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ragewerthers · 4 years

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Mucked Up

Summary: While on a frog hunting mission for Sania, Noct gets into a little trouble with the bog and with Ignis.

Will he be able to fix this? Or did he really muck things up?

A/n: Hello all! This fic was created from another lovely prompt from my friend @bgn846! She asked for: 'Noct and Prompto go frog hunting for Sania. One of them gets stuck in the mud. Hilarity ensues.’ This fic grew sentient about halfway through and went in a different direction then I expected, but I hope everyone can enjoy the silliness, the whump and the fluff that will ensue! You can also read on AO3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27018892 Enjoy! :D

Word Count: 3822

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The squelch of mud beneath their boots made Noct’s nose crinkle slightly.

“Why do Sania’s frogs always have to thrive in the muddiest part of the swamp?” he grumbled, slapping at his neck as another mosquito buzzed and landed on him, intent on stealing more of his royal blood.

Little bastards.

“Did you ever consider that it’s because they’re… ya know… frogs?” Prompto teased as he followed carefully behind Noct on this little adventure Sania had set before them.

“You’re hilarious,” Noct deadpanned, growling as another mosquito swooped down to avenge his fallen brethren only to meet just as grim a fate by the Kings hand. “And what is with these bugs?! Why don’t they go after you?!”

“Because when Mama Ignis told me to put on bug spray I listened,” Prompto said, pointing to himself with his thumb as he puffed out his chest proudly. “You, on the other hand, were too busy trying to make sure your tackle box had those new cactuar lures because we both know you thought you’d get to fish. Which, surprise surprise, you can’t do in a bog.”

“There could be fish in there!” Noct tried to argue, looking out into the murky water only to watch as a giant bubble of swamp gas burbled up and belched into the air.

“... if there’s a fish living in that then he is a monster and should probably be left alone,” Prompto said honestly before gagging and covering his nose as the scent of the rancid swamp gas finally wafted over to them. “Blegh! Scratch that! If a fish is living in there it’s probably a daemon and we definitely need to leave it alone!”

Noct nodded quickly as his own hands came up to cover his nose, his eyes watering from the smell now surrounding them. “Oh… oh my gods… did the swamp just die?!” he gasped, waving one hand in the air to hopefully dispel some of the smell and succeeding in sending it back toward Prompto.

“Dude! Not cool!” Prompto cried, retching slightly as he turned tail and fled from the smell.

“It’s not like I did it!” Noct argued, trying to get away quickly as well, only to find himself listing forward as his upper half moved but his legs refused.

Arms wheeling in the air like a windmill, Noct failed to keep his balance and fell forward regardless of his valiant attempts. His hands sank into the squishy swamp mud, the force of which sent a good few glops splattering onto his face. “UGH!”

Prompto turned just in time to see the almost faceplant and honestly after getting bog gas wafted at him he found himself giggling at the swampy vengeance.

“That’s what you get for being terrible!” Prompto called from the firmer footing near the edge of the swamp. “Now come on! I think I heard something croaking over by that willow!” Turning on his heel Prompto began to walk away, leaving a glowering Noct to try and stand up.

“Hey! Wait for me!” he called, pausing a moment as he realized what Prompto had implied about his fate. “And I didn’t do anything!” When all he got back was a cackle Noct decided that as soon as he caught up with his friend he was going to give him the swampiest hug of his life! Once more he made to step forward and almost immediately repeated what he’d just done. His body tipping forward as his legs stayed firmly cemented in the…

“Uuuugh!” Noct groaned, looking down at the mud now encasing his boots and around his shins. He only just stopped himself from running his hands through his hair in agitation considering they were covered in mud, dead plants and whatever else the bog had claimed as its victim. “Prompto! Hey Prom! Come back! I… I think I’m stuck!”

“What?” Prompto’s voice called from somewhere in the thicket of the surrounding forest.

“I’m stuck!” Noct shouted back, reaching down to try and somehow yank his own leg out of the muck and mire. It wasn’t until he heard a shuttering click that he knew Prompto was back and he groaned, looking up to find his friend with the biggest smile on his face and his camera in hand. “.... really?”

“What? You know that I have to document our adventures no matter what!” he teased, only just keeping a giggle out of his voice.

Noct was less than impressed. “Is that so? Where was this camera when you got poison ivy on your butt? Or the time you spilled curry on your pants? Or the time you kissed your Chocobo?” “That was one time! And I was asleep!” Prompto squawked back, his cheeks going pink at the memory. “And don’t think I don’t know that Gladio took a picture of that moment!”

This time Noct did laugh, smiling innocently. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about? Gladio? Do something like that? Oh what will the Shield of Lucis think when I tell him what you think of him?”

Prompto squeaked at that and shook his head, waving his arms wildly in front of him “Nonono! Don’t say anything! Then he’ll definitely be on the hunt for more embarrassing photos!”

Shaking his head at his Prompto’s reaction, Noct pretended to give a deep hum of thought. “Well… if you can stop taking embarrassing photos of me and help me get out of here, I’ll consider it,” he said with a nod, causing Prompto to grumble even as he dismissed his camera back into the armiger.

“You’re a real stick in the mud, you know that?” Prompto mumbled though he smiled at the word play and glanced around for some sort of vine or stick for Noct to grab a hold of.

“Oh my god! You’ve been hanging out with Specs too much,” Noct said with a light smile making Prompto chuckle as he knocked a stick against a rock to test its strength.

“More like not enough. He would’ve had at least seven bog and mud induced puns at the ready,” the gunner joked, trying to carefully make his way closer to Prince, picking his way along the more sturdy edges of the swamp.

Noct contemplated that as he tried to twist a little to better face Prompto as he moved. “I mean… you’re not wrong. He would’ve been having a field day here,” he said, imagining Ignis with that look of slight disapproval at his mistake mixed with delight at such an easy target to tease. For all that people thought they knew about Ignis, no one ever pegged him for having a wicked teasing streak.

“Yeah. He probably would’ve said something like… ‘Oh Noct… I do hope you aren’t feeling ‘bogged’ down.’” Prompto said, pitching his voice a little lower and trying to go for Tenebrean, but hitting something that sounded more like the worlds most obnoxious snobbish royal.

Noct instantly snorted into a ridiculous laugh and shook his head. “A-Astrals that’s terrible!” Noct laughed, shaking his head. “Besides you didn’t add enough Iggy into it.”

“Oh? Well then go ahead, master of impressions. How would Ignis respond?” Prompto chuckled, looking down at his feet as he finally found what he considered to be as a good a place as any to brace himself.

Noct hummed in thought for a moment before puffing his chest out a bit and putting his hands on his hips, one of his hands coming up to push up non-existent glasses. “Noctis, do you know how terribly terrible those stains are going to be to get out?” he spoke, his own voice tipped into a deeper Tenebrean accent that sounded like a drunk version of Ignis.

Prompto instantly burst into a cackle at the sound, the force of his laughter making him hunch over and needing the support of his rescue stick to keep him upright. “O-Oh my gahahads! What was thahat?! It w-wasn’t even a pun! You were j-just berating yourself!” Prompto wheezed.

Noct couldn’t help laughing a bit as well and smiled over at his best friend. “What?! Tell me I’m wrong!” he called over Prompto’s laughter. “And you know that’s what I’m gonna hear when I get out of here! ‘Oh Noctis, what am I going to do with these socks? That’s it! Vegetables for a week! Beans and shame for you!’”

Prompto was crying he was laughing so hard, sending Noctis into a giggle fit of his own, though once he had enough breath he couldn’t help adding to the banter.

“Noctis Lucis Caelum! How dare you ‘swamp’ me with all this cleaning?”

“Noctis, this is ‘moss’ unbecoming of a royal!”

“Oh Noct, I can only ‘lichen’ you to a bog monster right now!”

“‘Marsh’ you be so messy?”

“Come now, surely I don’t sound that harsh?” a cool and accented voice broke through the laughing fit the two younger men were having and it was like they had been visited by Shiva herself and frozen in time.

Turning to look up at a small incline that led to the swamp, Prompto and Noct were both met with a rather unamused looking Adviser and a slightly smirking Shield.

Quickly, Noct ducked down, starting to dig his hands into the muck around his legs and startling Prompto. “Noct?! Dude, what are you doing!?”

“Digging my own grave, obviously!” he shouted, getting a snort from Gladio which was quickly silenced by another look from Ignis.

“That’s enough,“ Ignis’s voice spoke calmly, but with enough behind the words to still the motion of the other two. “Would someone care to explain what is going on here?”

Prompto turned his head back to Ignis, feeling the color drain from his face as those green eyes locked on him like a Coeurl ready to pounce. “N-Noct’s stuck,” he squeaked, feeling just a little stupid now for holding onto the stick he’d found to rescue the prince.

Ignis arched an eyebrow at this and turned his attention back to the young Prince who had finally stopped digging in the mud and was looking anywhere but at them with his arms crossed over his chest. “Is that true, Noct?” he asked.

“..... maybe,” Noct mumbled petulantly, mostly a front to hide how embarrassed he was over the fact that he really was stuck and also how he felt a bit of guilt for making fun of Ignis without him knowing.

“I see. Well. While I’m sure you both have an extensive knowledge of what I would say in a time like this, let me impart a bit of advice. Just three simple words,” he said, his voice eerily calm in a way that had Prompto and Noct shrinking back a little. “Noct can warp.”

And with that, the Adviser turned on his heel and headed back towards the direction of the haven, leaving Gladio still standing on the small hill. The man looked down at the both of them and shook his head.

“And let me impart three little words as well,” the Shield said, lifting his hand and counting off the words on his fingers. “You. Fucked. Up.” With that he turned and followed the same path the Adviser had just taken.

Noct stood there for a moment, watching his two advisers… his friends… leave. In that moment he felt more gross than any swamp gas bubble.

“You made Mama Ignis mad at me!” Prompto shouted from the sidelines, snapping Noct out of his thoughts as he turned to see a flushed and angry looking Prompto glaring at him.

“What?! You’re literally the one who started it!” Noct shouted back, narrowing his own eyes and watching as Prompto huffed at that.

“I was joking about his puns! You were making him sound mean!”

Noct opened, closed then opened his mouth again only to close it for a second time. After a moment he sighed, letting his shoulders droop. “I was,” Noct said after a moment, rubbing a hand on his arm and shaking his head.

Prompto’s glare slowly fell at that and he ran a hand through his blond hair. “Yeah well… so was I. I just… don’t like upsetting Iggy. He doesn’t deserve that. And… we really do have terrible Tenebrean accents, dude.”

Noct winced at that, realizing that not only had they both teased Ignis behind his back, but they’d also made him sound like that. Oh god, did Ignis think that’s how they saw him?!

Noct groaned and ran two muddy hands over his face, not really caring anymore what he looked like. “We gotta make this right. We will make this right.”

Prompto gave a little smile at that and nodded. “Yeah. We will. But uh… you might want to get out of there first. I can’t believe we didn’t think about you warping out.”

This time Noct groaned for a different reason and dropped his hands. “That’s because we were too busy being idiots. Specs always has our backs… even when we mess up.”

That knowledge only strengthened his resolve as he picked up a glob of mud, readying it to lob toward the edge of the bog.

Once he was free… they were going to make this right.

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

“I thought your clothes were supposed to warp with you?” Prompto said as they made their way back toward camp. Nocts boots, trousers and one sock now trophies to the swamp.

“Yeah well… so did I. I wasn’t focusing properly,” Noct grumbled a little as Prompto giggled, but soon he felt a soft bump to his shoulder and he glanced over to see the gunner smiling gently at him.

“It’ll be okay, Noct. We can right this with Iggy,” he promised, making the Prince give him a small smile in return.

However, as they got closer to the camp, both of them could hear Gladio and Ignis talking. It looked like they were both facing Ignis’s camp stove, their backs turned to them as they neared and unaware of their presence.

“Iggy? It’s okay,” Gladio said, his voice soft making Noct and Prompto frown as they glanced at each other.

”No. It’s not,” Ignis’s clipped tone answered back, shoulders hunching a little. “It’s not okay. It’s not alright. It’s not fine.”

Prompto and Noctis paused as they watched Gladio frown, his hand coming up to rest against the Adviser’s back. “It is. Or… at least it will be, right?”

Noct definitely frowned at that. Of course it was going to be okay!

Ignis’s shoulders slumped and he shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’ve ruined it.”

What?! Their friendship?! No, no! Noct couldn’t believe what he was hearing! He was the one that had ruined everything!

Gladio ducked his head a little, his hand coming up to hold onto Ignis’s shoulder and gently moved him so the man would look him in the eyes. “Hey. None of that. You haven’t ruined anything, I promise,” he tried to reassure, but the way Ignis turned his head away showed how little he believed in Gladio’s words.

“It appears I can’t do anything right today,” the Adviser whispered and then… and then, to Noct and Prompto’s horror they watched as he brought his hand up, wiping at his eyes.

They.

Fucked. Up.

“Iggy NO!” Prompto shouted, darting ahead and startling Noct, Gladio and Ignis, the latter two both turning to look with bewilderment as Prompto raced toward the haven.

Noct watched for another second before his mind caught up and he took off as well, his chest feeling heavier than he’d ever felt it before. “Ignis please, I’m sorry!” he shouted, quickly clambering up the rocky face of the haven to get to where Gladio and Ignis still stood stock still.

Prompto was the first to get to him and quickly wrapped his arms around Ignis, burying his face against the man’s chest. “I’m so-OOF!” His words died on his lips as he soon felt Noct running into them as well. Sadly, Prompto’s first attack had left Ignis unbalanced and so with Nocts extra force there was no stopping them tumbling back and into a giant heap on the haven floor.

“Wh-what’s gotten into you tw-!” Ignis began before being silenced by a litany of apologies.

“Ignis I am so, so sorry for what I was saying back there and it wasn’t fair or funny of me to make fun of you like that!” Noct spoke quickly.

“Yeah! What he said, Iggy! I never meant to upset you and you know we don’t think of you like that!”

“Guys?” Gladio began, but paused as Ignis shot him a look before glancing back at the two still hovering over him with the most earnest faces he’s ever seen.

“You really mean that?” the Adviser asked and Prompto and Noct instantly nodded.

“You’re the best, Specs. I’d literally still be in the swamp if you hadn’t showed up!” Noct tried to explain.

“Exactly! Did you see what I was trying to use to save him? A stick, Iggy. A stick!!!” Prompto lamented, covering his face with his hands.

“I hope you know that you haven’t ruined anything,” Noct spoke up again, leaning back a little and nudging Prompto to do the same so that they weren’t crushing Ignis. “We… we were just being stupid, ya know? Teasing and joking, but it was unfair to do that and about those things. You are only ever looking out for me.”

Prompto nodded as well, giving Ignis a small smile. “Not to mention you also have some of the best puns. We never meant to make you feel bad or like you ruined anything. I’m sorry we made you feel that way, Iggy.”

Ignis looked between the two of them, the equal looks of uncertainty and worry still in their eyes and as they moved back he slowly sat up as well, rubbing his lower back a little. “While it definitely isn’t fun to walk up on two people whom I consider to be my friends talking about me in such a fashion, I can assure you that it would take harsher words then that to truly hurt me. I have had to deal with the Council since I was sixteen, remember?” he asked, looking between the two as they ducked their heads a little.

“Still… you shouldn’t have to compare us to the Council in terms of how much we hurt you,” Noct mumbled, still unable to look up at Ignis, Prompto nodding from the other side of Ignis where he still knelt.

With a little shake of his head, Ignis leaned forward, resting his hands on both of their shoulders, giving them a soft squeeze. “What I was trying to say is that I’m fine. I promise. And I really did find some of those puns to be good, though the accent was a bit offensive,” he conceded, watching as they both turned their heads so quickly toward him he thought they were going to snap something in their necks.

“But… but you… you said that things weren’t alright?!” Noct quickly tried to explain.

“You looked so sad! And… and you were crying!” Prompto pointed out before jumping as he heard Gladio let out a bark of laughter from behind them. “What’s so funny?! We hurt Ignis!”

