ffxv_kinkmeme | Prompt Post

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Prompt Post

Welcome to Round One of the FFXV Kink Meme!

CLOSED for prompts | OPEN for fills

Please have a look at the extended rules here.

The important rules in short:

Post anonymously.
Negative comments on other people's prompts (kink-shaming, pairing-bashing etc.) and personal attacks of any kind will not be tolerated.
One prompt per comment. Warnings for common triggers and squicks are encouraged, but not required.
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Keep prompts to a reasonable length; prompts should not be detailed story outlines.
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Otherwise please avoid changing the subject line.

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Prompt, write, draw, comment, and most importantly have fun!

(You can also check out our Pinboard for Filled or Unfilled prompts)

UPDATE 12/30/16: I'm looking for some help! Details here. (I'm always looking for more pinners; this is an open invitation.)

I've added/clarified some rules to make life easier to my pinners. Please refrain from changing the subject lines except when filling or updating a fill. It makes it easier for us to keep track of what we've already looked at. Thank you so much!

UPDATE 1/28/17: We've opened up a Drabble Tree post! Go check it out.

UPDATE 2/21/2017: ROUND ONE IS CLOSED FOR PROMPTS. Please feel free to continue posting fills. Round Two will open for prompts and fills on 3/1/2017.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Oh boyyyeee this is going to be a long one, I can tell.

At first, Noctis didn’t understand why his father didn’t love him anymore. He remembered bits and pieces from before the attack—large hands in his hair, the warmth of an embrace, a soft chuckle that didn’t sound anything like the way his father laughed now. It was like all that warmth had drained out of him during Noct’s long time in sleep, and Noct didn’t have the language to call it back.

The truth took a little while to figure out. He hadn’t been strong enough. He’d let the monster strike him, let sleep take him. He hadn’t recovered fast enough from his injuries, had spent so long in his wheelchair when he could have been catching up. Worst of all, when Noct woke up, he didn’t even remember his father’s name. He kept calling him Regis, when everyone knew that Noct’s father was Ardyn. Ardyn Izunia, chancellor of Niflheim.

If he’d been as strong as his father, he wouldn’t have placed such a burden on him, and his father wouldn’t have had to use up all that love just to keep him alive.

If he became strong enough, Noct reasoned, he would be able to get some of his old father back.

The officers who worked in the fortress Noct and Ardyn called home started to call Noct “the little shadow.” He trailed behind Ardyn at all times, a silent presence at his heels. He watched him from the corner of the room at meetings, carefully hid his vegetables during meals, and curled up on benches while he sparred with human soldiers and MT units in the training yard. By the end of the day, he would usually be asleep on his feet, stumbling several yards behind his father as they made their way to their rooms. There, he would take a bath, brush his teeth, and stare at the mirror, trying to recreate the face his dad used to wear when he was happy. He would narrow his eyes, like this, and his hair was soft on the sides, like this, and his mouth tilted just a little at an angle…

If he timed it right, he could force himself awake several hours before his father. When he finally woke at the right hour, he got up, tiptoed around his father’s bed, and sidled out the door. The MT patrols scared him at first, but he had the metal wristband that told them he wasn’t an enemy, and he held it up between himself and their jerking, shuddering bodies as he passed. Then he made his way to the training yard.

Okay, he thought. Start small. What did the human trainees do? Lie on their stomachs, like this, and push their hands out, like this, and lift up…

He was a little more tired than usual, after he started this nightly ritual, and his arms and legs were always sore, but at least he was trying.

After a week of this, he fell asleep at dinner. He jerked awake immediately, heart tight with panic that his father had noticed, and looked up at Ardyn at his side. His father was looking at him, eyebrows raised.

“I’m sorry,” Noct said, softly.

His father smiled, but it wasn’t the smile that Noct practiced in the mirror every night. It was different, tilted at both corners, strange in its unfamiliarity.

“You know,” his father said, in a low voice. “If you didn’t get up to exercise in the middle of the night, you might be able to stay awake through the afternoon.”

Noct felt himself start to shake. He tried to hold it in, biting his lip until it hurt. “Are you mad?” he asked.

His father opened his mouth slightly, closed it, and looked away. “No, Noctis. I don’t believe so.” There was a long silence, long enough that Noct started to squirm, and Ardyn said, “If you don’t mind waking up at dawn, I can teach you how to fight the way I do.”

Noct grinned wide, and his father’s answering laugh was so warm that he carried it with him all day.

“Tell me,” Noct’s father said one day, while Noct watched him scribble on the paperwork in his office, “Do you remember any of what I told you about Lucis?”

“Lucis,” Noct repeated. He thought about it. The name felt right on his tongue, easy to say, like he’d said it a thousand, thousand times before. It gave him the same strange, funny feeling that he got when he practiced his father’s old smile in the mirror. It made him think of light, and hands, and safety. “I think so. It’s… a good thing?”

The look on his father’s face told him otherwise.

“Oh, dear,” his father said. “I see we’ll have to start over. Lucis, dear Noct, is a kingdom allll the way over…” he pointed to the far corner of a map over his desk. “Here. It’s where the monster that hurt you came from. A dangerous place, full of wicked kings.” Noct shuddered. “Kings who even use their own family as weapons and tools for their terrible ends.”

“Why?” Noct instinctively curled his arms around his knees. “What’s the point?”

“The kings there have magic.” His father shrugged. “It’s connected to their crystal, and a ring that they wear. With that magic, they have done awful, awful things to people, so that their magic can grow. They even tried to hurt me, long ago.”

Noct stood up, overcome with a fierce, heavy anger in his chest. “But they couldn’t!” He stopped, made shy by the strength of his outburst, but his father didn’t seem angry. He looked more… thoughtful.

“They were going to hurt you, too, Noctis,” he said, in a quiet voice. “You understand why I couldn’t let them. Why you have to grow up here, in this fortress that must be so boring for such a clever boy like you…”

Noct looked down, embarrassed by the praise but still burning with anger at these cruel, distant kings. “Do people just let them do this?” he asked, at last. “Doesn’t anyone try to stop them?”

“That,” his father said, turning in his chair to give Noct his full attention, “is exactly the right question to ask.”

--

Noct wasn’t sure he was getting any better at fighting.

His father kept making him do boring, pointless drills—“building up your muscle, dear one,” he’d say, when Noct would scowl and glower his way through another painful sit-up. But he realized that he wasn’t as tired as he used to be, and he was able to do more and more of the exercises his father taught him, and could run faster than he ever remembered being able to run.

