Rejection sensitive something.

 It didn't matter, the only thing that mattered was that he wanted to go back into his room, hide, maybe for a bit, maybe forever.

 “Ok, understand, I'll come down in a minute,” he says, because what else can he say?

 Patton smiles at him, brilliant, sweet, guiltless.

 “Great!”

 It's only later that Roman will wonder. Because Patton knows, he knows how those words sting Roman.

 Surely he must have forgotten.

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

It's no secret that Logan is an introvert, it's also no secret that Logan gets frustrated more easily than one might think.

 The last week has not been particularly fun for him.

 Patton had unrelentingly decided to skip on important planning for future videos and time for Thomas to rest and recharge. They had all let him.

Logan isn't sure what to do about it. Not knowing things was not helping.

 Logan didn't like the state Thomas was in.

It made him slow, drowsy and, although he did not usually admit it, snappish.

 But it was fine, tonight Logan was going to start his own personal planning for the new video.

Then he was going to go to sleep early.

 Or maybe not, maybe he would go to Deceit's room and rant for a while, that was always surprisingly cathartic. Then sleep, not so early.

 Then Patton knocked on his door. He knew it was Patton, recognizing the knocking patterns that he'd memorised by now.

 Well, there goes his planning.

 “Yes, come in Patton.”

 Patton looks all the same as always, a nice easy smile on his face, the smile of someone who knows they're going to get exactly what they want.

 “Just making sure you know dinner is almost ready!”

 Logan knew this, he also expected a reminder.

 “Well, as I have communicated before, tonight I would prefer to eat alone.”

 He looks at Patton, and kind of wished he hadn't.

 Patton is angry, although to anyone else he may seem frustrated at most.

But it's Patton, even the tiniest bit of anger on his face can be terrifying, real, unusual.

 Patton, after all, was at the core of many of Thomas’ emotions.

When he had said it that time, it was meant as a careful reminder.

 In Logan's mind the memory sounded vaguely like a threat.

 Patton was a little too cheery sometimes, happiness crackling through him like waves. At times, sadness hit him harder than the rest, harder than any fake smile could cure.

 But no one had ever seen Patton truly angry.

 It was one of the only things that made Logan fearful.

He did not want to be the one to set it off.

 So Patton just looks at him briefly, for a few seconds.

He doesn’t even need to say anything.

 “On second thought, I am sure a familial meal would be pleasant.”

 Patton’s anger is gone as soon as it appeared, leaving Logan to wonder if it was ever there.

 “I'm glad, everyone is going to be there!” He smiles, satisfaction plain as day.

 Logan hopes somewhere this will not be as horrific as he thought.

 “Will Deceit be joining us too, then?”

 Patton smiles thins.

 “No.”

 Logic reasons, that obviously he has asked Deceit- they all agreed to make an effort to understand him better, after all- but Deceit has successfully avoided coming.

 Perhaps it’s just hopeful thinking.

 “Well, maybe he will agree when you ask him next time.”

 “Oh, I didn't ask him.”

 It's said in a nice, cheery voice. No explanation, malice or thought.

 Logan and Patton walk downstairs.

 In all honesty, Logan hopes Remus comes in to wreak some havoc, at least he would have an excuse to leave.

------------------------------- 

Dinner is simply the best, for Patton.

 He chats excitedly about one thing after another, how fun it is that Thomas is going out tonight, how amazing it is that they can go see Joan tomorrow.

 He doesn’t notice how every noise, every movement hits Virgil like knives. He doesn't notice how he flinches, how he is desperately tapping a breathing pattern into the table. It’s way too much, yet Patton doesn't see.

 He doesn’t notice Logan frustratingly fidgeting with his tie. His eyes closing a little longer than usual, it's either exhaustion or understimulation. Either way, Patton doesn’t see.

 Maybe he just didn’t look, because he does notice Roman spacing out, bouncing his leg.

 “Did you hear me there Roman,” it sounds soft, “I asked you something.”

 Romans face is pale, shame clear on his face.

 Virgil is afraid that if he says anything he'll break, Logan isn't sure what he can do.

 So they quickly eat in the silence of Patton’s empty chatter.

 “Well that was fun, maybe we should do more things together!”

 No one points out that they eat together almost every day.

-------

That night Virgil storms into his room, breaking down immediately, his tears stinging his cheeks, making the oversensitivity so much worse.

 He basically throws his clothes off, the fabric rough and agonizing against his skin.

His weighted blanket offers little comfort.

 Eventually out of sheer exhaustion he collapses on his tear stained pillow, restless.

 Tomorrow he'll stay in his room, the door locked, mostly sleeping.

Hopefully he'll feel better by noon.

  That night Logan quietly makes it to Deceit's room, falling into the other side's arms.

 He rants for a while, and Deceit listens while he ruffles Logan's hair and holds him.

Deceit knows, and Deceit understands.

 They fall asleep tangled up with each other, Logan can't bring himself to care about whether the others will find them, they're well hidden after all.

  That night Roman tries to get back to work, but the concentration doesn't come.

He wants to scream, but he's afraid Patton may somehow hear him.

 Instead he throws his pen to the wall and goes to kill a dragon.

 He doesn't sleep.

He will not come back from his quest the next morning.

  That night Patton does the dishes, then he goes to bed.

He sleeps on time and easily.

When he wakes up he wonders why no one shows up for breakfast.

He'll go ask them. 

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #logan sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #unsympathetic patton #angst #fanfic #deceit sanders

[sexysilverstrider]

Exhausted Pining

 Astrals, she couldn’t feel her legs.  There were days that fatigue tightened the muscles in her body. There were days where pants of air became her source of breathing rather than the regular flow. But even those days Djeeta managed to hold on and move forward like nothing is wrong.  And then, there were days where fatigue had had enough of her.  Vision started to blur and break into two. Squeezing both eyes shut, she shook her head, only to gain regret as ache clawed her temple. “Ugh…” One hand pressed lightly onto her head. The soft thudding sounds of shoes against hard wood reminded her that she was safe inside the Grandcypher; at least she made it back to the ship.  Now all she needed to do was head back to her room.  Easier said than done, she soon feared.  “Well, well, well. What do we have here?”  Looks like there’s nothing easy about this at all, Djeeta soon rued.