The man in question shook his head with an almost fond sort of exasperation on his face. “While I appreciate that you two were so quick and so willing to right your wrong, I’m afraid to say that my lamenting was over what we are having for dinner.” “... what?!” Ignis chuckled a little and brought a hand up to cover his mouth. “My apologies. I was working on a new recipe before we realized you two had been gone too long. By the time we got back it had already overcooked and needless to say after trying it again it just… wasn’t coming together quite how I wanted,” he explained, watching as dismay appeared over their faces. “As for the tears you can attribute those to some rather pungent wild onions. As I said before it would take more than what you two sa-..!” Ignis was knocked back once more as Noct and Prompto launched at him, enveloping him into the biggest hug he could remember.

“I’m sorry if I made you two worry,” he said quietly, but was instantly silenced by two pairs of eyes looking up at him with slight annoyance.

“No… you don’t get to apologize. We messed up. And we’re sorry,” Noct reassured and Prompto followed it up with a nod before hugging him a little tighter.

“Can you ever forgive us, Mama Ignis?” Prompto asked, and Ignis really couldn’t stop a snort of laughter from escaping, making the other two relax a little at such an honest reaction.

“Of course. I forgave you both before I even made it back here,” he said with a nod. “Now, while I really do appreciate the hugs I think it’s best if I get up and get cleaned up considering Noct has decided to honor me with a bog hug.”

Noct instantly squawked as he sat back in horror, realizing that he had indeed coated the Adviser in mud and schmutz. “Oh Astrals, I’m so sorry, Specs,” he apologized again, only stopping as Ignis sat up with another chuckle.

“It’s fine, Noctis. I assure you,” he said, carefully getting back to his feet as Prompto and Noct followed suit. “It’s nothing a little soak in some... ,” His words stalled out as he finally took in the other two. “Noct… where… how… what..,”

Gladio snickered a little at the look of confusion, walking over to Ignis and wrapping an arm around his waist as he looked at the Prince. “I think what Ignis is trying to ask is… what happened to your pants?” Noct looked down, face turning red as he remembered where they now resided.

“... the bog ate them,” he said quietly, the campsite quiet for only a few beats before a snort from Ignis shattered the silence.

The poor Adviser was laughing so hard he was squeaking, having to take off his glasses to wipe tears of mirth from his eyes.

Gladio, meanwhile, was chuckling beside his partner and turned to look back at the other two. “I think you broke him,” he teased, getting a small swat from Ignis who still was trying desperately to stop laughing, but was failing miserably. One look at Noctis had him wheezing again and turning away with an apology as he continued to laugh.

Noctis couldn’t help smiling at that and shook his head. No. If anything he felt he had finally fixed things. And if that meant standing like a pantless bog monster to get his friend to laugh then it was worth it. Click “Prom!”

“I told you I have to document everything! And Ignis cry laughing over you in your underpants is top tier material!”

Still worth it.

#ffxv #my fics #f3s #gladiolus amcitia #ignis scientia #Noctis Lucis Caelum #prompto argentum #non-tickles #I hope you like this my friend!#I loved getting to write a little silliness and h/c!!!

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hardnoctlife · 4 years

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Author Asks

Decided to go ahead and answer these for anyone who might be interested.

1. Describe your comfort zone—a typical “you” fic.

Domestic fluff, modern or school AU, with a sprinkling of angst. I’m really trying to work outside of my comfort zone, but I don’t really like too many crazy AUs.

2. Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?

I really want to do enemies-to-lovers, but it’s so hard to pull off convincingly and I’m afraid I’m going to mess it up.

3. Is there a trope you wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole?

MPREG…just…no. Also, most dub-con.

4. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Care to share one of them?

I’m currently working on a rewrite of one of my first fics “The Insomnian Academy for the Elite.” It’s called “Stand by You” in the new version! That’s it right now other than brainstorming for the Promptis Big Bang and trying to finish WDES Verse 2.

5. Share one of your strengths.

In writing? I think I do fun and convincing dialogue.

6. Share one of your weaknesses.

I’d say I spend more time writing dialogue than descriptions. I also sometimes have issues with pacing.

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Chapter 10 of “Write Drunk, Email Sober.” I feel like I nailed everything about that chapter, from the emotion, to the dialogue...it’s my favorite thing I’ve written.

In that moment, something clicks into place for Prompto, like being shifted from the shallow to the deep end of a pool. He realizes there is much more to Ignis Scientia than just his ease on the eyes, and Prompto knows that he wants to dive even further into his depths.

Prompto’s smile comes naturally, full and delighted. Ignis mirrors it with his own.

“Boyfriend to Professor Scientia has a nice ring to it,” Prompto agrees. Ignis touches their noses, rubbing them together briefly before bestowing a kiss on the blond’s lips. They sink back into the bed and downwards, and Prompto is amazed to discover you can be lost and simultaneously found.

8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Most of “Rain or Shine and Everything In-Between,” because I felt like the dialogue was natural and fun, but also very true to life. My favorite scene is what I think is the most hard hitting of the entire fic:

“Tell me what’s the matter,” Ignis said as soon as the man had left the room, and Noctis made a show of studying the tips of his naga-skin boots, putting more weight on his good ankle. “Noctis?”

“I can’t do this, Ignis.”

“It’s only a tie, Noct—”

“No, this.” Noctis waved his hands at the whole room, and although it wouldn’t have been clear to anyone else, Ignis knew what he meant.

The prince’s advisor felt his heart skip a beat as he studied Noctis in the mirror, their eyes finally meeting as the prince’s chin jutted forward, stubborn, yet beautiful.

“What are you saying?” Ignis asked, pragmatic and cautious.

“I can’t do this, Iggy!” Noctis’s voice rose, skipping off the marble floors. “I won’t! I’m going to tell my father everything. I’m fucking gay for Bahamut’s sake, how I am supposed to make an heir, let alone have sex with my wife—”

“Shh,” Ignis implored, coming forward to squeeze Noctis’s shoulders in warning. “Shh,” he said a little more quietly, bringing his head to rest against Noctis’s cheek.

“I can’t—I can’t. Please, don’t make me do this!” Noctis’s heart was breaking, and Ignis’s was breaking along with it, and all this was so much more than choosing a stupid tie.

9. Which fic has been the hardest to write?

I’d say, “Daemons that Live in the Dark.” It was the heaviest content-wise. I had to take a lot of breaks to mentally and emotionally recharge between chapters, and the ending gave me the most trouble.

10. Which fic has bee the easiest to write?

“Write Drunk, Email Sober.” It was so fun to write, and I didn’t stop writing it from start to finish. It felt easy!

11. Is writing your passion or just a fun hobby?

I’d say a bit of both. I wanted to be a writer since I was in middle school, and even aspired to be an author at one point. I didn’t rediscover it until last year when surgery made me unable to be active and I needed something to do to manage my mental health.

12. What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever come across?

When you get stuck, don’t be afraid to skip ahead and write scenes out of order. For me, this is especially helpful because I get certain scenes in my head that I want to jot down, but sometimes have trouble leading up to them.

13. What’s the worst writing advice you’ve ever come across?

Not advice, exactly, but the idea that more kudos/hits/comments on a certain fic on AO3 = good/better. There have been popular fics that I have hated, and other ones with fewer kudos, etc. that I have absolutely loved. Everything is going to hit different from person to person, so you need to be true to you and what you like and not compare yourself to everyone else.

14. If you could choose one of your fics to be filmed, which would you choose?

“Write Drunk, Email Sober” for sure. It would be hilarious to watch.

15. If you only could write on pairing for the rest of your life, which pairing would it be?

Does OT4 count as a pairing? Because I vote that.

16. Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?

Typically from start to finish unless I’m have a particular scene in mind that I need to get out, or if I’m having trouble writing a scene I might skip ahead and go back later.

17. Do you use any tools, like worksheets or outlines?

No…I probably should. I use prompts a lot though, and music for inspiration.

18. Stephen King once said that his muse is a man who lives in a basement. Do you have a muse?

Yes—my wife.

19. Describe your perfect writing conditions.

Rainy day in a coffee shop, big latte, and spotify playlist on in the background.

20. How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting.

I read through it once myself, let my wife read it and make edits, and then read it again. After posting I’ll read it a third time and usually still catch any errors I missed.

21. Choose a passage from one of your earlier fics and edit it into your current writing style.

I’m currently doing this with my fic, “Stand by You.”

22. If you were to revise one of your older fics from start to finish, which would it be and why?

“Stand by You” and “Dawn of the Godslinger,” mostly because I loved the concepts, but I feel like my writing has improved dramatically since I first wrote them and they’re in desperate need of updating.

23. Have you ever deleted on of your published fics?

Yes, a few of my earlier ones. The writing and characterization was cringey.

24. What do you look for in a beta?

My wife has an MFA and is an editor so I’m lucky to have her as my beta.

25. Do you beta yourself? If so, what kind of beta are you?

Yes! You have to edit your own work…I look for typos/grammar errors and characterization mostly.

26. How do you feel about collaborations?

With the right people they are a ton of fun! But if you have a bad partner they can be miserable. Overall, I really enjoy them.

27. Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.

Crazyloststar – mostly because she and I have very similar writing styles and she has GREAT characterization and very fun ideas. Definitely look up to her!

Carolyncaves – because they wrote one of my favorite fanfics ever, “Something Just Like This,” which is a great example of an ace person in a relationship and makes me think of my wife.

HigharollaKockamamie – because they wrote one of my other favorite fanfics, “The Temptation of Saint Anthony, but with This Guy,” which is the only fic that has ever made me like Ardyn.

28. If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?

Oh man...probably something by @crazyloststar

29. Do you accept prompts?

Yes! I love them 😊

30. Do you take liberties with canon or are you very strict about your fic being canon compliant?

I like to keep character’s personalities as canon as possible, but other than that it’s fair game. My number one pet peeve when reading fanfic is when authors don’t get the characterization right.

31. How do you feel about smut?

I enjoy it if I’m in the mood to read it, but I’m not a huge fan of writing it. I’d rather focus on the emotions behind character relationships rather than the physical aspects.

32. How do you feel about crack?

I’m not a huge fan of crack fics, reading or writing them.

33. What are your thoughts on non-con and dub-con?

IF and only if it is woven into a story artfully, I can tolerate it. I do not like fics that focus specifically on non-con or dub-con as being sexy or attractive, and I refuse to write those kinds of fics. With that said, one of my fics does revolve around the idea that the antagonist rapes the main character, but it is not glorified in any way.

34. Would you ever kill off a canon character?

If it furthered the plot and I was going for angst, sure.

35. Which is your favorite site to post fic?

Ao3

36. Talk about your current wips.

Currently I’m working on “Stand by You,” my Promptis HS AU rewrite, and gearing up for the Promptis Big Bang. I also still have to finish WDES Verse 2.

37. Talk about a review that made your day.

Pretty much any of the comments on WDES…any comment, really.

38. Do you ever get rude reviews and how do you deal with them?

I’ve gotten a handful. I typically delete them and move on. Otherwise, I respond to all comments.

#author asks #writing asks #asks and answers #hardnoctlife #fanfiction

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tarotdeckshuffle · 5 years

Note

Jello! (Because it's yummy) You're an amazing writer! Making me believe that I'm in a relationship with all of the boys lol (T-T) May I request a happy ending fic? A celebration party is held before Noctis and Luna's wedding and s/o is trying to be supportive for her two childhood friends. She tries to come to terms that she's gonna lose her Noctis. The prince tries to talk to s/o about her distancing herself from him when the emotions were too much she needed flee..

Jello is pretty yummy. I haven’t had that in ages…

I’m so glad you like my writing!! Your support means so much to me! It lets me know that I’m doing something right and that I can bring joy to others, which is really all I’ve ever wanted.

I am so sorry it’s taken me sooooo long to get to this fic. But, here it is! I’d say it’s a decent mix of angst and fluff with some Noctis x reader, some Luna x reader, and some OT3 with a dash of Disney references! I enjoy anything that lets me write Luna. Four Suns has gotten really out of hand in terms of length, so I’m working to keep my fics a bit shorter and moving a bit faster. I hope this fits with what you were hoping for! Enjoy! ❤

Taglist: @idiotflowerex, @laststory1013, @sayaoqueen, @jophinabean, @mysme-already

If you like what you read, please consider supporting me on Patreon or buying me a Ko-fi!

Come Home, Cinderella

The wall was cold against your back, but it was better than being in the middle of this commotion. You were in Altissa, attending an “engagement party” for Noctis and Luna. Everyone laughed, drank, and danced around you, relishing the rare moment of communal joy. The celebration was as much for the happy couple as it was for the entire kingdom of Lucis, as peace was soon expected.

Soon, the Prince and the Oracle would be wed. It was to be an ornate ceremony where the two professed their love for each other as the world looked on. As the rest of the world rejoiced in a celebration of love, you felt a hole form in your chest where your heart had been.

Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change,

You could taste the playwright’s words on your tongue. Perhaps they were overdramatic, but you didn’t care right now.

Noctis was your everything. He always had been.

You had grown up as friends, meeting in the Citadel when your parents worked as groundskeepers. You had fond memories of playing hide and seek with your “new friend”. People had thought the little boy you spoke of was imaginary. Their shock at finding out your friend was real and THE PRINCE was hilarious to your young self.

The two of you tried to stay friends over the years. Many of your games came to include others, like Luna, Prompto, Ignis, and Gladio. No matter who came and went, you and Noctis were constantly together. The two of you grew distant with time, though, as you went to different high schools and made new friends. But fate had other plans.

Noctis was thrilled when you entered the court one day, summoned to be his newest bodyguard. By his side, the two of you became ever closer. A childhood friendship grew into a whirlwind romance. Sweet smiles led to small gifts that eventually led to secret kisses.

The two of you had been together for some time, keeping everything hushed until the future was more certain. The “royals” of Insomnia would not look kindly at a bodyguard the Prince was dating. So the two of you kept your kisses secret and your nights together short, only letting your closest friends know about the two of you.

And now, here you were.

With every memory you had of Noctis as a child, you now remembered Luna being there, too. She was a dear friend of yours. You truly did adore her. Who wouldn’t love the fair maiden with a soft heart and strong duty. But this was all so unfair.

You were here for them, though. You loved Noctis with all of your heart and Luna was still your friend. You had to keep telling yourself that it was your duty to support them.

Noctis had spoken to you as soon as he found out. So much of the conversation was a blur. He didn’t want this to happen, best for Lucis, stay together…blah blah blah. You knew he hadn’t wanted this to happen, but it was hard to see that through his smiles with Luna, now.

Luna’s smile lit up the room next to Noctis.

But he was your Noctis…yours.

It wasn’t fair.

But…he never truly was yours, was he?

The two of you were from different worlds.

Luna was from his world…

A hand on your shoulder woke you from you thoughts. It was Noctis. His soft smile touched your soul.

“Hey…” he said, moving to stand beside you.

“Hey,” is all you could respond. The two of you stood in silence for a few moments, staring out at the party.

“Want to get some air,” he finally asked.

You hesitantly obliged, unsure if you wanted to spend time alone with the Prince after all you had been through.

The two of you stepped out onto a balcony overlooking the sea. Silence and salt filled the space where love once lived.

Noctis sighed, looking down at his hands. “How’ve you been?” The silence did not break cleanly.

“I’m…fine.” You answered. How could you tell him you were being torn apart at your very seams, pulled between duty and love. How could you tell him that you still adored Luna but part of you wanted to hate her? How could you put this raw pain into words?

“That’s…good.” Noctis couldn’t look you in the eyes. He bashed his hands against the stone railing before turning to you. “Please, may I just kiss you? I miss you so much.” His eyes were pleading.

You stared back, teetering between what your heart wanted and what your head told you to do.

“No. It would be inappropriate. Your bride is just inside,” you replied, reverting back to your duty. The facade of the good soldier was easier to wear than that of the hurt lover.

Noctis stared at you, silent. Finally, he sighed, looking away. “Fair enough.” He turned away from you. You wanted to reach out to him, to hold him, to let him know it’d be ok, but…you couldn’t, you wouldn’t.

“[Y/N], I want you in my life. I love you. I…I want us to go forward TOGETHER.” His words were directed more to the sea below, than to you.

“I know.”

“Then…what are we going to do?” He turned to you and you were swept away by those eyes.

“I..” You began to speak, but were interrupted by someone calling for Noctis.

“Erg…wait here, I’ll be right back, ok?” His eyes held a determination in them as he held your shoulder. He turned away to return to the party. You watched his black hair and strong back disappear from view.

“Ok,” you whispered as he left.

What were you going to do? How would you get through this? If you stayed, you’d always hurt. You couldn’t be Noct’s mistress, that wouldn’t be fair to Luna. It wasn’t right. Could you ever be a proper bodyguard if you loved the future king?