One day, when he was good enough, his father was going to teach him how to use a sword.

His father fought in a strange style, different than the other men and women at the fortress. It was beautiful, and fast, and he seemed to skip through the air in bursts of blue, fizzling magic, throwing the whole training yard into chaos. Noct dreamed of being able to fight like him one day, fight with him, at his side. Together, they’d show the evil kings of Lucis that it was wrong to hurt others with their magic.

They’d take down Lucis, and everyone would be free.

“Hey, Shadow, where’s your master gone?”

Noct scowled up at the young soldier standing behind him in the training yard. He never learned his name, but he always seemed to be around Noct, tripping him at lunch, stepping in front of him in the hall, smirking when Noct had to duck out of his way or stumble into the wall.

“He’s my dad, and he’s visiting the emperor,” Noct said. “Not like it’s any of your business.”

The soldier laughed. “If that’s your father, I’m the Oracle. You’re probably just some MT test subject he felt sorry for, so he’s going around telling people you’re his—“

“Stop it.” Noct took a breath. What would his father say? He struggled to find the right words. “You’re not even smart enough to insult me. MTs come from daemons. Daemons come from test subjects. Do I look like a daemon?”

“I don’t know,” the young man said. He tilted his head. “In the right light…”

“Whatever,” said Noct. He turned to go.

“Of course, with a father like that, of course you’d look a little like a monster either way.”

Noct clenched his fists. He turned to face the soldier. He took a deep breath, trying to will away the anger he felt boiling in his throat. And then he stepped forward and punched the man in the stomach, hard.

--

When his father arrived early the next morning, he was livid.

“What on earth possessed you?” he asked, striding into the room in a flurry of cold air, his jackets flaring out about him like the wings of a crow. When he leaned down to check the bandages on Noct’s forehead, his hands were shaking slightly. Noct knew he shouldn’t be happy, not when his dad was so upset, but he couldn’t help it. There was real worry in his father’s eyes, underneath all that anger.

“You should see the other guy,” Noct said, trying for a grin. Ardyn scowled. “He insulted you, Dad. He called you a monster. I couldn’t just let him walk off.”

“He fractured your arm, Noctis.” Ardyn’s voice was dangerous, low.

“Yeah? And I heard he had to get stitches. On his balls.”

There was a short silence at this, and Ardyn swiped a hand over his face. “Regardless. Noctis. We win our battles with words before we win them with our fists. Do you understand?” Noct looked away, sullen. “Do you understand, Noct?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Hm. Well. No more training at the yard until I say, and you will have to read a chapter a day on diplomacy for the next two weeks.” He ignored Noct’s groan of despair and patted him on his good shoulder. “Prove you’ll be good, and we’ll start fighting with wooden swords.”

“We? Me and you?” Noct perked up in his bed, struggling to rise.

“Yes,” his father said. “If you can keep up.”

Noct nodded, trying to put all the depth of his feelings into his face. “I will,” he said. “I promise.”

--

After a few months, Ardyn started taking Noct with him on his diplomatic missions. It was mostly going from the fortress to a carrier, to another fortress, to a bunch of rooms and back again. Still, it was new, and there were so many more people there. There weren’t any other kids, though some of the officers were pretty young, so Noct stayed with Ardyn for the most part. In some of the places they went to, like the emperor’s stronghold, people gave Noct uncomfortable looks and shifted away from him when they passed in the hall.

“It comes from having such an esteemed father as myself,” Ardyn told him, once, eyes twinkling at the self-deprecating joke. He was always doing that, making fun of his station, as if he wasn’t important. Still, the looks bothered Noct, and he never felt entirely at ease when he was there. When his father met the emperor, Noct would stand a little bit behind him and watch, yet again silent as his nickname, and try to memorize how his father managed to always turn the room to his favor. He’d been right—you could win a fight with words before fists, but Noct had a feeling it was harder that way.

Swordfighting lessons were a trial. Ardyn didn’t hold back, and more than once Noct would be sent reeling into the dirt before he learned how to warp to safety. Warping—and magic—almost came easy. It felt right, the way the word Lucis had once felt right. The first time Noct managed to warp strike Ardyn with twice as much force as he would on his feet, his father was so proud that he snuck out to smuggle him cake from one of the towns nearby. They ate it together in Ardyn’s office, and it was the best thing Noct had eaten in his life.

(AN. Some violence & death in this one)

Noct was fifteen when his father first ordered him to kill a man.

The man in question was a former soldier—a deserter who had been sentenced to death for abandoning his post. By now, Ardyn and Noct had been sparring with real blades for years, but his father had told him (quite reasonably) that he would get nowhere if he didn’t start fighting with people who truly wanted to hurt him.

Not that his father didn’t hurt him, sometimes. Noct had a few scars—on his shoulders, along his neck, one that went straight down his right leg to his heel—that he’d collected for not being fast enough while sparring. Ardyn had been very sorry, of course, and quick to send him to the infirmary, but still. Mistakes happened. His father treated them as learning experiences, and so did Noct.

The man he fought now was about twice his age, equipped with a long, sharp blade and bursting with a sort of anger that felt almost familiar to Noct. It was the same thing he felt, sometimes, like a pressure from nowhere that he couldn’t place, threatening to break free until Noct had to diffuse it.

The deserter struck the first blow. Noct felt the weight of it, the angle of his body, the stance of his feet. Then he swept down, and up, tugging at the soldier’s belly and angling along a path through his lungs. The blood that landed on Noct’s hands and face was hot to the touch. When the deserter’s corpse fell to the ground at his feet, he took a moment to watch as the dirt of the killing ground sucked the man’s blood down.

It had happened so quickly.

He made it all the way to the barracks restroom before he threw up.

His father found him there. He’d lost all of what he’d eaten that day already, and had resorted to retching his lungs dry with his hands pressed to the top of the toilet. He knew his father was there by the sound of his boots on the tile, and closed his eyes as his father drew his hair back from where it hung (already so long) over his eyes.

“It will be easier,” he said, when Noct’s breath began to even out. “Now that you know you can do it.”

“Yes,” Noct said. He closed his eyes against the memory of the blood going dark in the sand. “It will.”