 The all too familiar voice lulled too close to comfort beside her. Her body still ached, still cried for the feel of soft bed in her room. A low groan peeped just the slightest from tightly pursed lips.  As for Belial, he concluded the sound akin to something of sheer, disgusting acceptance. “It seems you’re a little worn out, Singularity.” Hands on his hips, Belial bent closer to her face. “Did lil ol’ Sandy get you so worked up? I see your legs are shaking.” White teeth gleamed menacingly at the scornful skyfarer. “Is that sweat between your legs? Or…do I see a trickle of something thicker the more you shake?”  If it wasn’t for the fact that she was so agonizingly exhausted, she would swing one fist to his face right now.  Brown eyes shot a deadly glare at a pair of reds. Dizzy as she may be, Djeeta could perfectly make up the sharp shape of his dangerous face. “There was…” Her voice ragged, wheezed just the slightest, “…a primal beast that went loose a few days ago…” Ugh, even her throat felt sore. The Captain tried to shake her head, but the intention stopped short when she remembered what happened the last time she did that.  “I’m just—tired.” Truly, she didn’t have time to deal with him right now. Nearly a week of handling a stakeout, only to then deal with a powerfully furious primal beast really did take a toll on her physically and mentally.  Laughter beamed disgustingly in the bright blue skies.  “Oh, you poor thing.” Not a twinge of guilt trickled his tone at such a guiltless laugh. “Was the beast too big for you to handle? No wonder you’re shaking.” One hand lightly tapped his lower, red lip. “Next time, you should start with something smaller, though wider in girth, I might add.”  Gods above, she wished she had even the tiniest bit of strength to slap his mouth off his face.  A deep breath was taken. A deep sigh was exhaled. “Bye Belial.” She wanted to get out of here. She needed to get out of here. As much as she actually found it enjoyable about the fallen angel’s shitty remarks, her drained body and mind truly made her irritated by his presence alone.  Without a word, though mildly aware of his stupid smirk, Djeeta moved forward.  Or at least, that’s what she thought. ---  “Oop.”  With swift moves and a quick mind, Belial easily caught her falling body with one arm.  Did she get smaller? He wondered.  Right arm draped under her stomach, Belial stretched his left hand and held her shoulder. Indifference outlined every inch of his face as he turned her. The Singularity’s head tilted backward, which he then slid the same hand to the back of her head for support.  She was alive; the first thing that came into his mind was that.  Funny, he laughed a little.  Crimson eyes scanned her body from head to toe. Bits of blood and dirt marked her armour and skin. A single whiff was all it took for the Primal to confirm that the blood on her wasn’t actually hers.  Very funny, he found himself amusing.  Her breathing was steady, albeit a bit slow. Her heartbeat was normal, though chest heaving slightly. One hand still on the back of her head and on her back, Belial leaned closer.  She looked fragile, small.  He knew she was anything but.  The Singularity stirred lightly in his arms. Indifference flickered to amusement. Amusement sparked akin to something of an emotion he would not dare to perceive. With swift and nimble movements, Belial moved his hands and quietly carried her in his arms.  Her head tipped to his neck. Her nose and lips brushed against the warm surface of his skin.  He was slowly starting to find this not funny anymore.  “You better wake up, Singularity.” Huskily he whispered, tone dark and low as he lowered his head towards her. “Or else I’ll wake you up myself.” Distance dangerously close like the many times he had done to her, Belial gently bumped the tip of his nose against her forehead.  Her eyes were still closed.  Curiosity tweaked along indecency. His nose slid down between her eyes. Luscious lips hovered around her own. Warm breath caressed the corner of a pursed mouth. Her skin felt smooth, he noted. Despite the faint scars on her cheeks, her skin felt soft and plush with the caress of his nose. Not once did his gaze wander away. Each sight he took stuck deep inside his mind. Each scent he sniffed sent a knot inside his stomach.  Hunger lurched from within; Belial brought her closer.  This wasn’t getting funny for him.  Sharp teeth gritted inside a closed mouth, he calmly walked towards her room. ---  Once he reached inside her room, Belial soon realized that his sanity was near to snapping when he felt her nudge closer.  “Getting daring, are we?” Sharp teeth gleamed maliciously as he whispered on her forehead. Door kicked gently with one foot, the Primal walked towards her bed. Gently he placed her, hands then slid and caressed the side of her waist and cheek.  He didn’t want to lose the touch of her body. Not yet.  This slowly infuriated him, and he knew damn well why.  Upon feeling the magnificent feel of a soft mattress, Djeeta stirred and mumbled until her back sank cozily into it. Her head tipped slightly to the right. Pale pink lips then parted as air started to flow regularly from her.  He hated that he couldn’t take his eyes off her.  Why would he feel this way? When did he feel this way? Love was a mass of contradictions; he remembered saying that to the one person he loved and devoted to all his life. But as years and years passed by since she accepted him into her crew, Belial soon realized the feelings he had for his creator before were slowly passed down to the last person he wouldn’t dream of.  The pain was unbearable—worse, if nothing else.  She cared for him. He sourly remembered how she saved him from his anticipated doom. He wished to die, to finally rip this disgusting immortality if it meant being with the one he loved. But alas, it seems fate was his worst enemy as he was saved, as he was still alive.  She saved him. She was the first one to trust him. Distrust and doubt heavily lingered in the air of his presence. Even Belial knew that it would take a millennia for Sandalphon to trust him. In truth, the Supreme Primarch would rather have his head rolling down to the endless land below than to see him walking about as if he belonged in the Grandcypher.  He didn’t.  But she made him think that he did.  Ah, he despised this.  A tiny frown curled the edges of his lips.  3 years had passed. He wanted to betray her. To kill her. To avenge the sins she had shamelessly committed against him and his beloved. He wished so sorely to rip that smile off her face, to bite those lips and tear it mercilessly until blood spurted out like vile, bloated paint. He craved deeply to shove one hand into her stomach, to clutch her intestines and rip them out like strings of flesh.  All those years were perfect as he fooled her to gain his trust.  But, as the years passed by, Belial soon realized that he was the one who got fooled.  She took notice of him. She laughed at the countless innuendoes he had spurted at her. Though at first she either got flustered or angry after his brazen comments, it would seem that the Singularity got used to him so fast that now, every nasty remark he made whether it was about her or anyone, would be responded with a roll of her eyes or a laugh.  The latter was baffling when he first saw it.  He hated it.  He hated that she went to him when he got injured. He hated that she oftentimes came to him to check on his wellbeing, He hated that she gave him chocolate for Valentine ’s Day – 3 years in a row now without fail. He hated that she made him want to return the favor during White Day. He hated that she entrusted him on many missions, on trusting him to have her back. He hated that she would find time to talk to him, to be near him.  He hated that he now anticipated all those times alone with her.  He hated it. Hated it. He was meant to betray her. To take her life for another. He was supposed to tear her limbs apart, not hold her hands. He was supposed to choke out her screams, not bring out bubbles of laughter. He was supposed to rip her mouth apart, not crave for a warm, wet touch.  He was supposed to make her shriek in agony, not moan in needy, delicious pleasure—  Creak…  The faint sound brought him back to reality. Crimson eyes darted forward, realizing that his left hand had tightly clutched the sheet beside her head. Heavy breathing halted immediately in his lungs, for Belial quickly realized the position he had placed himself in.  There, leaning and towering above the sleeping Singularity, Belial remained frozen in his place.  She slept so peacefully. Slumber and fatigue knocked her cold despite the shift in weight of the mattress. The Primal stayed perfectly still, legs locked on the sides of her right leg. Shock rarely flashed his face, but now was one of the rare moments that it did. He didn’t know how it happened, how he had lost control of the reality around him.  Ah, he figured, gaze fixated on the sleeping person below him, it’s because of you.  Crimson eyes darted low to her nose, lower to her lips. Soundless sights brought him to her moving chest, to the tiny crack of her breasts that nuzzled cozily in the squeeze of her clothing.  A single gulp burned his throat.  “Wake up, Singularity…” His voice croaked, choked. “Or are you having such a wonderful dream without me?” His arms stiffened by the sides of her head. Body levelled a few inches above hers, Belial lowered until lips neared her left ear.  “What are you dreaming right now?” He hoped it was about him. “I wonder if I can make your dreams more pleasant…” He desperately hoped he invaded her mind.  Because fucking hell, she surely was invading his—  A hiss spat through clenched teeth at the sound of her sweet, soft moan.  Fingers curled to tight knuckles. “Singularity…” The nickname slurred heavily near her ear. “Singularity…” His lower hip arched and stilled. The hunger inside of him burned, flared, scorched madly with every sound of her breathing. Irises squeezed to slits, Belial brought his head up and lifted her chin with one hand.  His thumb caressed her lower lip. Inviting. Tempting. Putting fuel to the fire down south.  “Singularityyy…” The word heaved so faintly. “Singularity…” His breathing was warm with lust. Eyes were glued on her face, on her lips. Belial inched closer…“Wake up…” and closer…“Djeeta—”  The split second her name broke out of his waiting lips, he stopped immediately.  As if the name alone was a spell that broke the curse, Belial snapped back. Both hands pressed hard on the sides of her head. Both eyes hazed and sharpened at nothing in particular.  He then saw her.  He saw a tiny smile. Sincere. Loving. So filled with bliss he knew damn well he could never have.  Ah, turns out there was a far greater pain than losing his messiah.  In a blink of an eye, Belial jumped off her and stumbled a few steps back.  Minutes felt like hours for the Primal. He gaped and gawked as she slept so soundly. Heat still rushed through his body. Shivers still prickled every inch of his skin. The tightness in his pants ached for a touch – for her touch – but Belial was too preoccupied with bafflement to settle his desires.  His desires for her.  His desires for her love.  Ah, the pain was getting unbearable again.  And yet he smiled, then broke to a short, demeaning laugh. Both hands cupping his beet red face, he stared at the Singularity – at the captain, at the fragile mortal, at the only creature who accepted him.  How amusing.  Sliding one foot backwards, Belial limply slid his hand to where his heart bled.  How fucking amusing.  Face still burned a bright red, heart still pounding at the speed of sound, Belial turned around and stampeded his way to the door.  No reason… He chuckled bitterly, scornfully. No reason…  As one hand clutched the doorknob and whipped the door open, Belial quickly made a silent escape out of the bedroom.  No reason for me to deserve your love…  A single teardrop hit her bedroom floor before he left. END

#Belial #Djeeta #Granblue Fantasy #Belidjeeta #be the change u want to see #also im lazy to go to my writing blog #here have some v indulgent gbf #i have work tmrrw and its gonna be midnight in 30 mins #SAD BELI F YEAH!!! #djeebeli #fafar writes

[paladin-andric]

Blackheart, Chapter 23: Sins of the Father

“No!” Basilrin cried defiantly, “You are mistaken! He has never harmed another so!”