A thought crept up from the back of your mind: Wouldn’t it be better if you weren’t involved?

The thought tasted bitter and left you with an awful sorrow, but it wasn’t wrong. Perhaps, this was the best option.

You set your glass onto the railing, determination running through your veins. You turned, making your way along the wall of the party. You reached the steps to the outside and began to run, taking your first breaths of this new freedom.

You were almost to the bottom before your heart pulled.

“[Y/N]!” It was Noctis, at the top of the steps.

Tears welled in your eyes but you kept going.

You kept going until you made it to the docks. A ferry was leaving in that moment. You ran aboard and threw yourself into a vacant middle seat. Wherever this random ship went was fine by you.

Noctis made it to the docks, just in time to see the ferry leave.

It was years later. You had been wandering Eos as a rogue hunter. That fateful ferry had taken you back to Cape Caem, only days before the darkness fell. You had heard rumors of Altissa falling, but you had also heard that both Noctis and Luna made it out. They had set out for Gralea. After that, though, there was little information.

You had been wandering the darkness for five years. It had been five years of wondering if Noctis was alright. Five years of wondering what had happened to Luna. Five years and countless steps plagued by guilt that you had left Altissa and abandoned everyone to the darkness.

You had spent every day trying to help in any way you could. You had escorted countless refugees to Lestallum and ended every daemon that you encountered. You didn’t help Noctis, you had run from your feelings and left him to face the darkness alone. You tried to repent every day by helping everyone else.

Today, you had heard rumors of daemons congregating near the entrance to Insomnia. None of the other hunters dared to go near the city due to superstitions and the sheer power of the daemons in the city. You felt some sense of duty and need for self sacrifice, which brought your feet to the gates of the city you once called home.

The city that held so many fond memories for you. But standing at the gates to the ruined place made all of those memories feel like they belonged to someone else.

You stood, looking through broken gates into dark streets. “It feels like forever since we were last here. Doesn’t it?” A warm voice asked from behind you.

You spun around to face a dream in white. It was Luna, now a bit older than last you saw her, smiling warmly at you. She leaned on her trident as she took you in.

“Welcome home, Cinderella. You really scared everyone when you took off from that party.” She could have been no end of bitter with you, instead, she greeted you with the warmth of an old friend.

You stared at her, so many emotions swelling within you. “Where’s Noctis?” Your voice cracked, reminding you of a scared child.

Before you could take another terrified breath, Luna was there, holding you. “He’s alright. Shh, he’s just…resting.” She held you close while she explained everything that had happened.

The two of you made camp outside Insomnia, as you were in no shape to face daemons, now. Luna never left your side.

It took some time, but eventually you made your way into the city. The Oracle surprised you, holding her own and striking fear into the hearts of all daemons as the two of you swept through the city like a hurricane. None could stand in your way.

A song of laughter accompanied you as you made your way back to Lestallum. Luna had always been your friend, but this journey reminded you of why.

Having no place of your own to go back to, Luna invited you to live with her and Ravus. The spectral man was rarely home to mind, anyways. It took time, but living within someone else’s light soon thawed your frozen heart.

You found Luna to be the light of your life. Her smile was warm and her wit was sharp. She was utterly amazing. You had been too blinded by Noctis to see it before. All you could hope was that their marriage was filled with joy.

But it is the simple moments that change life the most. You had been wounded on your last daemon hunt. A stray tonberry left a long cut down your back. While Luna had healed it with gentle hands for you, the stiffness lingered.

You were attempting to put on your boots, but your stiff back made it painful to lean over. Luna noticed. With a silent but pained face, she was at your side, helping you with the task.

“Really, you don’t need to worry. I’ll get it,” you protested. You tried to wretch your leg from her, but between her strong hands and the pain in your back, she won.

“When will you stop torturing yourself? You don’t deserve this!” Her hands shook as she tied your shoe. Soon, the dark leather was stained with teardrops.

You stopped, stunned.

“Please, [Y/N]! Every time I see you hurt my heart breaks! Please, stop trying to atone for sins you never committed,” she looked up at you, crying.

“But, I…I…” you hadn’t expected to have to voice your soul. Your head snapped towards her as your voice plead. “I LEFT YOU ALL! I abandoned you in Altissa! And for what? Because I was lovesick and jealous…”

Luna stood, cupping your cheeks in her warms hands. “No, you didn’t. You ran away from a love you could no longer control. From a situation you didn’t know what to do with. No one blames you but yourself.”

“WHY?! Why don’t you blame me,” you cried. You could think of every reason Luna should hate you, but she didn’t. Why did she grant you such mercy?

“Oh, [Y/N]. It’s because I love you.” Her warm words hit you. You couldn’t believe they were real.

Your stunned eyes asked more questions than you could voice. Luna laughed through her tears. “I’ve always loved you! I loved you the moment I first saw you. But Noctis was always at your side. I didn’t want to intervene. I…well, I didn’t know what to do.”

“You…what?”

Luna wiped tears from your face before leaning in to gently kiss your lips. “I love you. I wanted you to stay with us in Altissa, but I was too scared to say anything. Please, won’t you stay now?”

It took a moment for you to fully understand everything that she said. Honestly, it all made sense. She was your moon goddess, your light, and you had always adored her. You had always found everything about her to be perfect. Looking back, maybe you should have realized your own foolishness sooner.

You wrapped your arms around her neck, pulling her in for another dreamlike kiss.

“Yes.”

The two of you were inseparable in the years that followed. Both of you had been planning for Noct’s return. You were trying to figure out how to tell him about your relationship, considering you both still loved him, as well.

The day finally arrived. You met the men in Hammerhead. Noctis was in shock when he saw both of you standing before him, hand in hand.

“I��I don’t know what to say…” is all he could say to you and his wife.

“Well, Sleeping Beauty, do you want to come home with us?” You held out a hand to him.

“There’s room for one more,” Luna added.

Noctis simply smiled. “I…I couldn’t imagine anything better.” He leaned over to kiss you, a rough hand on your cheek. His lips were as warm and soft as you remembered. You free hand wrapped around the small of his back, while your other held Luna’s.

Next, Luna swept in to kiss you. Her lips were a constant warmth in your life, sweet and gentle.

Then, you watched her and Noctis kiss. The sight that once pained you, now brought joy to your heart. You all had always loved each other, it just took time to learn that.

And now, you’d make sure you would have plenty of time to spend with each other. The three of you shared a love strong enough to conquer the strain of time; dameons would be no problem, in comparison.

Together, you walked into the light of a new day.

~END CREDITS SCENE~

Luna: “Wait, if you’re Cinderella and he’s Sleeping Beauty…who am I?”

You: “Maybe Belle?”

Noctis: “Naw, more like Ariel…”

You and Noctis, together: “PRINCE CHARMING!!”

Luna: That makes sense…

#ffxv #noctis x reader #lunafreya x reader #noctluna x reader #noctluna #ot3 #poly #final fantasy #angst #fluff #noctis #lunafreya #luna x reader

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mushydesserts · 6 years

Text

[fic] phantom pain

Day Number: 4 - Chronic Pain

Pairings: Gladio/Noct

Rating: G

Warnings: Canon-compliant

Summary: From up here on the bluffs, it's as if they can see the whole world from its very edge — the wide, endless expanse of the sky above ink-blue in the west and watery rose-grey in the east, fading seamlessly to meet with the plane of the ocean below.

Or: Gladio puts down his sword for the last time.

Additional Notes: Another one for @gladnoctweek, if a little late!

"So. Not even a little bit, huh?"

"..."

"A small one?"

"..."

"What if it's puny?"

"You finding this funny?" Gladio grunts.

"I happen to find it hilarious."

"You would," Gladio says, leaning back against the stone wall behind them in the dark.

Noct is unfazed, kicking his feet over the side of the ledge with a smirk tugging at his mouth. "A day comes when a man just has to put down his enormous, free-swinging, hard-beaten, two-handed sword," he says, not quite mournful.

"Can it."

"Who'd have thought, after forty-three years of wrecking your joints in service to Lucis and ignoring your every sign of physical weakness?" Noct continues breezily. "What would twenty-year-old you have to say?"

"As if twenty-year-old me could get twenty-year-old you to stretch before bed if our lives depended on it."

"And yet look who's the one who can't even pick up a letter opener now."

"Sorry, who's talking here?"

"Correction: the one who can't pick up a letter opener without being plagued by searing chronic pain."

"More like plagued by a chronic pain in my ass," Gladio growls amicably, and Noct grins, and they fall into a companionable silence in the sharp night air.

The quiet is a halcyon one. Aside from the muted sound of shieldshear claws clicking and the occasional gull calling down by the beach, there's nothing to disturb them this high up; only the barest hint of a breeze stirs at this hour, the ground still cool and atmosphere still tepid, the murky pre-dawn half-light more of a suggestion of sun than anything.

There are lights below, of course. Markers of life for people to see by, sprinkled along the quay. But only a few, and hard-earned; no longer a need for many, and that, too, was hard-earned.

Gladio shifts, a slow stirring, his back scraping against the rough granite. The flex of muscle and pull of tendon in want of healing emit in small noises from his throat — a cut-off groan, the grind of teeth. He breathes, settles again.

"I didn't think I'd live to see forty til ten years ago," he says suddenly, and it comes out surprised, as if ten years ago was yesterday and he's still not sure how it all went down.

Noct expels a breath. "I'm not even sure you're aware of it now," he observes, gentle, amused.

"My shoulder's aware enough for the both of us," Gladio admits.

Noct hums, skeptical, and knocks a knee briefly against the package between them; a friendly, apprehensive nudge. There's a genuine curiosity beneath when he teases — "Then why's this old thing up here with us?"

A good question. It's not something he lugs around just anywhere these days, not anymore.

Gladio looks out towards the ocean a while longer, ignoring the query and the gaze both.

"My dad carried his sword and shield a dozen years more than I have," Gladio manages finally. The words are tight with feeling.

Noct's mouth twists with understanding. "Your dad wielded his for a dozen more years," he corrects. "You've carried yours for twenty more than any Shield has."

Gladio's fingers are calloused, motionless, light on the fabric bound around the steel in the grass between them.

"When was the last time you needed them?" Noct asks.

Gladio's fingers tighten. He inhales, exhales. "Not... for a long time," he admits.

Noct's eyes are searching, his voice serious. He asks, "Then what's the problem?"

From up here on the bluffs, it's as if they can see the whole world from its very edge — the wide, endless expanse of the sky above ink-blue in the west and watery rose-grey in the east, fading seamlessly to meet with the plane of the ocean below. A crescent moon hangs low over the water, a sickle-slice of white suspended above the level tide. The horizon is unbroken except for the empty, abandoned husk of Angelgard sitting in the distance, like a forgotten spectre, an effigy of a prophecy.

Noct waits, patient.

The sky's lighter by increments by the time Gladio eases open the buckles and unwraps the cloth without looking, hands familiar with the motions through years of unthinking practice. His fingertips rest on the bare steel of the blade, naked in the early morning, icy, warm under skin.

Gladio levers himself up — tired, more tired than he usually is — and takes the worn grip in his hands. There's a wince at the twinge in his shoulder, but he knows it'll be the last in — in a while, gods willing.

He raises the sword, broad and gleaming in the shadow, and buries the blade deep, deep into the soft ground at the bottom of the marble steps; it stops only when the ground resists, pressure of dirt and steel, no blue cast of enchantment to follow.

The shield follows, grip against the hilt.

He takes a step back, and another.

"Not so hard, right?" Noct says, soft.

Gladio takes in and memorizes the glow of starlight against the metal, catching on the remnants of scratches too deep to buff out.

He clears his throat. "Take care of this thing," he says, a little too rough to be irreverent.

Noct smiles, easy, and leans back against the wall. "I don't know what you're talking about. Hasn't it always been mine?"

Gladio blinks. "Yeah," he says, voice thick but steady, and then can't think of anything else to say.

"Well," Noct says, like that settles it, and stretches backwards, arms behind his head, closing his eyes. His ever-dark hair tickles his pale cheeks in the low light, and he looks rested in a way Gladio can't remember him looking before.

The dawn is starting to fill the sky above the water, and Gladio needs to head back down soon. It's a long way out here, and it'll be a long way back. He turns to watch the sun streak the blade with light — not the fire of the magic of old, but a hue that's something like it.

Beside it, the king sleeps.

Gladio draws breath after breath before he speaks again.

"I'll see you soon," he says, out of long habit.

"Sure hope not," Noct yawns, and turns away.

Gladio smiles.

His back is straighter all the way down the steps as he descends.

By the time the tomb recedes into the golden morning mist and out of sight, the ache in his shoulder is nearly imperceptible.

#gladnoctweek #gladnoct #gladiolus amicitia #noctis lucis caelum #gladio x noctis #ffxv fic #it's me

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hati-skoll · 5 years

Text

Let Me Fill You(r Prompt)

Written for the @ignoctsecretsanta for @battle-goats I’m so sorry this is so late! The ending might be a little abrupt, I’ll probably update it in a bit, but I wanted you to have something first!

[AO3]

Noctis rips open a bag of enoki mushrooms. He gallantly pounds a clove of garlic into submission. Then he manfully wrestles an onion apart and accordingly cries himself a river, because what the fuck am I even writing I don’t even know someone save me.

Unfortunately, the astrals aren’t capable of sending down bolts of inspiration the way they’re wont to do with lightning. Noctis gets only so far before he admits to himself that he’s in over his head with this hilariously pitiful attempt at writing food porn. It’s… very… uninspired. He squints at the three sentences he’s typed, they’re… uh, well… alright, they suck. It sucks. How does one prepare food… sexily?

He tries to picture in his mind how Ignis works the kitchen, how his painfully suave advisor deftly slices up slabs of meat, a comfortable grip on the knife's handle; how he expertly kneads dough, muscles taut along his forearm; how he handles that intimidatingly large iron wok he keeps on the top shelf of Noctis’ kitchen, flicking his wrist with an enviable grace that Noctis will probably never muster in this lifetime.

“Hey, buddy, what'cha doing?”

Noctis very nearly tosses his phone out the window, but catches himself at the last minute so it instead clatters noisily where it lands on his desk. He hears someone cooing over his disastrous, ‘adorkable’ lack of hand-eye coordination from outside the classroom.

Prompto blinks, before plopping into the seat in front of his. “Uh, okay. Was gonna ask if you wanna head by the arcade later, but you look busy.”

“It's just this Thing.”

Promp glances down at the phone, then back up at Noctis. “Thing.”

“You know,” Noctis sighs, half-aggrieved as he makes a vague hand gesture that's supposed to mean sad-attempt-at-writing-food-porn-featuring-himself-and-his-ridiculously-handsome-charming-chivalrous-competent-all-round-amazeballs-advisor, “The Thing.”

“Oh!” Prompto exclaims, “The Secret-”

“Thing. Yes, the Secret Thing that no one should ever find out I was involved in.”

“Right. Gotcha,” Prompto nods, deadly serious, “Secret Thing.”

Noctis looks back down at his phone, re-reads his pathetic three lines and resists the urge to face-plant into his desk. Why did he ever think it was a good idea to sign up for this year’s Ignoct secret santa? Okay, so maybe he’s been furtively lurking in the fandom for ages — ever since he overheard a couple of girls whispering about it in phys ed class.

He still remembers their incredibly unlikely hypothesis about Iggy bending him over the gym bleachers, which is... hot as hell, but unlikely. Public sex is just not going to be on the table with his advisor. Because ‘that would be a recipe for disaster, Noct, can you imagine what the press would cook up?’ He’s not even sure if sex is ever going to be on the table — both figuratively and literally.

His dining table is definitely large enough to accommodate some spontaneous fucking, but… he’s obviously been looking at too much PWP lately. And it’s not like he’s going through these incredibly detailed imaginings of him and his advisor just to get off. Not really. Well, he gets off to them sometimes. Rarely. Once a week. Seriously, these artists and authors come up with extremely creative scenarios— That’s not the point.

The point is, It’s kind of heartening to know that somewhere, out there, there are a lot of other someones, random someones who aren’t Promp, rooting for him and Iggy and his stupid, hopeless crush. And it sort of… gives him hope, you know. Makes him feel like it might actually be possible, like they might actually work, if he could just work up the courage to ask Iggy out. One day.