--

At sixteen, Noct was allowed out on excursions that Ardyn discreetly called “not so diplomatic, in nature.” It was almost like a hunt of sorts, where he and his father—or he and one of the mercenaries appointed by his father—would seek out tombs scattered over the countryside and fight daemons, monsters, and even other hunters, on their way to claim the tombs’ power.

“The Kings of Lucis claim birthright to these weapons,” Ardyn had said, the first time Noct had taken one and felt the jolt of the spirit-blade strike his heart. “We are taking that power away from them before they have a chance.”

But it was strange. When Noct used those weapons, they, too, felt right in his hands. Like they were made for him. Which was wrong, because Noct was just a thief, keeping them out of the hands of the evil King who hid behind his barrier in Insomnia.

Soon, word of his presence began to spread. A young man with dark hair and the gift for magic, warping from place to place as he fought? It was bound to draw attention. At first, it was just a few scattered mercenaries, easy to handle.

But then came the Kingsglaive.

Noct had heard of them, heard that they used magic borrowed from the king. But the first time a man slammed his sword onto Noct’s from a distance of 20 feet, knocking him down to one knee in the grass, Noct felt a deep, unsettling disturbance, like a weight in his stomach. The Glaive had looked at him then, almost searching his eyes, and warped back.

“Shit,” the man said. “I think it’s him. Can’t you see?”

“I see it,” said his companion, a woman. She lowered her blade. “Prince Noctis,” she said, in a loud, steady voice. “Do you know who we are?”

How did they know his name? Well, any country had spies, he supposed, but Lucis’ was clearly lacking.

“You obviously don’t know me,” Noct said. “I’m not a prince.”

The two Glaives exchanged looks. “But you’re Noctis,” said the first, their voice hesitant.

“And you serve the King of Lucis,” Noct said, in an almost pleasant, reasonable tone. He smiled. The two soldiers visibly relaxed. Good.

Noct summoned his armiger and warped between them, still smiling, still calm, and felt nothing but disgust as they fell. The legendary human weapons of the King, so easily overcome? He dug in their pockets for written orders, but of course there were none. They bore a crest on their uniforms, though, in webbed silver. Noct turned one of them over to look, and for the first time in a year, felt the urge to be sick creeping up the back of his throat. Something about the crest was wrong, wrong in a way he hadn’t felt since those first confusing days after he’d woken up as a child, looking into the face of a father he didn’t recognize.

He wrenched his hands away from the bodies of the Glaives, and turned his face to the sun. It would be evening soon, and there was another tomb to find. No time for worrying questions about Glaives, or crests, or Princes. Just the search, and at the end of it, the King.

Not The OP Here!
Impressed ~~and a little bit jealous~~ as to how quickly these prompts are filled! Surely a testament to the robust and sturdy wealth of imagination that resides within writers, such as yourself and others. Definitely have come across some prompts to love, but don’t trust myself to due them justice… (ToT)
Well, looking forward to the bonus points and how you’ll weave the rest of them into your story. Really liked the opening, the confusion Noctis was experiencing, and rationalizations he settled on. Though subtle, Ardyn didn’t waste any time or shy away from the Anti-Lucian indoctrination and manipulation. Noctis’ progression reminds me of an apposite “What if…?” scenario like the FF 15 Omen Trailer alluded too. I wish you luck and hope you will find the time to fully finish this fill for the OP, yourself, and the ever present lurkers! :)

The next time Noct fought with soldiers of the King, things did not go so well as before.

The men who intercepted him in the Vesperwood were an odd pair. One was a dark haired man, heavily muscled, with a sharp look in his eyes that spelled a warning. The other was a tall, wiry man in glasses. Not exactly what one would expect to be the elite of Insomnia, though Noct had to admit he himself didn’t cut much of an intimidating figure.

“Prince Noctis,” said the man in the glasses. Noct rolled his eyes.

“Again?”

The larger man looked pained. “I’m Gladiolus Amicitia. This is Ignis Scientia. They thought you might remember us.”

Noct placed his hands on his hips and rocked back on his heels. Casual behavior throws the enemy off, he thought. “Why, have we fought before?”

“I suppose it’s true,” said Ignis, straightening his shoulders slightly. “Gladio, you know what to do.”

The larger man pulled out a massive broadsword from a harness on his back. Noct let out a dramatic, gusty sigh and summoned his own sword, holding it almost lazily in a loose grip.

“If I have to beat you down to bring you home safe, I will,” Gladiolus said. Noct grinned.

“Don’t even know where to start with that one,” he said.

But Gladiolus was not one for banter. As Noct spoke, the young man charged him, striking with such an almighty force that Noct was thrown back, winded. He struggled for air and raised his sword, bracing himself for another strike.

This was wrong. You never went on the defensive against a person who outmatched you in strength, and you never allowed one enemy to gain all your attention. Noct warped to the right, out of range, but Ignis was somehow there, blades drawn. He warped again, and there was the swordsman, leaping through the air and flinging his sword down with a force that shook the ground. The hilt clipped Noct as he dodged away, and Noct felt something crack above his waist. He pressed, tenderly, and winced. A rib, maybe two. This was bad.

But there the swordsman was yet again, like some perverse force of nature, bearing down on him with so much strength behind his blow that Noct felt his bones shake as he tried to block him. And then the man with the blades, aiming for an incapacitating blow at the back of Noct’s neck. Noct barely rolled away in time. He knew, then, that he was going to die. Gladiolus and Ignis were going to take him out, and then he was going to be sent to the King, and the King and his crystal would sap the life out of him to fuel their Astral-cursed city. He warped away again, but misjudged his landing and slipped, twisting his leg under him. He heard the snap of bone before he felt it, and the pain overwhelmed him for the only moment he had to run.

Somehow, nonsensically, he heard the man with the knives shout his name.

Then he felt something latch onto his chest, something that dug pincers into the skin around his belly and sent an electric jolt through his skin. An anchor, from an MT.

Noct looked up into the red light of a transport carrier, and grabbed the cage of the anchor in both hands as he was lifted up, into the waiting arms of the Niflheim army.

Ardyn met the carrier at their home base, his quick strides the only thing betraying his panic. Noct had applied elixirs to the worst of his wounds, but the pain had yet to recede, and he knew that it would take time for his leg to heal. But it wasn’t his physical wounds that worried him, not really. When his father ran the short distance up the ramp to his side, Noct turned his head away in shame.

“I’m sorry,” he said, choking the words out through gritted teeth.

His father lifted him up by the shoulders, looked him over, and pulled him into his arms. Noct returned his hold carefully, still overcome by the pain of his failure.

