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secret-engima · 4 years

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i sent you an ask a while ago about cor vs nyx time traveling chaos and you mentioned them BOTH going back which immediately made me think of the possibility of them going back as like, twin LCs

No.

NO.

DON’T MAKE ME MAKE A NEW AU.

*screams off into the ether*

*comes back*

ALRIGHT FINE BUCKLE UP LADIES AND GENTS AND TUMBLR DENIZENS I HAVE A NEW TWIN AU AND I’M RAMBLING.

-Nyx and Cor don’t MEAN to time-travel. Either of them. They just kinda .... do?

-They both wake up in the same clearing, with the words of the Astral that dumped them here (Ramuh) in their ears, sit up and realize they aren’t alone.

-Things are ... kinda stiff between them at first. They don’t know what’s going on, or where they are. All they remember is their respective lives before getting snatched by Ramuh.

-They at least know who the other is, and compare notes on what happened as they wander the definitely-not-ravaged-by-the-Long-Night wilds. Nyx is more than a little surprised to realize that his mirror double is Cor the Immortal, but that’s not ... the WEIRDEST thing going on right now. So.

-No. The weirdest thing going on right now is that they are both like- SIX YEARS OLD. And that they now look identical. Both of them are blue-eyed (Cor’s shade of blue, which irritates Nyx because why couldn’t he keep his own eye color at least?), with wispy black hair that is 100% Nyx’s, and cheekbones that belong to neither of them.

-Also magic.

-Cor is already quietly hitting his head against a tree before Nyx figures out what the clues all add up to.

-Nyx is not a happy camper when he realizes what has happened (read: when Cor explains it in between blistering language a Furia would blush at).

-Also Nyx still has the scars from his Death-By-Ring. Rippling, branching scars running up his arm and along his cheek and temple on that side of his face. They’re white and “old” but still very, very noticeable.

-Cor and Nyx exchange stories as they wander the wilds, murdering wildlife that tries to eat them and hiding from the daemons at night (they both don't sleep well, because they’re one, children, two, Nyx has night terrors of dying, and three, Cor is terrified that if he goes to sleep he’ll wake up to find the sun gone.

-They finally reach civilization after about a month of bonding in the wilds over Shared Trauma and plans to change fate (Nyx is NOT HAPPY about the Prophecy KTHANKS HE DIDN’T DIE JUST FOR BAHAMUT TO KILL THE YOUNG KING AND PRINCESS) depending on where they are in the past.

-The civilization they find is Hammerhead, and the newspaper they snitch and huddle over tells them the year is 728. One year before Mors dies.

-Nyx manages to hiss the “What the-” in a non-child friendly phrase right as Cid finds them and startles them by asking where their parents are. Since a Startled Nyx is a Warptastic Nyx, there goes the bloodline secret in 0.02 seconds.

-Cor could Strangle™ Nyx if he wasn’t already 120% done with the time-travel thing and already planning to be a tiny prophecy smashing gremlin. Getting a speed ticket to Citadel via Cid, who will take them to Regis rather than Mors, is the safest option he could hope for honestly.

-So yea Cid collars the scruffy, underweight, dressed-in-rags-and-animal-skins twins and calls Regis to yell at him and that’s how Regis learns he is a dad of two Smol Feral 6 year olds at age 22.

-Regis drives out to Hammerhead with Clarus and COR so that his father doesn’t learn about this JUST yet and Time!Cor has a long moment of dysphoria staring at his Angry Teenage Self. While the Cor’s hold a staring contest, Nyx is a mess because the king he saw die is THERE and thoroughly convinced he’s Nyx’s DAD and Nyx CANNOT DEAL kthanks. Regis asks for their names and Nyx blurts out the first ones he can think of that aren’t Obviously Owned Already (Romulus and Remus and no Cor is NEVER going to forgive Nyx for that) and Regis is just- Regis is an Overwhelmed Die inside because KIDS. HE HAS KIDS. TWO TINY FERAL SIX YEAR OLDS WEARING ANIMAL FUR. ONE OF THEM IS TRYING TO BITE COR (admittedly Cor started it, COR STOP THAT). A few questions reveals they’ve been on their own in the wilds for “a while” using their magic and Regis is even MORE of a die.

-The question of where their mother is, where their other relatives are, is answered by Romulus (Cor) shutting down entirely and Remus (Nyx) hunching and shivering and whispering one word.

-That word is “Nifs”.

-Regis has to turn around and go pace in the parking lot with heat waves shimmering off his shoulders before he stops seeing red.

-Regis takes them home, Cid goes with because he and Regis may be on rocky terms but Cid does love Regis, and he loves kids, and he doesn’t trust Mors to “take this well” as far as he can throw the adamantoise.

-Cid is right.

-Mors does not take it well At All.

-Mors says some ... things that horrify Regis, because he would NEVER have thought his father capable of sinking so low. Makes demands about the children Regis has “created out of wedlock”. One of those demands is that they cannot be heirs and they must never be revealed to the court, they must be taken away and hidden somewhere to preserve Regis’s image and the “public trust”. Regis has no intentions to do this, obviously but Romulus, who has been spacing into the distance trying to astral project as a means of not crying his eyes out at the sight of a living Regis and Clarus, senses Mors’ hands reaching for Remus (his-his-his his only friend his only companion who understands his only safety for the last month his BROTHER HIS TWIN) and

-Cold hands cold magic demands-demands-demands. A leash in another’s hands, the burning apathy of a blacksmith beating a living weapon into shape, the taste of his own blood in his mouth as he trains-trains-trains and is found wanting.

-Cold hands cold magic reaching reaching touching touching burning burning engraving knowledge into his being his core his SOUL

-The knowledge forged in his spine-heart-soul-mind written in his blood on the ground and his scars in the mirror.

-Better to die than be a failure.

-He

-S N A P S.

-By the time he comes back to himself, it’s to Remus holding him tight around the waist making shushing noises while Romulus presses them both into a corner, his back to Remus and the taste of blood (not his blood he knows what his blood tastes like this isn’t it who’s blood is this-) in his mouth as he clutches at a sword too big for his tiny body, a silver armiger bristling like spines. He has no memory of how he went from glaring at the wall while Regis and Mors argued to huddling here in the corner with his magic screaming around him in blades and spitting flakes of ice.

-There is no sign of Mors in the room.

-Regis is there. Regis and Clarus on the far side of the room, trying to talk to him, and something tells him they’ve been talking for a while.

-It’s Cor, his younger self, his previous self, that he locks eyes with from across the room, and it’s Cor who looks murderous in his understanding as he briskly orders Regis and Clarus and Cid out of the room.

-The silence when they leave is heavy.

-Cor settles down on the farthest side of the room, his sword propped on his shoulder and his shoulders intentionally relaxed. He’s treating Romulus like a frightened animal, an abused animal, and it’s working more than he wants it too.

-The adult part of Romulus curses his lack of control, how being in a younger body effects his actions so much more than he wants it to.

-The rest of him doesn’t care.

-It takes an hour for Romulus to finally drop the Armiger, but he doesn’t move from the corner, or acknowledge Remus trying to nudge his way free of the corner.

-It takes another 30 minutes for Cor to deem Romulus “present” enough to ask, “Is he still alive?” The man who hurt you. The man who Mors reminded you of.

-Romulus just laughs until his little body starts to cry. It’s answer enough.

-Cor becomes their only adult touchstone for a while. They stay in the massive royal suite (Regis’s suite, Romulus knows from years of experience and Remus from the occasional guard duty). Regis doesn’t come in, but Romulus can sense him at the door a few times, and Cor’s phone is constantly dinging with messages that are probably from Regis or Clarus.

-When Cor finally lets another adult into the suite again (bristling protectively the entire time), Romulus and Remus find out that their timeline? Yeah. It already got thrown out the window.

-Regis comes in.

-He’s wearing the Ring.

-Romulus stares, Remus doesn’t know better to realize what is wrong with that picture. There is something hard in the set of Regis’s shoulders, something weary and protective and ... jaded. Jaded like Regis hadn’t been until years after Mors death when Regis finally dug out the deepest, nastiest secrets of his father’s reign.

-”Is he dead?” Romulus asks numbly.

-Regis follows his gaze to the Ring, and his expression shifts to surprise, then a black sort of anger, then a careful, tired gentleness, “No. But his health was failing. So I ... convinced him ... to step down. He won’t be coming near you again. Not unless you ask.” Regis’s voice cracks and there is a love and a pain in his magic as it tentatively wraps around the twins that makes Romulus realize Just What Regis thinks is the source of Romulus’s violent panic attack, “No one will come near you or touch you unless you ask first.”

-And something in Romulus keens, just a little, at the reassurance of those words. His issues aren’t what Regis thinks they are but ... it’s a relief. Even though his time-table is now even shorter with Regis having put on the Ring and become king a year early .... it’s a relief. To know that Mors won’t come near him or Remus again.

-Romulus doesn’t bother to stop his tears (this is his king, his sword-brother, his best friend, his FATHER of both lifetimes even if this is the first one in blood) as he tentatively steps forward all the way to where Regis is kneeling.

-He can feel Regis shake with suppressed tears as he carefully wraps his arms around Regis’s waist and whispers thank you.

-He’s surprised when Remus joins him, because the glaive only knew Regis as king, but there is a loyalty, a grateful devotion in the man turned boy turned brother that is so deep and vibrant it rings in the air in his magic. A loyalty that could so easily turn into love just like the unconditional, all-powerful love settling on their shoulders like a blanket as Regis oh so tentatively rests a hand on their heads.

-Somewhere in the future that never will be again, the gears of prophecy groan and crack.

#Secret Engima Rambles #Melodies and Manuscripts #Time Travel Twins verse #Cor Leonis #nyx ulric #tw: rape #very very obliquely implied #romulus and remus #ye #ffxv au #time travel #long post

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legobiwan · 4 years

Text

The muse came to me. Who was I to say no?

Dooku at the Opera: A Lineage Tale (A Comedy in 3 Acts)

Featuring: Yan Dooku, Rael Averross, Qui-gon Jinn, and Obi-wan Kenobi

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

“Here, take this.”

A dented, silver flask was thrust into Qui-gon’s inner pocket, the weight of the object throwing his deep brown dress robe off-kilter.

“Rael!” Qui-gon hissed, trying to fish the object from his voluminous, velvet-trimmed outwear. By the Force, he hated wearing this thing. “I’m not - “ The fabric tangled, wrapping around Qui-gon’s arm - once, twice - somehow pinning his limb immobile against his side.

Rael Averross tossed his head back and laughed for a good minute, leaving a scowling Qui-gon half-bound, trapped in the finest Jedi robes the Temple had to offer. Chuckling, he stepped forward to help Qui-gon unfurl from his self-made prison. “Just trust me, kid. You’re gonna need it.”

“I'm not sneaking Rodian liquor into the Coruscant Opera with Master Dooku at my side. He’ll flay me alive if catches me!” Qui-gon shuddered, testing out his freed arm.

“I’m not asking you to drink it,” Rael cocked his head with a small sigh. “That stuff would strip the paint off the side of a Grellan nightclub.”

“Oh, that’s a relief,” Qui-gon snapped, rolling his eyes. He didn’t want to know how Rael had such intimate knowledge of the infamous Grellan nightclubs.

“All I’m saying, kid,” Rael’s voice softened as he wrapped an arm around Qui-gon’s bony shoulders, leading him to the full-length mirror standing in the corner of his and Dooku’s shared quarters. “Is that Master Dooku has probably forgotten about about this particular escape tactic.” Rael put a finger to his chin, glancing to the ceiling in thought. “It was twelve years ago.”

Qui-gon frowned, his own confused expression staring back at him in the polished glass. The boy - man - seemed a stranger, wrapped in a long, velvet-trimmed robe, his tunics a darker shade of his customary beige, pressed, absent the usual dark soil spots and off-green streaks that so infuriated his Master. He looked...well, respectable.

He was fifteen now, had been Master Dooku’s Padawan for just over three years. He had also had the dubious honor of keeping Rael Averross’s occasional company for almost as long.

“Rael, it’s the opera, not the Citadel. Why do I need an escape tactic?” Qui-gon gestured with the flask in his hand, liquid sloshing against its container. “And if I’m not to drink this, then what in Nine Corellian Hells am I supposed to do with it?”

“I don’t know, kid, you’re a Jedi. You’ll figure it out,” Rael shrugged, pushing wavy black hair from his face. He cocked a crooked smile in Qui-gon’s direction, ruffling his short, spiky hair.

“Make your exit after the first intermission, but not too close to the start of the second act. Did that one too many times and Dooku’s cottoned on to it.” Rael began to push Qui-gon towards the door, ignoring the boy’s stammered protests. “Now get outta here before he gets suspicious.”

Qui-gon gaped from the other side of the threshold. “Rael!”

But the door only closed with a final whoosh, leaving a very confused Qui-gon Jinn in an empty Temple corridor, battered container of Rodian gin in hand.

What in the galaxy was that all about? It was the opera. Not just opera, but a Serennian opera. Truth be told, Qui-gon wasn’t much one for the more prestigious arts, not like his Master was, at least. But he had learned to keep those opinions secret after spending two weeks dusting and reorganizing Master Dooku’s extensive holoart book collection, a consequence of expressing his opinion at an exhibition of Tuerrilian landscapes that all the paintings “looked like the same smashball field with the goalposts removed.”

But this would be different, this wouldn’t be a bunch of boring green lawns perched atop various boring curved, silver architectures. This was a story about Serenno. Yes, with large-bodied, multiple-lipped Trellian singers in strange, pointed hats and all, but it was a way to get to know his Master better, learn something new about him, about his planet.

Behind Qui-gon, the door to Dooku’s quarters opened halfway. “Oh, and kid?” Rael called down the hall. “Say hi to Brigindia the Breadthful and Hagvor the Hu - “ Rael clicked his tongue, rubbing the back of his neck, cheeks flushing. “Anyway, tell ’em Rael Averross sends his regards if you happen to leave by the stage door exit,” he finished, sly smile spreading across his face.

----

Knock knock knock.

Rael looked up from his holobook, tapping the bookmark button as he glanced at his chrono.

Not bad, kid, he thought, giving his arms a long stretch before leaving the comfort of Dooku’s plush arm chair. He stopped in the pantry before answering the door, pouring two cups of cold, Nemishian tea.

“So you got out,” Rael said as greeting. “Record time, too.”

Qui-gon pushed past the older Jedi, a flurry of wrinkled fabric and frustration, the faint odor of burnt Ceylla wood drifting from his robes. He made a series of aborted half-circles, like a jittery, indecisive Lothcat before Rael took pity on him and led him to the sofa, pushing a glass of the Nemishian tea into his hand.

The young Jedi sat, unmoving, for a good minute, eyes wide as he seemed to replay every last event of the past three hours in excruciating detail. Rael took his own glass, downing half of it in one go, giving a satisfied smack of his lips. Dooku always did have better provisions than the Jedi commissary, a way of enticing wayward Padawans out of mealtime trouble and sometimes extracting an extra hour’s work out of them.

“It was terrible, Rael,” Qui-gon finally spoke, eyes still wide, voice somewhat haunted.

Rael laughed, slapping his thigh as he sat back in Dooku’s armchair, extending his legs long, his ankles crossed. “C’mon. It couldn’t have been that bad,” Rael teased. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Five of them, actually,” Qui-gon murmured, taking a sip of his tea. The drink seemed to restore some of the color to his pallid face. “Each with a thirty-minute aria.”

“Ah, The Fall of the House of Carellic.” Rael grinned. “A classic.”

Qui-gon’s eyes widened, as he nearly dropped his glass. “You mean he’s seen this one before?”

“It cycles in every seven years or so,” Rael answered. “I imagine at this point Master Dooku has it memorized.”

“But then why,” Qui-gon's voice rose, “did he give me a three-hour running commentary of everything wrong with its portrayal of Serennian culture if he knows it so well?”

“That, my young friend,” Rael drawled, eyes tightening with barely restrained laughter. “Is all part of the experience. Now,” he leaned forward, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “How’d you escape?”

The corner of Qui-gon’s mouth quirked upwards. “Spilled your paint stripper on the mezzanine-level bar. Was a real shame everyone knows the Senator from Gorrusk likes to smoke indoors, although I think both his outfit and pride will recover from the mishap."

“And being the dutiful Padawan you are,” Rael continued, grinning, “of course you volunteered to accompany the poor Senator to the on-site healer, ensuring your Master would not have his night interrupted.” Rael tutted. “It’s just a damned shame there was so much paperwork to fill out.”

Qui-gon raised his glass in Rael’s direction. “Takes forever, really.”

Rael nodded, raising his own glass in salute. “Not too shabby, kid.”

The two Jedi sat in contented silence for a few moments, the adrenaline rush of Qui-gon’s frantic escape finally waning, the younger man’s head slowly tilting downwards, his eyes closing. A minute later, Rael heard a soft snore emanate from the pile of tunics sprawled on the couch.

Chuckling, Rael stood, collecting both glasses, pulling Qui-gon’s long legs fully onto the couch, boots and all, covering him with a soft blanket plucked from a nearby closet. Dooku could snipe at Rael later for letting his Padawan desecrate his furniture in such a manner. He wouldn’t be back for at least another five hours anyway.

Qui-gon was going to be one of the good ones, Rael thought. Still needed to loosen up a little bit - Dooku had him scared to rights most of the time, but he’d learn soon enough that his old Master was just as much bark as bite - at least, most of the time.

Fifteen years and Dooku has never gotten anyone to sit through the entirety of one of those Force-forsaken circuses. Rael had never been sure why he insisted on the charade every year - Dooku had to know full well his Padawans were sneaking off. Hell, even the other Jedi Masters always seemed to find a polite excuse to avoid Dooku’s yearly invitations to the opera, Master Windu going as far as claiming he needed to “shave his head and was busy that night and all the other nights the act was in town.”

Force help all of us the day he finds some kid willing to sit through that schlop. They’d probably end up being more terrifying than Dooku himself.

----

“Master,” Obi-wan Kenobi gave a series of gentle raps on the door to Qui-gon’s room.

Qui-gon peered his eyes open, squinting at the bright morning sun shining through the small gap in his curtains. Morning already?

“Obi-wan, come in,” Qui-gon groaned, voice still full of sleep. “How was the opera?” he asked, suddenly remembering where his Padawan had been last night, shuttled away in a familiar velvet-trimmed robe by his old Master.

Qui-gon felt a pang of disappointment. He had hoped his Padawan would come to him after making his escape, would share in his escapades with Qui-gon over a glass of Nemishian tea, that they would laugh like two younglings as he and Rael had every year until Qui-gon’s Knighting.

But like most other parts of their partnership, this, too, Obi-wan seemed to approach with cool, measured detachment.

Obi-wan brightened at the question, however, pulling out a crisp holoprogram from his robes. “It was delightful, Master! Master Dooku and I had a splendid time. He even treated me to a Drynarian spiced wine during the second intermission.”

Qui-gon gaped at his student, certain he had heard him incorrectly. His eyes flitted to the cover of the holoprogram - The Fall of the House of Carellic - emblazoned in regal Aurebesh and Serennian script.

“You - you stayed?”

Obi-wan furrowed his brow. “Of course, Master. Granted, the opera as a whole was a bit bloated, the singers past their prime - Brigindia the Breadthful’s range didn’t quite match up to her alias and Hagvor the Hu - “ Obi-wan hissed, his cheeks flushing red. “Well, Master Dooku said that wasn’t really his name, that it was a ‘improper moniker bestowed upon a great artist for base reasons.’ I didn’t ask after it, but he was alright, as tenors go.”