“Just kill me,” Noctis says, unfortunately aloud.

“Woah, woah. Aren’t you, like, not supposed to joke about suicide in public?”

That’s right, he’s not. “It’s a euphemism.”

“Uh,” Promp does the awkward half-laugh that generally functions as an indicator for Noctis to shut up before he shoves that foot further into his mouth, “I don’t think that’s how euphemisms work.”

“It is if whatever I’m thinking of is worse than dying.” Yeap, he’s swallowing that foot. Whole. There’s probably an Ignoct fic about foot fetish somewhere.

“Are you allowed to say that?” Promp whispers, loudly — loud enough for the guy three tables down to not-so-inconspicuously don headphones in an attempt to give them an illusion of privacy.

Which is how they end up relocating to the roof, like every other highschool cliche out there. And Noctis half-feels like the school bully, because unlike every other highschool cliche, there’s actually a decent number of people on the roof, who... promptly make themselves scarce when Noctis and Prompto show up — and look, they’re obviously not leaving because of Promp. He’d have to be more delusional than maybe-my-too-perfect-advisor-slash-childhood-playmate-might-actually-like-me-back to think that anyone’s escaping because of Promp .

“So… nice and quiet here,” Promp says, after the last of them has filed out.

“Mmghf.”

“Very… zen,” Promp continues, “Zen’s good for inspiration, right?”

It’s not working for his. “Maybe?”

“Yeah, I didn’t think so either,” Promp sighs deeply in commiseration, “Hey, you could always write a smutty one-shot about Iggy and you getting hot and heavy up here. Can’t go wrong with hot roof sex.”

“We’ve fucked on the roof dozens of times,” well, in fics, “Also why would Iggy be in our school?”

“Because… Oh! Because he’s your alpha and you’ve gone into heat, so the school clinic rung him to pick you up. And then because you’re oozing omega pheromones, Iggy loses control and drags you up here to have his sordid way with you.”

“I’m not writing an ABO,” a beat, “Why am I an omega?”

“I can’t see Iggy being an omega, have you seen the thing he does with his knives?”

“He cooks .”

“I’m gonna have to stop you there, buddy, that sorta alpha-omega-stereotyping is uncalled for.”

“What?”

“You can’t just say Iggy’s an omega because he cooks.”

“That’s not what I— They’re not even real!”

“Yeah, and so isn’t Santa,” Promp proclaims, “But look where we are, in the middle of a Secret Santa. I rest my case.”

Noctis lasts for all of three seconds before the incredulity of it all gets to him and he shoves his awful best friend. “I’m not bearing any babies for Iggy.”

“Pups,” Promp corrects, very seriously, before he cracks up too.

They’re both giggling like desperate F2Ps after a godly gacha roll and Noctis is feeling slightly better about his trainwreck of food-kink fic, which is why he makes the incredibly questionable decision of showing Promp his Work-In-Progress. Prompto blinks at it owlishly for several seconds. And Noctis regrets everything.

“It’s not bad,” Promp declares determinedly, after several more seconds of owlish blinking.

“It’s bad.”

“It’s not! It’s… evocative. That’s good.”

“Noctis rips open a bag of enoki mushrooms,” Noctis reads aloud, “He gallantly pounds a clove of garlic into submission. You winced. Right there.”

“I was empathising with the clove of garlic!”

“Then he manfully wrestles—”

“Okay, okay, stop,” Promp says with a shaky breath, “Maybe… Maybe it could be better. Why are you… manfully wrestling an avocado?”

“An onion. I’m manfully wrestling an onion, because that’s what it says in this really detailed recipe forkingandspooning114 included in the prompt. In which I’m supposed to prepare a meal for Iggy — sexily — and amaze him with my — sexy — cooking prowess, after which we have a hot dinner — and hotter sex.”

“A cereal food fetishist, huh.”

“Yeah, the wurst case I’ve come across,” Noctis makes a face, “There are fifty pages worth of recipes. It’s practically a cookbook.”

“Yikes,” Promp scrolls down to look at recipes. “That’s… hold up. Wait. I have an idea.”

Noctis isn’t sure if he likes that glint in Promp’s eyes but he nods anyway for his best friend to continue.

“Why don’t you ask Iggy for advice?”

“Ask Iggy for advice on seducing him with my non-existent sexy cooking skills?”

“Hypothetically,” Promp says, “And he doesn’t need to know about the seducing. Not when he sexy-cooks naturally, you know, according to you. You can just ask for a demonstration or something, for the recipes. And... maybe bring an extra serving for me tomorrow?”

Well... Noctis mulls, it isn’t a half-bad idea, even if it’s as obvious as Uncle Ardyn’s purposefully obtuse — and painfully cringey — misuse of teenage slang, that Promp’s suggestion is more or less motivated by his stomach. Noctis shrugs at his best friend, plays it cool because it’s kinda ridiculous that his future with Iggy is now at the mercy of Promp’s stomach. “Huh. I’ll think about it.”

He pretends not to see Promp’s little victory jiggle as they make their way down the roof.

He’s still trying to figure out how to ask Specs for a cooking demonstration without sounding really suspicious — and also without hurting Iggy’s feelings, because asking Iggy to work with another person’s recipe is just… kinda in bad taste when he takes so much pride in his own. Of course, the man of the hour is already in the kitchen, whipping up a batch of something-or-other that’ll taste like heaven and sin all wrapped into one, as Noctis steps into his apartment.

“Welcome home, Noct,” Iggy calls, and Noctis’ heart gives a traitorous little flutter because that was just so domestic — come to think of it, that domestic AU he's been following just updated earlier today, he’ll have to read it later, “Productive day at school, I hope?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, we did. Math.”

“That sounds truly invigorating.”

Noctis suddenly feels the need to defend his math class — which he totally did not spend brooding about his secret santa prompt. “Yeah? It’s supposed to lend us magnitude and direction.”

Iggy’s brows rise. “Ah, perhaps I should have said it was in-vector-ating instead?”

Noctis deigns that awful pun with a groan and plops himself down at the table, where Iggy’s delivering an entire tray of freshly baked pastries. He knows better than to snag a piece without Iggy’s go-ahead, though — after all, he’ll only end up with a scalded tongue and a disappointed talking-to from his advisor.

Iggy sets one aside on a plate, adding a generous helping of whipped cream. He looks strangely put together for someone who’s been working away at the kitchen, like does he even sweat? Noctis squints at his advisor’s dry, smooth, slightly flushed skin, so he nearly misses it when Iggy says, “You’re awfully tensed today. I don't suppose there's anyway I can be of service?”

Okay, wow, loaded question. “Uh. No. I mean. Yes. Sorta.”

“Well, you know I’m always happy to help, Noct. What do you need?”

No sex thoughts. Don't think sex thoughts. “I have this… recipe I need you to try.”

“Recipe,” Iggy repeats.

“From the internet,” technically, not a lie, “A-” friend of mine? He only has one friend, literally, one, “Promp. Yeah. Promp wanted to ask for your advice on a couple of recipes. Because... they've not been turning out too well for him, but he was too intimidated to ask in person.”

“Oh. Certainly,” Iggy seems to have bought into his fibbing, “I can take a look at them in my spare time.”

“No.”

Iggy blinks. “No?”

“He um wants a demonstration. Physical demonstration.”

“I can’t see how that’s achievable if he’s too intimidated to show up.”

“Yeah, so you can,” Noctis tries to recall how fic!him goes about asking Iggy favours, cooking demonstrations or otherwise, he seriously doesn’t remember ever being this tongue-tied in fics, “Demonstrate to me, how it’s done. And I’ll demonstrate to Promp.”

“You’ll demonstrate to Prompto,” Iggy’s spoon clatters onto the table, there’s a pause and then, “I’m not sure if that’s wise.”

You char a wok one time. “I just have to do whatever you do, right? Piece of cake,” Noctis says with a confidence he can only muster because he’s not actually going to do any cooking.

“I do hope his house is insured.”

Oh, come on. “His house will survive my cooking perfectly fine, Specs. Just show me. Please.”

Iggy pushes the whip-creamed pastry at him, and Noctis digs into the dessert, enjoying the perfect marrying of flaky, sugared crust and rich, chocolate ganache. Everything Iggy makes is perfect — well, not the vegetables, but... everything else. He watches for Iggy’s reaction, sees the exact moment his advisor capitulates in the set of his shoulders and that look of fond exasperation on his face… tempered by something… harder this time, something Noctis doesn’t quite recognise. But the emotion is gone in a flash, as Iggy says, “Well, I suppose I have my work cut out for me if I’m to make a decent cook out of you. You’d like to try one of these recipes out for dinner today, I presume?”

“Yeah,” Noctis quickly gets the document open, scrolls to the entry that’s titled, Creamy Fowl Saute, “This one.”

Iggy glances at it briefly. “Ah, a classic. And it looks remarkably similar to a recipe of mine. I think your pantry and refrigerator are well-stocked with what we need.”

“Cool,” Noctis says.

He finishes the pastry while Iggy preps his kitchen, magically conjures up ingredients and utensils from spaces he hadn't known existed in his cupboards. Then the stage is set, and the tart consumed, and Iggy’s considering him with a serious sort of look that Noctis will probably be flustered by if it didn’t exactly say how-do-I-get-you-to-not-burn-down-the-kitchen in subtext.

So instead he’s slightly miffed. “Can we get on with it, Specs?”

“Perhaps an apron before we commence?”

He’s not wearing an apron. “But I’m just observing.”

“Nonsense, you’re not going to learn anything by just observing,” Iggy somehow produces a second apron with a flourish, “I’d be loathe to see ‘Crown Prince Commits Arson’ on tomorrow’s seven-o-clock. And roll up your sleeves.”

“Why do I have to—” He nearly bites his tongue because Iggy’s thrown the apron over his head, and now Iggy’s arms are going around his waist in a pseudo-hug to secure the ties at the back. And hopefully, his expression is more coolly composed than astrals-save-me-my-crush-is-sorta-hugging-me-what-do-I-do mortified.

Iggy finally — unfortunately — steps away. “There we are,” a pause, and Iggy’s lips are twitching when he says, “I think this is a good look for you, Noct.”

“Shut up.”

They get started on the recipe, and Iggy puts him in charge of measuring the chicken broth and heavy cream. Noctis is proud to say he aced that, solid 5 out of 7. He’s great at pouring things into measuring cups. He’s kind of warming up to the idea of cooking, maybe, uh well, he’s not cringing away from the counter at least, but then Iggy puts a knife and an onion in his hands and suddenly it feels like they’ve jumped from tutorial mode to boss battle.

“Maybe you should do this,” he tells Iggy.

“You just have to chop the onion, Noct.”

“I’m allergic to onions. They make my eyes water.”

“That happens to everyone,” Iggy says, “And just think of it like it’s weapons training with Gladio. You’ve handled bigger blades than this.”

Noctis’ retort dies in his throat when he notices the unintended euphemism, his next words are out of his mouth before he thinks them through. “Well, maybe you should help me with this blade then. You know, correct my form, the way Gladio does at practice.”

Okay. Someone kill him. Now.

Thankfully, the disastrously cheesy line seems to fly over Iggy’s head, because he just nods at Noctis and says, “If you think it’ll help you.”

What? “Uh. Yeah?”

Which is how Iggy ends up getting into position behind Noctis, one hand over Noctis’ where he’s grasping the knife, the other carefully positioning the onion on the board. And Noctis is both congratulating and cursing at himself for his horrendous foot-in-mouth syndrome. “I’ve already peeled and washed it, so you can start by cutting it into two. Right through the root, but we don’t want to cut that off, lest the onion bleeds.”

Okay, he can feel Iggy’s body heat all the way down the line of his back and— “The onion bleeds?”

“Sulphuric acid, sulphur dioxide and hydrogen sulphide. The latter irritates our eyes.”

“Oh, okay.” Iggy is guiding his hand through the motion, creating an incision, then cleanly slicing through. “Wow. Okay, we’re done?”

He feels Iggy’s chest rumble in a gentle chuckle. “Not quite. Hold the onion like this. Use your knuckle to guide the knife, point it towards the root, and cut. That’s right. Nice, long strokes.”

Nice, long strokes, seriously?

“Not too deep,” Iggy tuts, “If I’d known you’d be so enthusiastic about cutting onions, I would have enlisted your help years ago.”

“I’m not,” Noctis objects, “I just want to—” finish this before I pop an awkward boner, “Get it right for Promp.”

Iggy abruptly releases his hand and of course Noctis stabs himself in the pinky in the next second. “Ouch, damn. Iggy, wha—”

“My apologies,” okay, now Iggy looks like he’s going to flagellate himself or something, “You’re bleeding, we’ll have to run that under the tap.”

“Specs, it’s not a big deal,” he tries to protest, but they’re evidently still running his pinky under the tap, “I’ve had worse cuts from chopstick splinters than this.”

“Your chopstick splinters were not of my doing,” Iggy pauses, “Were they?”

“No.”

Iggy heaves out a sigh that sounds like part relief and part dismay, like is he seriously going to blame himself for not inspecting every pair of disposable chopsticks that passes into Noctis’ hands? Noctis is about to say something, something reassuring hopefully, but then Iggy stops glaring at the tiny barely-a-quarter-inch cut like it’s a personal affront and looks up at him with a frazzled sort of smile — which is… wow, be still, heart, don’t fucking give me away with your loud thumping. Iggy clears his throat. “Perhaps you should sit the rest of the session out. And we ought to put a bandaid on that.”

“On this?”

They put a bandaid on it. Well, they kind of just swathe his pinky in a bandaid. Gladio is going to be absolutely merciless with his teasing if he sees it at training the day after. Thus, Noctis resolves to quietly ditch it in a couple of hours. And he tries to tell Iggy he’s perfectly fit to continue cooking, but Iggy’s starting to look sorta stressed out, so Noctis goes back to observing — the original plan, which kinda seems less fun now, but he gets to unabashedly eyeball Iggy so that’s a plus.

His advisor’s a force to be reckoned with in the kitchen, his actions quick, sure and precise. He’s efficient, the way he is with everything else in his — well, Noct’s — life. It’s kind of amazing to watch. And somewhere in the back of his mind, Noctis knows he’s supposed to be taking notes for his secret santa. It’s just, Iggy’s like a storm when he’s on a mission, brutal, arresting, awe-inspiring. It’s all part of what Noctis finds sexy, and Noctis can’t exactly imagine being that for Iggy, which is a little depressing but... maybe Iggy has a thing for clumsy and socially inept. He’s not sure how that’s going to fly with forkingandspooning114, though.

Does clumsy qualify as sexy?

He’s still trying to figure that out, when Iggy slides a plate in front of him. “Dinner is served.”

Noctis blinks at the dish. It looks good, kinda familiar, but then Iggy made it, so ditto. “Thanks, Specs.”

“Have you gotten everything you needed for Prompto?” Iggy asks solicitously, as he seats himself opposite Noctis.

“Uh, yeah. We’re good.”

Iggy considers him. “Would it be helpful if I made a couple of notes on the recipe?”

Noctis shrugs as he digs into the chicken. The meat's tender, and the sauce creamy but not too creamy. “Yeah, sure.”

“Then you shan’t be attempting this on your own in Prompto’s kitchen?”

“Specs.”

Iggy delicately cuts a portion of his own fillet, spears it with his fork, then tears a chunk off with his teeth. Okay, that’s weirdly hot. Noctis stares at Iggy’s bobbing adam's apple as he swallows. “I’m serious, Noct.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Noctis agrees, distracted by Iggy’s adam’s apple, but it’s not like he’s been planning to go burn down Promp’s kitchen in the first place. Iggy seems somewhat mollified by his answer and drops the subject, so Noctis is left to enjoy the meal in silence for the next couple of minutes. He scarfs it down with relish, but there’s just something about it that feels... Hm. “Hey, Specs? This tastes sorta familiar.”

Iggy pauses, fork in mid-air as he replies, “Well, of course. The recipe’s an exact copy of mine. If you hadn’t told me otherwise, I’d have thought Prompto took it straight out of my notebook.”

Wait. “Really?” Noctis stops chewing. Because that’s just—

“It’s a common enough dish,” Iggy shrugs, “And it’s something I’ve adapted off existing recipes. I’d say it’s certainly possible for someone to have made the same adjustments as I. No cause for alarm.”