“Tell him,” Tourthun demanded, claws digging into the dragon below him, “Tell him your crimes, fiend!”

Aurelio growled, eyes lowered.

“TELL HIM!” Tourthun roared, the entire cavern shaking at his voice.

“I…I only…”

He turned his gaze upwards. His eyes fell upon his son, who smiled at him, waiting expectantly. “Go on! Tell him this is just one large misunderstanding, father!”

Aurelio had to pause to work up the courage to admit everything.

“I am a murderer. Basilrin...it is true. I killed his father.”

“W-what?!” the smaller green dragon backed up, head shaking. “B-but father, you...you would never! You are not like that!”

“Not anymore,” Aurelio admitted, “But I was such a fiend once.”

“I always remembered your face,” Tourthun snarled, “You depraved animal. It is time. You will PAY for what you have done!”

“No, please!”

Basilrin stood tensely, eyes alight with fear and energy. He stared at the other dragon, claws reflexively digging into the ground.

“No one must die this day! Tourthun, do not do this!”

“I have no reason not to,” the red dragon spat back, “The world is better off without this barbarian drawing breath.”

“I...I cannot let this happen. Tourthun, please…”

“I cannot let him walk away!” he answered back. Tourthun glared at Basilrin as he continued, his grip on Aurelio tightening. “He killed my father! He ruined my life!”

“How? How could you do this, father? You are...so kind.”

Aurelio sighed and looked at the his son. “Basilrin...before I took you in, I was a completely different dragon. A much crueler dragon.”

“Took me in…?”

The larger dragon looked away, shame in his eyes. “I wished for you to never know this, but since I am about to be gone from your life...perhaps this will soften the blow: You are not my son, Basilrin.”

Basilrin’s eyes went wide. “What?!”

“Indeed, it is so. At least, not by blood. You see, the day I met you is the same day I slew this one’s father.”

“No...no, father, we are...we share the same scales, the same eyes…”

“A convenient coincidence.”

“But...why?”

Aurelio continued. “When I was younger, I was an idiotic fool who harbored delusions of glory. I was so convinced in proving myself that I sought out a dragon to kill in combat...to prove my might.”

“That is insanity...you preached peace to me all my life.”

“That is because of what I learned. I cut him down, even as he begged. I saw the life leave his eyes. I saw the look of horror in Tourthun’s visage. It was then that I understood the truth. I was no brave warrior, no glorious champion: I was a murderer, a fraud who struck out against the weak and innocent.”

“Father…”

“It was in my manic state fleeing the scene of shame that I happened across you. You had been abandoned, huddled under a tree as rain poured down on you. I must admit...it was a selfish desire for redemption that made me take you home, dearest Basilrin. I took you to the cave, changed my ways, and settled down with dearest Atheni. I wanted never to have to think of my actions ever again, but it seems that this is fate.”

Basilrin shuddered as the truth came out, unable to cope with it. “This cannot be true...this cannot be happening!”

“It is true,” Aurelio assured him, “Basilrin, my son...I beg you, do not interfere. I told you this day would come. I have done so much wrong, and now I answer for it.”

“Enough with your delusions of martyrdom!” the red dragon growled, “You are nothing more than a common villain!”

Aurelio lowered his head in submission. His eyes carried the weight of a great burden, weary and guilt-ridden. “Indeed I am. Go on, than. I understand what must be done. You have earned your vengeance. Tourthun...kill me. I will not resist.”

“Stop this…” Basilrin whimpered, “Somebody, stop this…”

He looked to the others for help. Everyone simply stared at the scene in shock, motionless. Basilrin finally snapped, looking over at the large group of heroes with bared teeth.

“Stop this! Can any of you hear me?! What are you doing?! You will just let this happen?! Do not just stand there! STOP THIS!”

Tourthun’s grip on the other dragon tightened. “Why would they stop a just act? Today, you finally pay for what you’ve done.”

Aurelio looked up at the red dragon with fear in his eyes. “Tourthun, please...can you promise me something, before I die?”

“Why should I humor ANY request from you?!”

“I know, I know, but...I know you are a better person than I. Please...leave Basilrin out of this. I beg of you. He has nothing to do with any of this. Promise, Tourthun, that you will not hurt him.”

The red dragon huffed, his snarl softening. “...very well.”

Aurelio let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you. Now...I suppose this is it.”

He closed his eyes and raised his neck to Tourthun, allowing easier access.

“Basilrin...I will miss you.”

“Enough of this!”

One of the others had finally found their voice. Alexander turned to see who it was, and sure enough, it was him.

Andric marched forward, fists at his sides. He approached the trio, standing unafraid.

“This has gone too far. Tourthun, step back.”

“What?!” he glared at the other with obvious fury. “This has not gone far enough!”

“Don’t. Do it.”

The dragon locked eyes with the paladin, who stood motionless, seeming unfazed.

“You...you do not understand what I have gone through...what he has done to me…”

“Everyone does, Tourthun. We ALL just heard it. This isn’t the answer.”

“His pathetic excuses! I have suffered for decades as he got to sit back and enjoy his life, after ruining mine! He deserves this!”

“It won’t make you feel any better. Trust me, Tourthun. I’ve seen this time and again. This is the start of every fall. Vengeance cannot be quenched, and without a target, it will turn into blind hatred.”

“That’s right!” Senci chimed in.

“I do not care! I must enact justice! He must pay for his crimes!”

“You want to make him suffer?”

Crux stepped forward, eyes narrowed. The bounty hunter seemed unconcerned at the dragon’s growing anger.

“Here’s a nice bit of advice for you: There is only one way to make someone so consumed by guilt suffer...make them live with it.”

“Huh…?”

“The shame and heartache must be so horrific, for him to beg for you to kill him like this,” the bounty hunter observed, “Don’t you think he’s taking the easy way out?”

Tourthun shook his head. “That...is not important. I...I must avenge father…”

“Do you really think your father would want this?”

Alexander joined the others, approaching and putting his hands on his hips. “Look around you, Tourthun. Look at what you’re doing. Everything you told me about your father, about what he stood for...he wouldn’t want you to hurt, to kill. That’s what he spent his entire life trying to prevent. He wanted you to live in peace, remember?”

“I...also must protect the small ones from evil dragons.”

“Look at him.”

Tourthun lowered his gaze, down to Aurelio. The green dragon lay limp, wounded and looking weak and pathetic in the smaller dragon’s grasp. He stared up with eyes full of pain and misery.

“Can you honestly call him a threat? The fight’s out of him. He’s lying down and waiting to die. He can’t hurt anyone anymore.”

Tourthun winced at the older dragon’s pleading gaze. “B-but...he still...I want to...he ruined everything!”

“Look.”

Alexander gestured to Basilrin. The other young dragon was shaking and shivering as his father’s life was held in the hands of who he had just called friend.

“He’s his son. Look at the fear, the heartbreak. Tourthun...doesn’t it look familiar?”

With those words, Tourthun’s reality seemed to shift. Suddenly, he was no longer in the park caves.

The cave he was in was something he could recognize immediately. It was the mountaintop sanctuary...where he and his father had lived together.

He could feel a small smile form on his muzzle. Despite everything, this was still his home, his true, original home. Where he had spent the greatest years of his life.

“Tourthun…”

He blinked. He was...holding down Aurelio.

As he looked down however, he saw not Aurelio...but Tamis.

His father.

Feeling a jolt of fear and confusion, the dragon looked over to Basilrin...only the other dragon wasn’t Basilrin. It was instead a red dragon, so small, so very young, a mere child. It watched him in absolute terror, eyes wide and maw agape.

It was himself, from all those years ago.

With a horrifying realization, Tourthun looked down to his own legs. They were, as expected, a bright green.

He was Aurelio.

“You’ll just do the same horrible thing he did to you,” Alexander’s voice explained, wavering and distant, “You’ll ruin his life, too. You’re better than this. Don’t do it.”

He looked over to his younger self, who spoke quietly, his voice unmistakably Basilrin’s.

“Tourthun...please...do not do this…”

The red dragon’s face dropped, his visage one of horrific revelation. The visions of his past faded away, and they were back in the cave once more.

He stumbled backwards, getting off of Aurelio and sinking to the ground. His head lowered as he felt tears in his eyes.