“But Padawan, the letter-opener I gave you - “ Qui-gon stammered. Not that he had expected Obi-wan to stab anybody with it in an attempt to escape the opera, far from it. But he had thought - Qui-gon let out a breath - hell, he didn’t know - maybe rip a curtain or sabotage some official’s clothing?

“Oh yes, that was quite useful Master, thank you,” Obi-wan beamed. “The packaging on those meiloorun pastries can rather difficult.”

Qui-gon nodded dumbly at his Padawan.

“Oh, before I forget, Master, this is for you, from Master Dooku.” Obi-wan held out a flimsi, folded in half, Qui-gon’s name printed in familiar, elegant script. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a shower and a short nap before the day begins.”

“Yes, yes, of course, Padawan,” Qui-gon said, distracted, not bothering to close the door as Obi-wan hopped out of the room.

With no small degree of trepidation, Qui-gon opened the note.

“Qui-gon -

I would like to thank you for allowing me to borrow your charge for the evening. It is rare to encounter a young mind with such intellect, curiosity, and, shall I say, an inherent sense of taste and propriety. I find myself wanting to repeat the experience, if Obi-wan (and you) should be open to it.

As for your letter-opener, I am disappointed that you would arm your student with such an unimaginative weapon. I would say that next year you should confer with Rael in the matter, but I do believe that will not be necessary, given Obi-wan’s sincere enthusiasm throughout the evening. Senator Rembran of Gorrusk sends his regards to you, as he does every year. Ever since the incident at the bar, he has been convinced of the Jedi’s importance in the Republic, so I must thank you for the unintended repercussion of your clumsy sabotage those years ago.

Brigindia and Hagvor also send their regards to Rael. I do hope you didn’t share the mortifying origins of Hagvor’s colorful moniker with your student. He has yet to encounter Rael Averross in person, and I would prefer he and Obi-wan to meet without any prurient preconceptions, as Rael is a good, if infuriating man. How he remains my former pupil is still one of the great mysteries of the galaxy.

Finally, I would like to extend an invitation for you to join me (and Obi-wan, again, if it is to be allowed) for next year’s production of The Sentinel’s Progress, which has not been staged in over a millenia. I am told it is a most inaccurate depiction of our ancient Serennian culture and I would be glad to share my thoughts with you and your Padawan. Of course, if you feel the need to come armed with a letter-opener, you need but slip the blade through Madame Tursky’s silver gown-train. Rumor has it she is most protective of her honor and can be seen hovering near the mezzanine-level bar like a drunken hawkbat at most intermissions.

Until then, Padawan. And may the Force be with you.

---Best Regards,

Yan Dooku”

#writing #yan dooku #count dooku #rael averross #qui gon jinn #obi wan kenobi #heeheeeheeeheeehee #THE LINEAGE

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ff15trashgoldenslumbers · 4 years

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I don't know if you're open to request but..Can I please request a Lunyx Fluffy story? If you know Hamilton's helpless, the vibe of it is something like that. Where Luna get teased by Gentiana, Ravus, The reader from of an Oracle and a Muse(which I love it btw) due to the fact she seems really happy and act a bit different when she's around Nyx. Thank you and I hope I didn't bother you with it.