“Do you wanna check the rest of the recipes? See if they’re yours? What if someone stole—”

“In your own words, Noct, it’s not a big deal.”

How is that not a big deal? Iggy’s worked his ass off on those recipes. “Just check them.”

Iggy accepts Noctis’ phone and scrolls through the recipes, expression politely neutral as he does so, which annoys Noctis because that usually means he thinks Noct’s being stupid or unreasonable or whatever. He stops scrolling after a while. “Well, they’re all rather similar.”

“So someone stole your recipes?”

“They’re just recipes,” yeah, recipes Iggy created for Noct.

And Noctis is about to demand they call up the citadel’s security and have them pull up footage from the Private Secretary’s Office, but then his wrath is promptly derailed by the sudden realisation that someone in the citadel stole Iggy’s recipes for the Ignoct secret santa, and that’s… That’s… Well, he’s a little conflicted, because one, stealing is bad, but two, someone close to home ships them hard enough to go to such lengths, and that’s kind of, sort of heartwarming in a… weirdly, intrusive sort of way. Well, at least, he’s got someone’s support if he and Iggy work out and Noctis declares his plans to beget heirs via surrogacy or something.

“Do you know who it might be?” Noctis asks after a while.

Iggy stares at him for a moment. “Perhaps a Glaive or a Crownsguard.”

Great, he’ll have to ask Nyx or Gladio. Noctis finishes the rest of his dinner in a hurry.

“Is there anything else I can help you with tonight?” Iggy asks, while clearing the table.

Noctis blinks. Another loaded question. He tries to think of puppies and chocobos and anything but Iggy in a leather collar. “Uh. Nah, I’m good. Thanks for dinner, Specs. We should do the cooking together thing again sometime.”

“Certainly,” Iggy says.

Then Noctis is retreating to his bedroom to mull over the identity of forkingandspooning114, mind racing at warp-speed, already making plans to waylay the Glaives and Crownsguards, because he's gotta figure out who's his ally in this, you know. And if it's a little strange that Iggy left his Very Important Notebook unattended long enough for anyone to copy fifty pages off it, well... he's only human, isn't he?

#ffxv #ignoct #ignis x noctis #Noctis Lucis Caelum #ignis scientia #prompto argentum #fanfiction

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enide-s-dear · 6 years

Text

FFXV Fic: Accessories

Accessories

“I am not sure about this, Noct.” Troubled to the core of his Lucian fashion soul, Ignis tried folding up the lapels of his jacket to his neck. It didn’t do much for the atrocity that met him in the mirror and he let them back down with a sigh. “Not sure at all.”

“Oh come on, you got of easy.” Gladio grumbled. He stubbornly refused to even glance in the direction of any reflective surface. “The Hell am I supposed to do with this?!” He poked at his hair.

“I love mine!” Fascinated by the shiny sparkly around his wrist, Prompto twisted it round and round. “But I mean, it’s not like, real diamonds, right? Because that would be, um…” Anxiety swept over his freckled face like a monsoon and he quickly held out his hand as far from his body as possible, as if the jewelry there could suddenly explode.

“I go through all this trouble to get you all gifts on our anniversary.” If you didn’t know the prince of Lucis as well as his boyfriends did, you might have mistaken the whining for sincere. As it were, the smug amusement was very obvious. “And this is the thanks I get?”

“I am sure we all appreciate the *gifts*,” Ignis said a bit tartly, trying to adjust his black choker to make it look like, well, anything else but a black choker but with limited success. “Not just so much the *thought* behind it.”

“I can never show myself in this in Insomnia.” Gladio pulled at the pink ribbon around his head. “There would be a riot.”

“Come on….”

“I would lead the riot myself!”

“With or without your fetching hair band?” Noct asked innocently. “Because it would totally be worth it. The Pink Ribbon Riot. The historians would love it.”

“I’ll take it!” Prompto offered rather desperately, still shaking his arm as if trying to get rid of a rattlesnake, not a bracelet of blue diamonds. “I just...I just...I just can’t accept this! Like, diamonds?! For a pleb?! What were you thinking?!”

“Probably about how hilarious he would find it. Buying us expensive, practical gifts that makes us look like…” Ignis swallowed the next words.

“Like my pets?” Noctis supplied sweetly, still grinning.

“Like *that* yes, thank you very much.” Ignis turned around so quickly the black choker jingled. He closed his eyes in despair.

“I think,” Gladio said slowly, “It’s time to give you *our* gift.”

“Yeah, maybe we should!” Prompto said with a bit of evilness that weren’t normally seen.

“Quite,” Ignis said with a smile to match.

“It better not be a towel of anything stupid like that,” Noct grumbled but still too amused by his own gifts to mind. “Or a pet Tonberry.”

“Nah, this is much much better.” Gladio grinned and pulled out a rather big gift wrapped box.

“Aaaaaanndd, you can wear it whenever we wear ours!” Prompto chimed in.

“A fair deal, I think.” Ignis agreed.

A bit hesitantly, Noctis opened the box.

He stared into the box.

He swallowed and lifted up the content of the box.

Three widely grinning faces met his look of mild horror.

“This is, umm….” he started.

“Put it on, “ Gladio suggested evilly. “It will do wonders for your HP recovery.”

“Yeah, you can make it like the official crown of Lucis,” Prompto suggested, even more evilly.

“Maybe not go that far, but I do agree it will look marvellous. And think of the PR revenues. We could probably finance a new hospital for the money Cup Noodles would pay us if you wore that walking out of the Citadell alone.”

“Guys,” Noctis held up the Cup Noodle helmet. “I am not. Wearing this. Ever!”

“You say that now, but wait until you get into a fight with a Behemoth.”

“Is that an innuendo? Don’t tell me you want me to wear this when we have sex Gladio, I swear to the Astrals…” Noct whined.

“Says the guy who dressed us up like pets.”

#ffxv fic #Square enix and their sily accessories #polyship roadtrip

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marmolita · 6 years

Text

asidian replied to your post “okay so I need a distraction to kick me out of the slump I’m in with...”

Promptis, cooking failure

r3zuri replied to your post “okay so I need a distraction to kick me out of the slump I’m in with...”

how about drunk!noctis ?

Okay so somehow I ended up combining these and mushing them a little bit and here you go??? Warnings for unintentional drug use and drugged making out, and this is 100% unedited. Also the drug effects in this fic are not intended to be any real world drugs at all, I just made shit up.

***

"Okay," Prompto says, as Gladio gets Ignis settled in the tent, "tell me what we've got, I'm sure I can whip up something." It's really a shame that potions can't do anything about the common cold, and Ignis is so snotted up that nobody wants him messing with their food.

Noct pokes through the cooler and bags of ingredients. "Um, some dualhorn steaks and fish in here. A couple potatoes, rice, some peppers, and I think mushrooms?" He holds up a baggie with something brown inside, and Prompto squints at it.

"Yeah, looks like it. I'm not sure what kind those are."

"Dunno, all I do is pick things up, Iggy figures out what to do with them."

"Okay, well, uh, give me the mushrooms and the steaks and some peppers, and go ahead and start some rice."

Half an hour later, Prompto dishes up dinner for everyone, and Ignis crawls out of the tent to join them. "You look like shit," Noct says.

"I feel like it," Ignis replies. He eyes the plate Prompto hands him skeptically, but eats all the same.

"This isn't bad," Gladio says, and Prompto grins. It's actually pretty tasty, if he does say so himself, and even Mister Picky Prince Noctis chows down.

Everything's great! That is, until his head starts feeling kind of woozy. "I think maybe I'm coming down with Iggy's cold," Prompto says, rubbing his temple.

"Ugh, if you are, I am too." Noct groans and leans back in his chair. Ignis has already gone to bed, and Gladio is reading in the tent, so it's just the two of them. "I feel dizzy and hot."

"Yeah, me too."

There's a shuffling from inside the tent, and then Gladio pokes his head out. "The fuck did you put in that food, Prompto?"

"Huh? Nothing? I didn't put in anything that wasn't packed with our ingredients."

Gladio frowns and pulls his head back in to consult with a sleepy Ignis, then leans out again with a sigh. "Iggy says he packed some medicinal mushrooms in with the ingredients. Brown ones. Those what you put in the food?"

Prompto and Noct exchange a glance. "Yeah?"

"Shit. Guess we're in for an interesting night. I'm gonna try to sleep it off. You guys . . . " Gladio frowns at them, "don't do anything stupid. And don't leave the campsite."

"You got it," Prompto says, a little shakily. He's kind of mad at himself for fucking up dinner, but it's not like Ignis had labeled the bag or anything useful like that. And if all that's going to happen is a not-so-recreational drug trip, then that's probably not so terrible, is it?

Half an hour later, and Prompto is giggling uncontrollably while Noct rolls around on the ground doing his best impression of a cat.

An hour later, Noct suddenly remembers that chairs exist and starts telling Prompto about how brilliant the invention of the chair is. Prompto nods solemnly as he slowly tips over and falls out of his chair.

Two hours later, the sound of Ignis coughing is loud enough that Noct and Prompto grab each other in fear and end up huddling together in front of the fire, before they get distracted by how pretty the fire looks.

Two and a half hours later the huddling has turned into cuddling and Noct decides that counting Prompto's freckles is a great use of his time. "Take your clothes off," he says. "How am I supposed to count them all if I can't see them all?"

"You just want to see me naked," Prompto counters as he pulls his shirt off.

"Yeah," Noct says, "but that's not the point."

If Prompto was in his right mind, he would stop and think about this, but everything is blurry around the edges and Noct's face is kind of glowing and so he just says, "Fine but you have to take your clothes off too," as he takes off his pants.

Three hours later, Prompto's floating on a cloud with Noct's lips against his own and Noct's body rubbing up against his, both of them just in their underwear. Every time they pull apart, the two of them just start giggling. It's weirdly hilarious, but in a fun way, and it feels good to have Noct pressed up against him, even if Noct is kind of messy and silly.

"You're like a cat," Prompto says, when Noct laps at the hollow of his throat with short swipes of his tongue.

"Meow," Noct replies, and digs his nails in.

***

Ignis wakes up feeling better than he has in days, likely thanks to the healing mushrooms Prompto had accidentally fed him the night before. He sits up and looks around, noticing that only Gladio is in the tent with him. Gladio's slumped on top of his sleeping bag, surrounded by no fewer than twenty Cup Noodles containers. Ignis frowns, then crawls out of the tent.

Noctis and Prompto are asleep tangled together in a pile of naked limbs, and Ignis stares for a moment, blinks, then sighs. He pushes his glasses up his nose and reaches into the tent for a blanket to drape over the two of them. As the blanket falls into place, Noctis grumbles and cuddles closer to Prompto, and Ignis can't help smiling. Perhaps he should let Prompto cook more often.

#ffxv #promptis #prompto argentum #noctis lucis caelum #fanfic #drugs cw #fic requests

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jaclynhyde · 6 years

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FFXV Favorites Meme

As seen several times on my dash!

instructions:

To celebrate a year of FFXV and the end of the first year of updates, let’s spread the FFXV love! I haven’t seen a tag meme like this for FFXV yet, so I decided to make one. If you see this and want to, copy/paste this list and share what your favorite things about FFXV are.

Favorite Chocobro: Noctis. He is the Most Relatable Final Fantasy. I adore seeing how much he grows, and how much he cares about the people he loves. And it’s heartbreaking to realize how much the weight of his purpose affects him, and how much he’s hiding behind his chill exterior. And seeing him actually happy is the sweetest thing and I love him so much ;v; (Other favorites: everyone else they’re all so good)

Favorite Guest Party Member (including Ravus and Libertus from DLC): As much as I adore Cor, gotta go with Aranea because dragoons are forever the best. I love that the Empire is just a paycheck for her, and her humor and how she stops by to help and how she encourages Prompto and she is so pretty

Favorite Minor Character(s): SANIA. SANIA I love her dedication to frogs and science and how she’s adopted Noct as her research assistant. SHIT I FORGOT ABOUT GILGAMESH him too

Favorite Villain: Ardyn has rocketed to the top of my favorite FF villains list (sorry Golbez you’re still my boo). I love how he’s such an overdramatic, hilarious pain in the ass, and how he helps Noct all along in the most annoying way. And then you learn his backstory, and you realize that he was good once, that he wanted to heal the people until the darkness in his heart and body caused the Astrals to reject him. I love the depth of his character, that 2000 years of rage and spite are hidden behind that collected mask, that along with revenge he just wanted to finally rest.

Favorite Kingsglaive Character: Luna! I love that she’s proper and diplomatic and will also fling herself out of a flying transport and calmly convince the villain to kill himself by putting on the ring. And Ardyn, of course, because Ardyn.

Favorite Astral/Divine Being: Ramuh is the only one who actually shows up and he is my bro and I love him.

Favorite Character Overall: Ardyn. He’s a fantastic character both on the surface and deeper, and I look forward to him following Noct through crossover games in the future.

Favorite Weapon: The throwing star Royal Arms, I think? Whichever the one is that has crazy fast combos and kills you very quickly because you’re having too much fun to watch your HP. Bonus points to Prompto’s bazooka because I whooped with joy whenever I used one.

Favorite Location: Galdin Quay. I love the view of Angelgard and the fishing and I’m even a little fond of Fucking Dino.

Favorite Quest/Questline/Hunt: Saving the baby black chocobo just LOOK AT IT

Favorite Boss: Ardyn, because it’s so low-key compared to the usual FF final boss. Because it’s one-on-one, it’s the end for both of them, and Ardyn just finally, finally wants to rest.

Favorite Monster/Monster Family/etc: Chickatrices are so round and they will joyously bounce on you and I want twenty

Favorite Song: Episode Gladio’s theme song. Nier is one of my absolute favorite games, and Keiichi Okabe’s music is a big part of it. The theme song is so epic!

Favorite Boss Theme: Cheating a bit, but Ardyn’s theme song is so good. It evolves so well from “jaunty asshole theme” to “shoving you in the crystal for ten years while I murder the world also I’m a king bye”. Also what a fantastic Battle on the Big Bridge remix.

Favorite Non-Episode DLC/Update/Event: Chocobo-Moogle Festival, of course. There is a quest to scoop up baby chocobos and you never technically have to return them so now they live in the Regalia and romp over Prompto’s lap and Iggy has to be careful not to step on them and Gladio sneaks them Cup Noodles. Also Noct getting to enjoy himself and smile and hang with his little buddy is heartbreaking ;~; ;v;

Favorite Episode DLC: As fantastic as Episode Ignis is, Episode Gladiolus has a special place in my heart. I already loved the original, goofy, dimension-hopping Gilgamesh, but this very different version is fascinating. I adore the storyline of him and Cor, how Cor hates the nickname that came through his failure, and how you find out that Gilgamesh still thinks so highly of him because the kid managed to cut off his arm, how is that a failure? And they come to an understanding without actually meeting again. I do wish Gladio got more focus in his own DLC, but I very much appreciate the shirtless outfit and getting to just uproot fucking columns from the ground.

Other Favorites of Note: I have never been so much of a multishipper as I have been in this fandom. While Ardynoct and Corgamesh are my favorites, I just want to see everyone in love with everyone else. All combinations of the Chocobros are great, and throw in Luna and Cor and Ardyn and everyone and I just love how much variety comes out of this fandom. Plus I’m actually writing because of this fandom--I wrote my first full-length story outside of an exchange in almost a decade* because of this fandom, and it’s an amazing feeling. I LOVE YOU GUYS

* edit: well over a decade, I forgot that one was an exchange fic too lol

Also the baby chocobos are the cutest in the entire series which is saying something

Tagging: Everyone who wants to do this!

#ffxv favorites meme #ffxv #/#//#///#final fantasy #memes

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asidian · 6 years

Note

M, P, Q, S!

M: Got any premises on the back burner that you’d care to share?

Oh, man. I don’t want to promise too much, because one is unfinished and one isn’t even started.

But first up: a Promnis fic set in Insomnia, in which Iggy is his usual, considerate, taking-care-of-his-friends self, Prompto is SUPER effusively grateful because he’s not used to anyone spending the time or attention on him, and Ignis in turn is helplessly charmed because he’s not used to his efforts being appreciated.

And second: a fake relationship fic, but instead of a romantic relationship, a fake friend relationship between smol!Noct and smol!Prompto.

P: Are you what George R. R. Martin would call an “architect” or a “gardener”? (How much do you plan in advance, versus letting the story unfold as you go?)