“Tourthun…?” Aurelio sounded shocked as he stared. “You...I thought you…”

“Father!” Basilrin rushed to his father’s side, moving his head and nuzzling against him.

“I-I thought you were going to be…”

“My son…”

The pair shared a moment of love before turning their focus back to Tourthun. He lay crying and dejected, robbed of his chance at vengeance.

“Tourthun...I knew you were good!” Basilrin spoke encouragingly, “You are so kind, so very magnanimous in victory…”

The weeping dragon gritted his teeth as he ignored the compliments. “Why...why did it have to be like this? You have taken everything from me, and now, when I finally find you...you lack granting me even the dignity of a guiltless battle?”

Leianna shook her head, walking up to Tourthun and giving him a stern look. “He’s suffered you, ya know.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You forget about his family? His mate is dead, and his own son did the deed. Speaking of which, he was forced to fight his own son, and watch the love of his life die! Come now, Tourthun...you’ve both lost what you love. The only difference is you’re granting him just that little bit of light he has left in his life.”

“Mercy is the mark of a great hero!” Senci offered, giving the dragon a nervous smile.

“It’s also the chief command of God,” Lexius noted quietly.

Tourthun’s eyes watered, but his active weeping stopped. He stared back at them all, appearing conflicted.

“That took serious discipline and courage,” Razorwing cheered, “You’re a very strong person, Tourthun!”

“Can’t say I’d have done the same.” Crux looked at the red dragon with respect, offering a small nod. “I suppose that says something about you, doesn’t it?”

“I can’t imagine life without my father,” Charles chimed in, “To rise above bloodshed despite such horror...you truly are exemplary.”

Tourthun shook his head, the tears returning. “You all...to say such things…”

Andric stepped past him, towards the pair of green dragons. “Come here. Let me see your wounds.”

As the paladin began to heal Aurelio from his scrape with Basilrin’s brother, Alexander walked up to Tourthun, looking him straight in the eyes. He had concerns of his own.

“Are you gonna be okay?”

The dragon was silent.

“Tourthun...if you ever wanna talk about any of this...I’ll sit and listen as long as you like.”

To his surprise, Tourthun’s miserable frown slowly curled into a smile.

“...thank you.”

“No problem.”

The group turned to see Aurelio rise to his feet, looking energized and unharmed. It was a far cry from the exhausted, helpless looking dragon from before. His wings splayed out as he took a deep breath, savoring his newfound strength.

“I cannot thank you enough, noble healer.”

“No problem...but now I want you to help us with that demon! You WILL help, correct?”

“Of course!” Aurelio exclaimed, “I am bound to you by a debt of life! Give me any order and I shall follow it!”

“Very well…” Andric motioned for everyone to leave. “Move out, everyone! We take the fight to the beast at the gates!”

Aurelio looked over at Tourthun as he passed. His eyes seemed to offer a groveling apology all on their own, but Tourthun was having none of it. He glared angrily at the killer, who turned away, overwhelmed with shame.

After he passed, the other dragon approached. He quickly leaned in and nuzzled at Tourthun, something usually reserved for romantic interests and family.

“Basilrin?!”

“Thank you,” he whispered back, “Thank you, Tourthun. Thank you.”

Tourthun didn’t answer, once again conflicted. He still hated Aurelio. The monster had still murdered his father. He had still ruined his life.

“Thank you...he is all I have left,” Basilrin confided, “If you had hurt him...I do not know what I would have done. I...would have had no reason to go on.”

“You would have found a way,” Tourthun muttered bitterly, turning away from the grateful dragon.

“After all...I had to.”

Basilrin blinked, trying his best to push aside any lingering thoughts and thank the other dragon as sincerely as possible.

“I...I will never forget your mercy!” Basilrin cried, even as Tourthun exited the cave.

He stood for a moment, thinking over everything that had just happened. It was clear there was little chance of Tourthun ever really forgiving his father, and yet he couldn’t help but wish for it to happen. Tourthun was so kind, and despite the past, Aurelio was now much the same.

Despite the hard feelings, he wanted so badly for things to move on. He imagined Tourthun joining them in the outside world, the three of them inseparable, all kind souls fighting against injustice and helping one another. All the hurt and pain put aside and forgiven, all living together in love and harmony.

That was clearly an impossible fantasy, but he could start small. Tourthun’s quarrel with his father, not him. He seemed amiable enough to Basilrin himself. Perhaps, with a bit of work...

Is there still a chance of us becoming friends?

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[beauvoyr]

Lazy People’s Club for the Sleepy and Tired | 13

flowering | child of cosmogony

Pairings: Noctis/Reader Genre: Friendship/Romance/Friends-to-Lovers Tags: Fluff, Humor, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Abuse, Torture, Asphyxiation, Murder, no beta we die like men, pre-canon a.k.a before FFXV WARNING: This chapter contains murder and violence. Chapter Rating: M Crossposted on: AO3 Summary: Rules to join the Lazy People’s Club for the Sleepy and Tired: 1) One must love sleep. Sleep is love. Sleep is life. 2) One must be tired. Physically or emotionally, both are acceptable. 3) One must love video games. Halfhearted interest in video games will result in immediate termination of membership.

Fortunately, Noctis falls into all three categories.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: White, too, can be corrosive, just like acid.

what happened to mother? you can’t say, for you do not know.

she fades into a distant blur, one of the many paintings hung in the halls of your head. sometimes, your mind is a treacherous friend playing tricks on you. you’d hear her last scream, hidden behind a door. you never dared to open it; if you do, you know you are intemperate, letting your feelings best you at this game for two. so mother remains, at most, locked behind the door. schrödinger’s cat, both alive and dead at the same time.

should you ask byron to quench your thirst?

no.

father’s lesson is still etched on his skin in long, raised lines you memorized under your fingertips. twelve on his front, five on his arms, and many more on his back. you’ve ruined him, you know. the remnants of these angry red lines have faded off into pale pinks on white over the years, as though branches of cherry blossoms bloomed on his skin. something so grotesque shouldn’t be so beautiful, even as you gingerly run your fingers across the patterns. whenever you do, byron stiffens under your touch like he’s afraid you’d dig your nails into the hatch welts.

he doesn’t know your touch is reverential, each brush an apology too late to be given.

and the lingering guilt in your heart paves way into something else.

“YOU AND NOCT REPENTED YET?”

Gladio is a merciless master. In this training room, he is the commander of the battlefield. Noct being a prince doesn’t mean shit to him, as long he knows how to dodge a blow and barrel into safety behind the Shield. Hardy as he is, he’s still got a weak spot somewhere in his heart when the feral glint in his amber eyes softens, coming across you and Noct, sitting together on your knees after getting banished to the farthest end of the hall. Your expression is certainly sorry enough, having repented to Hell and back as you rub your raw knees, and Noct is. Well. Kinda still working on the whole ‘repenting’ part.

“I can do three hours,” Noct grits out, deliberately cocking a brow in challenge. “You up for it?”

And Gladio’s casual smile morphs into something along the cynical lines of you little shit.

Just as quick, your hand flies out to smack him square in his bicep with an affronted, “Prince! Stop! I’m already sorry enough that I’m late…don’t drag me into this.”

Noct’s answer is a light elbow to your side, his grin taking on a criminal edge. “Your fault. Three hours should be good, hmm?”

“Spare me…I can’t even feel my legs anymore, is this normal?” Gladio catches your murmurs buried by your face in your hands. Your voice is certainly apologetic and he knows you’re not the type to piss him off on purpose, but Noct is just the devil sitting on your shoulder. An unrepentant, filthy devil wielding a trident for a spork.

Noct smirks, flippant. For some reasons, he looks oddly triumphant of himself, like he’s reveling that he can last longer than you. Which is technically cheating, in Gladio’s books, ‘cause Noct’s got years of punishment to back his credentials—and this is only your first day, for crying out loud. “It’s only normal when you can’t feel anything from waist down,” Noct says, his smirk turning savage. “If you can’t feel your legs, that means you need one more hour.”

There is a high note tucked somewhere in your following groan. “No, stop, please. Gladio, I’m sorry I’m late, I’m sorry I made His Highness late, I’m sorry we’re late—“

Honestly, you’re kinda pathetic like this.