As a both a Hamilton and FFXV I shall do my best to handle this with care! This is kinda an AU where everyone lives and the city was never destroyed.

~~~~

“Look at her.”

“I am.”

“No like look at your sister.” You argued with Ravus. While he and your beloved were often at each other’s throats, the two decide to be decent to each other throughout all of these parties leading up to your wedding in a month.

Ravus looked up from whatever he was doing at the moment to look at his sister over the balcony on the side of the room where she was supposed to be assisting with the set up of tonight’s party but was fawning over something other.

“This wouldn’t be a problem if you didn’t assign that man to her.” He replied turning back to the papers in hand.

“Ravus, if I didn’t she’d be so sad. I can’t stand to see her so sad, like a puppy.” You stated. “You weren’t there when everything went down, they were made for each other.”

“I assume that that was your meddling once we return you all to Insomnia.”

You thought back to that party, it was more of a “We didn’t die, and the Empire is no more” type of a party, but you couldn’t take it. All the longing glances of the two. Nyx was trying to be so cool and collected, and poor Lunafreya turned the most beautiful shade of red anytime he was near and would stumble over all her words.

Lunafreya had confessed in you later that night when you suddenly left her side and pointedly made your way to Nyx she was so nervous, unsure of what your next move was going to be. When you had taken the man’s arm and then moved him to the dance floor she was even more worried, but that was short-lived when she suddenly felt someone take her arm.

“Y/N is good at this.” One of your friends, Amor had giggled upon taken the Oracles arm. All of your friends had immediately taken to Lunafreya, providing her with the friendships she often had to forego.

“Where are we going?”

Amor gave a giggle, “We’re about to change your life.”

Both Lunafreya could respond, she found herself suddenly before yourself and the man. She felt herself go into a cold sweat, as she stared at the tall man before her, looking so different outside his standard uniform. This one was a little more dressed up and hung to him tightly and rather nicely, it was tailored to every inch of his body.

“I’m sure you know of the Oracle Lunafreya Nox Fleuret.” You smiled, your cat little grin never leaving your face, as you stared directly into Lunafreya’s eyes, certain that you were more staring into her soul than anything else. “My sister.”

“Sister?” Nyx inquired.

Lunafreya felt like she was suddenly restarted, “Thank you for your service.”

Nyx bowed softly a smile that reached his eyes as he rose, “It may have taken a war for us to meet, but it was worth it.”

Lunafreya felt her mouth go dry, only to hear a rush of music.

“I’m sure that my sister would love a dance.” You replied moving beside Lunafreya as you nudged her with your hip into Nyx.

“It would be an honor.” Nyx smiled leading the Oracle to the dance floor unaware of the audience that was now watching them.

“What are you up to?” Ravus inquired.

“Nothing.”

“It would seem that you’re attempting to play cupid.”

You gave a coyish giggle looking to the man, “I have no idea what you could be on about High Commander.”

“Will you vouch for this man?” Ravus asked.

You looked to the dance floor, the way the two looked at each other was the same look that you and Noctis had given each other in each picture that Prompto had taken of the two of you dancing.

“Yes.” You replied without hesitation. “Is that all right with you?”

Ravus looked towards the two on the floor, “I would have to believe you, you have taken care of our sister.”

“Our sister?”

Ravus gave a rare smile, “It would appear that I have two younger sisters.”

After that, anytime Lunafreya was within the Citadel or you went to visit her, you were absolutely certain that Nyx was on staff and always assigned him to Oracle. You watched the relationship bloom rather beautifully, you only had to meddle as Ravus called it, only a handful of times, but other than that it seemed to be a storybook romance.

That’s why you had Noctis reassign Nyx to work in Tarabene at the Lucian Embassy and work closer to the Oracle, the guy always seemed to give his everything to Lunafreya, and if you a commoner could marry a prince why wouldn’t a guard marry a princess, of sorts.

You loved seeing Lunafreya so happy, “I wouldn’t be surprised if the next wedding would be their’s.”

“Excuse me!” Ravus called, rather loudly.

“There you are.”

Both yourself and Ravus turned to Noctis flanked by Ignis, you immediately stepped over pressing a kiss to your future husband’s cheek.

“Done with your meetings, Sweetie?” You asked taking his hand.

“Yeah, we’re going to go get something to eat,” Noctis replied, his eyes to Ravus, even though Noctis knew you could take of yourself, he still found it slightly comforting to have someone with you, even if that someone was Ravus.

“Would you care to join us, High Commander?” Ignis offered on behalf of Noctis.

“As inviting as that sounds, I have other manners to see to.” Ravus stated, “I am certain that Lunafreya wouldn’t mind taking my seat.”

As you all moved to gather Lunafreya and Nyx below you were surprised to find Ravus approach Nyx, the man used his intimating height and that dual-colored glare to the man before him.

“Ravus?” Lunafreya inquired clearly confused at her brother’s behavior so suddenly.

“Be true,” Ravus stated, and without another word, that man whisked himself away to handle whatever business he needed to handle.

Leaving the room silent before you began to giggle, which quickly turned into loud laughter as you doubled over trying to get the tears to stop. Yet each time you tried to explain your laughter it just would cause you to laugh harder.

When it came to love like this, you had first-hand experience at how helpless it was to fight it.

#This wasn't a Xreader per say so its a different style #i love hamilton #and ffxv #so this was fun #lunyx #lunafreya nox fleuret #ffxv ravus #ravus nox fleuret #noctis x reader #noctisxreader #Noctis Lucis Caelum #ffxv headcanons #FF15 Headcanons #final fantasy xv fanfiction #ffxv fanfiction #ff15 fanfiction #ff15 drabbles #ffxv drabbles

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botwstoriesandsuch · 4 years

Text

Where Time Takes Us

Destination - Part 1

- - - - - - - - - -

Watch the home while she is off to war

The Slumber King versus the rearing boar

Awake, arise, do not be blind

To tales and destinies entwined

In the world we said that we would leave behind

— excerpt from folk song, The World Behind, writer unknown, dated back to the Era of Myth

- - - - - - - - - -

6 months, 3 weeks, and 3 days before the Hyrule Castle Slaughter, the Akkala Citadel Massacre, the slaying of the Champions, the death of the hero, and the rise of Calamity Ganon...

Her job ends on doomsday.

She should be working, and truly she wanted to, but circumstances had led her to walk towards the echoing laughter.

Already trying to prepare the quip she would throw back at them, (as undoubtedly they’d complain about her being late again), the researcher weaved through the familiar roads of West Castle Town. Most of the houses were dark, with the only light source coming from the occasional flickering lantern, and the pale complexion of the midnight moon. Needless to say, it made the warm glow of The Adequate’s Tavern stand out all the more as she approached.

Another roar of laughter and shouts escaped from an open window on the south side of the pub. The bags under her eyes curved with her smile as she recognized one of the voices. She absentmindedly traced her fingers along the outer walls of the tavern as she walked, loose chips of faded blue paint falling to the pavement below. The wooden sign above the door creaked with its askew weight. The Adequate’s Tavern was printed in bold, blue letters atop a faded yellow outline. The missing e’s and t’s gave evidence to the building’s true quality.

Pushing open the door, the researcher was met with a swirl of familiar scents, ranging from alcohol, apples, bread, and leather, along with a smokiness coming from the fireplace near the back of the bar.

Closing the door behind her, she walked through the entrance, passing under a wooden overhang, and alongside a long, stone-slated bar counter. She overheard a conversation between the barkeep and a waiter.

“Yes, they’re here again, so get out there already!”

“The scientists?” the waiter asked.

The man started shoving her towards the storage door behind the bar. “Yes, yes, now hurry up and stock up on that apple cider. I’ve already turned four full pitchers from the three of them, and the fourth is no doubt on the way. We can turn a bigger profit from those kids than any random alcoholic that stumbles in here tonight!”

The waiter disappeared into the back, and the barkeep was left muttering by the counter. Chuckling to herself, the researcher moved away, starting to search for the scientists in question. Other than a single, beige wall that separated the edge of the bar with a support beam in the middle of the room, the pub was very open and lively. Square and circular tables were littered across the floor in mismatched patterns, ranging from oak brown to birch white. Clearly, aesthetic was not the centerpoint of the place.

She walked about the pub, scanning the faces of the men and women alike who crowded by the booths and tables. The tavern mainly housed a sea of Hylians, who let out the occasional drunken laugh, or hearty chuckle. It was a miracle she could hear her thoughts at all, as the air was rich with the sound of clattering dishware and the patter of dancing feet, as in a small corner to the left was a semi-circle stage housing a small band. A Hylian man with umber dark skin, much like her own, blew away at a Lurelin-made, seashell harmonica. To his left, a blonde woman extended her arm in quick and elegant strokes with a bow and fiddle. Two others struck away on small drums and bells, and the playful gig they performed had gotten several people up from their feet to dance for Hylia knows how long. The music wasn’t terrible, but she had heard better, from a certain Sheikah in particular...

As if fate had read her thoughts, she finally caught sight of her friends.

It hindsight, it was easy enough to expect the bard to be at the table closest to the stage. Yet, it was probably the three heads of cloud white, Sheikah hair that gave them away the quickest. A young teenage boy sat across a square table from two other Sheikah, a boy and a girl. He was looking at nothing in particular, as he plucked away at his lute, presumably tuning it. Wrapped around his head was a small cluster of green wooden beads, woven with brown string. They dotted like a line of stars in his fluffy, white hair, alternating between pine and sage shades. The knot tying the strings and beads around his head hung loosely like vines just by his right ear. He was just asking to look like a starstruck, homeless traveler, if it weren’t for the bright red cape pinned across his shoulders. The golden, Hyrulean emblem holding the crimson cloth together signified his status as an important worker of the palace. Although, no one would be surprised that this thin, skinny teenager was a bard and court poet, and not a royal knight.

Suddenly, the bard looked up and met her gaze, a pair of warm, red eyes catching the light of familiarity. He patted the empty seat next to him and said something to the other two Sheikah in front of him. One of them looked back, a young man with storm wild hair that seemed to part like lightning. He had a beige, long sleeve coat over a red tunic, as was the classic Sheikah style. However, the style of his white jacket told of his rank as a scientist. With chocolate eyes and a contagious grin, he nudged the girl next to him and fake coughed.

The young woman wore roughly the same outfit, although she had a navy blue skirt and boots compared to the other guy’s black pants and shoes. Her eyes were also red, albeit, with a more striking scarlet color, compared to the other boy’s warmer wine shade. Looking back, she adjusted her bright, Sheikah red, round, sparkly, diamond decorated glasses, complete with white accents that matched her hair. It was pulled in a messy bun, a hairstyle that her close friends knew was less for looks, and more for practical purposes, as supposedly, “the stupid strands always find ways to bother my eyes. No, stop, I don’t need a comb! My eyeballs are just sensitive, okay?”

Pivoting past a waiter, the researcher finally moved closer to the trio, brushing her curly dark hair above her shoulders as she prepared for the sarcasm to begin.

The stormy eyed scientist spoke first.

“Purah, Purah! Is that...a ghost I see? It looks like Adello, but I feel like I haven’t seen her in a century, I surely thought her dead! Am I being…haunted?”

Purah turned in her seat and gave a fake gasp. She adjusted her red rimmed glasses at the sight of her. “You’re right, Robbie! I’ve heard about these spirits. They only come at midnight under a full moon, and they appear when you have friends that don’t know how to time manage and haunt you by coming to your birthday party with their terrible fashion sense 45 minutes late!” She clapped her hands along with the syllables of “45 minutes” to let her point be known.

Robbie awed at Adello in sarcastic wonder, and the boy across from him exhaled out of his nose with a smile.

Adello put a hand on her hip. “Save your breath, I was just working a bit overtime on the Divine Beast sketches. You know, work? For the jobs that we all have? So we can pay our taxes and shit? Unfortunately, not all of us have fancy salaries Mrs. Royal Scientist.”

Purah turned to Robbie, pulling down her glasses and looking at him sternly. “See, this is another trait of these kinds of spirits. They’re cursed to only say excuses for eternity.”

He shook his head. “Coupled with the fact that their fashion only ever consists of one color? Truly, a terrible fate for a ghost indeed.”

Adello narrowed her eyes. Smoothing out her juniper colored tunic, she said, “Okay, first off, green is a great color on me, it pairs well with my skin tone. You’re both just blind, no wonder you need glasses.” Purah put a hand on her chest dramatically, but she continued. “Plus, I’d really rather not get fired since that ceremony thing with those Champions is tomorrow and, as you all know, I just got that promotion.”

The researcher propped a black leather boot up on the empty chair by the table, flipping her jet black hair dramatically. “How does it feel to be in the presence of someone with an actual on-the-field career?”

Purah stuck out her tongue, and Robbie cupped his hands and booed. However, the boy sitting on the other side of the fourseated table gave a celebratory strum of his lute, giving Adello’s pose a bright background flourish with a few upbeat chords.

She winked. “Thank you Zimiri, at least someone can recognize skill.” The bard gave a little bow with his head, grinning. “A few chords is all it takes to enhance a dramatic, late night entrance.”

Adello chuckled, finally sitting down in the empty seat beside him. The old oaken chair and floor creaked under the new weight. Robbie let out a huff.

“You kids need to learn to respect your elders.” He announced the word “respect” with the tip of his tongue. The researcher rolled her eyes.

“Ah yes, a whole one year gap between us. What astounding age and experience that these elders emit.” She gestured at Robbie and Purah with a sweep of her arm.

“Uh, excuse me, but I believe in my case it’s now double that. A whole two years, my dear, naive child. For as of 4 hours ago, I now emit the knowledge of an existence spanning two decades!” Now it was his turn to pose dramatically, pointing towards the ceiling.

Everyone at the table groaned, turning to occupy themselves with something else. Purah started writing in her journal which she pulled out from her satchel, and Adello started to become very interested with the ceiling. Zimiri continued to pluck nothings on his lute.

Robbies crossed his arms, his white long sleeves folding across the Sheikah red shirt underneath. “Oh I see! So when Adello brags, she gets a musical accompaniment, but when I do it, it’s suddenly annoying and embarrassing?”

Adello smirked to herself, and answered, “Yep, that’s how it goes!”

“Alright, you don’t get to speak, Miss I-don’t-know-how-to-be-punctuation!”

Purah promptly smacked Robbie over the head with a pen.

“Hey! W—”

“The word is punctual, you idiot.”

Robbie slumped his shoulders and made a face. He tapped his thumb and fingers together, mimicking the opening and closing of a mouth while he muttered mockingly in Purah’s tone under his breath.

Purah finished off a note in her journal before turning to the rest of the table. “Alright Adello, time to catch up. We’ve been playing ‘Till You Spill and I’ve already got some juicy stuff in here!”

Turning the pages of her journal towards Adello, she gave a chaotic grin. “Last round, Zimiri revealed that he once got teary eyed in front of the King himself after reading a poem about clouds.”

Zimiri raised his hands in defense. “Look, the clouds were an analogy for lost childhood innocence and I got choked up with that author’s amazing choice of imagery and descriptions, okay?”

Purah pointed her pen at him to hush, and continued. “Of course, him being a sentimental dork isn’t anything new, so he lost that round to Robbie who revealed the identity of his first crush.”

Zimiri muttered something about the game being rigged towards the birthday boy, but Adello talked over him, excitedly.

“Ooohhhh? Robbie?? Who are they?” She propped up her elbows and cradled her chin in her hands, excited at the prospect of more embarrassing information she could hang over his head.

He mumbled, looking to Purah for assistance, but she only cupped a hand over her ear, waiting for him to respond. “You all fuckin—” he sighed, “it’s…she’s…c-ch…” he avoided everyone’s gaze, “her name is...Cherry…”

Adello gasped, gleefully. “That girl from your old university?? The writer you hung out with!?”

Purah beamed, shaking Robbie’s shoulders excitedly. “I know right???” She loosened her grip and allowed him to wiggle out of her grasp for a moment. “Oh sweetie, campus days may be long gone for all of us prodigies and geniuses,” she flipped a few strands of her white hair with a turn of her head, “but I’m sure you’ll get her someday. You just gotta turn up the charm, find a way to woo with words. I’m sure writers love that.” Purah pulled down her glasses and gave a forced wink at him.

Adello tried to hold her tongue to no avail. “Pffft. Yeah, you can try wooing her with your punctuation.” This got a snicker out of Purah, and caused the birthday boy to blush furiously and slump further in his seat. Zimiri finally spoke up.

“Now, now, let’s all play nice. We don’t need to pester him further about it, he did win the round after all.”

“Uh, yeah. Speaking of the game, you still need to drink up, mister.” Purah slid a tan brown cup of apple cider towards him, the translucent contents sloshing around like muck in a gutter.

He leaned on the back two legs of his chair. “Isn’t it punishment enough to smell it? The cider isn’t even near my face and my mouth is already burning.”

She shrugged. “Them's the rules of ‘Till You Spill. Your secret sucked, so swig!”

The poet groaned, but complied. Tipping the cup towards his lips, Zimiri took a hearty slurp of the cider, much to everyone’s amusement. It felt like hot, molten copper mixed with old apple skins. How could something both burn and freeze your throat at the same time? He let out a gag, to which Adello patted him on the back with a short laugh.

Raising his posture, Robbie crowed, “When we finally have Zimiri’s birthday maybe then we’ll actually upgrade to the alcohol.”

Adello raised an eyebrow. “Uh, right, because the upgrade from disorientingly strong, smelly apple cider, is you two being flat out drunk. Right...”

Purah slammed both her fists down with pride, letting the cups and pitchers slosh a few amber colored drops onto the worn wooden table. “Bold of you to assume I’d drink at all, considering I’ve never lost a round! Mwahaha!” She blew a raspberry at her. “This tongue is apple free, baby.”

She gestured with her pinky and index finger at Zimiri and Adello. “Now, you two! The late combatant and the latest loser shall spill next. Give us your juicy gossip!!”

The bard, still reeling from his drink, leaned back in his chair and gave a nod toward Adello. “Ladies first?”

While she wasn’t undefeated in this drinking game, she sure as hell was playing to win. Especially since somebody needed to knock that smug expression off of Purah’s face. Adello thought to herself quickly.

Zimiri, no doubt, is probably gonna say something self-deprecating again, as he’s too nice to actually reveal anything embarrassing about anyone else. So...I just need to say something unexpected and interesting...perhaps something embarrassing about...hmm, I’ve already exhausted all my info about those cushy nobles and guards in past rounds…

Suddenly, she snapped her fingers. “The princess has a secret stuffed animal collection.” Seeing the light in her co-workers’ eyes twinkle, Adello knew she had chosen her words well. Purah leaned in. “Ooh? And how did you come across this juicy piece of information?” She rested her chin on an arm with an innocent smile.

“When I sent my application for the new job a few weeks ago, I gave it to the princess directly. It was late at night, and I bumped into her as she just left her room. The door was cracked open for a few seconds, before some royal, pompous guard slammed it right in my face. Yet, it wasn’t before I saw the pile of,” she counted on her fingers, “cow, sheep, bird, dog, and several horse stuffed animals piled high by her big, blue bed. I bet if I peeked for just a few more moments I could have found enough to pin her as a true horse girl.”

Robbie shrugged his shoulders, unconsciously rapping the table with his finger. “Well, speaking as a horse guy myself, I can attest to the fact that the childhood horse obsession phase never leaves, so I find Princess Zelda’s collection quite admirable.” He gave a nod towards Zimiri. “Either way, it’ll be tough to top that, Zim. Cute, yet slightly concerning, fact about our future queen? Quite the competition. Shall I signal the waiter for a refill now?”

Zimiri plucked a few more strings from his lute, before finally setting it down on the floor. He tilted his head, playfully. The string with sage green beads seemed to sway with the tavern’s music, and he spoke with a glint in his eyes. “Well, I might be faced with impending failure and ultimate defeat, but hells if I’m not one to try instead of mope.”

He combed his fingers through his messy, white hair, pondering his next choice of words. Fiddling with the beads and strings wrapped around it, he thought out loud.

“Let’s see...to top out on an embarrassing fact about a respected princess...it's natural to combat it with something...personal? That always seems to be the more valuable information in this game…” Adello shook her head. He was playing right into her hand.

“Well...Robbie won last round with the identity of Cherry...so, how about I dish out something similar. See, I’ve...uh…” he rubbed the back of his neck, “Oh! Well. Court poet, shrine researcher, the job gets you close with the princess...kinda...I’d like to think we’re close anyhow…” He mumbled the last part of his sentence and let out a short cough. Then, he went back to fiddling with his short, messy hair.

“So… ever since I moved into the castle, When did my mom move… five years now? I’ve, uh… had a crush on... Zelda…” He gave an uncertain grin, and raised the palm of his hands as if to ask, “well?”

At first he was met with silence. In his head, he started to celebrate the victory of his first ‘Till You Spill round in literal months. That was until he was met with groans and pitiful mutters.

“Oh Zimiri,” Purah sighed, “I was rooting for you too.” Seeing the bewilderment creep onto the poet’s face, Robbie answered the question before it even escaped his lips. “Literally everyone here knew that bud, it’s not a secret.”

The bard started to sputter, moving his hands in wild, questioning motions.

“But? Wha— I? You!? Didn’t you— I… W-Well I mean, I know Adello knew, I told her years ago, but you guys—”

“Oh my gods. Zimiri, you literally talk about her all the time, you’re totally in love. Given that we’re also the recipients of your long spiels and ballads about how ‘intelligent and thoughtful and amazing Zelda is,’” Purah said the words to mimic the tone of Zimiri’s honey sweet voice, “it’s exceptionally, extremely, very, very obvious.”

“R-Recognizing a person’s positive traits doesn’t instantly mean in love!”

The royal scientist leaned across the table and patted his head. “Right, but you also started attempting love songs a coincidental 2 weeks after starting your job of shrine research with her. Your eyes are already red, so whenever she passes by it’s like your pupils magically form into adoring hearts. Try to stay away from poker, it’s for your own good.”

Zimiri continued to sputter, his cheeks becoming roser by the second. Robbie turned to Purah. “So, all in favour of finding Adello’s spill better than Zimiri’s?” The two of them raised their hands in unison. “Alright buddy, secret sucked, so swig! WAITER PLEASE!”

Adello watched as the same woman she had seen near the bar earlier made her way to the table. Picking up a pitcher, she poured out a fresh cup of Adequate’s Apple Cider. The four of them had been here so many times, they didn’t even need to verbally ask for the order.

Before he could even start to reach for the cup, Adello snatched it out of the way. “Nah, it’s okay. I’ll do one for you, Zimiri. These two monsters have already tore you to shreds, and I’m sure I need a punishment anyway for coming in so late.”

He started to protest, but after catching the look in her dark, iron eyes, he relented. “Well, I thank you for your generosity.” The other two, however, were not as compliant.

Purah cupped her hands around her mouth, yelling, “Booooo... Boo to pity! Boo to generosity!” Robbie mimicked her.