I am bad at planning fics. I jot down the bare bones of what I need to make the plot go in an outline. The outlines are hilariously bad.

This was my outline for the part in The Way They Were during which Prompto goes to fight the zuu and get a royal arm. You will notice that half of it never actually happened in the fic.

Promptoand Noct plan.

Promptogoes to take a royal arm and hide it.

Promptogoes alone and stashes it someplace they’ve been. The mines?

Reunited.

“Where’veyou been?”

“"Idunno, I thought we were taking turns, disappearing mysteriously. Ignis, you’reup next.”

…I am the actual worst. orz

Q&S:

I ended up answering these as part of another ask. :)

#ffxv #meme

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robininthelabyrinth · 6 years

Text

FFXV: Eschaton - 2/4

Fic: Eschaton (ao3 link) - chapter 2/4

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Pairing: None (gen)

Summary: Sure, it’s the end of the world, but that just means someone’s got to fix it.

And then the world found its somebodies.

(aka, with Noctis gone into the Crystal and no one sure when he’ll be back, Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto end up saving the world one piece at a time)

——————————————————————————————

SIX MONTHS

Prompto insisted on seeing the devastation for himself, instead of staying where it was safe like certain other people thought he should. Certain other people who seem to sometimes forget that Prompto is a Six-accursed hero-of-the-nation level fighter that even Cor the Immortal once said "did well".

He won the argument, of course, and he felt good about that, right up until he was standing in the center of what used to be Galdin Quay.

After that, he didn't feel good about much.

The Quay is – it's all but gone.

Oh, there aren't daemons roaming the streets anymore – they were largely cleared out before Prompto got the idea in his head that he needed to look around – but the damage they wrought is still there.

Buildings broken into like shells cracked open for the juicy meat inside. Whole structures demolished. Claw marks – daemon and human both – on the bloodied walls, visible only in the large spotlights set up to illuminate the town (mostly for Prompto’s benefit, he suspects). The waters filled with the broken carcasses of boats. Skittering creatures hiding in alleyways. Bodies in the streets...

"Don’t we have a detail clearing the bodies?" Prompto asks.

"Yes, General," one of Prompto's assistants says. She's an MT, though she's one of the few which took advantage of Cindy's workshop in Hammerhead to customize her metallic face-mask a little. Her shortened designation – Prompto insisted on them – is T4, though recently Gladio's "this is what a name is" educational programs seem to be having an impact, because she's started slurring the syllables the way humans generally do, ending up with the name "Tifor".

It's a pretty name, feminine and almost delicate sounding, which is a bit funny when applied to a six-foot-something axewoman.

She is totally a bodyguard as well as an assistant.

Eufiv – U5, the original negotiator they worked with, who mostly stays back in Lestallum HQ or Hammerhead with several other commander units to assist Ignis with coordinating with the MT armies – calls her and her colleague, Jiten (formerly G10, a sniper unit), Prompto's aides-de-camp, which is apparently what you call secretary-slash-bodyguards for generals.

Because Prompto's a general now.

Sometimes, his mind still gibbers helplessly about that. (A general! With aides-de-camp! Prompto! What is wrong with the world?! Other than the usual whole daemon-infested Long Night end-of-the-world stuff, anyway). He totally freaked out at first, when the job he accepted – a job that originally sounded like being a messenger between Ignis at Lestallum and Eufiv with the MTs, passing along orders, just like he did for Hammerhead – turned out to be a lot less 'messenger' and a lot more...army.

A lot more 'General of the MT Army', because the MTs desperately wanted a general to give them orders. Which they mostly wanted because all the independent thinking had been crushed out of most of them ages ago.

And the General they picked, the first major collective decision they made – picking a General they thought would actually care about them – was Prompto.

Cor and Gladio and Ignis all explained at length why it would be both psychologically and politically damaging if Prompto refused the post, which Prompto got, but Six damn it all, Prompto is not exactly General material.

He’s barely even accepted that he was Lucis material.

This is definitely not anywhere he saw his life going, let's put it that way.

Honestly, Prompto never really gave much thought about what he was going to do 'when he grew up', so to speak. He'd worked his ass off to join the Crownsguard, but that'd been inspired by his desire to protect Noct (and look at the awful job of it you did of it, too, some part of his mind whispers, but he quashes that thought ruthlessly because there’s time for despair and there’s time to be a general, and right now he has to be a general) rather than an actual desire to spend his life mindlessly patrolling in an endless circuit around the Citadel.

Compared to being a General, a mindless, endless circuit around the Citadel sounds positively delightful.

It's not that he minds the power involved – being able to do things like point at a dead body and say "we should bury them" and have it get done – but rather...

"It's in my paperwork pile, isn't it," Prompto says, not really asking a question.

"Yes, General," Jiten says. "The squad designated for body collection has photographed and buried – or burned, if they were infected by Starscourge – a large number of bodies so far, but they are running out of room in the area designated 'Graveyard'. They’ve requisitioned additional space, but they’re running up against the restriction you imposed of not letting the Graveyard get too close to where we’re housing the refugees, so they’re waiting for you to give an order."

Given that Prompto gave them two entire fields to use to bury people in, that's minorly horrifying. Maybe not surprising, but horrifying.

"Great," Prompto says. "Logistics. My favorite. I love it so much, I may die if I ever see another piece of paper about logistics ever again." After a second, he adds, "Sarcasm."

He's started sometimes adding an automatic clarification at the end of his sentences. His aides-de-camp are pretty prone to misinterpreting him and getting fussy if he doesn't.

Of course, that's because they're MTs, and therefore sometimes have difficulties with the nuance of human emotion.

"I can set up a digital projector if it makes you feel better," Tifor says. "Sarcasm. We don't have one."

Sometimes. Tifor's definitely picking it up.

All the more impressive, actually, since she's still using a radio to communicate. It turns out most of the MTs have vocal cords, they're just atrophied from lack of use over the years – though some of the units had apparently had them surgically removed entirely, which, uh, gross – and they don’t know how to use them. Instead, they’ve built radios out of spare MT parts, which luckily they have lots of, and started wearing them around their necks as chokers, letting the sound come from there.

Yes, they still have their helmet-based (brain-device-based?) methods of communication, but Prompto just isn't willing to wear the helmet like Gladio does, sometimes; he's tried it, but it was too confusing and claustrophobic for him.

Too many bad memories involved.

Father-son reunion, his ass. Prompto’s Lucian, not Niflheim, and he’s not an MT.

He’s just, you know, their general.

At any rate, he avoided the issue for a few days, then pushed it off entirely by ordering Eufiv to work with Cindy come up with a better solution, which Eufiv is working on. Eufiv might not be the most creative person, but he's really good at getting MTs to think of stuff, and Cindy is, of course, a genius with a wrench.

Besides, Eufiv – most eloquent of the MT commander units, which is why he’d been assigned the all-important duty of negotiating with Lestallum – actually stumbles and stutters every time he has to deal with Cindy.

No one knows how to deal with Cindy; that’s just a fact of life.

Prompto both sympathizes and thinks it's hilarious, so he assigns Eufiv jobs that involve Hammerhead as often as possible.

In fairness, Prompto’s pretty sure Eufiv assigned Prompto aides-de-camp in secret retribution.

Prompto only gave in because Eufiv was so stubborn about it, but he's secretly grateful. If he had to do all of the paperwork himself, he really would die.

“No, no, I’ll get to it,” Prompto says, but he can’t help but look around some more. His memory isn’t photographic – that’s why he has a camera – but he can’t help but compare places he took pictures of (pictures with Noct, who’s gone now) with the current devastation.

It was been different, then. Galdin Quay wasn’t a total mess, for one thing; there weren’t bodies in the streets and dirt in the air, but that isn’t really what Prompto is thinking of.

He's thinking of memories.

Gladio trying the super spicy stew and turning bright red while insisting that he was ‘fine’.

Ignis declaring that he was going to learn to cook with Galdian flavors.

Noct –

Noct liked this place. They came back here a few times, during their travels. He liked fishing in the calm blue of the bay, sometimes for hours. He even joined Prompto in nagging Ignis to let them stay at the fancy hotel.

The bay isn’t blue anymore. There aren’t that many colors in the dark.

It’s just black.

“Is there a difficulty, General?” Tifor asks. She’s more talkative – relatively speaking – than Jiten, and also better at logistics and mathematical calculations. She was an axewoman unit, officially, tall and built like a truck, but she'd been assigned to an artillery squad, which meant that she had needed to know how to operate (and calculate) trajectories. She’s Prompto’s go-to person for logistical questions, like “where to put people” and “how to get the army from point A to point B”, which means that Jiten mostly gets left with all of what Ignis euphemistically calls "resource management" - which Prompto has discovered is a fancy word for "reads all the mail and decides what Prompto needs to care about".

Technically, both aides-de-camp do that, but since Prompto is mostly dealing with logistical questions nowadays, Jiten gets stuck with the bulk of the paperwork. He doesn't complain, but Prompto feels bad anyway.

Ignis swears that in the long run, filling out these forms will be for everyone's benefit. Prompto already discovered the use of it three days ago, when Jiten managed to produce a file dealing with a certain daemon's strengths and weaknesses that someone in the East Wing had filed last week, and which the West Wing was able to take full advantage of.

Some daemons attack other daemons for fun, who knew?

Certainly not Prompto.

Prompto sighs. “No, no difficulty,” he says. “Just, you know. We came here a bunch of times and it, uh, was – it didn’t look like this.”

“Would the General like to engage in reconstructive activities immediately?” Jiten asks, his quiet voice neutral. He wouldn’t argue against the stupidity of the idea until Prompto actually accepted the stupid suggestion.

“No, we don’t have time,” Prompto says. “How many refugees do we have?”

Jiten gives him the numbers. They’ve set up some of the Empire’s old portable fortresses – fairly flimsy defense-wise, but that doesn’t matter when it's surrounded by regular MT patrols – outside of town and they're taking anyone they discover hiding in their houses or, in one particularly interesting twist, in the sewers, there to recover.

The Graveyard is supposed to be some distance away, but apparently is starting to get close. Prompto set up priorities: first refugee rescue, then supply rescue, then daemon elimination (as necessary), and only then could they engage in body clean-up.

They’ve already sent several shipments of non-perishable goods from the warehouses back to Lestallum. Ignis pressed into Prompto’s head the importance of using up anything with an expiration date first and only then shifting over to the stuff that would last.

Prompto doesn’t like that line of thought. That line of thought assumes the Long Night will go on for a long time – past the quickly approaching winter – and that in turn means that Ignis doesn’t expect to see Noctis back in two weeks, when the six month period hits, but, well, just because Prompto doesn’t like it doesn’t mean he can’t see the value in thinking that way.

“We have enough food for them, right? And medicines?”

“The warehouses are still only half-empty,” Tifor assures him. “Squad 13 discovered an almost wholly intact storage unit filled with elixirs yesterday.”

“Really? Cool. Give that squad a commendation or something.”

His aides nod.

“Okay, so other than the Graveyard thing, is there anything we need to think about?”

Prompto’s being flippant. There’s always something to think about.

Like what they’re going to do with their refugees, for instance. There’s no light here but what the few generators Ignis was able to spare them can manage, so the refugee holding point is only defended by a constantly rotating set of MT guards rather than by light. Lestallum has light, but Lestallum’s already full to bursting, so they can’t send the refugees there.

Hammerhead’s not much better.

Ignis has floated (yes, he made that pun) some ideas about setting up a permanent base in Galdin Quay in order to get access to regular seafood – that’s one of the reasons it's a priority to salvage – but Prompto’s not sure that’s possible. The refugees are still people. They still need light.

He vaguely recalls someone mentioning something about a vitamin that your body only produces when there’s light. Vitamin D, for daylight? He doesn’t remember.

Ignis said something about fish containing the relevant necessary vitamin. Thus the urgency of securing the Quay.

Maybe Ignis could be prevailed upon to give up some more of the precious generators…

“We’ve only uncovered approximately 38% of the Quay,” Tifor says. “Progress has been slower than expected, given the larger than expected number of refugees.”

“Galdian tenacity at its finest,” Prompto agrees. Sure, there was less than a 60% survival rate, but it was still larger than expected. “Suggestions?”

“We should bring East Wing here,” Tifor says promptly, meaning that she’s been thinking about it for a while. “They’re the closest wing. They’ve finished canvassing the area around Hammerhead –”

Okay, so maybe Prompto was a bit biased with where he initially set out assignments.

A bit.

Maybe.

Nah.

Hey, Hammerhead is certified daemon free right now!

Sure, neither Callanegh Steps nor Snulhend Pass are, but whatever; it's the road between Lestallum and Hammerhead that's important, and they’ve set up checkpoints practically every two miles on that. That means there can be more regular communication and shipments between Hammerhead and Lestallum, and that, in turn, means there's a place for Ignis to ship the more adventurous refugees to help deal with his overcrowding problem.

“ – and East Wing’s presence here would accelerate the clearing of the Quay considerably.”

“I can see that,” Prompto concedes, and at any rate Hammerhead has enough hunters to protect itself right now. “But doesn’t that involve marching them all here?”

“There is no valid alternative,” Tifor says confidently. “North Wing is finally starting to make a dent in the harvest in the mountainside by Lestallum, and South Wing is either guarding the Lestallum-Hammerhead Highway or mining the Disc for additional medical supplies. Any deviation from those forces would involve retraining. Moreover, additional city canvassing experience would be beneficial to East Wing, which has been primarily focused on daemon-slaying for now. Moreover, a faster conclusion to the survey of the Quay will permit additional rotations back to Lestallum for off-duty time.”

Tifor still sounds a bit dubious about the whole notion of going off-duty, the way most MTs are, but the MTs who are based around Lestallum regularly send back glowing reviews on the subject, so the MTs directly under Prompto are - to put it nicely - interested in trying it out. Prompto wouldn't mind some off-duty time himself, actually.

“Agreed,” Prompto says, conceding to Tifor's logic - as excellent and implacable as ever. “So that means we have either to use up power for a drop ship to get them here, or we need to feed them as they march.”

“Correct.”

“Ignis isn’t going to be happy about losing more of his generators for the drop ship, but he’s also not going to be happy about losing food for the march. And no one suggest that they just go without food, okay? That's not going to happen.” MTs are way too eager to suggest hurting themselves to try to make things more efficient. They need less food than non-MTs, but they also need daemon blood to preserve their MT-ness – luckily, daemons are the one thing the world is not in any short supply of. And daemon blood couldn't replace food entirely, anyway. “What are you thinking?”

“We propose a trade,” Tifor says. “Commander Ignis provides us with additional generators for the drop ship to bring East Wing here, which will require several round trips, and on each journey back, the return journey will be filled with another shipment.”

“What, refugees? Ignis doesn’t want more of those; he’s got all the ones he can handle.”

“I was thinking fish.”

The thought of fish brings thoughts of Noct, standing peacefully on the edge of a quay that no longer exists, fishing pole in hand.

The thought hurts, as it always does.

Noct needs to come back soon, or else –

Actually, Prompto’s usual way of finishing that thought is to think that he doesn’t know what he’ll do if Noct doesn’t come back soon. But he guesses that’s not true anymore, is it? He’s got an army to look after.

An army of MTs who look to him to lead them, and probably would even after Noct came back. After all, Noct is just a king; they never swore any oaths to him. They swore one to Prompto.

Ugh, all the responsibility is going to crush him.

But in the meantime: fish.

"Fish might do it," Prompto says, gnawing at his lower lip thoughtfully. They'll need to find a way to get the fish to survive the trip to Hammerhead, and from Hammerhead to Lestallum, but Ignis will be delighted to give the people of Lestallum a treat while also preserving their supply of canned goods a little longer. "Maybe shrimp."

"One of the refugees suggested scallops," Jiten says. “While they may not contain the necessary vitamins in as large amounts, there is still some benefit. As they are still in their shells, they could be shipped fresh and preserved during the journey.”

“Good idea,” Prompto says, turning the idea over in his mind. “We will need figure out what we’re doing with the refugees eventually, though – send a message to Ignis to ask about how construction is going in Lestallum. Or Hammerhead. We can’t just keep them in camps here; we either have to commit to rebuilding the Quay or bring them back with us."

Now that’s something he’s not looking forward to. The clearing of the road between Lestallum and Hammerhead was bad enough – marching and marching and more marching, and it didn’t matter that he was riding in a car himself, Prompto still felt bad about all those poor legs, and he figures he’ll feel even worse if it’s refugees doing the marching instead of trained soldiers.

