Prompt Post
Dec. 7th, 2016 04:06 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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ffxv_kinkmeme 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:
Please direct any questions or report any problems to the Ask a mod post.
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.
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.
- Prompts should follow the format: Character/character, prompt.
- Keep prompts to a reasonable length; prompts should not be detailed story outlines.
- Fills should have the word "Fill:" at the start of the subject line.
- Otherwise please avoid changing the subject line.
Please direct any questions or report any problems to the Ask a mod post.
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.
Fill: Father 7/?
Date: 2017-01-03 05:36 pm (UTC)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....)
Re: Fill: Father 7/?
Date: 2017-01-03 06:33 pm (UTC)Re: Fill: Father 7/?
Date: 2017-01-03 07:07 pm (UTC)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! :)