With all due respect, you could still be King Regis’ illegitimate child or secretly some poetically forgotten Astral and he’d still think you’re pathetic. All the years you’ve been doing with your books developed none of your muscles. Gladio squints a little, hoping to find something to prove him wrong. Nope, not an inch. Ah well, he can’t blame you, not when your situation’s a bit weird like one of those stereotypical romance novels of noblewomen held captive since birth, just waiting for roguish warriors to rescue them. And now that you’re all ‘rescued’ by none other than nth-time Champion of Punishments, Prince Noctis, well—now what?

“Suck it up,” Noct drawls, lips all lazy smiles. “You’ve got 54 more minutes to go.”

Mumbled between your fingers, you resign your fate to the greedy prince. “Gods, I—I’ll do my best, Prince. I think.”

That gets him gloating more than ever, always a sucker for people obediently obeying his command, feeding his Ravatogh-sized ego. “Good.”

Well—now, Gladio guesses, it’s high time to put you out of your misery. “All right, knock it off. Noct, quit bullying the new kid on her first day.” He claps his hands, subjected to a moody glare from the little punk ass prince since Gladio obviously ruined his fun. “Architect guy, listen up: First rule, don’t be late. Noct can demonstrate what happens when you’re late, since he’s pro at this.”

And Noct, the pretentious prince who thinks he's hot shit, rolls his eyes. “Seniors are pros anyway.”

“Whatever.” Gladio’s way beyond holding up the conversation every time Noct gets all mouthy, being the smart-ass he is. He only holds up two fingers for emphasis. “Second: Don’t expect me to go easier on ya just ‘cause you’re a girl, got it? I’ll adjust your training regimen to start off with the basics, like building on your stamina and strength and flexibility. Nothing too hard, just somethin’ to get those muscles to work. Work hard and you’ll be as good as Iris in no time. All clear?”

You head bobs up and down fervently, wide-eyed. “Got it.”

He nods his approval. Good. You’re off to a pleasant track record if you keep this up, since you’re obviously preinstalled with strong self-discipline, ignited by your own initiative to better yourself for Noct. You look like a decent student in the long run, already managing to survive through two hours on your knees—and then there’s Noct, who’s already stretching out his legs and attempting to massage some life through them. He gets you to unfold your legs too, receiving all pained grunts and suffering moans when Noct taps your thighs, just being the asshole he is. Provided you don’t follow Noct’s bad influence, Gladio supposes you’ll survive through your training regimen with all your limbs intact.

…which brings him to rule number three.

“Third rule.” He clears his throat, drawing your attention to him once more. “If Noct’s being an ass, just punch him.”

“So if you’re being an ass, she gets to punch you too?” Noct asks, sounding all the more impressed with himself for thinking that up. “‘cause I’m pretty sure it goes both ways.”

“Can it, Prince Charmless.”

Little Prince Charmless scoffs at the injustice, nudging you in the rib, even if there’s an awkward reddening of his ears. Yep, he’s trying hard not to show Gladio’s jibe got under his skin, but the proof is right there. You only emit a long-suffering sigh, burying your face deeper in your hands. Nope, too damn late to escape your fate if you’re looking for a way out. Once someone gets involved a little too deeply with Noct, they’re usually stuck in the ride for the long haul, and then some. Noct, the very definition of guiltless and unrepentant right there in the dictionary, hasn’t shown you the fullest extent of his arsenal of assholery yet—oh, Gladio can’t wait for the day you’re gonna be moaning into your hands again as you lament your fate to the Astrals, ‘cause the good stuff is just starting with a bang.

“All right, kids, enough of that talk.” Gladio thumbs over his shoulder where the steel brackets display an array of daggers, swords, broadswords and polearms masterfully crafted from hardwood. “Noct, go do your warm-ups. I gotta have a little chitchat with our resident Architect right here. Now scram.”

Oddly, Noct doesn’t move. He’s regarding Gladio coolly under hooded blue eyes, arms crossed. “About what exactly?”

Unfazed because he’s the bigger person around here, both literally and figuratively, Gladio whistles low under his breath, sassing Noct’s huffy arm-crossing thing. “Didn’t know I needed His Highness’ express permission to talk to her.”

“Yeah,” Noct asserts, like the sky is blue and chocobos can’t fly and you’re all his. “I brought her down here so she’s my responsibility.”

Responsibility, what was that again? Gladio feels his eyebrows shooting up fast enough to launch into outer space. Noct being irresponsible is an ancient prophecy everyone and their grandmas heard of, but Noct being responsible is definitely not written anywhere in the Cosmogony, nope, not even a little footnote tacked at the end of the last page. What is he, some sort of feudal-era dad marrying off his daughter or something? The absurdity of the mental image gets Gladio chuckling a little.

“Responsibility is a big word, Noct, gotta be careful with that,” he points out. “You sure you wanna take responsibility over her paperwork, about two or three whole stacks of ‘em?”

That gets Noct decolorizing faster than expected and he’s all too happy to jump to his feet. “Gonna go get my warm-ups done. See ya.”

And that’s that. Noct betrays you just as easily, stalking off in the direction of the weapons. Gladio’s chuckling dissolves into barking laughter, colouring Noct’s nape with that same awkward red from earlier. Dropping on the polished floor, he snorts at Noct’s direction. “Heh, he freaks out on the big stuffs all the damn time. Chickens out the moment someone says the R word. Don’t let it offend ya, kid.”

“Not offended at all, don’t sweat it,” you answer, plain. There’s a bit of an improvement though, your tone is no longer as monotonous as a machine, sometimes ending in a breathier note, or dropping significantly whenever you’re distressed. None of that robotic rubbish whatsoever, probably thanks to Noct’s constant meddling in your life. “I know His Highness is a busy man, even if he looks all irresponsible. I just wanna be there to support him and the kingdom. It’s my duty as an Andronicus anyway, so it’s no biggie.”

Gladio huffs under his breath and scratches his cheek at the bit on the Andronicus. And that’s another matter altogether when it comes to your lineage. “Yeah… about that, I wasn’t joking about the paperwork. We’ve got whole stacks of them, standard security stuff on your background.” He sees you readying a rebuttal, all the more ready for your responsibility, and he holds up a hand to stop you from going further. “Hold your chocobos. Your situation’s a little difficult than the rest of the usual stuff we’ve got. Y’know what I mean?”

Of course you do, he knows you’re smarter than the average brat out there. The placidity in your eyes is deceptive, gazing unflinchingly into his. With each syllable, your lips curve, adopting a change in your languid lilt. “I’m aware of my unique predicament. I’m always doing things behind father’s back anyway, so it’s not a surprise if he finds out sooner or later. He can’t stop me.” Almost to yourself, your eyes trail aside and you murmur, “He’s long lost the power to control my life the moment I came to the Citadel. He knows he’s losing this war I waged. We’re now playing against time, that’s all.”

That’s—well, a little unnerving to hear.

Slack-jawed, it takes a moment for Gladio to dissociate the groaning, moaning mess curled up apologetically earlier from this conniving creature splayed before him. All lashes lidding low, examining a raveling thread on your thighs with the apathy of a queen, despite having uttered words an average twenty-something wouldn’t dream of a lifetime. How easily you switch depends on the matter, going from the ungainly girleen into this Machiavellian lady in mere seconds. As much as you paraded yourself as a harmless being, there is no denying the Andronicus inside.

And the Andronici are some of the most impersonal, inhumane nobles serving the Lucii Kings.

Gladio shuts his mouth with a hard click, getting his head in the game. He leans forward with a look meant to daunt those who’ve heard of the Amicitia, but you remain unconcerned. “What makes you so sure you’re gonna serve Noct?” he presses on. “What if your dad overrides your decision to become the next head of Andronicus, kid? You got backup ideas ready?”

Something about your illusory indolence feels off, gets his gut feeling roiling inside. “I already have plans in store,” you say. “Don’t worry about it. I won’t involve His Highness in my own mess, you have my word.”

Always answering things in a vague, roundabout way like what Noct complained when he first came across your existence, huh. Unless he resorts to brute force, he doubts he can wring anything from you without breaking an arm or two. Or ringing alarms somewhere else in their pentagonal friendship cycle. Still, as long as you’ve got Noct’s wellbeing as the number one priority in that pretty little head of yours, you’re entitled to your own secrets. You can deal with Quintus however you deem fit, since it’s your domestic problem to begin with. Stepping into someone’s familial crossfire isn’t exactly outlined in his job scope as Noct’s Shield anyway.