"If he wants to commit to rebuilding," Prompto adds, "we're definitely going to need the extra bodies, possibly even starting to integrate regular soldiers into the army sooner than expected.”

That's not a particularly cheerful alternative either. Prompto very distinctly remembers how kindly people took to non-Insomnia citizens joining the armed forces; he doesn't think people will be all that pleased with the notion of being the newbies in a fully MT army.

“I will compose a message for your approval,” Jiten says.

“Great,” Prompto says, already reviewing his to-do list for the rest of the day. It’s extensive, and there’s several lists beyond that that he needs to worry about. Who knew Generals did so much work? But before he forgets – “Who’s the refugee who suggested scallops? I want to thank him.”

“He’s in the main facility,” Tifor says. “His designation is ‘Dino’, sub-designation ‘Ghiranze’.”

“Wait,” Prompto says. “Dino’s still around?”

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

Gladio doesn't know how it happened.

Really.

It's not like the MT kids were his responsibility or anything, even though he did feel a bit bad when he dropped the kids off back at Lestallum.

So, when he came back from an oddly unsatisfying hunt – it all felt like pointless grinding nowadays, given that there were always more daemons – he figured there was no harm in checking in on how they were doing.

Little did he know.

Really, it's after that point that things started getting hazy.

One minute he's come back from a hunt and swinging by the MTs to see how they're adapting (answer: they weren't, at all, it was horrifying – they didn't even understand the concept of beds), the next minute he's up in someone's face yelling about how the MTs need to be taught the basics of humanity because they can't just neglect them the way Niflheim always had, the minute after that the fateful words "well if no one else is available, I'll do it" are coming out of his mouth...

Well, long story short, Gladio's now in charge of a school.

Not just an MTs school, either. He meant for it to be for MTs, who desperately needed lessons in things like "eating" and "sleeping" and "fun", but the second someone – Gladio doesn't know who, but he's going to find them and hurt them – mentioned the word 'school', a few dozen men and women showed up with their kids and determined expressions.

Gladio's protestations that he wasn't teaching anything appropriately scholastic were met with implacable statements of "don't care as long as they're kept busy a few hours during the day, now take them".

Which – well.

What was he supposed to with that?

He's a Shield. His job is supposed to be to protect people, in the end, and besides, tired, overstressed refugee mothers determined to drop their kids off at school are a lot scarier than daemons anyway.

That left him with a bunch of off-duty MTs (they didn't really understand the concept of being off-duty, but Ignis, via Prompto, had imposed requirements that all squads take some staggered time off anyway), unfinished MTs, and a bunch of regular kids.

Gladio panicked.

Luckily for him, it turned out the regular kids, mostly elementary or kindergarten age, had already been to school and had very firm ideas of what it consisted of.

This apparently involved things like "building with blocks", "finger painting" and "nap time". Some of the older kids even got really into explaining basic concepts (mostly incorrectly, but whatever) and enforcing order because they decided that they were self-dubbed 'teacher's assistants'.

The MTs were instantly entranced.

Gladio breathed a sigh of relief.

A sigh of relief that came much too soon, because apparently once word got around that Gladio was running a school that kept kids busy during the day, there was a massive influx of sign ups.

So many kids.

Gladio went to beg Ignis for help.

Ignis – after laughing himself sick for something like ten minutes straight – authorized him to hire additional teachers. Gladio was apparently paying them in nicer quarters for their families, since gil weren't really useful anymore.

Some of them had actual teaching experience, thank the Six.

Gladio somehow thought that'd be the end of it, the teachers would take over and he could go back to hunting.

But no.

In the first week or so, Gladio had – in sheer desperation and lack of experience – decided that instead of actual classes, he'd just gather everyone together and just ramble on about something. It'd worked out pretty well – it didn't matter if he was talking about the importance of regular sleep cycles or trying to explain the concept of personal agency, or explaining the concepts of "names" as opposed to "designations", everyone was really into it. Kids, MTs, everyone. The kids liked to volunteer suggestions, and the MTs – speaking through their helmets – were slowly getting used to the idea of asking stupid questions.

Technically, the classes were meant as rehabilitation for the adult MTs. Practically, everyone attended, and he does mean everyone. Even bored adults sometimes showed up.

Gladio's still suspicious that at some point they were going to start heckling, but no, the Gladio Talks About Something show was everyone's favorite show in town, apparently.

And when he hired the teachers to, you know, actually put all the kids into groups and teach them real things, there was a near riot at the suggestion that the show was going to stop.

Gladio's more popular than chocobo plushes.

He didn't even know that was possible.

Gladio started to run out of subjects to talk about. And then, in a fit of desperation, he'd lasso'd Cor into giving a talk about "why not to fight everything you see, up to and including minor deities".

Cor had given him a Look when he’d announced the subject.

Gladio has to deal with kids now. Cor's Looks are nothing.

Cor's talk turned out to be insanely popular. Not so much a surprise – half the camp wanted to hear the Immortal talk, especially with Gladio there to act as a minor buffer between him and the kids – they kept suggesting things for him to say to Cor, mostly via notes, presumably because they were too shy to ask any questions of Cor directly. Cor mostly glared at the audience and escaped the second he thought he could.

Gladio thought it was a success.

Sure, Cor nearly killed Gladio when it was all over, but the respite was worth it.

In fact, it gave Gladio an idea.

He posted a list asking for suggested topics and speakers to talk about them, figuring that as long as he was there, it still counted as a Gladio talk for the kids. He expected to have to burn favors to get a hunter or two to talk, but in fact the list filled up remarkably quickly.

Lots of people had stuff they wanted to talk about. Who knew?

Yesterday's talk was about the life cycle of frogs.

Normally, Gladio’s pretty sure that Sania wouldn't have gotten such an enthusiastic reception for a talk about frogs, but it turns out that no one ever explained to MTs that regular people get born, not made in tubes, and so the whole thing turned into the world's most embarrassing multi-person birds and the bees talk ever.

Gladio's too busy thanking the Six that he wasn't the one giving it.

He wonders, idly, if he can get Prompto to give them all a lecture on photography. The kids would love that.

And if it’s Prompto, the MTs would love it too.

He winces when he gets a mental image of Prompto lecturing his gigantic armies.

Well, that would probably be funny, but that would almost certainly start a mania for photography that they couldn’t handle, if only because they'd never find enough cameras. The MTs idolize Prompto to a probably unhealthy degree.

Might incentivize them to find more cameras, though...

Gladio will have to double check with Ignis. Apparently, after the whole sex talk thing, he's supposed to run his ideas by the camp's Supreme Commander.

A Supreme Commander who can't keep a straight face for more than five seconds when the subject is discussed. Gladio's counted.

Honestly, Gladio doesn't mind. It's good to see Ignis laughing again.

Prompto, too; he's looking better than he was before. His eyes are sharp again, his smiles have come back – mostly when he's relaying the more bizarre antics of his newfound army -- and responsibility suits him better than anyone might have thought.

If anything, Prompto thrives under the weight of generalship. For all his childhood shyness, he's always liked people, liked being around people who liked him, and now the number of people he called his own numbers in the thousands.

Cindy, on one of her visits to Lestallum for an exchange of supplies, looked both fond and slightly relieved.

Huh. That's definitely someone he should get to give a talk. Car repair, maybe?

Besides, with the advent of the portable fortresses and the start of actual construction, he has a place to put his 'school', a bunch of teachers to teach classes before each afternoon's Gladio Talk (he'd punch whoever named it that, but he has the sinking suspicion it was him), a schedule in place for the next two weeks of speakers, and, well, he's starting to feel like he's getting the hang of this whole thing.

It's working.

"Hey, Gladio," a familiar voice says from behind him.

Gladio turns with a grin. He can always finish his morning workout later. "Hey, Iris," he says. "Or should it be Iris the Daemon Slayer?"

Iris blushes. "Oh, shut up. It's not like that."

"It's totally like that," Gladio says gleefully. "You took out a whole nest by yourself. Not too shabby."

He yelled at her for being stupid at the time, but since she was fine, he's let it turn into glowing pride.

She rolls her eyes. "It was a small nest, and I had backup," she says dismissively, but Gladio can see the flush of pleasure on her face. She likes her new nickname.

As long as it doesn't encourage her to do more stupid stuff, he likes it too.

It's a big brother's duty to tease, after all.

"So, Great Daemon Slayer, what have I done to earn the honor of your presence?"

"Shut up!"

"First you come interrupt my workout, then you tell me to shut up," Gladio says mournfully, shaking his head. "I guess that's what they mean about women being changeable..."

Iris shoves him. He shoves back.

They're wrestling on the ground a minute later, both laughing their heads off. It's not even proper sparring, just the old fashioned wrassling they used to do when they were small. The only thing missing are some pillows to smack each other with.

Iris fights dirty, but Gladio's her big brother. Pinning her and sitting on her until she cries mercy is a matter of honor.

"Fine! Fine! You win! Get off of me, you big lunk! You're crushing me!"

"I don't know –" he says, pretending to have to think about it. "You haven't said please –"

"Gladio!"

Laughing, Gladio rolls off of Iris and offers her a hand up. She takes it and sticks her tongue out at him.

"Very mature," he tells her, grinning. He wonders if he can invite her to recreate it at one of his talks – the MTs need a proper introduction to the concept of 'siblings' that's a little less rosy tinted than in, say, books...

"You're one to talk," she sniffs. "Besides, if it'd been swords, I would've won."

"In your dreams," Gladio laughs, grabbing a towel and slinging it over his shoulders.

"No, really," Iris persists, following behind him. "How long has it been since you've been on a hunt?"

Gladio shrugs. He's not actually sure. Since before he started the school, that's for sure.

"Doesn't matter," he says. "I can still beat you with one hand tied behind my back."

"Maybe you should try," Iris says.

Gladio frowns at her. "Why're you being so persistent about this?" he asks. "You trying to hurt my feelings or something?"

They aren't hurt, for the record. He brought down a behemoth and a bandersnatch and a whatever Ignis had named that thing in the swamp. He's fought Astals and MTs and Ardyn fucking Izunia. He passed Gilgamesh's trial. It'd take a lot more than a several month break (has it really been that long?) to make him doubt himself.

What he does wonder about is why Iris is so fixated on it.

"No, nothing like that," Iris says quickly.

"Then what's up?"

"It's just – I just – you're a Shield!" she finally bursts out. "You're a warrior! You're more than just some – some – some schoolteacher!"

Gladio's eyebrows go up. This is more serious than he realized.

He catches Iris by the shoulder and hustles her over to the side of the gym, where they can at least pretend to have some privacy.

"Iris," he says, but he's lost the momentum of the conversation; Iris' face is flushed red and she's on a tear

"I don't know why Ignis assigned this to you, but it's wrong! You're the bravest, strongest guy I know, the best warrior we have left – yes, I’m including Cor – but instead of going out and fighting, you haven't left Lestallum in weeks; you've just been trapped in here, doing paperwork and taking care of kids and I just don't want you to be unhappy, Gladio!"

"I'm not," Gladio says, and is so stupefied by his own statement that he loses the next few minutes of Iris' ranting.

He's not unhappy. He's not happy, the way he used to define happiness – the open, gaping wound that is Noct's disappearance still lingers, unable to be closed by the final knowledge that he's gone for good or back for good, and of course it's probably a bit crass to be happy, really happy, during the Long Night.

Six, as long as there are no operative Cup Noodles factories and they're on strict rations, he can't imagine being happy.

But –

He isn't unhappy, either. Not the desperate, sticking, painful sort of unhappiness, lingering and bleak, like trudging through an endless, pointless marsh with nothing but his failure (what use is a Shield who's lost his King?) to keep him company. Not like the way it used to be, when he buried himself in the endless repetition of daemon hunt after daemon hunt.

He likes hunting, it's not that he doesn't. He fully expects to give a talk to his school at some point about it – how to track, and how to fight, and how to ambush; how to carve meat off a carcass and pick wild vegetables, assuming any remain. Maybe do some sort of field trip, if that were manageable. If they only had more food, he'd like to bring Ignis in to give cooking demos, see if any of the kids like that. Maybe bake cookies or something. He bets none of the MTs have ever had sugar.

And it's not like daemon-hunting isn't fulfilling in its own way, either; he likes the knowledge that he's helping people, protecting them, destroying evil one daemon at a time. That's what it felt like, when he was with Noctis.

What it was like before.

But there's always more daemons, now, during the Long Night. They're never going to run out of them. And somewhere along the way, daemon hunts started feeling like nothing more than endless grinding.

More and more destruction, because that's all a failure like him could do.

Somewhere along the line, Gladio forgot why he hunts. It isn't to get stronger, or to mark down a list of accomplishments; it's to protect people. It's to make their lives better.

Better, like the way his school's made things better.

He's seen the change in Lestallum ever since the school opened – not consciously, not really, but it's there. People aren't just sitting in their tents with nothing to do, caring for kids that have no future. The're talking, for the first time since the Long Night covered Eos, about the future.

Sure, it's little things they're looking forward to, inconsequential things – next week's ‘Talk By Cor The Immortal Part II, This Time With Questions’, for instance, that's a big one. People are already planning to show up early to reserve seats.

Not all of it's the school, Gladio's the first to admit that. Ignis has been working miracles – the Empire's old portable fortresses set up in ever-increasing concentric rings, designed both for defense and easy navigation, transformed into places for people to live that isn't a tent or the ground or a single room apartment with no space. Sure, the process of setting up each fortress takes time, but no one's upset at having to wait, now that they have hope – Ignis' waiting list for rooming arrangements is a mile long, and the list of volunteer floor supervisors nearly as long.

The MT armies, too, they've helped – sure, people were scared at first, all of those metal figures marching in formation, but it's hard to be scared after you've seen them all asking very serious questions about how you differentiate red and blue, and who came up with these silly color names anyway.

Man, the MTs are going to flip when Gladio introduces them to chocobos, assuming he can find some. No one's going to be scared of an MT after that.

Sure, there are food shortages, and they're going to have to worry about medicines, but – there's light, and there's safety, and there's something to look forward to every day.

Hope.

They have hope.

And he's part of it, part of building that hope, in a way he never imagined he could be.

He can help build Noct's kingdom into something he can be proud to come back to, and not just by killing things.

"Iris," Gladio interrupts her.

Iris takes a deep breath and looks at him.

"Ignis didn't assign this to me," he tells her. "I volunteered."

"But why?"

Gladio's not sure he can explain it to her, his heart too full with revelation. This is for him, he knows, not for her; she would hate it in a way he definitely doesn't. He's not sure how to tell her that he sees her face in every kid's, feels that same twinge in his chest that he'd first felt when his dad had told him that he was a big brother now. He's not sure it'll convey properly.

"Dunno," he finally says. "Guess I just enjoy suffering?"

She smacks his arm.

"Seriously, Iris," Gladio says, catching her hand and pulling her into a hug. "Don't worry about me, okay? Maybe what I'm doing would be boring to you, but it's good for me right now."

"You're sure?" she asks, laying her head on his shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm sure," he says. Then he grins. "But I'm glad to know that you'll take over for me in case I really need a break."

"Wait, what?! I didn't agree to anything like that!"

"It was implied!"

"It was not!"

Someone ends up calling Ignis on the two maniacs chasing each other while waving swords about the length of their bodies around in the air like sticks, but it's totally worth every minute of Ignis' surprisingly effective "I'm disappointed in you for your juvenile behavior in the middle of my city" look and accompanying speech.

(The only thing that would make it more effective is if he stopped looking like he's about to laugh the whole time. Luckily only someone who knows him as well as Gladio does can tell.)

No, Gladio reflects, things are going pretty damn well.

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

Things are going terribly.

Ignis knew, didn't he, that accepting all the refugees would be a problem. More people, more problems – compounded old problems, new problems, problems he hadn’t even conceived of yet.

But he couldn’t turn them away.

It wasn’t what Noct would have done.

However diminished, this is still the kingdom of Lucis. Noctis’ kingdom, and it's Ignis’ duty to carry that forward in both rule and spirit, as long as possible.

The day will come, he knows with grim certainty, when he will be forced to choose between the people of the kingdom and its soul, but every day he can forestall that fate, he will.

Forestalling every problem, expected or unexpected, that he can along the way.