“Yeah you have to respect your elders’ wishes. We demand blood! Suffering!”

Adello cracked her neck for show, before downing her glass of cider in a few gulps. The stench and tingling sensation seemed to stick to the sides of her throat. It would take more than water to clear that out. “Adequate” was being very generous when describing its quality.

“Mmmm. The cider’s weirdly salty tonight, I think your attitudes got mixed in here.”

Purah blew another raspberry at her.

They played for a few more rounds, the clatter of cups and breaths of laughter decorating the hours. Much to everyone’s distaste, Purah continued her winning streak, getting by with unbeatable information about the King, royal guards, and one embarrassing anecdote about how her little sister, Impa, had caught her writing an interesting letter to the “local archery hunk.”

Yet, Purah laughed along with the rest of them, the eyes behind her red rimmed glasses held no shame, which Adello envied. Of course that sort of attitude would make you a master at this game. Robbie and Adello attempted to team up and be biased towards Purah in an effort to get her to lose, but either Zimiri didn’t take the hint, or he just really liked playing fair which wasn’t exactly out of character, even if it meant more drinks for him.

Suddenly, a bell towards the back of the pub rang, signifying the end of the band’s gig. The dancing paused, as people gave their thanks, varying from politie applause to drunken yelps. Robbie then rapped the table with his hands, excitedly.

“You know what else tonight needs? Some amazing music, eh Zimiri?” He bounced his eyebrows up and down at him, and gestured towards the lute leaning on one of the table legs.

“I don’t know,” Zimiri replied, “I’ve only a part-time hire for the weekend rush hours, and I wouldn’t want to blindly get on stage and sing without being given permission.”

Adello scoffed. “Uh, are you kidding? The owner would love for you to play without paying you. Haven’t you heard the talk around town? The Adequate’s Tavern: Home of alright food and acceptable ale, but an outstanding bard!”

He fiddled with the string in his hair again. “Oh yeah? I’d love to meet him someday.” At this, Adello clicked her tongue and promptly shoved him out of his chair with her hip.

He laughed to himself as he stumbled aback. “Alright, alright, but only because the birthday tyrant requested it.” Robbie clapped his hands in a “chop-chop” fashion, to truly signify his role as the newly dubbed tyrant.

Suddenly, Zimiri perked his head. Stepping back towards the table, he reached for his cup. “Oh wait, I just lost that round. I still need to drink my—”

Adello grabbed the cup right out of his hands. She tipped it 180 degrees and let the cider spill completely onto the wooden floor. He hopped back, and Purah let out a surprised yelp, saying something about letting the stench seep into the floorboards. Robbie just started to laugh, wildly. Noticing the small commotion, a few other guests looked back at them and started to snicker to themselves.

Setting the cup back on the table, the researcher said, “Great, now you don’t need to ruin your voice any longer. Now get up there and one-up the last band.”

The bard pushed his chair under the table. Picking up his lute as he stood and faced Adello, a charming smile on his face. “Heh, well. My singing voice is grateful. I suppose now I’m in debt to comply.” He gave a curt bow.

Robbie clapped his hands again. “Great, great. Now quit the manners and let’s go already! I still have to order the cake pie!”

Both of the girls rolled their eyes in unison. Zimiri shrugged and started to walk through the small crowd of standing Hylians, and towards the small stage.

A few of the regulars who recognized him let out whoops and whistles, yelling out “Bard!” or “More music!” in support. It seemed that no one really knew his name, but it was nice enough to know that even working here part time would grant you the honor of being recognized by a bunch of random folk. One confused patron, who only associated him with “z” yelled out “Yeah, Zelda!” before promptly slumping under the table. Looking around, a blonde girl caught his eye, as it seemed she was staring at him. He waved, and her cheeks, much to Zimiri’s confusion, turned pink at his gaze and she turned to her friends who started giggling.

Moving past the last of the Hylians with an, “excuse me, sorry!” he finally stepped on the stage. The bard pulled up a small stool to the stage, leaning against it. Most of the folks continued to whoop in approval, seemingly eager for another chance to start dancing. Even the barkeep clapped his hands, probably excited at the thought of a free gig.

I guess, if no one is stopping me…

It was a rowdy bunch, but not a new one. Zimiri had played for these kinds of audiences before.

“I see that quite a few people are itching for a new tune. So, uh, any requests?” he announced as he strum a chord on his lute.

A mass of different voices bounced around the tavern, requests ranging from The Babbler’s Jig, Misko’s Tale, The Eldin Bluffs, and Can I Get More Ale? Although, Zimiri wasn’t quite familiar with the chords of that last song.

He couldn’t stop himself from being biased towards the request of a certain dark skinned girl to his left.

“The World Behind!” Adello said. “Enough with those new ballads, I demand a classic!”

Robbie pumped an arm in the air. “Yes!” he shouted. “I second that! So is my decree as birthday tyrant!”

The bard smiled, preparing the fingering on the neck of his lute. He turned towards the audience. “Well, I’m afraid I have no choice but to heed to such authority.” He began to pluck the beginning notes, tapping a tempo with his boot against the stage. “Now then, a beat, if you all would be so kind?”

The tavern chattered in approval, before piping down. There probably weren't more than 30 people, but the beat they made was definitely sufficient. The sound of stomping, banging mugs, and clapping filled the room. The tempo didn’t even need much adjusting, as The World Behind was pretty familiar around Castle Town. The beat was like a child pretending to be a marching soldier, unconcerned and playful.

Zimiri’s smile widened. A lively crowd indeed, this will do nicely.

With that, he started to sing. His silvery voice echoed across the tavern, as he closed his eyes and began to play.

The boys have gone out to the wishing well

Will they come back? Oh only time will tell

A rupee for a life refined

But time and dreams never align

So tell the world we’ll leave it all behind

Many of the guests had started to dance again, while the rest continued the beat of the song. As Zimiri plucked rapid notes on his lute, he heard a supporting holler from Purah. Next to her, Robbie was slamming his fist to the beat, clearly enjoying himself.

Have you seen the soldiers’ drinking ale?

They wish to sing along with nightingales

To dance on home with songs and rhymes

To banish all the fears from mind

Yes tell the world we’ll leave it all behind

Another pause between the verses, and the bard played the “decorative” rapid notes in between. He didn’t mean to seem like he was showing off, but Adello would attest to the fact that this happened whenever he got too into the music. Looking towards her, Zimiri saw her give a double thumbs up.

Of beasts and men and all atrocities

The damn-ed fate, she owns all that you see

To a better day of new design

Forgot about the gods divine

Oh tell the world we’ll leave it all behind

At this point, some of the guests were singing along, though not to the point of overpowering his own alluring voice. Laughter rang out around the warmly lit room once again. Zimiri looked out at the dancing patrons and smiling guests, grinning at the feeling in his chest this brought. He continued the last verse.

Watch the home while—

“HEY!”

The sudden gruff voice startled the bard to the point where he nearly slipped off the stage.

Lumbering through the double doors, three guards entered the tavern. The one in front, who had interrupted the music, wore a typical knight’s outfit, the same as his male and female coworkers behind him. However, the black hooded cape he wore atop his metal armour swayed with every step he took across the floor, his supposed rank silencing the room.

Well, mostly, silenced the room. A few ticked off guests were booing, groaning, and mocking him for ruining the entertainment.

“Oh would you lot shut up for 2 seconds?!” he said, his voice booming across the tavern. “Listen, I’ll be blunt. I gotta give two messages for this establishment.”

The guests shook their heads, mumbling. Their booing and insults continued, but their volume quieted, it was too early to be getting cross with a couple of knights. Even Zimiri quietly slipped off the stage back towards his friends so as not to be at the end of the knight’s intimidating voice.

The female guard behind the knight handed him a slip of parchment. Unfolding it, the guard cleared his throat.

“Firstly, your music and pounding is disturbing the noblemen next door. He’s staying at the inn or something and wants you to, quote,” he read from the paper, “quit the mindless thumping, for Castle Town is a place of serenity and peace, not of nonsense jigs and banging.”

The groaning and insults started up again; the man gave a shrug, stating something about how he was just following orders.

Adello couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “HA! Well, with an attitude like that, this’ll probably be the first and only time he’s been banged— he should be grateful.”

The room exploded into a mess of laughter and whoops. Even the guard smirked to himself, but attempted to hide it with a shake of his head, saying “Watch the mouth, girl.” Although, his stern tone wasn’t in it.

After a second, he cleared his throat again. With a stomp of his boot he regained the pub's attention, the laughter suffocated out.

“Now, we’re also here looking for a Dr. Robbie Kimura? I received word they might be around here?”

With the attention now towards a single table, most of the guests went back to their idle banter. A few waiters nodded their head towards the table in the back, and the man caught sight of three, white haired teenagers, who were sitting with the dark haired girl who had quipped out earlier.

The scientists turned around too late, in an effort to avoid the knight’s gaze. “Gee, what a bunch of snitches,” Robbie mumbled. The three guards started to walk over to the table.

“Dr...Robbie?”

“Who’s asking?” Robbie squinted with his dark brown eyes.

“Doctor? Really? Is this some kind of prank? You and your friends don’t even look old enough to drink.”

He scoffed. “Okay, first, yes I am a doctor! I didn’t fly through all those courses over four years just to be called, ‘Mr.’ And secondly, I’ll have you know that I am a ripe 20 years of age today, and I’m here drinking expired apple juice with my associates. So take that, pal!”

Beside him, Purah gave a proud nod in agreement. Zimiri started to wave politely at the guard, but Adello grabbed his arm before he could finish the movement. The guard was a bit unsettled with the way that girl was glaring at him. What was some random Hylian doing hanging out with a bunch of Sheikah anyway?

“Right, well, look here, son. Some curious aristo-brat snuck into the courtyard and caused one of those flying, metal Sheikah things to fall apart. My boss said that it was your prototype so you should come back and clean it up before something explodes, and possibly give a sincere apology to the meddling kid who got a few scratches.”

Robbie threw his hands in the air, exasperated. “You’re really gonna pull me out of a birthday just so I can go apologize to a spoiled kid for breaking in and ruining my Guardian?”

“If it lets me keep my job, then yeah.”

Robbie mumbled something about not getting a slice of the apple cake pie.

Suddenly, Adello got up and pushed her chair in, smoothing out the belt around her tunic as she walked towards them.

“Ah yes, well, thank you my dear assistant for the assessment but I’m capable of taking it from here.”

The guard raised a bushy, black eyebrow. “Sorry, wha—”

“You said you only wanted Dr. Robbie? Well great job, you found them. Now let’s get going, I need to finish up a new design anyway.”

“You’re...Robbie? You’re a... clearly not—”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I should have had my mother consult you for your opinion before I was given my name.”

This time, the guard didn’t smile along with her quip. “This is not the time for—”

She held up a finger to silence him, and glared at the three guards with her iron eyes.

“Look, I’m not a nobody. I’m more than capable of fixing up the guardian and any other disasters you might have left lying around the castle grounds. If I’m feeling generous, maybe I’ll even lick the kid’s boots, it’s not my first time dealing with this, alrighty?”

The knights looked at each other, quizzically. The researcher crossed her arms.

“You’re still following your precious orders, aren't you? How would you know what Dr. Robbie looks like? You can’t be faulted for not knowing someone you never met. So, you’ll just have to take my word for it.”

The blonde man behind the gruff, black caped guard, whispered something to his female coworker. Her gaze switched between the girl and the man. Still seeing the uncertainty in their eyes, Adello leaned closer to the knight and lowered her voice. “Come on, have a little heart, it’s his birthday.”

A beat of silence sat, only filled by the mild mumbling and chatter of the tavern. Finally, the guard let out a sigh.

“Alrighty Dr. Kimura. I’ll help escort you to the site.”

Robbie started to protest, but Adello quickly silenced him with a wink. The guard turned towards the rest of the room, yelling, “The rest of you, the sun is gonna rise in a few hours so save your rioting for then! Am I clear?”

The patrons just responded with stupid groans and half-hearted agreements. They started walking towards the door. The female guard started to put a hand on Adello’s shoulder, but she brushed it off, saying something along the lines of “I can walk on my own two feet, thank you very much.”

Purah turned in her seat. “I’ll save a slice of cake pie for you!” Adello turned her head and responded with a two fingered salute, before disappearing out the door with the guards.

The tension in the tavern was almost immediately cleared, the moment the knights left. Most of the people went back to their normal conversational volume, and the waiters began to patter about with more confidence. However, Zimiri slumped in his seat, letting out a sigh.

“Why does she always do things like that?”

Robbie fiddled with the edge of his cup, tracing his finger around the rim. “Well, you know her. Undermining authority? Check. Insults and quips? Check.”

Robbie continued to list off more traits, but it faded out of Zimiri’s ear. Always jumping onto other’s burdens. Ah, that idiot. I bet she hasn’t slept for the last two days.

Purah suddenly piped up, taking out her pen and rapping it against the table. “Alright you two, let’s not let the sacrifice be in vain. Pool your rupees, we’re getting Robbie the fancy cake pie.”

The clatter of a few red and blue rupees echoed on the wooden table, although Zimiri knocked Robbie’s share aside, saying how the birthday tyrant shouldn’t have to pitch in. Purah turned in her chair and started to wave her hand, in order to get the attention of a waiter. The bard watched as a woman with a tray started to walk over to the table. Then, he turned to Robbie.

“So what should we do while we wait?” Zimiri asked. Robbie stroked his chin, looking around the room.

“I think...the people could still use some music.”

Looking out at the crowd, Zimiri noticed how the guards' interference had really dampened the atmosphere. The warm and lively laughter that was present just a few moments earlier was now replaced with more monotone chatter.

He nodded his head in agreement, putting on a charming smile. The place needed a new pick-me-up, did it?

Well, what else is a bard for?

Stepping back onto the stage, he strummed an open chord, double checking the tuning. The whooping and clapping started to return, much to his delight. Plucking a familiar melody, the warm feeling in his stomach returned as he watched the new smiles that started to fill the room. However, before he began to sing, Zimiri first focused on craning his neck to look out a window, trying to catch a glimpse of a certain girl in the night.

It seemed the moon and sun were balanced on the edge of the world. The night had started to submerge behind the walls of West Castle Town, with only the brightest stars still perched upon the ink of the navy blue sky. The silver lining of greying clouds just barely glowed from the faint light of the day, still trying to break out of the eastern waters.

Adello’s footsteps echoed through the cobblestone streets, but she could barely hear it against the shifting of metal plates from the guards in front of her.

The gruff man looked back, scratching his peach fuzzed chin as he spoke. “Listen, if you finish your work quick I might be able to escort you back here.”

Adello shook her head. She turned to retrieve a journal from the pouch on her belt, opening its pages as an excuse to avoid his gaze. “No, it’s fine. I still have some more work I should be finishing up at home anyhow.”

“You...live at the castle?”

“Mmm.”

The guard took her blunt response as a sign to not continue with the niceties, much to Adello’s relief. Looking up, she gazed at the looming castle. Its towers were like mountain peaks, sitting above the blurred silhouettes of the buildings of Castle Town.

Taking out a bit of charcoal, she started to sketch its outline on a fresh page in her journal. While she only had one color, she tried to capture the shadows and lighting that cascaded on one side of the castle to the other.

The female guard slowed her step, starting to walk alongside the researcher.

“Already working?”

Adello didn’t look up from her journal. “Uh… you could say that.”

She laughed. “Well you best hope you know what you’re doing. This kid’s father has been yelling at Her Highness all night. Supposedly because she’s helping to lead Sheikah research, so everyone associated with guardians is at fault.”

Adello finished up the tower of Princess Zelda’s study in her sketch. She smiled to herself at the finished work. It was one of her better pieces. Putting the journal away, she turned back to the guard and scoffed. “Is that so?”

The guard hummed a yes, her blonde braid swaying to each side as she walked. “Apparently, the kid is the son of some visiting nobleman from the East Post. It’d be in your best interest to apologize profusely if you still wanna walk around alive.”

Adello shook her head. She didn’t know it then, but looking back, many moons from now, she would laugh at the irony of her response.

“I’d rather die.”

#botw #breath of the wild #legend of zelda botw #loz botw #botw fanfiction #where time takes us #botw oc #adello #zimiri

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lawrenceop · 4 years

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Holy Land Retrospective - Day 1

A JOURNEY OF FAITH: INTRODUCTION

One year ago, on the feast of Divine Mercy, I made my way to Heathrow airport after Mass, for my first pilgrimage to the Holy Land. This journey, organised by 206 Tours, was an answer to my prayers. Until recently I did not feel ready nor worthy to walk in that place where “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (Jn 1:14). But shortly after I returned from studies in Washington DC, I felt this yearning to see the Holy Land, and so I prayed for the opportunity to go, and I left it in God’s hands. Two weeks later, an email arrived inviting me to serve as one of a team of spiritual directors on a unique pilgrimage to the Holy Land in the company of Jim Caviezel, and led by the wonderful Fr Donald Calloway MIC. Truly, God is provident, and his generosity exceeds our asking!

Divine Mercy Sunday 2020 was the 28th of April, and I flew out on a night flight after a rather gruelling round of questions at the airport. At one point, I did not think I would be allowed to board but I kept clutching my Rosary and saying prayers silently. I entrusted all to Jesus who, it seemed to me, had arranged this pilgrimage for me at this opportune time, just after the Easter Octave.

On this nine-day pilgrimage, I took 1453 photos on my phone, and I shared the best of these on Facebook as we went. I often find that this is the best way to share my experiences with my family and friends. I also had my DSLR camera with me, and I took 1416 photos with my camera. I have been sharing these photos on my Flickr page, posting on liturgically appropriate days. For example, on the feast of the Annunciation (25 March) I shared this photo of the site of Mary’s house in Nazareth where the Word became incarnate in Our Lady’s womb.

Now as the liturgical anniversary of this wonderful pilgrimage comes round, I wanted to relive those days; to give thanks to God and Our Lady for this trip; to remember the places we saw, and the people I met; and to reflect theologically and spiritually on this pilgrimage with the aide-memoire of the photos I took. It shall be a novena of sorts.

For, in what follows, for the next nine days, I will post no more than nine photos a day (sometimes fewer), and I will choose photos taken on my camera only, and which I have not already uploaded to Flickr. Clicking on the link for each photo (links are all in red text) will take you to the Flickr page where you can see the photo in larger sizes. This exercise is meant to help challenge me to look at the entire photo collection again with fresh eyes. I hope it will help you, too, to see the places associated with Christ and the mysteries of our salvation. Thank you for joining me on this journey of faith.

ARRIVAL IN THE HOLY LAND

I arrived at daybreak in Israel, on the Monday of ‘Low Week’. The drive to Jerusalem took about an hour, and my eyes soaked in the landscape before me, the topography that Jesus had also looked upon; the dusky green foliage; a field heavy with wheat and ripe for the harvesting (cf Lk 10:2). And we went across hills and through rocky ravines, going from the seaside city of Tel Aviv to the ancient hill-top citadel of Jerusalem. As we approached the words of Psalm 48 resounded in my mind: “His holy mountain rises in beauty, the joy of all the earth.Mount Zion, true pole of the earth, the Great King’s city! God, in the midst of its citadels, has shown himself its stronghold.”

Green wooded hills gave way to white stone as various dwellings and buildings were perched on the hills, and soon, I saw banners with the lion of Judah on them: we had arrived in the Holy City of Jerusalem. But, above all, that first morning in the Holy Land, I noticed the light, as photographers are wont to do: as the sun rose, the skies turned pale blue, and the light grey clouds were tinged with gold and orange; it seemed to me a divine light, full of promise.

We didn’t have anything planned until the evening, so I had the whole day to explore. Tired from the flight, but too excited to sleep, I went and had breakfast in the hotel – the food, throughout this pilgrimage, was delicious and healthily Mediterranean, with many salads, fresh produce, and honey from the comb. And then, I went to explore this most ancient and unique of cities: Jerusalem, the abode of peace! My first stop was the Holy Sepulchre, and I went without any cameras. It’s important, where possible, to just be present in a place, to look and observe, and take in the experience through every sense. Only on subsequent visits would I use my camera to transmit what I had first contemplated.

PHOTO 1: This was taken from the rooftop of the Christian Information Centre, just within the Jaffa Gate, which was about 10 minutes walk from our hotel. From here, one has a panoramic view from the edge of the Christian Quarter. We are looking at the complex that constitutes the church of the Holy Sepulchre, and beneath the large dome is the Aedicule, which is the structure that enclosed both the Empty Tomb of Christ as well as the spot where the angel had sat upon the stone which had been rolled away from the opening of the tomb.

Now after the sabbath, toward the dawn of the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the sepulchre. And behold, there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord descended from heaven and came and rolled back the stone, and sat upon it. (Mt 28:1-2)

Looking at the Holy Sepulchre from this angle, I notice that the church is flanked by two minarets, and to the right of this shot, the Temple Mount with the Dome of the Rock is prominently visible. As always, the three Faiths which regard Jerusalem to be a sacred site, are always present and very evident; the three photos I have chosen for this day demonstrate this. And yet, here, in this photo, beneath this dome that crowns the Holy Sepulchre, is the centre of the world. For here, through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, the Son of God and universal Saviour, all creation was redeemed and is for ever transformed.

He is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning, the first-born from the dead, that in everything he might be pre-eminent. For in him all the fulness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood of his cross. (Col 1:18-20).

PHOTO 2: I met some of my fellow pilgrims from this large group (we were about 240 in total!) in the Holy Sepulchre, and they wanted to visit the Western Wall next so I went with them. Here, the monumental stones impress upon us the grandeur and antiquity of Jerusalem. In fact, everywhere, we walked upon ancient slabs of stone, and I was always aware of the history of the city, and I wondered how many millions had walked those same paths as I was now on; who else had seen these buildings and pilgrimaged to these place? In places like Jerusalem it seems like all of humanity has passed through it, and I am humbled – aware of my paucity in the face of the enormous procession of people who have been here over the millennia. The stones of the Western Wall were already here when Jesus came to the Temple; when he came here as a boy and was found teaching in the Temple they were just a few decades old. Looking upon these walls, and indeed, upon the walls and gates of Jerusalem, such as the Jaffa Gate which I entered every day, I would think of these lines from Psalm 122: “I rejoiced when they said to me, “Let us go to the house of the LORD.” And now our feet are standing within your gates, O Jerusalem... For the peace of Jerusalem pray, “May they prosper, those who love you.” May peace abide in your walls...”