“Whoever did this,” Ardyn said, “I hope they’re dead.”

“They will be,” Noct whispered. “Next time, they will be. I won’t let you down again.”

Oh gosh, I'm in love with this. Can't wait for an update!

*in Prompto's squealing voice* OH.. EM.. GEE..

Author!anon... geez, I just typed this prompt before I went to sleep and when I woke up, I'm surprised by how fast you filled the prompt and it was so beautifully typed. Oh how I loved to read Noct growing up like his adopted dad and I'm excited to see how he and Regis will meet. You already made my day man...

I wonder how you will continue this story, seeing that you already made it great and I'm sitting here wanting more!

Cant wait for the next update! :3

Filler anon here! Thank you! I am really glad you like it. I started writing it and it suddenly just... got away from me! More is on the way, for sure.

Re: OP here..

(Anonymous) - 2017-01-03 11:51 (UTC) - Expand

(AN. This is a long one--also, implication is while Prom didn't meet Noct, he still saved Luna's puppy and had a reason to become more outgoing. Happy Prompto always, thanks)

The night before he was to enter Insomnia, Noct smiled into the mirror.

He couldn’t remember why he started doing this, so long ago. But it calmed his nerves, and he certainly had plenty to be nervous about. His father was somehow asleep at the other side of the transport carrier, legs propped up against a deactivated MT unit. Of course. Noct had tried telling him, over and over, that he needed to be more careful, but Ardyn had laughed it off and said that only when Noct was his age could he have a say in how his dear old Dad took care of himself. Noct rolled his eyes at the memory. For an older man, his father never seemed to age. He hoped he could have at least a little of that good luck in his own life.

Tomorrow, there was to be an open audience with the King of Lucis, where supplicants could file in to the throne room, get a smile and a wave from their oh-so-gracious monarch, and file back out with the peaceful demeanor of the easily led. Ardyn had told Noct that it was his task to find the King, after it was over, and deliver him a message.

“Don’t kill him,” Ardyn said again, when Noct entered the main room. So much for Dad getting a good night’s sleep like he promised, Noct thought. “I mean this, Noctis. You are becoming very bloody-minded in your old age.”

“Why, hello, Pot,” Noct said, with the faintest bow. “Meet Kettle.” He sat on the floor at his father’s side, rolling out the kinks in his back. “I just don’t see the point. If I’m there, why not follow through with it?”

“We need the crystal,” said Ardyn. “And the ring. The timing has to be right. And for the timing to be right, we need to put him on edge first. Let him make the first mistake.”

“The Kings of Lucis made their mistake the moment they hurt you, Dad,” Noct said, quietly. His father reached down to smooth down Noct’s hair, which fell nearly to his shoulders.

“Tomorrow will be a trial,” his father said, after a moment had passed. “You’d best prepare yourself.”

“So long as I can deliver your message without killing him,” Noct said. Even at nineteen, he knew he had nothing like his father’s skills at diplomacy and charm. He was still, even now, too angry, too coiled tight with that strange, uneasy energy he couldn’t shake.

Ardyn laughed. “Oh, Noct. I assure you, if anyone can hold the King’s attention tomorrow, it will be you.”

Noct wasn’t so sure, but he knew better than to argue. So now, the night before the main event, his nerves singing, Noctis lay out on the floor near his father and thought about the King.

Noct still couldn’t believe how easy it had been to get into Insomnia. His father had taught him of a trick the Kingsglaive used, something that could only be done with magic, to work a hole in the fabric of the wall large enough to slip through before it closed up after them. He made Noct practice it for weeks before this day, and when Noct finally ducked under a turnstile and onto the wide streets of Insomnia, he almost laughed.

The city was…not what he’d expected. Noct was used to small groups of people, of regimented military types who followed protocol and never walked anywhere without a purpose. Here, there were crowds of people milling about food stands, kids playing some sort of radio while their dog half-heartedly walked on its hind legs, off-duty laborers leaning on fences and tossing each other drinks from a cooler. He’d never been around so much noise, even in his rare visits to Lestallum. He found himself shrinking back from it, before he remembered who he was. An Izunia wouldn’t be cowed by something as ridiculous as noise. He straightened his shoulders and smoothed his face into an easy, pleasant expression, forcing himself to look at the throngs of people as though they didn’t bother him.

He’d made it to the upper district when the crystal started to affect him.

It had to be the crystal doing it—there was no other reason for what was happening. Noct would see a stretch of road, or smell the jasmine flowers blooming over old manor walls, and be struck with a sense of familiarity so strong it felt like a physical pull in his stomach. He started seeing pathways in his memory before he reached them. He recognized the way the roofs sloped on the main street, making a curve that cupped the spire of the palace. It was becoming hard for him to breathe. He had to stop three times on the way, bending over his knees and squinting his eyes tight against the sight of the streets he shouldn’t know so well.

His father had told him the crystal worked on the body, but he’d never said anything about what it did to the mind.

“Tomorrow will be a trial,” he’d said. And he’d trusted Noct to overcome it.

When he made it to the palace, the crowd around the front gates was larger than any he’d seen. Noct balked at it, dreading having to push his way through just to induce the King with a five-second shot of fear. It seemed pointless, now, an exercise in getting close just to find out if he could.

Which it probably was, he had to admit. His father’s plans often came in layers.

Noct must have shown more fear than he’d meant to on his face, because he jumped when a hand smacked his back and a young voice said, “What a crowd, huh?”

He turned to the man at his side. It was a man his age, with light blonde hair and the slightly rounded baby face of someone who hadn’t yet finished growing.

“Yes,” Noct said. “It’s a bit… much.”

“You’re telling me. I heard the King is taking a two hour break just to recover from having to stare at everyone all morning. Name’s Prompto,” he said, extending a hand.

Noct smiled and took it. “Izunia.” Best not to say his first name, not when members of the King’s armies knew it all too well.

Prompto grinned. “That’s a mouthful. So, what, were you wanting to say hello to his royal majesty?” He gave a little flourish with his hands, and Noct felt the tension in his shoulders ease a little. It was good to meet someone who didn’t seem convinced of the King’s near divinity.

“Not really. I just want to get a look inside. See how the other half lives.”

Prompto stuck his hands in his pockets. “Yeah? I might be able to help. I know a guy who knows a guy, come on.”