Putting an end to this, Gladio pulls himself up and points at you to stay. “Well, your document’s gonna be highly confidential stuff since we’re working against your dad here, so I’ll just bring it up to my old man, Clarus Amicitia, in case you don’t know who he is. Be prepared if he wants to meet you.” He pauses, then finding it appropriate to tack on a grin just for the sake of fucking around with you. “Personally.”

He doesn’t expect you to laugh but you do, a small, high sound that catches him off-guard with the brilliance of your smile.

LATER ON, Gladio chances a glance at your sealed envelopes. All six stacks bear the same name, marked at the top right hand corner in a careful cursive. Andronicus, and nothing more.

“the prophecy speaks of a king,” quintus utters, low. “a king who vanquishes eos’ illness. the true king.”

seated behind his impressive desk, against a curtain of crimson, he is the very picture of an imperator. well, byron supposes people do call him quintus the compeller for the very same reasons. standing near a suit of armour, byron pours some gourmet tea as he tries to tune out quintus the same way he tunes out a scream: by stabbing until the scream turns to squelches. he fashions his expression into one of apathy when he brings over the tray, setting it on the edge of the carved desk.

quintus does not wait for him to usher a cup at his direction; he takes as he pleases, tinkling china against china harshly after a deep sip. “what good will there be for a true king to emerge when niflheim is more than ready to snuff us out come tomorrow? rather than worrying about the impending darkness, i’d rather if his majesty would renew his efforts on reestablishing the military.”

this, byron inquires with careful curiosity. “reestablishing the military, sir?”

“he believes it to be futile effort.” quintus clicks his tongue, ridiculing the king’s trite choice of words. he sets down his teacup so sharply until it chips at the edges. “i respect him but i beg to differ, as this is a matter of life and death. our people are dying outside the old wall. daemons, mts, monsters, you name it, we have it. dissolving the military and rebranding it as the crownsguard is a foolhardy move executed by none other than the late king mors’ father. are the people beyond the walls not the people of lucis as well? they, too, deserve the lavish sense of security insomnia affords. if we cannot provide them the crystal’s protection, then we can surely offer them the reassurance of our military’s strength, no matter how little we may have. by ignoring their plights, by letting the imperials run free on our lands, we have abandoned them—no,” he bellows, tensing, “we spat on their faces.”

interesting. byron hums under his breath, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with his sentiment. quintus seems content enough to continue his spiel of spite after refreshing himself with polishing off the lasts of his tea, and it has byron all too pleased to pour another cup.

“the kingsglaive may exist to handle our external crises, wars, riffraff, but tell me: how will we survive without them? those serving under our banner are none other than commoners with an aptitude in magic—they live outside the walls, yet, the king forsakes their villages, their tiny towns, just to keep insomnia safe. if we do not protect them, who will protect us once the last glaive dies? no,” quintus shakes his head, fingers laced tightly together, “i will not stand for this any longer. what my ancestors have failed to finish, that is to grant the outsiders equal rights to safety and revolutionizing their technology, i will strive to accomplish during my reign as the head of the andronicus, down to my very last breath.”

how moving. is this the very same man who left his speech on byron’s skin in long, red lines? spoken like a true man of the battlefield, one who operates insomnia the same way one operates a cadaver. he is attempting to reanimate lucis’ corpse by removing its decaying internal organs and swapping them with cables and switches. all the problems infesting lucis will be systematically tackled in stages, starting from the advancement of the army, right until the protection of its people. yet the problem lies with the king and his councilmen, and it is an obstacle quintus cannot resolve without challenging the king himself.

one cup turns to two, and two turns into three. with each cup, byron finds his thoughts swimming deeper and deeper until the dregs are all that’s left in the pot.

“YOU SEE, I DON’T LIKE MESS.” Byron begins, all conversational as he pulls latex gloves over his hands. The elastic snaps when he ensures they are snug around his wrists, and he smiles in satisfaction. “Whenever I see something messy, I get migraine. Long, horrible migraine, like someone sawing my brain. Do you ever feel that?”

A muffled cry.

Byron’s eyes crinkle into crescents at the pathetic sound. “Wonderful, I’m glad you understand. You must forgive me for my crude methods, of course, because it makes for easier cleanup when I’m done. Saved me from another migraine, good chap.”

There is a certain container wedged between blocks of steel that Byron calls his own. Nobody comes to these abandoned industrial dumpsites because who wants to deal with all the acrid stench and squelching maggots underneath their boots? Rusted cars missing their engines and wheel-less trucks are stacked one atop another, a brown stream of waste constantly seeping through decaying bags. Noxious fumes permeate the air, a permanent reminder of his origins: The streets, the sewers, the tin roof for Percival’s hideout and moldy, peeling walls.

Plastic crinkles under his weight, step by step to the table.

In here, everything is clean and white. White plastic tacked to the metal walls, white plastic over steel surgical trolley, an array of knives with white handles arranged in too-straight line. White is easy to stain. He’d know this very well, of course, since he’s been blessed with the very same whiteness. White is beautiful, pristine, the very shade representing purity. Yet, with just a fleck of colour, white stains.

Another muffled scream, and Byron raises his head.

Strapped on a rickety wooden chair, a weasel-looking forty-something man appears to be struggling in his binds. The Informant is trying to escape. Oh dear. He can’t have that, can he?

“It is ill-advised to escape,” Byron breathes out, tipping his chin. Too stoic, too blunt, and too smiling. “You know I’ll come and find you wherever you are, and I’ll make it more painful in our next meeting. Please, for your own good, stay quiet. I dislike rowdiness.”

Goodness, that gets the man thrashing more than he expected, the cloth gag barely muffling all the please and no and stop stop stop stop. Eyes almost bulging out of their sockets, sweat raining his receding hairline, he looks at Byron in what seems to be a mixture of contempt and terror. Really, he should decide on an emotion and channel it properly instead of delivering this half-assed excuse of an expression. Even his apathetic keeper managed better than that.

Byron heaves a heavier sigh, shoulders drooping at the sight. Something pulses faintly at the back of his head. “I gave you your warning, and you chose to disregard it. Very well.”

In theory, cleaving a human involves a body and a knife. Two simple objects readily found anywhere with varying levels of difficulty. In practice, it gets a little more complicated than that. It starts with the selection of tools, finding the best fit for the job. A screwdriver is to stab as an axe is to decapitate. But before all the excitement turns his nerves into jitters, he wants answers. And he wants them now.

“There is a certain dog I’ve taken to feeding, you see, for it is such a wretched, pitiable thing until I can’t bear the sight. In return, this dog carries news for me from far and wide. It’s been the utmost help, of course.” Byron reminds him, latex fingers squeaking over the stainless steel of the trolley. “However, I realized that this certain dog keeps running with his tail between his legs between two masters. A dog certainly has to be loyal to only one master, don’t you think so too?”

He catches the man vocalizing a quiet fuck from his throat.

Ah yes, bingo. Byron’s smile is painfully static as he traces absentminded circles on the tray, watery greys in his eyes turning molten steel. “You didn’t think I’d catch on, did you?”

More cursing, and the man thrashes harder, shaking like he’s got a seizure from just sitting in a chair. His perspiration is rank and Byron has half the mind to skin him just to get rid of the smell, but playing with food is very bad manner for a butler like him. Everything has to be done with clean precision, since he loathes leaving a mess behind.

“How long have you been in this business again?” Byron poses a rhetorical question, knowing the answer better than the man himself. “More than two decades, am I right? You’ve clearly underestimated the people you worked with. They might’ve not noticed your transgressions, but,” he bends at the waist, staring straight into the ruddy redness of the man’s eyeballs, bopping him lightly on his grimy nose, “I did.”

The Informant howls in his face, shivering, tears dampening the gag around his mouth. Awful sound, Byron can’t imagine what it’d be like without the handy cloth muffling his cry. The man breathes hard through his nose, lapsing into hysteric fits and kicking his bound limbs as if they’d come loose like a charming soap opera on the television. It’s useless, he knows that much, but maybe he held a faint hope in his heart that Byron’s overlooked something critical in a moment like this, like the knots are loose or the rope is frayed at the edges. Hope, he can keep hoping all he wants before Byron cuts his life out of him.

Straightening, Byron considers his choices, alternating glances between the knives. Should he go for the standard kitchen set, or the heavier butcher’s piece? Of course, each tool comes with its pros and cons. One is delicate, suited for carving initials into skin, and the other holds only one purpose: To hack meat into cubes. Coming to a decision, he hums and selects the latter. Cold and hefty in his hands, the perfect weight in its build. He runs a thumb over its blade, letting it glint under the fluorescent light.