PHOTO 3: The various ‘Quarters’ of Jerusalem run into each other, and although we approached the Western Wall through the Jewish Quarter, we returned to the Jaffa Gate through the Muslim Quarter and via the Holy Sepulchre at the heart of the Christian Quarter once more. Here is a typical street scene taken in the Muslim Quarter, although it was less crowded than usual. Shops line the street, with shopkeepers calling out like sirens to entice you in. But what caught my eye was the texture and size of the stones beneath our feet, and the way the bright sunlight was filtered through the awnings above, and the patterns of shade and dappled light on the ground.

The Lord is your guard and your shade; at your right side he stands. By day the sun shall not smite you nor the moon in the night. (Ps 121:5-6)

"For love of my brethren and friends I say: "Peace upon you." For love of the house of the Lord I will ask for your good." Amen. (Psalm 122:8-9) Tomorrow: DAY 2 - Gethsemane and Ein Kerem.

#Holy Land #retrospective #reflection #travelogue #faith #photos

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prynacle · 5 years

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[Fanfic] Father & Son

Lunoct Celebration Days @lunoctweek

August 30 || Day 1: Happy Birthday, Noctis!

Characters: Noctis Lucis Caelum & Regis Lucis Caelum. Genre: Slice of Life. Summary: Regis, as King, has a lot on his plate: war, duty and even a prophesy, yet he manages those fairly well. Isn't it odd then that Regis, the father, can't make some time for his one and only duty?

[Epilogue]

Dejection.

The face his son briefly flashed after declining his quiet invitation to expend the afternoon together had definitely been one of dejection.

Naturally, Noctis had masked it as soon as it appeared, quick enough so that it didn’t linger on his mind, and he, who was too wrapped around the unflattering military news that reached him that morning, had accepted the answer despite a more perceptive part of his subconscious registering the detail. It wasn’t unexpected then why, after reciting a matter-of-factly rundown of his schedule to Noctis, their breakfast had turned uncomfortably silent, with what he now understood had been an unvoiced truth lingering heavy in the air.

The pregnant silence had been the reason why he had given it a thought afterwards in the first place, and now that he took the time to review what was say and done that morning, he felt ashamed of how blind he had been to all the signals that were clearly present.

Regis briefly rubbed his brown once the eyes around the ongoing council meeting turned to a member sitting far from him on the table, and seized the moment to dig further into his memory.

As expected, some details still didn’t catch up.

Because… when was the last time he made-up a bedtime story for Noctis? How many meals had he skipped with him in the last month? When was the last time his son had shown unannounced in his office? He honestly couldn’t remember, and the realization sent a shiver down his back.

Had he truly been neglecting his son? When King Mors still ruled, Regis had been involved early on external affairs. Theirs was a relationship grounded on war and duty; they had always been King and successor Prince, and while he never felt particularly close to Mors, the man, they bonded over a shared understanding of what was truly important: Eos.

That had been Mors and Regis. The same couldn’t be said for Regis and Noctis.

Having been firsthand witness of the horrors of the enemy, tasted defeat and felt the sorrow of trials yet to come, Regis set his mind on giving Noctis a life different to the one he had had.

It was not Noctis’ place to be at the center of a war at his tender age. All he ever wanted for him was to learn, love and smile; to experience life at its fullest, for as long as he could allow him. Thus, being a fatherly figure to him, especially to compensate since Aulea's absence, had been his priority early on, and he had managed fairly well until Niflheim started creeping closer again.

That is just how things are, says a voice in his head, and Regis finds himself somewhat agreeing. Everything he did, he did it to protect Noctis, his future...

…and everyone else’s.

As long as he were King, the crown weighed on him with responsibilities he needed to take care of if he wanted the best for his son. It was the right thing to do. He was justified.

That's what King Regis thought.

But Regis, the father, wasn’t blind to his excuses.

No matter how grounded on logic, reason, loyalty and sacred duty those were, there was no good enough of an excuse for placing those sad, resigned eyes on his young son.

The king would continue to rule, but the father... where had he gone? Sitting on a chair, forever mourning time lost? Now that he listened to him, it was obvious he had neglected himself, as much as he had his son. He yearned to do so much more for him-- with him.

To see that carefree smile on his son’s face would be his ultimate reward.

The focus around the table shifted again, and the meeting moved onto a review on public affairs that Regis was already updated on, so he allowed his mind to completely muffle out their voices, free to wander further away.

Lately, dinner had been the only moment he and Noctis shared together through the day.

Some days, when emergencies demanded, they could not even have that. Regis was too busy leading a country, and Noctis was too busy attending elementary school. Soon, his son would be hitting puberty, wouldn’t he? There he would start grown fast, too fast, and for a moment Regis entertained himself imagining what kind of man his son would become. With the way things were going however, he was afraid all that growth would happen away from his eyes.

If he didn’t pay him enough attention, he could soon end up dinning with a stranger at his table.

Waking out of his pessimistic trance, Regis shushed and chastised himself. Would Aulea be here, she would do as much. “Look at you. Aren't you overthinking it? That was never your strong point, Regis. Acting on your hunches has always earned you better results,” he could hear her remind him between chuckles.

Aulea always knew him best, in ways nobody ever did.

Making up his mind, he focused again in the ongoing discussion, decided to wrap things up as quickly as possible.

Today, he would expend quality time with his son.

It’s been far too long since.

Noctis sat on the grass, yawning under the shade of a few trees at the park outside the citadel, finally unsupervised.

He had managed to trick his chaperone into thinking he needed to practice nature drawing for art class at the castle’s garden, only to leave his tools abandoned under a bush and make his escape from the stuffy atmosphere of the citadel through his secret exit—a set of selected glass panels with loose, rusty screws. With each of his successful escapes came the taste of a thrilling sense of adventure, and he sometimes wondered if it was anything similar to how his father had felt when he went out with his friends outside the city, many years ago.

Like he once told him in his bed-time stories.

That, too, that had been many years ago.

Sighing, Noctis relaxed against the bark of one of the trees, its roots curved enough for him to lay at the right angle and be cradled without risking a stiff neck. Comfortable as he was, it wasn't hard to brush some flecks of hair aside to take in the soothing beauty of the trees surrounding him; the warm light of the sun seeping through the leaves, the lazy shadows they made around him, dancing along with the movement of the wind.

This was something he could do all day: sleeping against his favorite resting tree, away from the suffocating stiff attention of the castle’s personal. Just him, the sound of chirping birds and the wind caressing his hair and skin.

Sometimes it felt a bit cold at given moments, though.

And suddenly humid.

Actually, it was cold because it was humid, and only in this one specific spot on his face, too. Had a raindrop fallen from the tree leaves and he hadn't noticed?

Opening his eyes, Noctis' view was greeted by an endless sea of black.

“Woaaaah!” he yelped, tumbling back in the grass. From his place, flat atop the dirt ground some steps from where he had been sleeping, he saw the face of his offender.

Umbra’s black fur shined healthily under the afternoon light, the white mark on his snout bending around his cheerful expression. His wet nose was leaning close to where Noctis’ face had been moments before, and If he had noticed Noctis’ outburst, the dog feigned ignorance.

“Umbra! How did you find me? ...Ah, your nose…right, never mind.” Noctis said, the laugh in his voice still laced with lingering drowsiness. Getting up on his knees, Noctis patted Umbra's head, reassuring himself of his presence. “You scared me.”

Giving him a whine and a lick to his hand, Umbra sat back, waiting patiently for Noctis’ full attention as he finished scrubbing his eyes awake.

If the dog was here, it could only mean…

“Did Luna send something back already?” excitement filled Noctis face. Taking out his shared journal, he readied himself to read Luna’s handwriting under cover of the tree’s shadow. As he reached the latest entry page, his cellphone ringtone started beeping, and the caller’s ID on the screen had him on his feet in an instant.

Sliding the screen to answer, Noctis' hurriedly started to make his way back to the castle. He had barely time to catch his breath. “Dad?!”

“May I know where are you right now, son?” Noctis started jogging.

“I was just…the garden…” dammit, had he been discovered already? His mind razed for a decent lie, but if his father was the one calling, his chances of getting away with it were pretty low. He couldn’t just simply lie to him, not over a call right after his nap.

The small laugh on the other side of the line made him stop his jog completely, Umbra watching him with curiosity at his side. “You fell asleep on the gardens, didn’t you? I’ll be over there in a moment, don’t move.” The call ended, and move he did, shoving the phone back into his pocket and clutching the red diary hard to his chest while running through the small tunnels and alleys that shortcutted his secret road towards the castle. As he entered through the glass panels, he saw his father reach his chaperone side, exchanging a few words.

“This will have to wait, Umbra. Wait for me in my room, I will catch up later, ok?” Tucking the journal back into Umbra’s pouch, he dismissed him, approaching his father with a practiced calm he didn't currently feel.

“Father.”

The chaperone excused herself and went away, leaving King and Prince alone to talk. Alone. That in itself was a rarity, one that made his heart stir uneasily.

“Did something happen?”

“Yes." Looking up to his father, Noctis felt paralyzed by the intensity of his gentle stare. “Something changed indeed.”

Walking merely a meter behind his father's steps, Noctis felt his uneasiness start to waver. If he wasn’t in trouble for sneaking out, why had he come to look specifically for him? Willing his fingers to relax, Noctis considered his words carefully before asking. “Where are we going?”

Regis slows down his pace to match his own stride, walking now at his side. The creases on father’s brown softened slightly.

“When was the last time you and I used the training grounds together?”

Noctis doesn’t reply and Regis takes his eyes off him, seemingly gloomier.

“Too long, isn’t it?”

“…I’m still not allowed training.”

Sometimes, he wondered if he would ever be allowed training again.

Truth to be told, it had only been two years since his injury with the Marilith, but he had been already allowed to start participating in PE at school as early as last year, too. Training, however, was still off-talk.

The doctors never outright said it, but he understood that they were scared of him reopening his wounds somehow, claiming that the possibility of the involvement of the scourge and Oracle magic could have a negative reaction to his own magic. It was a risk they weren't willing to take, they said. What they didn't know, was that Luna had already dismissed that possibility, but that was something Noctis couldn't disclose to them.

Back when the incident happened, it had been Oracle Silva who had personally supervised his injury in Tenebrae, where it had progressed with good results, and even as he and his father had to abruptly return to Insomnia, his wound kept healing with the help of what he knew was magic, days after the announcement of the Oracle’s passing.

It was only because he showed signs of a generally weakened physique upon returning that Clarus had deemed it unwise for him to continue his training with his father, indefinitely postponing his armiger and magic inductions.

He would soon be eleven, and his weapon capabilities were flimsy at best, while he still didn’t have the basic grasp on warp and elemental magic down. His dad had been way ahead of him at his age, hadn't he?

And here he couldn’t even get some sort of…

Trust.

Trust that he was already fine and ready to become stronger. If only his dad could see how much he had progressed...

The weight of a hand on his shoulder took him out of his thoughts, looking up to see Regis smile warmly at him. He realized they had walked quite far from the gardens, to a section of the castle that seemed vaguely familiar.

In front of them, stood a door he hadn't seen in some time.

Extending his arm, his father pushed the doors to the Crownsguard training hall open, it’s creakings magnified by the echo in the empty room.

“I am not imposing on you, am I? If you would rather do something else…”

“That’s not it.”

He knows better than staring, but something in Noctis stops him from looking away from the long, graying strands hanging over his father’s eyes. Would this be fair?

“If you are scared of losing against this old man, you can say so, Noctis.”

He scowls, but it comes out looking more like a pout, and Regis cheeky smile grows wider.

That was exactly the opposite of what he meant, and he was certain Regis knew as much, but now his dad was taking the soccer ball from the supply cabinets, bouncing it on his good leg before dropping it to stop it under his shoe with a swift stomp.

“Don’t think I’ll be going easy on you, my son."

If Noctis was to have it his way, that wouldn't be changing anytime soon.

A/N: This is a very special fanfic for me, as it was the very first one I drafted, written before the game even came out. It took me 3 years to finally flesh it out, but here it is! Forgive me if the grammar seems a little wonky or stiff at times, I tried to fix and edit it as much as I could but, no matter how many time I reread it, there's still something... odd on it? Hopefully it doesn't come across as bad to you as I feel it is. If you can, tell me what you think of it!

As you can see, some parts are heavily influenced by the Brotherhood anime and Platinum demo too, with some sprinkles of A King's Tale. Noct and Regis' bond is a special one I‘ve always wanted to touch upon, and when Carbuncle commented that Noctis wanted to play soccer with his dad on the demo, I knew what I had to write about.

Also, don't worry about Umbra, he is having the time of his life spreading fur all over Noctis' bedsheets. There's still an epilogue coming, and it will be about what Luna sent in the notebook! This fic is part of the Lunoct celebration days, right? :p

Thanks for reading!

#LunoctCelebrationDays #Noctis Lucis Caelum #Regis Lucis Caelum #FFXV #Final Fantasy XV #FF15 #Final Fantasy 15 #wmine #mine #fic

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ernmark · 6 years

Note

That arum fic was so good fucc i cry. I’m a lil predictable here, but may I request a reversal of the situation where Damien thinks Arum is dead (and maybe he finds out because people are championing him as being the one who slayed the monster)

I’m basing this strongly on one particular line in Moonlit Hermit:

ARUM: And what, Amaryllis? What? Let you go back to your hive and tell all the humans what the monster is up to? Where to find him, how to kill him, how many pieces to cut him into?

Interesting choice of words, that.

(Character death under the cut)

No one has to know, Rilla said.

There’s a war on, Arum agreed. It’s better for everyone if this… all of this… stays between us.

And that made sense when they suggested it. It made sense when Damien would sneak away to visit the Swamp of Titan’s Bloom, sometimes with Rilla, sometimes without, and sneak back to the barracks before he was needed for duty.

It even made sense last night, when he was dreaming of their next meeting.

But now…

Now nothing makes sense. Things that were once welcome and familiar are repulsive to his very soul. Praise and accolade strikes him with a venom that the most vile insults never carried. There’s talk of a feast in his honor; he tastes ash and bile at the very thought.

He doesn’t doesn’t deserve praise, nor does he want it.

He wants to drape himself in funerary white and smear his face with ash. He wants to throw himself on a grave and weep until his tears fill the ocean.

He wants to mourn, Saints damn it all, and he can’t.

He can’t.

Sir Angelo strikes him on the back– it should be a punishment, but he knows too well it’s meant to be bracing. “Cheer up, Sir Damien, this is a celebration. The beast is slain! It won’t be troubling the Second Citadel anymore.”

“No,” Damien rasps. He stutters around the next syllable. The thought of calling Arum it feels like poison on his tongue. “He’s… gone.”

He’s gone.

Maybe if he fell off a ledge, or into a swift stream, then there might be some hope. Maybe he could go out and look for him, find him, nurse him back to health.

But there’s no hope. Only a body.

“Really, Damien,” Angelo says. “What’s gotten into you?”

“It’s… It’s Rilla.” He swallows. “She isn’t well. I can’t celebrate while she suffers.”

Finally there’s an ounce of sympathy on Angelo’s features. “Why, you should have told me. Do you need help? Should we bring her to another herbalist?”

“No,” Damien says quickly. If Rilla sees Angelo now– if he mentions the bittersweet victory to her– there’s no telling what she’d do. “I don’t think that will help.”

“I understand,” Angelo says, ignorant of the sting in Damien’s soul. No, he doesn’t. “Go, take care of her. I’ll make your excuses to the Queen.”

“Thank you, my friend.”

Sir Angelo smiles. “Shall I take your trophy with me? I’ll see to it that it’s stuffed and in your room before you return.”

Red creeps into the edges of Damien’s vision, and for a moment all he can hear is his own racing heartbeat.

Tranquility. Saint Damien, I’m begging you, please, your tranquility.

“No,” he says, swallowing bile. “I think Rilla needs to see him herself.”

He wishes with all his soul that he didn’t have to be the one to do this, but there’s no one else who can.

Still he puts it off as long as he can, securely tying his horse off to the post by the front door and carefully lowering its load to the ground– to a soft, cool, shaded spot. There’s no point in being gentle anymore, but he can’t bear to do any less.

Finally he raises his voice. “Rilla.”

“Inside.” Rilla’s reply is muffled through the door, but she sounds otherwise distracted. “Come on in, I’m just finishing up an experiment right now.”

Damien makes a small, high sound, his eyes drawn back to the bundle at his feet. He can’t just leave. He can’t. He can’t.

“My love–” His voice cracks. He can’t he can’t he can’t.

“Damien?” Now there’s concern in her tone, and careful footsteps from inside. “Damien, are you hurt? Did something–”

She reaches the door, and she falls silent.

There’s blood– far too much blood, oceans of it, staining his face and his clothes and his hands and his cloak, still wrapped tight around a body. It’s his own cloak, not Sir Angelo’s, and so it isn’t nearly long enough to be a proper shroud. It falls short of covering those long, scaled, clawed legs.

Rilla lets out a sharp, ragged breath. “What happened?”

“I’m sorry,” Damien whispers. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Damien, what happened?”

“Angelo and I were called to deal with a duke in the north. Arum wasn’t even supposed to be there– we ran into each other by mistake, and I pretended to go chasing after him to get him away from Angelo–”

And Arum swept him up into his arms when they were out of sight.

Be safe, Honeysuckle, he said.

Did he have any idea? Did he know that the kiss they shared would be their last? “He was– he was still nearby,” Damien said, trying to stop his hyperventilating long enough to get the words out. “And when the duke ambushed us with his soldiers– I was too fixated on the ones who were after Angelo, I didn’t see the soldiers coming up behind me. But Arum must have heard them. And he came running, and I tried– Saints help me, I tried– but Rilla– Rilla, there were so many of them, and I couldn’t– I couldn’t–”

Rilla’s arms wrap around him as the words dissolve into incoherent, ugly sobbing. For the first time in hours– for the first time since he saw Arum fall under enemy swords– the tears fall unrestrained. “I’m sorry,” he pleads. “Rilla, I’m so sorry.”

Rilla can feel the grief dragging at her feet like the receding water before a tidal wave. Pretty soon it's going to come crashing down on her all at once, intense and overwhelming. Right now, though, she still has her footing, and she needs to make use of that as long as she can.

Arrangements have to be made. Damien needs to be calmed down, at least as much as he can be right now.

"Thank you for bringing him here," she says, stroking his hair.

"I couldn’t leave him out there,” he croaks between sobs.

“No,” she says. “No, you did the right thing.” She leans against him, her head bowed against his. “We should bring him to the Keep. It’s where he belongs. And… and it should know what happened to him.”

"Saints, the Keep." He shudders. "It-- what would it even--" He can't finish the sentence. Honestly, Rilla is relieved he can get out this much.

"If we leave now, we can make it there before nightfall," she says. "Do you think you can get away?" She tries to keep her voice calm and soothing, hopeful that Damien can't pick out the notes of desperation. This needs to be done, she's sure of it, but the thought of making that journey alone-- of having no one with her except Arum's mutilated corpse-- she doesn't know if she can do that.

"No. No, I'll come with you," Damien says. "I'll find a way. I must. I only need to speak to the Queen." Maybe he did catch the discomfort in her tone, because he glances down at the bloody shroud at their feet. She can see the calculations in his eyes as he puzzles out how to put Arum back onto the horse, as he tries to build up the courage to do it.

"Leave him with me," Rilla says. "It's the safest place for him right now."

Damien looks up at her, tears still streaming from his eyes. "I-- I'll return soon. I swear it."

Rilla watches him ride off and then returns to her experiments, never allowing her eyes to stray to the body still laying before her door. The tidal wave is still looming overhead, growing with every passing moment. She needs to keep busy, to keep moving, to keep focused on everything and anything that isn't him. Because if she stops, even for a second, it's going to break her.

Distantly Damien is aware of fanfare and expectation, but at the moment he feels numb. The words around him feel too loud and too blurry, their meaning lost in a cacophony of syllable and sound.

Saint Damien, grant me your tranquility. Saint Damien--

"--ien?" He recognizes his name half a moment after the Queen says it. "Sir Damien?"

"Forgive me, your majesty," he says, bowing his head low. "I am... distracted."

"So I see." Queen Mira leans forward in her chair. "Sir Angelo told me something was wrong with your fiance."

He takes a deep breath. "Yes, my Queen. She puts on a brave face, but her kidnapping left... scars on her, beyond what can be plainly seen. She has been unwell. I hope-- I hope that seeing her kidnapper dead and his lair empty will ease her mind." He isn't sure what tastes more bitter on his tongue-- the idea of lying to his Queen, or the idea of speaking so coldly of Arum. He feels ill, but he swallows the bile. "I ask for your permission to escort her there myself, so that she can begin to heal."

The Queen's expression softens. "Of course, Sir Damien. Anything you need." She gestures to one of her attendants. "Would a month of leave be enough time?"

It wouldn't take him more than a few hours to reach the swamp and return, but he never bothered telling her that. Yet another lie to his Queen. But if he can spend a month away from this place, away from congratulations for the death of one he loves...

"Thank you, my Queen. I think a month will be enough."

The moment they set foot in the swamp of Titan's Bloom, a portal opens before them to welcome them back. On the other side, the Keep is singing joyfully, still working on the latest of countless outlandish projects.

And that cheer hits Rilla like a punch in the gut.

It doesn't know. It felt the three of them enter its domain, but it's too busy with whatever it's doing to bother looking closely at them.

It doesn't know. If it senses Arum at all...

A part of her wants to run from this, to hide so she won't have to face it, but she chokes that part down and covers it with a mask of somber professionalism. She's had to do this before. Even the best physician can't save all her patients, and she's had to come to terms with that a dozen times over. But this is different. This is Arum.

The Keep deserves to know.

She takes a deep breath and nods at Damien, and then she takes hold of the front of the bier and steps through the portal.

She can pinpoint the exact moment the Keep really starts paying attention: three and a half notes after Arum's body crosses the portal's threshold, the Keep's voices falter and go quiet.