This wasn’t part of the plan. If he deviated from the course, there were too many factors that could ruin the whole operation. But something about the blonde man intrigued him, and Noct found himself following him as they wove their way to the right of the impatient crowd.

It hit Noct then that he couldn’t remember the last time he talked to anyone under the age of twenty-five. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He hadn’t been lonely, as a child, certainly never lonely, but the way this man seemed to effortlessly take him into his confidence, the way he made everything seem like a hilarious joke only they were in on, made him feel a little lost.

“Here.” Prompto pointed to a side door, next to a rough path wide enough for a car to fit in easily. “Servant’s entrance. You go in through there, my friend says the hall will spit you right out into the royal gallery.”

“Thank you,” Noct said. “I think I may give this a try.”
Prompto laughed. “Well, I hope you may not get arrested,” he said, imitating Noctis’ tone. “Be safe, dude. Steal a silver teaspoon or something for me.”

“You bet.” Noct hopped over the gate and made his way to the entrance. The key was in making everyone else think you belonged there. No one could ever stop you, because they would never think of doing so in the first place. Confidence, his father had said. Confidence, confidence.

Noct slipped through the side door and nodded at the guard stationed there. “They come through with the laundry, yet?” he asked. The guard snorted.

“Missed it two hours ago,” he said.

“Wait, really? Thanks.” He gave the guard a little wave and strode down the dark hallway, which branched off into a dozen directions like the lead of a web. At the end of this hall was a large wooden door, which looked promising. Noct opened it, and walked into a nightmare.

He knew this place. It was the smell that took him worse than anything—cold marble and stone, the citrus of endless polishing, and the thickness of oil in the paintings that lined the walls. The tug in his stomach was back, worse than ever, and for a moment he wondered if he was going to be sick.

His feet automatically led him through the long, winding hallways, to the side door to the audience chamber waiting rooms. A guard stood there, looking bored, and held up a hand to Noct as he approached.

“Sorry, kid, King’s not ready yet. You’ll need to wait in line like the rest of—“

A moment later, Noct gently lowered the guard to the floor. He checked his pulse—Unconscious. Good. Noct didn’t want to disappoint his father by killing too many people today. Not when he was—Noct smiled gently—on a diplomatic mission. Noct stepped over the guard and into the waiting room, where two more guards stood before the wide double doors that led to the throne. They looked at him in surprise, and Noct inclined his head.

“My apologies,” he said, wearing his father’s smile. “But I’m afraid I have need of an urgent audience with His Majesty the King.”

This is so fantastic! Are you going to be posting this on another platform? I don't want to miss any installments! I'm excited and terrified for Noctis to meet Regis

Filler anon here: Thank you! I think I may post on a03, but it'll be a bit because I'd need to edit the whole thing and shift some things around to make the story flow better. (I always get really picky about my writing after I post it.) So it might be in a few days, after I'm done putting it up here. :)

Noctis opened the doors of the throne room himself.

He walked smartly along the cold stone floors, head high, arms swinging slightly in a manner that was not befitting a man in the presence of royalty. Around him, the guards along the edges of the halls stiffened. The men at the top of the high stair to the throne seemed to shift, gazes trained on him like hawks. And on the throne, grey-haired and featureless in the distance, sat the king.

“Your Majesty,” Noct cried, adjusting the timbre of his voice to let it echo through the cavernous hall. “I come bearing news from my father, Chancellor Ardyn Izunia of Niflheim.” He kept his steady pace, resolutely refusing to bow or lower his gaze from the face of the King.

The King shifted in his seat—it looked like his hands were clenching.

“Niflheim?” he asked, his voice sharp with anger. “What is an envoy of Niflheim doing within our borders?”

“Only here for a talk, Your Majesty,” Noct said. Oh, he was enjoying this. “And entering your fair city wasn’t very hard. I simply walked right in.”

He slowly stepped up to the dais, which lay a few meters below the throne, and bowed, far too deep to be polite.

When he straightened, his world narrowed into a pinprick of horror.

There was something wrong with the King of Lucis’ face. Noctis couldn’t place it at first—maybe the cheekbones were too sharp, the cheeks too sallow? Could it be his eyes, too bright in a face that was aging not quite as gracefully as Noct’s father’s? Or maybe the crystal’s influence, subtly changing the King so that even a seemingly ordinary face was twisted with hidden malice.

Then he saw that those cheekbones were remarkably similar. The eyes, familiar as the ones Noct looked into every day, his hair as soft and feathered. The same jaw, a little thinner, but sickening in its echo of the one Noct dutifully shaved in the mornings.

“Noctis,” said the King, in a voice that Noct knew as well as his own.

Behind the King, a tall man with Gladiolus’ face—Clarus Amicitia, the King’s Shield, he had to be—jerked forward like a defective MT soldier, making a soft, strangled sound.

“I never gave you my name,” Noct said, in a much quieter voice than before.

“You don’t have to,” the King said. Shakily, reaching for a cane at his side, he rose to his feet. “I gave that name to you.”

This was wrong. Noct shifted back as the King began to descend the stairs of the throne, and strained to regain some, if any, of his composure. He couldn’t speak. It was like a weight had settled on his neck, pressing him down, restricting all chance for rational thought.

When the King of Lucis looked down on him now, he wore the same smile that Noct had been recreating in the mirror every night for over a decade.

Noct stepped back—his heel landed on empty air, and he stumbled, craning his neck forward to prevent himself from cracking his head on the floor. He fell anyway, sprawled halfway onto the steps, and struggled to right himself even as the King began to follow after him.

“No,” Noct said. “Don’t—“ Don’t what? Come close? What was he afraid of?

“Son,” the King said, too kindly. “I know this is confusing for you—“

“Don’t call me son.” Noct said it sharply, thick with panic, certain now that he was on the verge of some unknown precipice, and any shift could kill him, ruin him. The King nodded, approaching Noct as one would a wild animal.

“Let us have that conversation you wanted, then,” he said. “The two of us.”

Noct couldn’t breathe. He felt too warm, constricted by the heavy air of the throne room. He tried not to gasp for air, but he knew that his chest was heaving, his arms trembling as he tried to pull himself to his feet and failed.

There wasn’t any duplicity in the eyes of the King as he approached, none of the layers of emotion that Noct had to pick out of his father’s expression every time they spoke. The ring that blazed on one of the knuckles of the King’s outstretched hand seemed to pulse, and with each wave of pressure Noct could feel the tight, burning wrongness that had lived just under his skin for so long start to unravel.