Please please please stop is scattered between pleas for mercy and cries of apology, and the poor soul might run dry from tears if he keeps yowling like this.

Unfortunately, that is not an answer.

“Careful,” he cautions, lifting the blade to the light, examining its make under blinding whiteness. “The more you cry, the harder I’ll make it for you to die.”

As though Byron’s warning is a hammer to his chest, The Informant heaves and sputters, choking under the gag, swallowing all the noises he made with great effort. The container drops into silence, an overall improvement to the situation, save for stifled sniffling. Good. He likes it better this way. Dropping to his knees, Byron casually drags the knife up the length of the man’s feet—ah, he’s gone ahead and flinched from the cool metal, and now the knife nicked itself right in his flesh. Blood wells up and runs down the plastic. The Informant whimpers, biting off his cry in desperation.

“Have you heard of the death by a thousand cuts? No? That’s okay. Here, I’ll show you, though—“ Byron stops short with a soft laugh, “mine will contain a slight variation to accomplish my mission. Do forgive me for being unable to stay true to the original.”

A butcher’s knife is not meant to saw through meat. There’s no harm in trying anyway, so Byron sets to work. He drags it up and down across the little toe like he’s playing a violin, streaking steel in scarlet. At the back of his head, someone screams. A mindless hum, so he ignores it. The flesh gives way so easily under his ministrations, slowly but surely, and soon enough, there’s a satisfying friction once the blade reaches the bone. Here, Byron supposes, is where his experience tells him to hold enough pressure just to get it to yield. Tedious job, murdering someone. Wouldn’t recommend it to anyone searching for a pretty Credit.

Putting his bountiful knowledge to the practice, Byron grips the hilt tighter and applies just enough pressure with every push and pull of the knife. A raw scream, eyeballs rolling back, jerking with every grate. Please no is back again, this time punctuated by heavy sobs tearing out of his chest of how I’ve got a wife and my kids are gonna starve without me and bla bla bla, Byron’s heard this shit before, heard this too many times on the dull phonograph, seen the heavy wife scolding two scoundrels drawing on one of the many walls near the squatters, and then she gathers them into her arms with a weary sigh and—

—a satisfying crack, and the little toe rolls on the plastic.

Oh. He must’ve applied more pressure than he thought. That won’t do.

Fuck it hurts rips from the man’s throat, Martha Joseph Alvin is recited as final prayer, and Byron feels the pulsing in his head budding into the beginnings of a migraine and why does the damn man care so much for his family when Percival never gave a fucking shit whether Byron’s got anything left in his hands? No fucking mother to coddle his cries, no fucking father to catch his back, no fucking friend to care if he’s not breathing six feet underneath Duscae, turning into fertilizer for the wildlife. Nobody gives a fucking shit about him, not even Quintus, not even—

He raises the knife high and brings it down, a butcher and his meat.

Crimson all over the plastic, such satisfaction, but it’s not enough. Half of a foot is on his chopping board, the white of the bone peeking through meaty red. It’s not fair Byron’s going through this shit alone. Should he amputate the man just so he’d suffer Lavinia’s fate in Titus Andronicus? Cleave off his tongue, sever the joints of his arms and legs, leaving only his torso behind? Someone should suffer the same fate, shouldn’t they? Someone tangled too deeply in the Andronici’s mess deserves to live through the very same tragedy, don’t they?

Yes, he decides in morbid fascination, they should.

The knife is raised high once more.

WHITE, TOO, CAN BE CORROSIVE, just like acid.

o'er rotted soil, under blighted sky a dread plague the wicked has wrought. in the light of the gods, sword-sworn at his side 'gainst the dark the king's battle is fought. from the heavens high, to the blessed below, shines the beam of a peace long besought. "long live the line, and this stone divine, for the night when all comes to naught."

cosmogony: 15:2, nadir.

YOU ARE SORE ALL OVER thanks to the brutal beating of your first day. So sore from your third rep until you marvel at how dedicated Noctis can be, never breaking out of his stance as he took on Gladio in training. By the time you’ve wrapped up your set of push-ups, vision blurring and head spinning, he’s still parrying Gladio’s unforgiving strikes, quicker on his feet to match Gladio’s hulking brawn. He bursts in and out of the fight—warp-strike, he calls it—as flickers of magic drift around him like shards of broken mirrors, illuminating the floors in fractured blues.

Now, seeing him sprawled over the stretch of your bed sheets and comforters, he is an entirely different being from the aggressive prince prowling the training halls. Here, he is the lazy prince, one who conquers sixty percent of your land and demands more than fifty percent of your pillows. A conqueror through and through. If you listen hard enough, you can hear a small buzz in his breathing. His beautiful, expressive eyes are closed, dark lashes a stark contrast against his porcelain skin. Arm half-raised over his head and another resting on his chest, the comforters long gone and kicked off his body, tangling around his ankles.

Limber limbs, agile body, an unrelenting strength.

Your king is a pretty, pale prince, all ink spattered on snow.

Sitting up halfway, you unravel the twists and turns of his comforter and gently draw it over his body, letting the familiar heaviness cocoon him. It falls in the dips between his legs and arms and neck, but you’re careful enough to smoothen the fabric in all the nooks and crannies to ensure nothing’s exposed. It won’t do to have him catching cold limbs in your workspace, hindering all his princely progress if he falls ill. You’ve barely finished tugging the comforter over his feet when he shifts under you, rustling the sheets.

“Mmmh?” A voice thick with sleep. Noctis struggles with holding up his head, the hand over his hair catching a long yawn. “What’re you doing…?”

Patting the finishing touches to his feet, you drop onto the last forty percent of your land with your pillow. Comfort can be subjective when it comes to layered sheets playing the part of a makeshift mattress, but Noctis hasn’t complained thus far. The thought has you burrowing deeper into your own nest. “Nothing, Prince. Go back to sleep.”

Sleepy as he is, he still studies you how one reads a menu, head all full of delicious thoughts—and perhaps still basking in the afterglow of delicious dreams. The beautiful blue of his eyes are the skies across Galdin Quay, resting heavily on your face. So beautiful, you catch your fingers almost touching perfection. “You sure it’s nothing?”

No.  You lick your bottom lip to divert the thought, ducking your head when Noctis drops his gaze to the flit of your tongue, staring at your spit-shiny lips. All traces of sleepy blue are erased, waxing interest in its stead. Interest that you are unwilling to entertain, lest he demands your thoughts. “A thousand times yep.” Shoving your discomfort into the distance, you turn your back to him. Face buried in your pillow, you await suffocation to claim you into slumber. “Gonna get some sleep, see ya.”

“Hey.”

Noctis is saying something, inexplicably intent on preventing you from having the last word.

You pretend you’re fast asleep, emulating an even breathing just to get him to stop. What other choices do you have left? This is bad. You should sleep. Sleep always rids you of your apprehension the same way Byron rids you of your nightmares. Sleep should soothe your aching calves and twitching thighs, a restful balm meant to rejuvenate those who are weary. Sleep should distract you from this—whatever it is you’re thinking, whatever it is the prince wants to do with you.

“Hey,” he tries again, a touch louder this time. “Your hair is in my face.”

You give a start—really? Only to realize a second too late that he’s nowhere near your hair, nowhere close enough to breathe down your neck. What he’s looking for is the startled jerk just to see if you’re awake, and you fell for it. Drat. Knowing he’s bested you this time, you clear your throat and tighten your hold on the pillow. “Turn the other way round then, Prince.”

“Don’t wanna,” he says, voice gone quiet. “You turn around.”

That’s unfair. That’s unfair because he knows you can’t say no to him. Who are you to deny what the prince wants?

Resigning to your fate for the second time today, you finally turn again. Noctis is still where you last saw him, lying on his side, the comforter you pulled hanging off his shoulder. It gets your fingers scrambling for your own, tugging the weighty cotton over your head, leaving only a loose gap around the edges of your face. Trying to find something to distract you from thinking about the weight of his gaze, or the lazy drag of his eyes from your lips to your neck. Trying to string a sentence or two about something—anything, as long as he doesn’t look at you like this.

After a while, he snorts inelegantly. “You look like an egg.”

A what?

“An… egg?” The words are already out from your mouth before you’re consciously filtering them.