When it sings, it's a soft, sad sound. Vines emerge from the walls and pull the shroud away from the bier, trailing over Arum's wounds as if it doesn't quit believe they're there.

More tendrils emerge and lift Arum from his transport, cradling him as tenderly as a mother with her child.

No. Not like a mother.

That's just what it is.

"I... I need to.-- to check on his experiments," she says, and she turns away. If she watches any longer she's going to break down.

There was a time when Damien couldn't even fathom the idea of monsters holding a funeral. Now here he is, at the Keep's top landing, holding Rilla as the monster he loves is put to rest by the ones who loved him.

Arum would have approved of it: it's elegant, refined, without the crowd of unwanted people. Only the Keep, Rilla, and himself are here to send him off. Arum is laid out on a pallet of soft green, his arms crossed over his chest, his injuries hidden under a violet shift. Below them, the swamp's canopy stretches as far as the eye can see in every direction, an endless sea of green under the darkening sky. As the last sunlight fades, the stars emerge, glittering overhead.

Damien wishes there was something more he could do, but he can’t. He feels powerless and empty, and it’s killing him. He sobs into Rilla’s shoulder, and she squeezes him tight– her voice is steady, but he feels tears on his neck.

He isn’t sure which of them is giving comfort and which is taking it.

He wishes he knew the right words to say-- a poem, a prayer, a eulogy-- but he cannot speak his heart.

The moon rises, and they keep vigil in silence. The whole swamp seems to join them. No bird rustles in the trees, no animal cries out in the night, no cricket chirps for a mate.

And then the Keep begins to sing.

It's a sweet, low, beautiful song, the Keep's voices woven together in a tapestry of sound. He listens, mesmerized, and his eyes fall to Arum's body.

His breath catches-- or, rather, he catches a breath. Surely it must be his imagination-- surely just wishful thinking-- but he swears by all the Saints that he sees Arum's chest rise, then fall.

It isn't possible. He knows it isn't possible.

And yet the Keep continues its song.

And then the moon reaches its highest point in the night sky, and its light is reflected in a pair of violet eyes.

Damien grips Rilla tighter, but he doesn't dare speak, lest he interrupt the spell. He doesn't understand the magic that's unfolding before him, certainly not enough to predict what he can safely do. He'll stand quiet and still for a week-- a year-- a lifetime-- if it will bring Arum back to them.

And then Arum sits up, groggy and stiff, as though he's merely waking from an overly-long nap.

And he looks at his arms, still crossed with the closing wounds of battle. At the moon, bright and piercing overhead. At his mourners, breathless and shaking with tears in their eyes.

And he cocks his head to one side. "Amaryllis. Honeysuckle. You didn't really think you'd be rid of me that easily."

#fatalebutch #the penumbra podcast #writing prompt #fanfiction

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nerdyblogname · 6 years

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I did a Thing!

And Im reasonably proud of said thing! So Im going to share the process with you all!

Ive gotten more and more into painting minis for the D&D campaign I play in. I started with the standard size folks (an inch or so tall) and some smaller ones to kinda practice the fiddly stuff. But Ive been wanting to get bigger. So! I picked up the Reaper Mini Pathfinder Red Dragon. I had seen it painted on Geek & Sundry’s Painters Guild and it looked like a good place to start up-scaling my stuff (please forgive the dragon pun).

Lets dive in, shall we?

The dragon came in several pieces. I considered painting them individually and gluing them after they were done but thought the better of it. The top of the head and arm are really small and it would have been awkward finding a place to hold it while I painted.

When I ordered the figure, I only had a rough idea as to the scale, so if anyone is reading this, this is a standard Hero Forge mini for a size reference.

After I trimmed off most the mold-lines (I noticed some others after this picture was taken), I used superglue to get it all together. The right wing was giving me some trouble (insert political joke here), so I had to hold it in place as the glue dried.

Now, this is a Bones mini, and as such this next step I took wast strictly “necessary” but I hit the whole thing with a gray primer. I had decided to go with a cooler color palette and I thought priming it gray would kind of add to that look and feel.

“Red Dragon” is more of a guideline, right?

For the base coat, I used Vallejo Model Color Dark Blue for the scales,and Vallejo’s Grey Black for the horns and claws. The membranes were painted with The Aarmy Painter’s Skeleton Bone.

So, at this point, I had added some washes and drybrushes to the mix and I was honestly a little unhappy with how light it had gotten. I had hit the scales with Citadel Nulin Oil shade, and the membranes with Seraphim Sepia. After that, I dry-brushed the scales with Army Painter Electric Blue. The stomach I had painted with Vallejo’s Ivory (as well as the teeth) and then coated with Citadel Drakenhof Nightshade. The base was done with a coat of Vallejo Iraqi Sand. The tongue was Citadel Mephiston Red.

I sent this to an artist friend of mine who has experience with fixing flubs like the one I thought I had made with the “too light” issue. She suggested using a transparent paint to darken it up without loosing all of the shading I had done.

So! At this point, I think I’m done? I had taken the advice and went over the too-light areas with Citadel Guilliman Blue glaze. I used Agrax Earthshade (also Citadel) on the statue and rest of the base. I then painted the statue eye with a coat of Runefang Steel, and then a thin coat of Hexwrath Flame (both Citadel as well) for something of a gemstone effect? The eyes of the dragon were done by using Army Painter’s Mat White over the eyes I had painted over, then painting over that with Vallejo Flat Yellow. The eyes looked a little too big at first, so I painted over the edges with the Dark Blue with which I had started.

#D&D #mini paint #dragon #blue dragon #pathfinder #miniature painting #citadel paint #Dungeons and Dragons

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swordliliesandebony-blog · 7 years

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Thirty-One | Promptis B-Day Oneshot

[Everyone lives happily ever after AU because as much as I adore all of the soul-crushing goodness being posted for Noct’s birthday, I just wanna give him about 50 more of those than he got. ;^; ]

Pairing: Prompto/Noctis Warnings: End game spoilers, absolutely tooth-rotting fluff Summary: Prompto has always had this problem, where he is prone to get far more excited about whatever gift he’s giving than the recipient could ever hope to be.

[Read on Ao3]

Prompto has always had this problem, where he is prone to get far more excited about whatever gift he’s giving than the recipient could ever hope to be. Ten years of darkness hasn’t exactly tempered him, hasn’t done a damn thing to change that fact. When he’s giving the perfunctory knock at the door frame, he’s preparing to skip into the room more than step. He doesn’t wait for Noctis to invite him in, but he doesn’t really need to, either. Prompto has, after all, spent more time than not at his bedside, seeing him through the whole recovering-from-death thing.

It’s been fucking terrible.

Visions flash before his eyes still, when he sees Noctis all holed up in the bed. They’re visions painted a deep red, a shade that Prompto wasn’t previously aware, could feel so cold. Visions of gathering a lifeless body up in his arms, and visions that go all blurry, have a great tendency of flickering in and out, of striking when he least expects them. They haven’t subsided entirely, and there’s still a cold, empty sort of tingling that rolls through his limbs and down his spine in the footsteps before he can round the corner and see Noct. See him comfortably asleep or lounging bored or, more often in the past couple days, arguing with a nurse or doctor in favor of his freedom.

It’s not a hospital proper he’s been relegated to, but a sort of half-cocked infirmary stationed on at a far east wing of the citadel. It wasn’t designed to hold and heal men rising from the dead so much as it was to dole out antacids and bandages. Ignis says that it housed, at one point, a physician to the royal family. That was a whole lifetime ago though. Now, it houses people lucky to be alive, in its cots and in white coats alike. A decade of darkness does a hell of a lot to change a place like this.

Prompto doesn’t focus on that though, he doesn’t let any of it get to him. He’s all sunshine and smiles today, and it’s not even forced. Noctis is awake, looking properly grumpy even. That, Prompto has learned, is a good sign. There were a lot of days when he wasn’t awake and a lot more after that where he was little more than resigned, clearly miserable. Grumpy means he’s been fighting again, all annoyed by this whole, ‘bed rest after taking a dozen or so fatal wounds’ business. Grumpy is recovery. Prompto’s smile widens and there’s a little humming under his breath when he pushes and positions the wheelchair next to Noct’s bed.

“You look way too pleased with yourself,” Noct’s words are grumpy too, though his tone isn’t entirely so. He’s sat up in bed, which is another good sign. The blankets are all askew- telltale signs of another escape attempt- and really, Noct looks more like he’s had a nap than a brush with death. It’s been weeks now, more of them than Prompto has properly counted, so maybe it should be expected. It’s still reassuring though, to see him in better condition, if not better spirits, day by day. Most of the machines, the beeping monitors and hissing tubes and all that mess, have been gradually removed as well. If it weren’t for the greater scene of the room, the length of Noct’s hair and the scruff around his face, Prompto might even be able to mistake the scene for any morning that found Noct roused before noon.

“Noct, I am exactly the right amount of pleased with myself,” he’s making a bit of a show with positioning the chair now, eyeing Noct, his position, height and bed and taking proper consideration before locking the thing in place. This is enough to grab Nocts attention and, Prompto thinks, enough to even evoke a little spark of hope in his eye, “Prompto Argentum, at your service, making all your birthday dreams come true.”

There’s suspicion while Noct eyes him, then eyes the window, the clock, a calendar that hasn’t been accurate since before the Citadel was one of the only things standing in the city. It’s only fair, of course, that Noct would have no concept of the date. Hell, it’s fair enough if he doesn’t even care that it’s his birthday, Prompto thinks. Being relegated to a hospital bed, nothing but an overly enthusiastic best friend, an incredibly overworked advisor, and an increasingly exasperated shield to keep shifting company, probably doesn’t lend itself to a hell of a lot of excitement. Or a hell of a lot of concern about things like dates, even if they are birthdates.

“All of them,” Noctis repeats his words, all narrowed eyes and pointed emphasis. Prompto is ready to concede at once, but Noct is pushing himself a little bit more in bed, “so you’re actually busting me out of here?” and he asks the question with a sort of vitality, a bit of excitement that has become utterly foreign from his voice. Just that spark in his eyes, so unfamiliar by now, sends a jolt right through the center of Prompto’s chest. His smile can’t get much wider at this point, but if Prompto can get any brighter, he’s absolutely shining now.

“Damn right, I am,” his smile shines through his voice as well and Prompto swoops to tug away the scratchy little hospital blanket. Noct’s clothing is a bit of a mess here, old sweats pulled from storage, a remnant of times that were a hell of a lot easier on all of them. They fit in a baggy, ‘when you don’t eat for ten years, you go a bit lean’ sort of way. Prompto tries not to glance too much or too obviously at the curve of exposed hip or the flesh that peeks from the band, just a little lower than it has any right to. He can deal with those thoughts later. For the moment, he’s crossing the room, searching a neat pile- courtesy Ignis, no doubt- of clothing for a shirt. There might be something appealing about the whole battle scars and bandages look, but Prompto’s pretty sure you’re not meant to be wheeling the Chosen King, He Who Killed Death, through his palace half-naked, no matter how good he looks.

“Hope you’re not really expecting me to use that chair,” Noctis says with a fair bit of petulance in his voice. He’s arranged himself to sitting up with only a little bit of wincing, and he’s not having near the trouble Prompto might have anticipated in getting the shirt tugged over his head. Still, there are certain rules that he has been sworn to follow here, by doctors and by friends who admittedly know a lot more than he does about...well, just about everything, but never mind that just now. He tries to arrange his face in a proper amount of guilt all the same.

“You know how much I had to fight Iggy to make this happen? Just think of it as, like, valet or whatever.”

“Valet takes your car. This is the opposite of valet.”

“Noct, I’ve known you for, what, fifteen years? When have I ever given you the impression I have any idea what that actually is? I just mean, it’s luxury, or whatever,” Noct laughs at him, shakes his head, and it’s enough that Prompto really does feel like there is a bit of light pumping back into them both. Recovery has been far from easy on Noctis, that much almost goes without saying. By any account, he should be dead. By Prompto’s own experience, the cold weight of body in his arms, he was dead. There are a million questions, ones none of them are sure how to answer, how to even ask. And even without the confusions, there’s been a hell of a lot of pain, from more than just a slew of new scars.

“I really don’t need this,” he protests, even as he’s scooting to the edge of the bed. Prompto almost believes him, too, but there’s a swift sort of trembling where Noct’s knees don’t quite support him and Prompto is sweeping in with a shoulder under Noct’s arm to guide him to the chair rather than the floor. There’s embarrassment there, total shame, something that Prompto absolutely pretends he doesn’t notice while he’s kicking the locks off from the wheels.

“Yeah, yeah, Mister I-Beat-Bazillion-Year-Old-Prophecies gotta show off, walking himself back to his quarters.”

“King I-Beat-Bazillion-Year-Old-Prophecies, thank you,” Prompto is the one to laugh this time, though he can hear the tilt toward it in Noct’s breath while he’s directing them, none too gracefully, from the makeshift private room, “and what do you mean, quarters? If you’re just dragging me to a different dusty old bed…”

“Hey, stop ruining the surprise,” Prompto gives the chair a little jostle, a rough corner turn to take them down a hallway that can be described only as endless. This feels good, it feels better than Prompto has in about as long as he can remember. Noctis surviving, or undying, or whatever the hell happened, was a miracle. There’s no denying that fact. Any of them surviving was a stark beating of the odds. But seeing him struggle and suffer in that bed, it’s left Prompto feeling hollowed out, strained, drained to an extent that made it seem a hell of a lot like his world hadn’t changed at all.

“You’re the one who said it, not my fault you can’t keep a secret for thirty seconds,” Noctis is shifting in the chair when he speaks, leaning an elbow over the back and looking up at Prompto. In all, it’s making it that much harder to control, and it’s a damn awkward position, with Noct’s face very nearly buried in Prompto’s chest.

“I’ve kept a secret for, like, a week now. We put a lot of effort into this, so you’d better be grateful, got it?” Prompt’s getting them into the elevator now, something that takes a bit more careful arranging than he was entirely ready to deal with, especially with Noct making a point to turn this whole excursion as difficult on him as possible. He can’t be frustrated though, not when it’s so clearly in good fun, not when it’s making him want to laugh, maybe give his best friend a smack at the back of the head.

“Not sure it counts as gratitude if you’re forcing me.”

“It totally does. Besides, you’ll hurt my feelings if you don’t like it. And it’s your birthday, so that’s like triple-stacked gratitude right there,” Prompto really is buzzing with excitement. There’s an almost constant fear in the back of his mind, even now, that he’s going to mess something up. Maybe Noctis will think the whole thing is dumb. Maybe he wants some time to himself, when he hasn’t had a moment of it since Talcott gathered him up all those weeks before, back in the darkness. Prompto likes to think he’s matured just a little bit in those ten years Noctis was away though, and it’s just a tiny bit easier to set his worries aside now, to focus on the positives. Noct being here, when they were all so certain he wouldn’t, is a pretty damn big positive. A birthday nobody had counted on, that’s a lot more important than whether or not the gift will go over as intended.

“Don’t see why we can’t just celebrate the way we used to,” Noctis grumbles this when they stand outside the door to their destination and it’s enough to make Prompto stop just a little bit short. It absolutely brings a flush to his face and his eyes pointedly away from Noctis, which evokes a much fuller burst of laughter, “oh my god, you’re blushing. C’mon, you got there right away, that means you were thinking it, too.”

“Was not,” Prompto snaps right back, but there’s a little crack in his voice that wins a lot more laughter. It’s a poor lie and he knows it, all vocal inconsistencies aside. Prompto hasn’t been thinking of much other than the way he and Noctis celebrated those couple birthdays back in high school. In honesty, they celebrated them a hell of a lot like they ‘celebrated’ any given day. All hands and tongues and carefree experimentation. Noct knows exactly why they can’t celebrate that way here. Maybe he doesn’t know about the painful bit of stabbing between Prompto’s ribs at the thought, but he probably doesn’t need to. It had always meant more, after all, to him. There had always been that secondary undercurrent of emotion. Hell, maybe the emotion had been the primary for Prompto all that time. It didn’t matter then though and it definitely doesn’t matter now.

“Fine, fine, I see how it is. Ten years pass and suddenly you don’t like me any more. I get it. Come on, show me what you did get me, then,” Noctis is joking, and that much is clear. On one hand, Prompto really does appreciate it. Everything about Noctis is like stepping into the past at this point. He pulled it all together so easily, so magnificently when they were facing the end. It had felt a hell of a lot like he had been there all along, growing and maturing at their sides. But when it comes down to it, when he’s here and he’s himself, not standing up to inescapable death? He’s still twenty years old, facing a different sort of impossible burden, clinging to whatever bit of carefree youth hasn’t slipped between his fingers. It’s heartbreaking in so many ways, but it’s refreshing in a million more. It makes Prompto feel like those ten years weren’t stolen away from either of them, in a sense.

On the other hand, though, it hurts. It hurts a hell of a lot, and Noctis must have some awareness of that fact. He knew how much it destroyed Prompto, having to say goodbye to the little non-relationship they had formed in their youth. He must have seen all the air go out of him, when he admitted that his engagement had been made, when he pleaded that he come along on that doomed trip. Certainly, he can guess that it still itches at the back of Prompto’s mind now. He couldn’t have missed that Prompto was still, though he never wanted to admit it in the first place, madly fucking in love with him through all those nights with the four of them on the road together.

Prompto doesn’t bring any of that up though. He simply turns them around, so he can unlock the door and pull Noctis inside. Distraction is the key here, turning Noct’s attention away from the little teases that had come so unexpectedly. There’s plenty, Prompto thinks, to be distracted by. He and Ignis and Gladio all came together to put a lot of work into such a dumb little birthday gift, one that didn’t require actually trying to track down some new material good in a world just barely crawling back to its feet.

It is, in fact, the exact opposite. The initial cleaning up of the old royal quarters was a nightmare and a half. It had been left in a sort of disarray and disrepair that was nothing short of tragic. Ardyn, from what they could see, hadn’t deigned to put his own personal touches on, but it was only a small relief. Beneath all the layers of dust and decay, the natural marks of a living space not lived in for a great many years, were memories that none of them were equipped to sort through. Remnants of Regis, of Noctis himself, from a time long before even their trip. It was a process of packing all that away, salvaging what they could, playing mix and match from other parts of the Citadel over what they couldn’t.

After that, Prompto was able to spring into his own sort of action. Ignis, bless him, knew where to find so many of Noct’s old possessions in storage. He warned that it may be a bad idea, though Prompto pushed it all away, and really, he’s glad in the end. The place is set up all too much like it belongs to a teenager. There are shelves of games and stacks of comics, figures and collectables to whatever dumb show he and Prompto decided they were going to become obsessed with at the time. There are photos, too. Ones that sit in frames, of lifetimes passed about a hundred times over, with a Noct no longer recognizable, with his father, with Ignis and Gladio and even Prompto occasionally. And there’s an album, tucked away for later, with the memories of their trip, before it all went to hell.

Noctis doesn’t react at first, not in words. He reaches back himself to put brakes on the chair, and his hands grip white-knuckled to the armrests as he hoists himself up. Prompto is afraid he’ll try to force himself too much, but Noctis leans into him immediately when he offers out an arm. There’s a moment where they stand there, Noct braced over his shoulder, Prompto’s grasp tight around his waist, and neither of them say anything. Prompto’s heart is thumping, nerves and expectation and hope all at once.

“You did all this?” Noct’s voice is quiet, and Prompto is worried for a split second. It’s a different sort of quiet, though, than the one he’s become accustomed to through those weeks of bed-bound recovery. There’s a hint of wonder, and Prompto wants to think even a bit of appreciation in those brief words. Prompto offers just a little nudge, a tilting of his head against Noct’s arm.

“Some of it. Iggy and Gladio helped cleaning and getting everything out of storage. I thought it’d be nice to feel like you’re actually coming home, though. Y’know, instead of some dusty old room. I know it’s not really-”

“-it’s perfect, Prom,” all of Prompto’s rambling is cut off. There’s something there, in the little abbreviation of his name, in the strange, slightly rough quality to Noct’s voice. It makes his throat tighten and his breath catch and there’s a moment where he forgets he needs to move too when Noct begins making his way toward the sofa. Realistically, a lot of the stuff does them little good at just this moment. Electricity is being restored to the city, but it’s inconsistent at best, and using generators to run some old video games is probably on the wrong side of allowable. But it’s something. And when they make their way over, so Noct can sit, so he can tug Prompto down beside him, it still feels like it was the right choice.

They sit there in silence while Noctis takes it all in. Not for a moment does his arm move from where it’s draped over Prompto’s shoulder, and Prompto doesn’t think of pulling it from the warm, comfortable spot around Noct’s waist. It’s a good silence It’s the kind that was always so comfortable for them when they were younger. The kind that is so vastly preferable to a silence of absence that stretched so many years now.

“Happy birthday, Noct. I’m really-” but Prompto stops the statement abruptly, given no choice in the matter. Because Noct is moving, a swift little shift, a hand on Prompto’s cheek, then cupping his head, and then their lips are together and god damn Prompto swears he can still recall that taste over so many years. If the right thing to do is pull away, scold, Prompto doesn’t care. He leans in, turns himself, squeezes the hand at Noct’s waist and brings one to brush back his hair. Everything considered it’s a short kiss, one that’s a little bit awkward, halting, the product of a skill unused for a solid decade. It’s the best kiss Prompto’s ever fucking had.

“I meant it, you know. What I said in the hall,” Noct’s voice is still rough and his eyes are wet. There’s a quality of uncertainty there that grabs at Prompto’s pounding heart, “I never stopped thinking about it. About us. If you’re really trying to fulfill birthday wishes…” he lets his voice trail off and his eyes are pure expectation, hope and concern and searching at Prompto’s.

“Noct. You’re the king. We can’t,” Prompto tries to be firm, but he’s not pulling away and Noctis isn’t either and that makes it a whole lot harder have any conviction here. A whole lot harder still, because it’s almost magnetic, the way he’s drawn to kissing Noctis again, to tugging his teeth in a light gesture at his lower lip, slipping his tongue for another brief taste.

“We couldn’t before, either, but it didn’t really stop us,” Noctis is speaking with far more assurance than Prompto had managed and it makes Prompto wonder if, just maybe, he’s been considering this conversation. He tries to drive the thought from his mind, but he can’t. He can’t look away or pull away and he can’t help but wonder.