“Noctis,” the King said, speaking the word like a prayer. “Stay with us. Just for now.”

Noct summoned his armiger.

The royal arms spun round him in a protective circle, giving Noct the chance to rise to his feet. But now that he had drawn his weapons, he could see the King’s Shield approaching, fast and deliberate, the focused point of lightning to his son’s chaotic stormcloud. Noct looked from him to the King, whose hand was still outstretched, eyes still gentle, smile still kind.

He ran.

He was aware of hands reaching for him as he staggered down the long expanse of the throne room—he warped out of their touch, landing hard on his side, sliding on his knees, forgetting all of his careful training in pure desperation. He didn’t stop to fight, only dodged and shoved and slid under stumbling feet, causing guards and servants to collapse in unruly piles behind him. He burst through the front entrance to the palace and groaned at the sight of the crowd gathered there, all eyes turned to the breathless, sweating young man at the head of an approaching line of Crownsguard. He threw himself into the crowd and tore through them, feeling trapped in a heavy current of bodies that just wouldn’t move.

Then he was out, facing down the long stretch of streetways leading out of Insomnia.

He knew enough not to take the road. He ran through gardens and down alleys, slamming his shoulder into walls and fences as he charged too fast to turn the narrow corners of the residential district. He could tell he was lost, knew that at any moment the guard or a Glaive would cross his path, knew that unless he made it out to the road, he was never going to see his father again—

His father. Ardyn.

Except now, now that he thought of that word, he could see another face, another smile, a narrowing of the eyes that made his throat constrict and his heart beat a staccato in his temples. He tried to banish it from his mind, and climbed over a walkway railing and into the street.

There. A man in a blue car, waiting at a red light. Noct flung open the driver’s side door and pulled the man out by his collar, throwing him onto the road before getting into the seat himself.

“Sorry!” he called, with more honesty than was comfortable. He slammed his foot on the gas and swerved around the line of waiting cars, narrowly missing a truck driving the other way at the intersection. If he could make it to the barrier, he could get out. His receiver in his pocket could contact Ardyn again, unhindered by the magic of the crystal.

An armored van veered over at his side, keeping pace with him. Noct screamed his frustration and jerked around it, tires screeching, but no—there was another, waiting for him at the next light, and he had overestimated this strange cars faulty brakes. Where Ardyn’s car could stop on a dime, this one wheeled in an out of control arc, smashing into a streetlamp with a hideous crunch.

Noct stumbled out of the car and into a circle of Kingsglaive soldiers.

He swept his gaze over them, his mind hazy with fear. There were so many, but he’d faced multiple enemies before. If he used a broadsword, then warped through that gap of mages—but no. They all had the ability to warp as well. All of them, arranged about him on all sides, some even looking down at him from the overpass above.

“Prince Noctis,” called one of them, a tall man with an undercut and dark hair. “You are needed at the palace.”

Noct let out a barking laugh, choked up in all the bitterness, all the hatred, all the confusion of the past terrible day. The Kingsglaive soldiers began to approach, carefully, weapons raised. All around them, obscuring the sky, the barrier flickered with the crystal’s twisted magic, blocking him from rescue.

Cornered in the streets of a city that should not have felt so much like home, Noctis Izunia fell to his knees and wept.

(AN. I was going to have Noct escape, but then I realized... that's just... not going to happen....)

Not op, but I gotta say I am in love with this. Thank you so much. Bless you.

Not The OP Here!
Saw your comments above and hope you will add the in-progress/absolutely completed product to AO3 as soon as possible, so a wider audience can appreciate it! Really like it as it is currently edited, but do what works best for you. :)
Posted before, but I wish you luck and hope you will find the time to fully finish this fill for the OP, yourself, and the ever present lurkers! :)

In the center of Insomnia, for the first time in over ten years, the palace had gone silent.

Servants skirted the back hallways, casting each other sideways looks in the dark as they hurried to clear out rooms, bring up new linens, dim the lights of the residential wing. They ducked around corners to huddle in quick, fervent conferences, and the one question that no one could fully answer wove through the corridors in a gentle susurrus.

Was it him?

Noctis sat out of range of these hushed discussions, in a finely furnished receiving room decked in soft shades of grey and green. Gladiolus sat in the corner of the room, watching Noct and the King quietly in his father's stead. Noct was flanked by Glaives, who had taken a personal interest in the retrieval of the man who had been whittling down their numbers over the years—prince or no—and had been none too gentle in their efforts to deliver Noct to the palace. Noct had a throbbing bruise forming on his right temple, and his legs felt like they were on fire. He sat with his body tilted slightly to the side, his shoulder braced between himself and the King like a shield.

King Regis clenched his hands on his fine black suit.

“Noctis,” he said. Noct suppressed a shudder, but only barely. “I’m sorry. I need to know. How much do you remember, before your accident?”

Noct said nothing.

“I know you know me, son.”

“Don’t,” Noct whispered. King Regis grimaced.

They sat in silence for a long time, the King with his hands on his knees, Noct with his eyes to the window.

“I don’t… not much,” Noct said, at last. The King sat up. “Hands. The face you make when you… I thought…” He ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the roots. “I don’t know.”

“It’s alright,” King Regis said. “You’re home, Noctis. You have time to sort out what’s true.”

Noct finally turned to face the King, and the look in the young prince’s eyes made Regis draw back in alarm.

“I have three days,” Noct said. The King leaned forward, but Noct turned away again, shutting himself off. When it was obvious that he would say no more, the King bade his farewells and left the prince, the Glaives, and Gladiolus in the room together.

Slowly, Noct unfolded himself from the chair and rose to his feet.

“He’s trying to help you, you know,” said one of the Glaives. His companion shot him a look, but he continued, “He had us turn the kingdom upside down, looking for you.”

“Really.” Noct made his way to the wall, where he idly brushed the velvet curtains at the window with his fingers. Gladiolus stepped forward, suddenly tense and watchful. “Didn’t do a very good job of it, did he.” He pressed a hand to an upper window pane, testing the glass. “I had to come to him, in the end.”

“Noctis,” Gladiolus said. The Glaives turned to him, startled by the sound of warning in his voice.

Quietly, with all the calm deliberation of someone who had weighed all the options and found the best possible solution, Noct braced his hands on either side of him and kicked a hole through the three story window.