Noctis mimics what seems to be wrapping his head from a blanket of air, a live demonstration of his meaning. “Yeah, an egg,” he explains matter-of-factly, dropping his hand to the sheets once more. “Y’know, hard-boiled egg. That stuff. Your comforter’s all white and your face is just—“

“—the yolk,” you finish for him, almost incredulous, almost borderline wanting to smother him under your pillow if you could. Here you are, worrying if he’s read your thoughts, and he comes up with this? “Really, Prince? An egg?”

“Yep.” Remorseless, curling his bottom lip, nodding all the same. “Got a problem?”

Incredible. All you can do is to gawp at him, wordless. An egg, really? An incredibly specific egg—a hardboiled egg? With your face for the yolk? Precisely at that point in your life, you realize Noctis can be quite trying at times. Is that why Gladio was grinning all morning long? Just waiting for you to be suckered into his same experience? You’re not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, seeing how your morning routine tumbled into a disaster with him by your bedside, hauling you to an unannounced training session, and then tapping your thighs when you experienced excruciating pins and needles from sitting on your knees for too long.

If today’s a sneak preview for your future, who knows what’s in store many more weeks after?

Trying to gain a semblance of rationality, you nod—then shake—before settling on a nod again. “Yeah. Yeah I’ve got a problem. Your comment failed to crack a smile on the Egg Queen's face. That was ineggscusable. Good night, Prince.”

“What.” Noctis deadpans, obviously not expecting that to backfire on him.  “Want me to snap a pic for proof? You gotta see it to believe it.”

Yanking the rest of the comforter over your face, you decide it’s best to spend the rest of your evening with a nap.

“Go to sleep, Prince. If you'll eggscuse me, I bid you a very good night.”

[tbc.]

Notes: 

this chapter isn’t particularly my favourite and a few things felt awkward/misplaced, but i think my editing skills have gone down the drain and i couldn't particularly make anything work. ( ´△｀) i’m sorry sometimes my writing just goes down under and doesn’t wanna come back up. i’ve been awake for the past 31 hours now and i’m absolutely planning to pass out after this.

but yes, thank you for still sticking around and reading this update! and thank you for sending in messages and asks on my tumblr about my current job, even though i couldn’t reply much on time (especially with the asks) while i was away abroad. it’s been really nice chatting with some of you readers and you kind anons as well ❤ i’ll be called for another flight sometime soon seeing how november/december schedule is really packed (holiday season actually stands for…horrible season), but i’ll still do my best to have a consistent update (or update you readers on the status on my tumblr).

i hope life treats you well ❤ here’s a preview on the next chapter!

PREVIEW:

As usual, Noctis doesn’t seem to exist in the equation. Not that he’s surprised, he’s long classified Byron as one of those cynical bastards thriving on treating others as though their collective intelligence is on par with five-year-olds. Scoffing under his breath, Noctis folds his arms over his chest and follows you this time around, letting you lead the way to your room. Byron is all fancy bows as though he’s mocking Noctis for some reasons, throwing the door open with an exaggerated flourish and shutting it behind him once they’re all safely inside.

°˖ ✧◝(○ ヮ ○)◜✧˖ ° and also just because i was editing chapter 23, have a super-future preview of chapter 23 as well!

PREVIEW | 23:

“You wanna tell me what it feels like to have someone else on top of you?” Noctis murmurs.

#Noctis Lucis Caelum #ffxv #final fantasy xv #noctis x reader #noctis/reader #final fantasy xv fanfic #noctis #gladiolus amicitia #Gladio #the next chapter will have byron vs noctis #and it's pretty much one of the chapters i laughed while writing #yeah those were the days #thank you for sticking around dear readers! #lazy people

[ommil]

Loving Keto Food: How to Avoid Carb / Sweets / Sugar Cravings?

You cannot resist carbs? Almost feel like addicted to sugar and carbs? Everyone who eats carbs regularly has a carb addiction. That’s actually very common among low carber-s population. It goes away in a few weeks if you can abstain 100%, then you never have to worry about it again. Unfortunately, when you give in you are just starting the cycle of addiction over again and your body keeps hammering you with cravings.

Craving something? Eat a full meal.

So, when you feel hunger, Eat a full meal. After a couple weeks the cravings completely disappear. Still hungry after eating? Eat something high in fat. There's certainly a little hump to get over, but they really do vanish and soon you just don't see carbs or react the same way when they're around. It stops seeming like food. Thirsty but can't quench the thirst? Drink water with ½ tsp of salt. Thirsty? Drink water. What really helped me through this phase was to think of sugar/carbs as literal poison.

Eat meat instead!

Carb cravings go away and then your cravings turn into meat cravings. You feel your body and mind transform and you crave delicious meaty nourishment. Have some zero carb snacks available when you're hungry (jerky, pork rinds, bacon, cheese), change what you are craving. And when you do eat meals, make sure you aren't restricting how much you eat. Also, what diet are you starting from? It may be easier for you to go low carb or keto before going full no carb. It’ll help you to reduce your body's dependence on carbs for fuel while avoiding the difficulties of an "all or nothing" mindset that makes it hard to go cold turkey.

Avoid cravings by having coffee with heavy cream

I drink coffee with heavy cream.  At some point you'll want to eliminate any of the low carb plants, but if being keto first helps you stay zero carb in the long run then its a useful step to make. If you're hungry all the time you aren't eating enough. Get more fat into your diet. Don't worry about calories at this early stage. Making progress by moving in the right direction and consistently being on that path is better than weekly carb binges that operate as setbacks. This is a molecular response in brain looking for dopamine hit, treat them as drug. Worry about calories after you get your carb additions under control. Eat some eggs and cheese. Eat a steak and all the fat too. Eat a bun-less burger with extra cheese. Eat some wings and a metric shit ton of blue cheese dressing.

How long it takes to get rid of the cravings?

Many people find the cravings completely disappear after two or three weeks of sticking to the diet. the cravings are completely gone for me after two weeks.  Fatty cuts of meat should help. I think it's so difficult because you're caving and having those carbs once a week so it's almost like starting over every single time. If you can make it a little longer with no carbs you'll crave them less. For soda, enjoy the carbonated part of it. Drink sparkling water most of the time; either just plain unflavored carbonated water, or some lightly-flavored no-sugar stuff.

How to deal with constipation?

It's completely normal to need to poop less often on keto. That's not constipation, that's just less stuff to poop. If your poop is dry, hard to pass - that's sign of constipation. Soluble fiber will also keep some water in your colon but if you have enough electrolytes, you won't need it. But don't add more fiber, you're just adding more crowd to the traffic jam. You need a better electrolyte/water balance in your colon. In other words, you need more electrolytes. Not just magnesium but sodium too. Remember that keto has a diuretic effect which strips electrolyte out of your system when you go pee. You need lots of extra electrolytes to make up for it and once you get a better electrolyte balance, more water will stay in your colon, making for normal easy to pass poops.

 Use dark chocolate to reinforce keto state

Contains some antioxidants and boosts mood, and doesn't contain as much sugar as milk chocolate. There's a large amount of magnesium and iron, plus the antioxidants and polyphenols seem to increase blood flow. It isn't all that nutritious, by daily nutrition standards, so it won't and shouldn't replace a salad or egg. But it can definitely be a clean source of calories and even a guiltless treat. Especially considering its emotional and social benefits. Nuts and seeds contain protein and are also full of heart-healthy monounsaturated fats, however just a mere quarter cup of nuts brings you to about 200 kcals. Calorie dense as they are, I'm not cutting them out of my diet and I allow myself to indulge in a small handful everyday (I love pairing them with dark chocolate). Remember, moderation is key. Just because something is high in calories doesn't mean that you should stop consuming it entirely. However, there's quite a bit of saturated fat which might negate the blood flow benefits on cardiovascular health. It all depends on what you choose to believe in regards to saturated fat and atherosclerosis.

Avoid nuts and seeds because the calories and carbs add up

You have to realize that effect sugar has in the brain is similar to cocaine, release of neurotransmitter dopamine, and the removal of the substance from your system will almost be as hard. Once you get into ketosis and have an adequate amount of fats in your diet AND the sugars out of your system, the cravings will largely subside. It is a chemical thing to be sure, so go through the hard stage and get the sugar withdrawals over so you can get into ketosis. Ensure that you were eating an adequate amount of fat and sodium as well. The sodium will help with the sugar withdrawal. Be careful with the assumption that high calorie = bad. So consuming high calorie foods are important. If too much of my diet is low calorie plants. Read the full article

#AvoidCarb/Sweets/Sugar