“I’m pretty sure the world isn’t gonna be happy with you gettin’ all cozy with some Niff.”

“Good thing you’re a Lucian, then,” Noct is firm yet again, fingers tracing Prompto’s cheek, working through his hair, “I think the world can deal with it, since I went and died for them. Besides, I thought I told you, I’m done with all that stupid stuff. The borders and countries and the fighting. Enough of that. You didn’t forget, did you? Pretty sure you signed on to help.”

“Of course I didn’t forget. I’m with you, no matter what, Noct,” Prompto manages to sound just a touch indignant, enough that it seems to make Noctis smile. Still, his mind is racing, reeling, trying to grasp to some logic. Because this is impossible, this is more than impossible. This is one of those moments that scare him, that make him think he’s dreaming, has been dreaming for a really long time.

“You love me, right? I mean, you did back then,” the question gives Prompto pause, makes his heart lurch in his chest. There were understandings when they were young, when they were playing at all of this. There were words they didn’t say, even if they lived by them. There were subjects they didn’t breech. Prompto wants to pretend this is some great stretch, some little bit of arrogance, but the truth is? There was never a question as to his feelings back then. He showed them at every possible opportunity. It would have been more shocking for Noct not to know.

“Yeah. Obviously,” Prompto says, and it’s a bit of a shy admission, a guilty one. As if he’s been caught doing something absolutely improper, unallowed. In a way, he really has.

“Well, I still love you, too. So maybe you should stop worrying for once and just trust me. It’s my birthday so you can’t say no,” Noctis says it all quickly, firmly, leaving little room for discussion. Then again, though, Prompto doesn’t know that he wants to discuss it, not right now at least. His fingers are trembling against Noct’s skin cheek, his other hand near a death grip on his hip. Breathing is something that takes a bit of effort to recall just how to do. But he smiles and he nods.

“Guess you have a point. Can’t say no on your birthday,” they’re words that tremble just as much as the rest of him, but that’s okay. Noct is leaning in again, drawing Prompto closer, kissing him with more confidence, kissing him in a way that stretches and lingers and makes Prompto think that, just maybe, there are a few more impossible things Noct can manage to accomplish.

#promptis #ffxv #ffxv fanfic #noctis x prompto #fanfic #my writing

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domhovasse · 5 years

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Bitches in the Balkans.

The Balkans has been a region of the world that’s been on my radar for a while now. It’s not a region of Europe thats not quite as popular amongst tourists, is therefore less expensive that most other regions in Europe, and has warm weather & beaches, so when I found out that Gaby and Timnit could join me or some travelling, I KNEW this was where we would go.

After arriving in Belgrade around noon on Saturday, I checked into my hostel and spent the afternoon at the Yugoslavia museum and then wandering around a little, before my friends arrived at 7pm. We just missed a period of non-stop rain so the streets were still quite flooded and it was quite chilly out. That evening we did some bar hopping, and ended off the night at various bars that float along the river, called Splavs. The folllowing day, we took part in a walking tour, learned about the history of Yugoslavia, the relationship between Serbia and Kosovo. The tour took us through most of the historic city center, and ended at the fortress overlooking the confluence of the Danube and Sava rivers. After lunch we spent some time napping in a park, before visiting the Nikola Tesla Museum and eventually eating the most delicious and coupious amount of food possibly that I’ve ever had in my life.

That night, we made our way to Sarajevo, capital city of Bosnia & Herzegovina, which was probably the most eye opening part of the trip. It was quite somber walking through the Museum of Crimes Against Humanity and Genocide and learning about the city’s dark & recent history, then going on a walking tour and being able to actually see physical damage (bullet holes) that was done to a lot of the buildings, which have not been repaired yet due to finances and legal reasons. We got hit with quite a bit of rain the Sarajevo, so we often took some breaks for Bosnian Coffee or a glass of wine at a sky bar. We also made a visit to the Tunnel of Hope (sort of like the Cuchi Tunnels in Saigon) that we’re used during the war for protection and safe transportation of goods. We met the most wonderful people in Sarajevo, notably an elderly man who let us into a museum 30 minutes after closing, (after having walked 15 minutes in the pouring rain), and the owner & employee of a bar we’d found, who spent hours talking to us after closing, telling us about their lives and their country, and offering us a round of drinks.

Mostar was quite touristy, (mostly Chinese tourist on day trips from Croatia), but we made sure to avoid the city center / Bazaar during peak hours. We visited a beautiful cemetery overlooking the city, and took a taxi to Blagaj, an old Muslim dervish house that sits on a cliff and river, where we got completely rained on. In the evening we partook in a walking tour, where we learned about the conflict/separation between the Bosnians and Croats in the city of Mostar. There are 2 of everything : school, hospital, church, mosque, one on each side of the divide. There is only 1 school right on the separation line / ’no man’s land’ where you can find a mix of Bosnians and Serbs, and where all classes are mixed together except for language and history. Mostar was definitely the city where there were the most abandoned/damaged buildings remaining from the war.

What touched us the most about Bosnia was its people and their incredible hospitality & openness, despite their gruesome past.

The middle chunk of our trip was spent in Croatia & Montenegro, where we got very little sleep, but lots of sun!! After a few hours in Split, grabbing lunch and wandering around the old town and pier, we boarded our ferry to the island of Hvar. Hvar was a really good time - we met a bunch of people, ate some good food and spent lots of time on the beach, hanging out at beach bars and dancing our butts off.

On top of our lack of sleep and terrible hangovers, it was excruciatingly hot in Dubrovnik and very difficult to find shade, so after our respective walking tours in the morning (my friends did the Game of Thrones tour while I just did a regular tour), we spent the rest of the day trying to stay indoors, and eventually took a taxi to this amazing lookout point at the top of the mountain before heading to the bus station to kill time before our bus to Montenegro.

Kotor was one of my favourites. Not only is it breathtakingly beautiful, but we had a really good hostel experience and were so close to extending our stay an extra night! We spent our day wandering the old town, then hopping on a boat which brought us to the picturesque town of Perast and the beautiful island In the middle of the Bay, called Our Lady of the Rocks. Around sundown, Timnit and I ventured up to the fortress for an incredible view of the bay. It was definitely one of the most beautiful views I have ever seen!

Budva was super chill, since there’s not much to do besides the beach. It kind of felt like a Cancun of the Balkans - very built up city with resorts, casinos and lots of partying. I ended up wandering around the old town on my own for a while because Timnit and Gaby both had work to do on their computers. I walked the city walls and visited the citadel overlooking the water, and then went to the beach with Gaby for a bit before walking along the beach and grabbing diner all together. On our last morning in Montenegro, I made the girls wake up at 5am to squeeze in a visit to Mount Lovcen before making our long journey to Prizren, Kosovo. We got there an hour before it opened (of course none of us thought to look at the opening times ahead of time), but the lovely man running the gate let us in early because there were quite a few people who were waiting there with us. We climbed the 461 steps to the Mausoleum of a famous Serbian/Montenegrin poet and philosopher, behind the mausoleum was a path that led onto a lookout point. Along the way, I lost both of my friends to their fear of heights, and honestly they really missed out cause it was incredible! We got our taxi to drop us off at the bus station in Budva, and then killed some tiime before beginning our long journey to Kosovo.

The last 4 days of my trip were really hot, so we ended up spending alot of time indoors. Gaby and Timnit were both working during our trip so we spent a few hours every day in a cafe, escaping the heat and being productive. Kosovo was really interesting! We spent 1 day in Prizren, 'the cultural capital', and a day in Pristina, the capital city with a population of 210,000, the average age being 25. (65% of the whole country's population is under the age of 35). There’s not a ton to do tourism-wise so we spent a lot of time sitting in cafes and bars, and in Pristina, the capital city, we decided to do a walking tour to get an overview of the city and learn a bit about its history. I’ll never forget getting chased around by a stray dog for 30 minutes, and all the locals laughing at the fact that we were so freaked out.

Overall, I was really impressed with how many western-influenced restaurants/bars there were and how western a lot of the people were dressed. Kosovars are a little obsessed with America, so most speak pretty good English, and there's even a huge statue of Bill Clinton in Pristina. He's considered a hero because he played a huge part in their liberation 20 years ago. During our trip we'd only met one person (right at the end of our trip) who had plans on going to Kosovo, so it was cool to be one of the few to experience this bit of unchartered territory.

From Pristina, we took a short bus ride across the border to the capital city of Macedonia, Skopje. We didn't originally have plans to make it to Macedonia, but the cheapest flights home (by a landslide) were from Skopje, so we decided to spend some time there before flying home. After arriving in the evening and checking into our hostel, we headed to a restaurant which had been recommended to us by a hostel worker. Thank God he recommended it because it we had some of the best food ever, followed by one of the best nights of the entire trip. Long story short, the restaurant had live music and essentially turned into a bar full of locals, singing and dancing, the servers offered us free shots, which essentially turned into bottom-less free shots, and by the end of the night, we were riding around the streets of Skopje in a convertible with a bunch of locals, blasting music and singing at the top of our lungs. We spent most of the next day on a walking tour, then eating, drinking beers and hanging out with some solo travellers we had met on our walking tour. That night, we had a big dinner all together in a fancy restaurant, where we all treated ourselves to the most delicious 10€ steaks, then went to a Karaoke bar before saying goodbye to Gaby and Timnit. They both had very early morning flights that night/morning, and mine wasn't until 6pm, so I spent my last day with one of our new friends, taking a cable car to the top of Vodno mountain, and then visiting a museum before heading to the airport in the late afternoon.

My journey home was extremely long because my flight was 1 hour and 15 minutes delayed, and then I had to take an hour and a half bus ride to Paris from Beauvais airport, but hey I guess that's what I get for a 15€ flight!

I’m feeling really appreciative to not only have the opportunity to travel, but also to be able to do it with my friends who I've known for over 17 years! We had so much fun together laughing and learning, just like we did together in elementary school.

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unknown-companion-poems · 7 years

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“Very Clever People” (A monologue)

In a lonesome barn millions of miles from the planet Earth, a lost soul tosses and turns in slumber. Cruel, cutting remarks have been made by fine Gallifreyans over their prospects, people who don’t care if their subject hears them or not, and they have been heard.

As moonlight filters through wooden slats and bristly straw, the hand of a better person reaches down to stroke the sleeper’s brow...

Oh Bill...my Bill...

Almost two weeks now since we came here. Two weeks and ten years for you...

Ten years without love...just the simulation of such. If your heart hadn’t already been destroyed, it might as well have withered away.

If I hadn’t held out those hopes for Missy, would you never have known a horror like this? If I hadn’t flapped my gums down there in the control room, might I have reached you in time? Why couldn’t I just follow those Proto-Cybermen onto the lifts? Could have given one of them a chop, done to them what I did to the fool who shot you.

I tell myself that I didn’t force you to come, that I didn’t pressure you like on Chasm Forge. It was your choice. But it doesn’t help. Because it doesn’t mean I couldn’t have done better for you.

I’m usually so good at that...well, perhaps not so much. I’ve grown rusty I suppose. I’ve lost friends to parallel universes, Weeping Angels, even a quantum shade. I even mind-wiped one of them, like I was going to do to you...maybe I should have.

If I had sent you away with a mind empty of dreams, would it have been for the best? Because it’s so hard for me to imagine that you can dream now.

If I’d just behaved and kept to that vow, we wouldn’t have been through Chasm Forge, or six months of Monk rule, or...or here. I would never have rethought the whole ridiculousness of the vow.

I didn’t realize just how badly I’d missed traveling until I saw the smile on your face when we arrived at the colony. How much I missed helping people; I wasn’t getting a lot of opportunities for that on Earth, not as many as I expected; I spent most of those decades at St. Luke’s waiting out the world and brainstorming lectures.

I always ate my meals in my office, did I ever tell you that? Well, not always -- sometimes in the TARDIS, and sometimes in the Vault, but most of the time in the office.

I had to face my monster, you were right about that. If only I’d found a better way to do it...

I’ve racked my brain trying to think of what I could do for you, how to fix you. I was sure I could think of something, but...even if I got you back to the TARDIS I don’t know where we could go.

I’d give up all my regeneration energy if I had a hope it would work on you. I’ve lived long enough. But I know there’s so little flesh and blood left under that synthetic skin. And in my mind’s eye I see such horrors if it were all to start growing back, squashing and squishing against metal and plastic and...I could never.

Those people out there are good people, bar one or two we both know well enough. I pleaded with them to let you have a bed, a pillow, while you sleep. But I’m outnumbered and outgunned, literally.

I wish they could see what I do.

Like the TARDIS I have a bit of a perception filter, at least in this life. Once I get to know someone really well, if they’ve changed in some way I see them as they are, and yet I don’t. For instance I once dreamed (very vividly) of an old friend who had grown very old indeed since the last time I saw her. The specific details I can’t recall, but she was old in the way humans get old, I guess. But my eyes kept seeing soft hair where there was straw, and smooth skin where there were wrinkles.

And there was this young Viking girl I knew, dressed in brown homespun with tight little braids, arranged like a little circlet on her head. I made her an immortal to save her from the grave. Didn’t matter where we were or what she wore as the centuries passed, and my she did like to experiment with her hair, but I always saw the Ashildr I first met. She didn’t want me to call her that after a few centuries, but her other name didn’t fit that child I met.

And I look down at you, and I can see your curly coif where I know a headlamp is now, and hold rubbery pasty manly hands that should be slim and brown...

And I look through that barn door and I see a shining citadel under a bubble...

If you can still dream, Bill...

Well, “very clever people can hear dreams”, or so someone once told me when I was dreaming, long ago. I don’t know who it was. I do know that you are a very clever person -- wise and strong too...my star pupil...

You will, I hope, be very afraid and very angry when you come to. Because if you are it means they have not taken you away from me, from the universe.

Hate me if you must, if it helps you remember who you are. Tear me limb from limb, roast me alive...

But don’t give in to them. Don’t give the man who made you this that satisfaction.

Be gentle to everyone else. Be patient. Be curious. Be sad. Be funny.

Be kind.

Be you, Bill Potts.

Be you...

In the wake of those words, soft lips brush against the brow of a Cyberman.

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permanentplaceholder · 3 years

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No one wants to talk about this, but we all should be. - The EVERYTHING short PART 1 (original research by u/atobitt on Reddit) - If you've heard about Gamestop, you should read this to get a better idea what's really going on.

source

part two here;

4/4/2021 EDIT: Just got done watching this review (2:09:37) from George Gammon and Meet Kevin. As pointed out by George, the link I posted below talking about the submitted repo amount was ONLY showing the NY Fed's total for that day. According to his own research, he suspects that $4 TRILLION is pumped through this market, EACH DAY.

4/1/2021 EDIT: GREAT NEWS APES! u/dontfightthevol has been reviewing my post and helping me address weaknesses! I take this as REALLY good news as we move another step closer to exposing the TRUTH. Furthermore, I am making updates that take speculative connections out of this post.

The first one being the WSJ article covering BlackRock, where the fed has tapped them to purchase bonds for the government. These bonds consist of mortgage backed securities and corporate bonds- NOT TREASURIES. While this does not destroy the concept within the post, it DOES remove a link between the speculative relationship of BlackRock and Citadel. Citadel is still shorting bonds, other hedge funds are shorting bonds, BlackRock just isn't buying treasuries from the government. There are plenty of other financial institutions lending out their treasury bonds.

We are still discussing the post and I will make updates as they are available.

STAY TUNED!

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TL;DR- Citadel and friends have shorted the treasury bond market to oblivion using the repo market. Citadel owns a company called Palafox Trading and uses them to EXCLUSIVELY short & trade treasury securities. Palafox manages one fund for Citadel - the Citadel Global Fixed Income Master Fund LTD. Total assets over $123 BILLION and 80% are owned by offshore investors in the Cayman Islands. Their reverse repo agreements are ENTIRELY rehypothecated and they CANNOT pay off their own repo agreements until someone pays them, first. The ENTIRE global financial economy is modeled after a fractional reserve system that is beginning to experience THE MOTHER OF ALL MARGIN CALLS.

THIS is why the DTC and FICC are requiring an increase in SLR deposits. The madness has officially come full circle.

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My fellow apes,

After writing Citadel Has No Clothes, I couldn't shake one MAJOR issue: why do they have a balance sheet full of financial derivatives instead of physical shares? Even Melvin keeps their derivative exposure to roughly 20%...(whalewisdom.com, Melvin Capital 13F - 2020)

The concept of a hedging instrument is to protect against price fluctuations. Hopefully you get it right and make a good prediction, but to have a portfolio with literally 80% derivatives.... absolute INSANITY.. it's is the complete OPPOSITE of what should happen.. so WHAT is going on?

Let's break this into 4 parts:

Repurchase & Reverse Repurchase agreements

Treasury Bonds

Palafox Trading

Short-seller Endgame

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Ok, 4 easy steps... as simple as possible.

Step 1: Repurchase & Reverse Repurchase agreements.

WTF are they?

A Repurchase Agreement is much like a loan. If you have a big juicy banana worth $1,000,000 and need some quick cash, a repo agreement might be right for you. Just take that banana to a pawn shop and pawn it for a few days, borrow some cash, and buy your banana back later (plus a few tendies in interest). This creates a liability for you because you have to buy it back, unless you want to default and lose your big, beautiful banana. Regardless, you either buy it back or lose it. A reverse repo is how the pawn shop would account for this transaction.

Why do they matter?

Repos and reverse repos are the LIFEBLOOD of global financial liquidity. They allow for SUPER FAST conversions from securities to cash. The repo agreement I just described is happening daily with hedge funds and commercial banks. EDIT: Inserting the quote from George Gammon: according to his calculations, the estimated total amount of repos are $4 TRILLION, DAILY. The NY Fed, alone, submitted $40.354 BILLION for repo agreements on (3/29). This amount represents the ONE DAY REPO due on 3/30. So yeah, SUPER short term loans- usually a few days. It's probably not a surprise that back in 2008 the go-to choice of collateral for repo agreements was mortgage backed securities..

Lehman Brothers went bankrupt because they fraudulently classified repo agreements as sales. You can do your own research on this, but I'll give you the quick n' dirty:

Lehman would go to a bank and ask for cash. The bank would ask for collateral in return and Lehman would offer mortgage backed securities (MBS). It's great having so many mortgages on your balance sheet, but WTF good does it do if you have to wait 30 YEARS for the cash.... So Lehman gave their collateral to the bank and recorded these loans as sales instead of payables, with no intention of buying them back. This EXTREMELY overstated their revenue. When the market started realizing how sh*tty these "AAA" securities actually were (thanks to Michael BRRRRRRRRy & friends), they were no longer accepted as collateral for repo loans. We all know what happened next.

The interest rate in 2008 on repos started climbing as the cost of borrowing money went through the roof. This happens because the collateral is no longer attractive compared to cash. My favorite bedtime story is how the Fed stepped in and bought all of the mean, toxic assets to save the US economy.. They literally paid Fannie & Freddie over $190 billion in bailouts..

A few years later, MF Global would suffer the same fate when their European repo exposure triggered a massive margin call. Their foreign exposure to repo agreements was nearly 4.5x their total equity.. Both Lehman and MF Global found themselves in a major liquidity conundrum and were forced into bankruptcy. Not to mention the other losses that were incurred by other financial institutions... check this list for bailout totals.

But.... did you know this happened AGAIN in 2019?

Instead of the gradual increase in rates, the damn thing spiked to 10% OVERNIGHT. This little blip almost ruined the whole show. It's a HUGE red flag because it shows how the system MUST remain in tight control: one slip and it's game over.

The reason for the spike was once again due to a lack of liquidity. The federal reserve stated there were two main catalysts (click the link): both of which removed the necessary funds that would have fueled the repo market the following day. Basically, their checking account was empty and their utility bill bounced.

It became apparent that ANOTHER infusion of cash was necessary to prevent the whole damn system from collapsing. The reason being: institutions did NOT have enough excess liquidity on hand. Financial institutions needed a fast replacement for the MBS, and J-POW had just the right thing.. $FED go BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

"but don't say it's QE.."

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Step 2: Treasury Bonds

Ever heard of the bond market? Well it's the redheaded step-brother of the STONK market.

The US government sells you a treasury bond for $1,000 and promises to pay you interest depending on how long you hold it. Might be 1%, might be 3%; might be 3 months, might be 10 years. Regardless, the point is that purchasing the US Treasury bond, in conjunction with mortgage backed securities, allowed the fed to keep pumping unlimited liquid tendies into the repo market. Surely, liquidity won't be an issue anymore, right?

Now... take the repo scenario from the Lehman Brothers story, but instead of using ONLY mortgage backed securities, add in the US Treasury bond: primarily the 10-year. Note that MBS are still prevalent at 19.1% of all repo transactions, but the US Treasury bond now represents a whopping 67%.

For now, just know that the US Treasury has replaced the MBS as the dominant source of liquidity in the repo market.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Step 3: Palafox Trading

Ever heard of Palafox Trading? Me either. It's pretty much meant to be that way.

Palafox Trading is a market maker for repurchase agreements. Initially, they appear to be an innocent trading company, but their financial statements revealed a little secret:

Are you KIDDING ME?... I should have known...

OF COURSE Citadel has their own private repo market..

Who else is in this cesspool?!

I made this using the financial statement listed above, showing all beneficiaries of the GFIL