It took the strength of Gladio and the Glaives combined to drag Noct out of the fractured remains. He kept breaking free of their grip to kick out more of the glass, clearly hoping to swing himself down through the opening. In the end, Gladio had to pin his arms down and carry Noct, blood streaming down his legs and along one arm, into the infirmary.

Noct had to be strapped down to the table in order for the doctor to get any work done, and he’d spent the entire time glaring daggers at Gladio, using all of his training with Ardyn to rip the man’s character to shreds. Gladio took this all in silence, and saw how strangely indifferent Noct was to the pain of having glass picked out of his flesh.

“You have a high pain tolerance,” he said, when Noct was done tearing down every aspect of Gladiolus’ personality. “Sure wasn’t the case when I knew you, before.”

Noct let out a sigh and turned his face away.

“What happens after three days, Noctis?” Gladio said. He wasn’t expecting an answer. Instead, he watched the way Noct’s eyes squeezed shut for a moment as though in pain, and his fingernails cut into his palms, even though the physician had long since washed his wounds clean and wrapped his legs in gauze. When Gladio brought Noctis back up to his rooms, he didn’t mention the tremor he felt in Noct’s arms and shoulders, but filed it away in his mind for further consideration.

--

“Your father isn’t Regis,” the nurses had said, when Noct woke up all those years ago in confusion and pain. “It’s Ardyn. He’s always been Ardyn.”

If people tell you something often enough and long enough, it’s very hard to believe in the hazy contradictions of your own memory. And Noct, young and frightened and trusting, had believed them.

He wondered why he was only remembering this now. Why he’d always assumed that life was right, that affection and care made up for wide chasms of unaccountable misery that he only knew how to translate into rage. He wondered if, somehow, he’d always known the truth.

Noct stood at the bathroom sink in his new rooms for a very long time, examining King Regis’ reflection in his own face.

Three days.

If something went wrong on a mission, Ardyn gave Noct three days to get himself out. If he held on for three days, his father would come for him, and bring him home.

And that was what he wanted, of course. It had always been what he wanted.

He was startled to attention by the sound of raised voices in the hall, distant, but heightened by the tile and piping of the bathroom. Noct recognized one voice as belonging to King Regis. The other could have been Gladiolus’ father, Clarus.

“—abandon this venture,” Clarus was saying. “Ardyn has turned him into a reckless psychopath, and you bring him in and treat him like a child?”

Noct bristled at this. Ardyn hadn’t turned him into anything. He’d guided him, helped him, made him stronger, which was better than anything King Regis had ever done—

“He is in pain, Clarus,” Regis said, “In his mind, he has been abducted for the second time in his life, by a man he hardly remembers. Show a little sympathy—“

“Your sympathy is why he’s here,” Clarus snapped. “Ardyn wanted this. He turned him into this, and sent him to you to show you how thoroughly he has broken him.”

“He isn’t broken.”

Noct took slow, steadying breaths, holding onto the edge of the sink with both hands. He closed his eyes when he heard the main door to his rooms open, heard the click and thump of King Regis’ footsteps, the steady beat of his Shield’s not close behind. He knew they could see him there, braced against the sink, knuckles white. He opened his eyes and turned to face them.

“Your Shield is right,” he told the King, and both men started in surprise. “My… Ardyn has always hated Lucis. It only makes sense, if he has the opportunity to take his revenge, he’d do it. No matter what he has to sacrifice.” He looked into Clarus’ eyes, his gaze steady. “You use the resources you have at hand.” He thought of the Glaives’ lives draining out in the grass at Duscae, the deserter’s blood in the dirt at his feet. The years of training in diplomacy, in fighting, in perfecting a singular ruthlessness of purpose. “So he used me.”

“And now that he’s done with me,” he said, “He’s never coming back.”

Filler!anon... I like the direction that you took, sending Noct like a present to the king. But I wonder will Ardyn honor the three days he gave or will he abandon his not adopted son after all those years? Also saw your comments before, I do hope you post this on a03 so I can bookmark this story.

I really appreciate you for taking your time to fill this prompt!

Not OP, again, but I absolutely love this. I adore how distraught all the chocobros are, and the fact Noct recoils so much when even a little bit is mentioned about his past. AGH. SO GOOD.

All things considered, Noct thought he had handled the news fairly well.

Of course, there’d been that ugly business on the morning of the second day, when Noct, shaken awake by strange, disjointed dreams, had set fire to the bed curtains. While his guards coughed in the black smoke and tried to put the fire out, Noct had slipped out of the room and made it three yards before Nyx Ulric, the most obnoxiously watchful of the Kingsglaive soldiers in his guard, found him.

The ensuing fight was the best thing that had happened to Noct in days.

The Glaive almost fought like Ardyn. He was quick, relentless, using unorthodox landings when he warped so that he could hook a leg around Noct’s and pin him down fresh out of a jump—not something that was easy to do, when warping usually left anyone a little more than disoriented at first. He barely used his blade, careful not to hurt Noct, but didn’t seem to care when the both of them crash-landed in a corner fountain and knocked a painting from the wall. When the Glaive finally had him down, pushed against a wall in a small dressing room, Noct was almost exhausted.

“We need to do this again,” he said. Nyx scoffed.

“Not if you’re planning to use it to wreck the place. I want to keep my job, not get stuck doing traffic guard the rest of my life.”

Finally, someone with common sense. Noct could feel a laugh welling up, unbidden, in his throat, and tried to press it down. Maybe the ability to kick someone’s ass and then talk to them like an old, but unruly, friend was a prerequisite for the Kingsglaive. Or maybe it only happened to people like Noct. Broken people.

“Easy, kid,” said the voice of the Glaive, as though from far away. “Try to breathe.”

It took Noctis a moment to realize he’d started crying. He was becoming hysterical. This had happened once or twice, after the accident, and his father had told him to—

“Woah.” Nyx pressed a hand to his chest. “Don’t do that. Don’t do that, kid, come on.” Noct felt his hands being pushed away from where he’d clenched them, where he was trying to force his breath to still, to become like stone. The soldier grabbed his shoulders and shifted them under his hands, and suddenly Noct was breathing again.

“This happen… often, here?” Noct managed to gasp. Nyx raised an eyebrow.

“A lot easier to be a smartass when you can breathe, isn’t it?”

“Oh, he’s a wit,” Noct said, in a weak impression of his father’s tone. “Didn’t think… Lucian soldiers were supposed to have a personality.”

“Not like those Niflheim MTs of yours,” the man said. “They must be a riot in their off time.”

Noct snorted. “You have no idea.” He leaned back, tracing the curve of a scar that ran up his right arm.

“They do that to you?”

Noct shrugged.

“My fault anyway,” he said. “Dad—Oh, man, the look on his—“ He shook his head. “I tried to stay out past our agreed time, right?”

“What, like a curfew?”

“Sort of. Thought I’d go to Lestallum. So Dad, he calls in this carrier right in the middle of the city. Everyone’s screaming, the Cup Noodles truck is totaled, there’s like, three chocobos trying to take off at the gas station, and out jumps four—count it—four assassin drones. You ever fight those?” Nyx nodded, grimly. “Yeah. Ended up falling off the lookout. Thought Dad was going to have a stroke.”

There was an uneasy silence. Noct looked over and saw that the Glaive had a tense, drawn look in his eyes. Not pity, thankfully, but still unsettling. “Well,” Noct said, in a more subdued tone. “I guess you’d have to be there.”

--

Dinner was painful. Noct and the King sat in a small dining room, at a table too large for them, and engaged in one-sided small talk while Noct idly went about hiding his vegetables. The King seemed almost pleased when he found out about Noct’s aversion to carrots, and gave him that smile again, the one that made Noct want to crawl under the table and pull out his hair.

Somehow, he managed not to.

After a while of this, Noct finally threw his fork down. “So I guess we’re not going to talk about how I nearly burned the palace to the ground this morning.”

“If you’d like,” said the King. “Please. Enlighten us.”

“Enlighten who? It’s just you.” Noct shrugged. “And the fifty guards trying to look like wallpaper, but I’m assuming they don’t count.”

The King sighed. “It’s not unusual,” he said, “for some who has… gone through something like you have… to want to go back. Can you say, knowing what you know now, that when you do, your life there will be the same?”

The silence that stretched in the dining room went on a bit too long.

“No,” Noct said, as though the word pained him.

“Then why?”

“He’s my father,” Noct said, and immediately regretted it. For a moment, the King looked as twisted-up as he felt. “I’m sorry.”

Noct suspected neither of them wanted to eat much after that. He felt sorry for the King, a little. It must be hard, to lose a son twice in one lifetime. But no matter how kind the King was, no matter how familiar his voice, Noct could never let his guard down. Not as long as the ring blazed on his finger, a stark reminder of the crystal that waited, hungry and merciless, in the bowels of the palace.

“Your ring,” Noct said. The King looked up. “It powers the crystal?”

“Protects it,” said the King. “I can use some of its magic, for my glaives and to protect the city, but I'm sure you're aware--”

Noct clenched his hands together under the table. “At whose cost?”

“Mine,” said the King, startled. “Of course.” He peered closely at Noct, suddenly thoughtful. “Have you heard otherwise?”

Noct shrugged noncommittally. “The empire,” he dared not say father, not now, “says that you, I don’t know, have to give someone up to it. They say that’s why the royal line is reported to have only children.”

There was a shocked pause. “Reports in Niflheim are gravely misled,” the King said, after a moment. “They must think of us as monsters.”

Noct’s smile, when he could force it up, was wan. “Something like.”

---
(guess who went a little overboard with the “Noct realizes things are fucked up” stuff? Me!!!! As a survivor of emotional/psychological abuse re: serious memory manipulation, these parts have been tough to write? And then when the parent is affectionate and really thinks they are being loving it gets even more complicated. :/ Sorry, will get back to the plot and will wrap it up soon. Tomorrow is the third day, after allllll….)

(lmao I didn’t even think when I started filling this that “oh right maybe this is too personal for me” whoopsss haha but I have to finish it now because it’s SO CLOSE TO BEING DONE)

I'm so sorry that this hit so close to you. I'm not sure if it's any comfort but it's very eloquently written and emotionally charged. Thank you so much for writing this, despite the odds.

If you ever decided to submit this to AO3, I'd love to draw some fanart.

Thank you again. You're the best.

Awwww shucks! That's so sweet. Thank you, I've never had fanart before!

It's not so hard that I'm dwelling all day! More like... I don't know, memories of that sort of thing eventually end up like an unwelcome guest you have to kick out of the house. Sometimes they leave right away, and sometimes you have to turn off all the lights and pretend no one is there while they pound on the door. Mostly, it's the former.

I'm starting to edit and post the chapters up on aO3 now. Here's the link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9199826/chapters/20872871

Re: Fill: Father 9/? (AO3 Link Here)

(Anonymous) - 2017-01-05 08:09 (UTC) - Expand

not OP, but seconding the other replier above me! it's such a wonderful story - I love the interactions Noctis is having with everyone (the Nyx scene made me ache, and the dinner conversation... oh Noct...) - and I'm sorry it's been rough on you.

thank you for adding it to AO3 too! it's easy to lose things on the kink meme, so I'm glad it's up there.

OP here...

I've already bookmarked and left kudos on the story on my ao3 account.

I didn't know that this story hit too close to home for you, with my request of manipulation and all... and I'm sorry for that T.T . But I really appreciate the effort that you gave to this kink, with you updating almost every hour. I'm sure whichever direction you will write this fic it's going to be perfect!

Side question: are you planning to end this in a dark way or in a light way? So I and the others may have an idea on what's to come.

Keep up the good work!

An ambiguous way? Like it's going to be mostly good, but Ardyn will still be a sort of threat sort of dad??? in the background.

Ardyn: Hello! I have come to take you all to the Titan! No ulterior motives!
Noct: UGH NO NOT THE CAR AGAIN
Ardyn: Don't drag me like this, son.
Prompto: I'm disturbed. Is anyone else disturbed?!?

(Also oh gosh, it only hit close to home at chapter 8/9, and I was mostly hitting my forehead like, "of COURSE, dummy." So no worries)

Funny thing is I like this trope! I watched Maleficent a million times, y'all.

Re: Fill: Father 9/?

(Anonymous) - 2017-01-05 05:10 (UTC) - Expand

IT'S DONE
AHAHAHAHA
DONE

Here's the link, y'all, starting from chapter 10.
http://archiveofourown.org/works/9199826/chapters/20902829

So now that it's over, I... don't want to let this fic go? Ugh

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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Fill: Father 1/?

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Fill: Father 6/?

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Fill: Father 8/?

OP here

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Fill: Father 10 and 11/11 (AO3 link)