Everything rolls into the Citadel Global Fixed Income Master Fund... This controls $123,218,147,399 (THAT'S BILLION) in assets under management... I know offshore accounts are technically legal for hedge funds.... but when you look at the itemized holdings of these funds on Citadel's most recent form ADV, it gives me chills..

Form ADV page 105-106....

Ok... ok.... let me get this straight....

The repo market provides IMMEDIATE liquidity to hedge funds and other financial institutions

After the MBS collapse in 2008, the US Treasury replaced it as the liquid asset of choice

Citadel owns 100% of Palafox Trading which is a market maker for repo agreements

This market maker provides liquidity to the Global Fixed Income Master Fund LTD (GFIL) through Citadel Advisors

80% of its $123,218,147,399 in assets under management belong to entities in the Cayman Islands

Ok.....I tore the bermuda, paradise, and panama papers apart and found that all of these funds boil down to just a few managers, but can't pin anything on them for money laundering... However, if there EVER were a case for it, I'd be extremely suspicious of this one...

The level of shade on all this is INCREDIBLE... There should be NO ROOM for a investment pool as big as Citadel to hide this sh*t.... absolutely ridiculous..

The fact that there is so much foreign influence over our bond & repo market, which controls the liquidity of our country, is VERY concerning..

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Step 4: Short-seller Endgame

Alright, I know this is a lot to take in..

I've been writing this post for a week, so reading it all at one time is probably going to make your head explode.. But now we can finally start putting all of this together.

Ok, remember how I explained that the repo rate started to rise in '08 because the collateral was no longer attractive compared to cash? That means there wasn't enough liquidity in the system. Well this time the OPPOSITE effect is happening. Ever since March 2020, the short-term lending rate (repo rate) has nearly dropped to 0.0%....

https://www.newyorkfed.org/markets/treasury-repo-reference-rates

So the fed is printing free money, the repo market is lending free money, and there's basically NO difference between the collateral that's being lent and the cash that's being received.. With all this free money going around, it's no wonder why the price of the 10 year treasury has been declining.

In fact, hedge funds are SO confident that the 10 year treasury will continue to decline, that they've SHORTED THE 10-YEAR BOND MARKET. I'm not talking about speculative shorting, I mean shorting it to oblivion like they've shorted stocks.

Don't believe me?

Hedge funds like Citadel Advisors must first locate the treasury bond in order to swap them for cash in the repo market. It's extremely difficult to do this with the fed because they're tied up in government BS, so they locate a lender in the market. These consist of other commercial banks and hedge funds.

NOTE: I MADE A COMMENT ABOUT BLACKROCK SUPPLYING TREASURY BONDS AND THIS IS NOT TRUE. UPON FURTHER REVIEW ( CREDIT u/dontfightthevol ) THESE BONDS CONSIST OF MBS AND CORPORATE BONDS. WHILE THE US TREASURY DEPARTMENT IS INVOLVED, THEY ARE NOT SUPPLYING TREASURY BONDS.

So financial institutions keep treasuries on reserve for hedgies like Citadel to short. Citadel comes along and asks for the bond, they throw it into Palafox Trading and collect their cash. So what happens when they need to pay for their repo agreement? Surely to GOD there are enough bonds floating around, right? Not unless hedge funds like Citadel have shorted more bonds than there are available.

Here's the evidence.

There have been 3 instances over the past year where the repo rate dipped below the "failure" rate of -3.0%. On March 4th 2021, the repo rate hit -4.25% which means that investors were willing to PAY someone 4.25% interest to lend THEIR OWN MONEY in exchange for a 10 year treasury bond.

This is a major signal of a squeeze in the treasury market. It's MAJOR desperation to find bonds. With the federal reserve purchasing them monthly from the open market, it leaves room for a shortage when the repo call hits. If commercial banks and hedge funds haven't purchased more treasuries since first lending them out, short sellers simply cannot cover unless they go into the market and PAY the bond holder for their bond. It's literally the same story as all of the heavily shorted stocks.

Still not convinced?

At the end of 2020, Palafox Trading listed $31,257,102,000 (BILLION) in GROSS repo agreements. $30,576,918,000 (BILLION) were directly related to repurchasing treasury bonds....

https://sec.report/CIK/0001284170

But what about their Reverse Repurchase agreements? Don't they have assets to BUY treasury bonds?SURE.. Take a look..

https://sec.report/CIK/0001284170

SeE tHeRe? I tOlD yOu ThEy HaD iT cOvErEd..

Yeaaaah... now read the fine print. (part 2)

#anime #text post #finance #stock market #fraud #crime #illegal #true #gamestop #crypto #corruption #evil #fashion #diy #photography #quote #meme #art #eat the rich #late stage capitalism

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botwstoriesandsuch · 4 years

Text

Where Time Takes Us

Hey all! I’m almost done with Chapter One of a fic I’m working on, so in the mean time, why not have a quick teaser?

Eventually I’m gonna also post the full thing on AO3 so the format is better, and it’s also gonna have zelink and some revali stuff in the future...although I’m mainly gonna focus on character growth and arcs than the romance. All in all, when I’m done you’ll have to read it for yourself. In the mean time..

Enjoy!

Where Time Takes Us 6905 words (of like...15k it’s a teaser ok)

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Watch the home while she is off to war

The Slumber King versus the rearing boar

Awake, arise, do not be blind

To tales and destinies entwined

In the world we said that we would leave behind

- - - - - - - - - -

6 months, 3 weeks, and 3 days before the Hyrule Castle Slaughter, the Akkala Citadel Massacre, the slaying of the Champions, the death of the hero, and the rise of Calamity Ganon

She was supposed to work until whenever doomsday struck, and truly she wanted to, but circumstances led her to walk towards the echoing laughter.

Already trying to prepare the quip she would throw back at them (as undoubtedly they’d complain about her being late again) the researcher weaved through the familiar roads of West Castle Town. Most of the houses were dark, with the only light source coming from the occasional flickering lantern, and the pale complexion of the midnight moon. Needless to say, it made the warm glow of The Adequate’s Tavern stand out all the more as she approached.

Another roar of laughter and shouts escaped from an open window on the south side of the pub. The bags under her eyes curved with her smile as she recognized one of the voices. She absentmindedly traced her fingers along the outer walls of the tavern as she walked, loose chips of faded blue paint falling to the pavement below. The wooden sign above the door creaked with its askew weight. “The Adequate’s Tavern” was printed in bold, blue letters atop a faded yellow outline. The missing e’s and t’s gave evidence to the building’s true quality.

“Yes, they’re here again, so get out there already!”

“The scientists?” the waiter asked.

The waiter disappeared into the back and the barkeep was left muttering by the counter. Chuckling to herself, the researcher moved away, starting to search for the scientists in question. Other than a single, beige wall that separated the edge of the bar with a support beam in the middle of the room, the pub was very open and lively. Square and circular tables were littered across the floor in mismatched patterns, ranging from oak brown to birch white. Clearly, aesthetic was not the centerpoint of the place.

As if fate had read her thoughts, she finally caught sight of her friends.

The young woman wore roughly the same outfit, although she had a navy blue skirt and boots compared to the other guy’s black pants and shoes. Her eyes were also red, albeit, with a more striking scarlet color, compared to the other boy’s warmer wine shade. Looking back, she adjusted her bright, Sheikah red, round, sparkly, diamond decorated glasses, complete with white accents that matched her hair. It was pulled in a messy bun, a hairstyle that her close friends knew was less for looks, and more for practical purposes, as supposedly “the stupid strands always find ways to bother my eyes. No, stop, I don’t need a comb! My eyeballs are just sensitive, OK?”

Pivoting past a waiter, the researcher finally moved closer to the trio, brushing her curly dark hair above her shoulders as she prepared for the sarcasm to begin.

The stormy eyed scientist spoke first.

“Purah, Purah! Is that...a ghost I see? It looks like Adello, but I feel like I haven’t seen her in a century, I surely thought her dead! Am I being…haunted?”

Robbie awed at Adello in sarcastic wonder, and the boy across from him exhaled out of his nose with a smile.

Purah turned to Robbie, pulling down her glasses and looking at him sternly. “See, this is another trait of these kinds of spirits. They’re cursed to only say excuses for eternity.”

He shook his head. “Coupled with the fact that their fashion only ever consists of one color? Truly, a terrible fate for a ghost indeed.”

Adello narrowed her eyes. Smoothing out her juniper colored tunic, she said, “Ok first off, green is a great color on me, it pairs well with my skin tone. You’re both just blind, no wonder you need glasses.” Purah put a hand on her chest dramatically, but she continued. “Plus, I’d really rather not get fired since that ceremony thing with those Champions is tomorrow and, as you all know, I just got that promotion.”

Adello chuckled, finally sitting down in the empty seat beside him. The old oaken chair and floor creaked under the new weight. Robbie let out a huff.

“You kids need to learn to respect your elders.” He announced the word “respect” with the tip of his tongue. The researcher rolled her eyes.

“Ah yes, a whole one year gap between us. What astounding age and experience that these elders emit.” She gestured at Robbie and Purah with a sweep of her arm.

“Uh excuse me, but I believe in my case it’s now double that. A whole two years, my dear, naive child. For as of 4 hours ago, I now emit the knowledge of an existence spanning two decades!” Now it was his turn to pose dramatically, pointing towards the ceiling.

Adello smirked to herself, and answered, “Yep, that’s how it goes!”

“Alright you don’t get to speak Miss I-don’t-know-how-to-be-punctuation!”

Purah promptly smacked Robbie over the head with a pen.

“Hey! W—”

“The word is punctual you idiot.”

Robbie slumped his shoulders and made a face. He tapped his thumb and fingers together, mimicking the opening and closing of a mouth while he muttered mockingly in Purah’s tone under his breath.

Turning the pages of her journal towards Adello, she gave a chaotic grin. “Last round, Zimiri revealed that he once got teary eyed in front of the King himself after reading a poem about clouds.”

Zimiri raised his hands in defense. “Look, the clouds were an analogy for lost childhood innocence and I got choked up with that author’s amazing choice of imagery and descriptions, OK?”

Purah pointed her pen at him to hush, and continued. “Of course, him being a sentimental dork isn’t anything new, so he lost that round to Robbie who revealed the identity of his first crush.”

Zimiri muttered something about the game being rigged towards the birthday boy, but Adello talked over him, excitedly.

“Ooohhhh? Robbie?? Who are they?” She propped up her elbows and cradled her chin in her hands, excited at the prospect of more embarrassing information she could hang over his head.

He mumbled, looking to Purah for assistance, but she only cupped a hand over her ear, waiting for him to respond. “You all fuckin—” he sighed, “it’s…she’s...c-ch…” he avoided everyone’s gaze, “her name is...Cherry…”

Adello gasped, gleefully. “That girl from your old university?? The writer you hung out with!?”

Purah beamed, shaking Robbie’s shoulders excitedly. “I know right???” She loosened her grip and allowed him to wiggle out of her grasp for a moment. “Oh sweetie, campus days may be long gone for all of us prodigies and geniuses,” she flipped a few strands of her white hair with a turn of her head, “but I’m sure you’ll get her someday. You just gotta turn up the charm, find a way to woo with words. I’m sure writers’ love that.” Purah pulled down her glasses and gave a forced wink at him.

“Now, now, let’s all play nice. We don’t need to pester him further about it, he did win the round after all.”

“Uh, yeah. Speaking of the game, you still need to drink up mister.” Purah slid a tan brown cup of apple cider towards him, the translucent contents sloshing around like muck in a gutter.

He leaned on the back two legs of his chair. “Isn’t it punishment enough to smell it? The cider isn’t even near my face and my mouth is already burning.”

She shrugged. “Them's the rules of ‘Till You Spill. Your secret sucked, so swig!”

Raising his posture, Robbie crowed, “When we finally have Zimiri’s birthday maybe then we’ll actually upgrade to the alcohol.”

Adello raised an eyebrow. “Uh, right, because the upgrade from disorientingly strong, smelly apple cider, is you two being flat out drunk. Right...”

Purah slammed both her fists down with pride, letting the cups and pitchers slosh a few, amber colored drops onto the worn wooden table. “Bold of you to assume I’d drink at all, considering I’ve never lost a round! Mwahaha!” She blew a raspberry at her. “This tongue is apple free, baby.”

She gestured with her pinky and index finger at Zimiri and Adello. “Now, you two! The late combatant and the latest loser shall spill next. Give us your juicy gossip!!”

The bard, still reeling from his drink, leaned back in his chair and gave a nod toward Adello. “Ladies first?”

Suddenly, she snapped her fingers. “The princess has a secret stuffed animal collection.” Seeing the light in her co-workers’ eyes twinkle, Adello knew she had chosen her words well. Purah leaned in. “OOoh? And how did you come across this juicy piece of information?” She rested her chin on an arm with an innocent smile.

“When I sent my application for the new job a few weeks ago, I gave it to the princess directly. It was late at night, and I bumped into her as she just left her room. The door was cracked open for a few seconds, before some royal, pompous guard slammed it right in my face. Yet, it wasn’t before I saw the pile of,” she counted on her fingers, “cow, sheep, bird, dog, and several horse stuffed animals piled high by her big, blue bed. I bet if I peaked for just a few more moments I could have found enough to pin her as a true horse girl.”

He combed his fingers through his messy, white hair, pondering his next choice of words. Fiddling with the beads and strings wrapped around it, he thought out loud.

“So… ever since I moved into the castle. When did my mom come here… five years now? I’ve, uh… had a crush on... Zelda…” He gave an uncertain grin, and raised the palm of his hands as if to ask, “well?”

At first he was met with silence. In his head, he started to celebrate the victory of his first ‘Till You Spill round in literal months. That was until he was met with groans and pitiful mutters.

The bard started to sputter, moving his hands in wild, questioning motions.

“But? Wha— I? You!? Didn’t you— I… W-well I mean, I know Adello knew, I told her years ago, but you guys—”

“R-recognizing a person’s positive traits doesn’t instantly mean in love!”

Zimri continued to sputter, his cheeks becoming roser by the second. Robbie turned to Purah. “So, all in favour of finding Adello’s spill better than Zimri’s?” The two of them raised their hands in unison. “Alright buddy, secret sucked, so swig! WAITER PLEASE!”

Before he could even start to reach for the cup, Adello snatched it out of the way. “Nah, it’s ok. I’ll do one for you, Zimiri. These two monsters have already tore you to shreds, and I’m sure I need a punishment anyway for coming in so late.”

He started to protest, but after catching the look in her dark, iron eyes, he relented. “Well, I thank you for your generosity.” The other two, however, were not as compliant.

Purah cupped her hands around her mouth, yelling, “Booooo... Boo to pity! Boo to generosity!” Robbie mimicked her.

“Yeah you have to respect your elders’ wishes. We demand blood! Suffering!”

“Mmmm. The cider’s weirdly salty tonight, I think your attitudes got mixed in here.”

Purah blew another rasberry at her.

“You know what else tonight needs? Some amazing music, eh Zimiri?” He bounced his eyebrows up and down at him, and gestured towards the lute leaning on one of the table legs.

“I don’t know,” Zimiri replied, “I’ve only a part-time hire for the weekend rush hours, and I wouldn’t want to blindly get on stage and sing without being given permission.”

He fiddled with the string in his hair again. “Oh yeah? I’d love to meet him someday.” At this, Adello clicked her tongue and promptly shoved him out of his chair with her hip.

Suddenly, Zimiri perked his head. Stepping back towards the table, he reached for his cup. “Oh wait, I just lost that round. I still need to drink my—”

Setting the cup back on the table, the researcher said, “Great, now you don’t need to ruin your voice any longer. Now get up there and one-up the last band.”

Robbie clapped his hands again. “Great, great. Now quit the manners and let’s go already! I still have to order the cake pie!”

Both of the girls rolled their eyes in unison. Zimiri shrugged and started to walk through the small crowd of standing Hylians, and towards the small stage.

I guess, if no one is stopping me…

It was a rowdy bunch, but not a new one. Zimiri had played for these kinds of audiences before.

“I see that quite a few people are itching for a new tune. So, uh, any requests?” he announced as he strum a chord on his lute.

He couldn’t stop himself from being biased towards the request of a certain dark skinned girl to his left.

“The World Behind!” Adello said. “Enough with those new ballads, I demand a classic!”

Robbie pumped an arm in the air. “Yes!” he shouted. “I second that! So is my decree as birthday tyrant!”

Zimiri’s smile widened. A lively crowd indeed, this will do nicely.

With that, he started to sing. His silvery voice echoed across the tavern, as he closed his eyes and began to play.

The boys have gone out to the wishing well

Will they come back? Oh only time will tell

A rupee for a life refined

But time and dreams never align

So tell the world we’ll leave it all behind

Have you seen the soldiers’ drinking ale?

They wish to sing along with nightingales

To dance on home with songs and rhymes

To banish all the fears from mind

Yes tell the world we’ll leave it all behind

Of beasts and men and all atrocities

The damn-ed fate, she owns all that you see

To a better day of new design

Forgot about the gods divine

Oh tell the world we’ll leave it all behind

Watch the home while—

“HEY!”

The sudden gruff voice startled the bard to the point where he nearly slipped off the stage.

Well, mostly, silenced the room. A few ticked off guests were booing, groaning, and mocking him for ruining the entertainment.

“Oh would you lot shut up for 2 seconds?!” he said, his voice booming across the tavern. “Listen, I’ll be blunt. I gotta give two messages for this establishment.”

The female guard behind the knight handed him a slip of parchment. Unfolding it, the guard cleared his throat.

“Firstly, you’re music and pounding is disturbing the noblemen next door. He’s staying at the inn or something and wants you to quote,” he read from the paper, “quit the mindless thumping, for Castle Town is a place of serenity and peace, not of nonsense jigs and banging.”

The groaning and insults started up again, the man gave a shrug, stating something about how he was just following orders.

Adello couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “HA! Well, with an attitude like that, this’ll probably be the first and only time he’s been banged, he should be grateful.”

The room exploded into a mess of laughter and whoops. Even the guard smirked to himself, but attempted to hide it with a shake of his head, saying “Watch the mouth girl.” Although, his stern tone wasn’t in it.

After a second, he cleared his throat again. With a stomp of his boot regained the pub's attention, the laughter suffocated out.

“Now, we’re also here looking for a Dr. Robbie Kimura? I received word they might be around here?”

The scientists turned around too late, in an effort to avoid the knight’s gaze. “Gee, what a bunch of snitches,” Robbie mumbled. The three guards started to walk over to the table.

“Dr...Robbie?”

“Who’s asking?” Robbie squinted with his dark brown eyes.

“Is this some kind of prank? You and your friends don’t even look old enough to drink.”

He scoffed. “Ok, first, yes I am a doctor! I didn’t fly through all those courses over four years just to be called, ‘Mr.’ And secondly, I’ll have you know that I am a ripe 20 years of age today, and I’m here drinking expired apple juice with my associates. So take that, pal!”

Beside him, Purah gave a proud nod in agreement. Zimiri started to wave at the guards, but Adello grabbed his arm before he could finish the movement. The guard was a bit unsettled with the way that girl was glaring at him. What was some random Hylian doing hanging out with a bunch of Sheikah anyway?

“Right, well look here son. Some curious aristo-brat snuck into the courtyard and caused one of those flying, metal Sheikah things to fall apart. My boss said that it was your prototype so you should come back and clean it up before something explodes, and possibly give a sincere apology to the meddling kid who got a few scratches.”

Robbie threw his hands in the air, exasperated. “You’re really gonna pull me out of a birthday just so I can go apologize to a spoiled kid for breaking in and ruining my Guardian?”

“If it let’s me keep my job, then yeah.”

Robbie mumbled something about not getting a slice of the apple cake pie.

Suddenly, Adello got up and pushed her chair in, smoothing out the belt around her tunic as she walked towards them.

“Ah yes, well thank you my dear assistant for the assessment but I’m capable of taking it from here.”

The guard raised a bushy, black eyebrow. “Sorry wha-”

“You said you only wanted Dr. Robbie? Well great job, you found them. Now let’s get going, I need to finish up a new design anyway.”

“You’re...Robbie? You’re a... clearly not—”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I should have had my mother consult you for your opinion before I was given my name.”

This time, the guard didn’t smile along with her quip. “This is not the time for—”

She held up a finger to silence him, and glared at the three guards with her iron eyes.

The knights looked at each other, quizzically. The researcher crossed her arms.

A beat of silence sat, only filled by the mild mumbling and chatter of the tavern. Finally, the guard let out a sigh.

“Alrighty Dr. Kimura. I’ll help escort you to the site.”

The patrons just responded with stupid groans, and half-hearted agreements. They started walking towards the door. The female guard started to put a hand on Adello’s shoulder, but she brushed it off, saying something along the lines of “I can walk on my own two feet, thank you very much.”

Purah turned in her seat. “I’ll save a slice of cake pie for you!” Adello turned her head and responded with a two fingered salute, before disappearing out the door with the guards.

“Why does she always do things like that?”

Robbie fiddled with the edge of his cup, tracing his finger around the rim. “Well, you know her. Undermining authority? Check. Insults and quips? Check.”

Robbie continued to list off more traits, but it faded out of Zimiri’s ear. Always jumping onto other’s burdens. Ah, that idiot. I bet she hasn’t slept for the last two days.

Purah suddenly piped up, taking out her pen and rapping it against the table. “Alright you too, let’s not let the sacrifice be in vain. Pool your rupees, we’re getting Robbie the fancy cake pie.”

The clatter of a few red and blue rupees echoed on the wooden table, although Zimri knocked Robbie’s share aside, saying how the birthday tyrant shouldn’t have to pitch in. Purah turned in her chair and started to wave her hand, in order to get the attention of a waiter. The bard watched as a woman with a tray started to walk over to the table. Then, he turned to Robbie.

“So what should we do while we wait?” Zimiri asked. Robbie stroked his chin, looking around the room.

“I think...the people could still use some music.”

He nodded his head in agreement, putting on a charming smile. The place needed a new pick-me-up, did it?

Well, what else is a musician for?

Adello’s footsteps echoed through the cobblestone streets, but she could barely hear it against the shifting of metal plates from the guards in front of her.

The gruff man looked back, scratching his peach fuzzed chin as he spoke. “Listen, if you finish your work quick I might be able to escort you back here.”

“You...live at the castle?”

“Mmm.”

The female guard slowed her step, starting to walk alongside the researcher.

“Already working?”

Adello didn’t look up from her journal. “Uh… you could say that.”

She laughed. “Well you best hope you know what you’re doing. This kid’s father has been yelling at her highness all night. Supposedly because she’s helping to lead Sheikah research, so everyone associated with guardians is at fault.”

The guard hummed a yes. “Apparently, the kid is the son of some visiting nobleman from the East Post. It’d be in your best interest to apologize profusely if you still wanna walk around alive.”

Adello shook her head. She didn’t know it then, but looking back, many moons from now, she would laugh at the irony of her response.

“I’d rather die.”

#botw #breath of the wild #legend of zelda botw #loz botw #botw fanfiction #purah #purah botw #robbie #robbie botw #zimiri #zimiri botw #adello #adello botw #botw oc #where time takes us

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