He’s been doing that since the beginning.

Ignis remembers the first days, when they lugged the Crystal back from Niflheim, that horribly long journey by thankfully still working train. He remembers how they hoped, how they were disappointed, how they wept, how they spoke in low, despairing voices.

He remembers Prompto all but tearing out his hair when the sun didn’t rise – “Is the sun actually gone? Are we all going to freeze?” he shrieked. “Are we going to spin off into space?”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Water will freeze! Animals and plants will die! The weather – Six, Ignis, what’s going to happen to the weather –”

“If the sun was fully gone, we’d be dead within about seven minutes,” Ignis said calmly. “It’s been several days. The sun is not gone.”

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but the sun is definitely not rising.”

“Maybe it’s covered up?” Gladio suggested.

“Drastic cool down!” Prompto shouted. “Followed, very shortly, by a horrific increase in the greenhouse gas effect, resulting in us all boiling! Before we freeze! What’s left of us!”

“There’s no particulate matter in the air,” Ignis said in his best reasonable tone. “Clearly that has also not occurred.”

“Maybe we’re stuck on the dark side of the Earth!” Prompto exclaimed.

“I feel like we’d notice if the Earth’s rotation had stopped…” Ignis started.

“Has anybody got a compass?” Gladio asked morbidly.

“You’re not helping, Gladio,” Ignis said.

“Prompto, if we were stuck on the dark side of the Earth, we would have all the same problems that we’ve already discussed,” Gladio said. “It’s clearly a magic curse blocking us from receiving sunlight, but since it hasn’t gotten noticeably colder –”

“It’s freezing!”

“We’re in Niflheim!” Ignis exclaimed. “In the last part of winter! The Glacian’s body is less than three miles away! It’s always freezing here!”

Prompto and Gladio, entirely unaccustomed to Ignis shouting, turned to him, probably, if he had to guess, with wide eyes. He can hear their bootheels scraping the floor as they make the turn.

Ignis cleared his throat, somewhat embarrassed. “As I was saying,” he said sternly. “Gladio is undoubtedly correct – this is a work of magic, and therefore it is by its very nature artificial. The sun is still there, we simply cannot see it. As we leave Niflheim, the weather will likely maintain its regular patterns, including the next winter, which we must prepare for. The crops will die without access to the sun, but we will not be freezing or boiling or – any of it. We must focus on surviving – and ensuring the survival of the kingdom – until Noctis’ return.”

“Uh, yeah,” Prompto mutters.

“Right,” Gladio agrees.

They both sound vaguely overwhelmed.

“And besides,” Ignis continued, “if we die, it’ll be in a few months when our bodies run out of Vitamin D. We will develop rickets, followed, eventually, by death. You can worry about that instead.”

“Ignis!”

They had not, in fact, developed rickets.

Mostly due to the large supply of Vitamin D enriched milk concentrate they apparently have because someone decided to lay in a large warehouse of stock pre-Night, Ignis suspects. Ignis has no idea why someone decided to stock up on that, but honestly he doesn’t care what the reason is. The milk will last them until Galdin Quay can be fully secured, especially if their diets are supplemented with fish and an endless supply of night-thriving mushrooms, which also provides the Vitamin D they are all sorely lacking.

Instead, of course, they developed a brand new set of problems.

Item 1: Food.

As the farmers suspected and Ignis grimly agreed, vegetable life was largely beginning to rot on the vine.

The recent infusion of the MT soldiers was both good and bad in this respect: good, because they were able to effectively scout the cities for more nonperishable foods and their extra hands to work the fields were invaluable, especially when guided by experienced farmers or non-experienced but imaginative volunteers, and when the non-MTs were working the fields the MTs patrolled as guards.

Bad, because they represented additional mouths to feed. Ignis hated to do it – and Prompto wasn't any happier about it – but he'd ordered the MTs to remain on those awful protein bar rations while on active duty for the time being, and authorized them to continue harvesting daemons for their regular injections of daemon blood, which enabled them to eat significantly less.

It appears as though daemons conduct their own bizarre form of photosynthesis during nighttime hours, which is both horrifying (they attack humans not because they needed to eat, but rather for the pure pleasure of killing) and extremely convenient (humanity is unlikely to collectively die as a result of the plants no longer converting carbon dioxide to oxygen).

Not ideal, but Ignis can't have thousands of people going through withdrawal in the middle of a crisis, but it doesn't make him feel any better about ordering it. Nor does it make him feel less like he and the other citizens of Lucis are benefiting from the suffering of others, even if those others knew nothing other than suffering.

Especially if they knew nothing other than suffering.

Still, it's nothing more than a preservation of the status quo, and if things ever stabilize, Ignis fully intends to start some sort of rehabilitation program for them; the good intention will have to do for the time being.

At least, by rotating their off-duty shifts, they're able to attend Gladio's school and start to learn more about what it means to be human.

No matter.

Ignis conscripted every able-bodied adult he could, hunter or refugee or MT, to harvest the fields, and they've gotten in everything they could, but that was it.

Barring what Prompto's army could collect from the cities they'd been sent to clean up – Galdin Quay being the first, with its access to the seaside and hopefully a steady supply of seafood – they're now officially limited to what vegetables they have collected, and what prepackaged versions of them they can find.

Ignis has imposed strict rationing, and he thinks they can make it to years' end before they need to cut it again. But what if Noct doesn't come back at the six month mark? What if he doesn't come back at the year mark?

What if the Long Night continues?

Ignis huddled together with some of the surviving mathematicians (rather a lot of those – an indoor species for the most part, they seemed just fine with the lack of outdoor light when they even noticed) and they did the grim math.

Six months – they’re fine.

Noct returns in a year – still minimal casualties.

Three years – 25% attrition rate due to starvation.

Six years – 40%.

More...

He doesn't want to calculate more.

Worse, that calculation only includes the matter of food.

They have far worse to deal with.

Item 2: Disease.

Six, Ignis had very nearly forgotten about disease.

That’s not a mistake he’s ever going to make again.

Overcrowding – shoving all those people side by side into tents – led inevitably to disease, and not just the usual bouts of colds and coughs that always happened when people from different places met after some time separated and began to breathe each other’s air.

Their alliance with the MTs came barely in time – the MTs were able to provide at least a few portable fortresses, and the bodies to raise and protect them, the very same week that Ignis received the first reports of true sickness.

Cholera, the city dweller's disease.

Too many people in one place. There were lines to use the limited number of restrooms, the sewers were backing up, and far too many caravans flouted Ignis' rules about not fouling up any water that could be potable.

The fortresses took time to set up, for all that it was less time than actually building something, and more and more people began to fall ill.

Those that were already weak, first: the elderly, the sick, pregnant women, children. But soon enough they'd have an epidemic.

While the first fortresses were being set up, Ignis seriously considered imposing martial law over misuse of bathrooms. What has his life come to?

But then they built the fortresses, and they expanded the sewer lines to connect to them, and they finally had enough room.

For now.

Of course, the fortresses are out in the darkness, so people are wary of them and of the MTs that guard them. Luckily there are enough adventurous souls – or at least claustrophobic ones – to ease the pressure on the city.

The fact that the MTs don't mind sewage duty helped. Of course, Prompto rightfully yelled at Ignis that 'not complaining' didn't mean 'fine with'; Ignis recruited more refugees to help after that, but it's working, at least for now.

They treated the first few cases with elixirs, potions, curatives, all watered down to barely nothing to make them last longer. Prompto sends potions back whenever he could, and has assigned a wing of his army to the Disc of Cauthess to mine some meteorite dust to try to make more, but they would run out of those, too.

They're managing for now.

Managing, but not thriving.

More diseases as the population swells. Increasingly less food, fewer vitamins, which means people’s natural resistance would be weakened. And as people died, their corpses would immediately become centers of contagion and would have to be dealt with.

At least the rivers mean that water is plentiful, even if they do have to carefully filter it after discovering daemons trying to intentionally pollute it, as well as the accidental or purely stupid pollution of overcrowding.

They're managing – but for how long?

At least the spread of the Starscourge seems limited – Ignis would think that perhaps what remains of the Six had opted to have mercy, deciding that daemons infecting bodies in the refugee zones deliberately is enough of a problem, but he knows it's more likely because the daemons were too busy running free in the wild to effectively spread the scourge to the cities. Lestallum is spared for now, but only because there were still enough bodies outside of Lestallum for the daemons to target.

It's hardly what he would call mercy.

Item 3: Civil Unrest.

Overcrowding doesn’t just mean less food and more disease. It means less space, which means sharper tempers. Less light, which means more of the fears that come in the darkness, a darkness that makes people feel free to whisper to each other things they would normally disdain to say during the day.

Moreover, people are unnaturally idle, and Ignis – as someone who thrives on work – knows well that idle hands are unhappy hands.

Too many people, not enough food, sickness and boredom, and all the anxiety of having lost everything – all enough to drive anyone to unhappiness, and all that unhappiness is aimed at whoever they can think of to blame. And, unfortunately, the obvious choice for most of them is to lay the blame at the feet of the local government.

As the man currently representing the local government, Ignis can both sympathize with the people's plight and also very sincerely want them not to do anything about it.

Luckily, most people seem to understand that Ignis really is trying his best.

Most.

There are enough agitators that Ignis has had to reposition hunters away from useful tasks, like hunting meat or killing daemons, and put them on patrolling the camp. He doesn't like it – especially the part where the hunters report to him on any unrest they find, it makes him feel like he's spying on his people – but he doesn't have a choice.

They have to enforce order.

The hunters, at least, seem to understand for the most part; led by Cor and following his example, they don't judge him for receiving the reports on identified troublemakers, for ordering that anyone found assaulting another refugee be immediately cast out – theft, Ignis can understand as desperation, but he can't afford to let any violence go unchecked – or even for his request that they do their best to encourage patience, his own little propaganda machine.

The system works imperfectly. There are a handful of individuals who have started spreading rumors – rumors from all angles, no less. Rumors that Noct yet lives, and that Ignis, Gladio and Prompto have conspired against him and imprisoned him somewhere so that they might rule. Rumors that the MTs, with the daemon blood, are carriers of Starscourge and that Ignis has sold them all out to the daemons by allying with them. Rumors that the Astals have promised to bring back the sun once all the daemons (MTs included) were dead. Rumors...

Well, Ignis has heard a lot of rumors.

He credits Gladio's school with the fact that no open rebellion or riot had yet broken out.

In truth, Ignis would not have expected Gladio to be the one to take initiative to start reforming the social order – Gladio, whom Ignis loves but whose interests lie primarily in fighting, bad books, and Cup Noodles – but somehow, when faced with an endless darkness and despair, he grew strong enough to take upon his shoulders that most slippery of challenges.

Ignis isn't even sure Gladio entirely realizes the magnitude of what he's taken on, much like Prompto and his MTs and his newfound generalship. But it's true.

Ignis, they call the Supreme Commander, following the MTs in their need for structured order; he represents the government that makes them wait in line, that sends their hunters out on dangerous tasks, that knows things they dp not. They respect him and thank him, but he is both good and bad.

Prompto is their General, leader of their armies, savior of the refugees and source of much of the food they have – Ignis has heard the reports of Prompto's efficiency, his care for life, and the devotion of his troops, and he knows that even the hunters have started agitating to join his squads on the front lines, MTs or no MTs. It is only a matter of time (and of preparing Prompto) before Ignis transfers all external martial matters into the hands of the least militant of their original quartet. He has only refrained from doing so already because doing so would inevitably result in losing Cor, their most experienced military leader, to his proper place as Prompto's advisor, and the sight of the Immortal is one of the biggest morale boosters they have.

At least Cor seems to recognise the issue and is very obviously training (and selling) Iris as his successor in leadership of the hunters. Iris Amicitia, the Daemon Slayer – people are already whispering that the second child of the King's Shields, unusual in a line that typically matches the Caelum line's tradition of a single heir, was born for this, the defense – the Shield – of her people against the dark.

And Ignis only started half a dozen of those whispers himself.

The Commander, the General, the Immortal Marshal, the Daemon Slayer - these are figures that are respected, honored, saluted. They are the political mind and military arm of Lucis, the might of the much diminished kingdom – insofar as it still is Lucis, with its population swollen with strangers from all over. But they represent the government, and like any form of government, no matter how beneficent, the people see them as what they really are: still armed, dangerous, best to have, but to have at a safe distance.

Gladio, though; Gladio the people love. Every person in the camp, from the straightest laced noble to the least human MT, calls him Gladio with fondness: Gladio, whose rambling lectures are the highlight of everyone's day whether or not they attend; Gladio, who gave everyone something to gossip about and to look forward to; Gladio, who welcomes anyone to his podium, no matter what class or rank or how dull they might think they are; Gladio, who as often as not gives away portions of his rations to children who look a little pale; Gladio, on whose solid strength they all rely.

If Gladio thinks things are going well, the people say with satisfaction, then surely it must be true.

Gladio, who taught the MTs to want the names Prompto gave them.

Gladio, who makes the children laugh.

Gladio, who brought an engineer who had been injured to his school to give a speech on the values of learning mathematics for engineering, and ended up leading a very nearly camp-wide discussion on the best way to expand the use of the generators and to create additional light for everyone.

Ignis received three dozen workable proposals within a week of that talk, and the mood of the camp shifted from a fearful mass huddling at the base of the power plant to a cheerful crowd greedily looking out at the dark, speaking confidently of the expansion sure to come once there was more light. People who had begged Ignis not to send them out beyond the line of the darkness now spoke loudly of the homes they planned to build once there was time for new construction.

Ignis, who had scarcely even thought of new construction, ended up assigning one of the loudest speakers to run a request for proposals for building new homes, given their limited light and resources.

In fact, the very same engineer who gave the talk came by Ignis’ office just yesterday and suggested, very quietly, that they consider – when they had time, of course, time and energy and manpower – sending for the General to create a cleared walkway to the Callatenn’s Plunge the way he had created a safe route to Hammerhead.

“Callatenn’s Plunge?” Ignis said blankly, when this was suggested. “Why? We’re not short of water around here yet.”

Callatenn’s Plunge was near a large lake – perhaps they could set up a fishery there, as well as in the more reliable but distant Quay; Ignis had considered it but thought it not worth the manpower until the cities were cleared. But why would an engineer care?

��Not for the water,” the engineer – Holly? Ignis vaguely recalls her voice – replied. “For the waterfall.”

“The waterfall?”

There is a secret passage behind the waterfall, as Ignis well remembers; frozen and icy, but again, if the purpose isn’t for water, then –

“Again, this is only when we have time,” Holly said quickly, apologetically. “But I was thinking we could build a dam.”

“A dam.”

“Yes. To – generate electricity?”

Hydroelectric power.

A second power plant.

The possibilities are – pardon his pun – electrifying.

“I want you to get me a workable plan,” Ignis informed Holly, who he could hear straightening up with pride. “Let me know what would be needed: manpower, supplies, everything. I want the bottom line in terms of what is needed and a range of options in terms of timelines. Assume you’d be able to get whatever volunteers you need.”

“Yes, Commander!” Holly chirped, and she went off, head held high, smile broad.

And she thanked Gladio for inspiring her, too.

Gladio will need a title eventually, Ignis muses. But perhaps it's best that he doesn’t have one yet.

Item 4: Daemons.

They have many hunters and many fighters in camp, all the ones they could find, but their numbers are dwindling. Some have been lost to injury, others lost entirely, and not every dangerous job can be trusted to the MTs, who are just as susceptible as hunters since the daemons realized that they were being attacked.

They need more.

They need –

“Ignis?” a familiar voice comes from the door, interrupting Ignis’ thoughts.

Prompto feels the absurd urge to wave hello to Ignis, despite the fact that the man is, well, still blind, and without much hope of getting not-blind.

It’s kind of weird being here again, even though he spent three months here before his three months with the MTs. It’s different.

Not a bad different, just different.

Prompto loves Ignis dearly, but something about being here, standing across the desk from Ignis, makes Prompto feel more like the stupid kid always just a little bit behind the rest he felt like growing up. Never quite good enough, never quite fitting in – never the perfect intellect like Ignis, never the perfect warrior like Gladio –

He’s stopped feeling that way among the MTs, actually, and he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s finally among what were once his own people (Six, he hopes that’s not it) or because of the respect they all have for him, the pressure he feels to demonstrate good human traits for them. And good human traits, in Prompto’s mind, include confidence.

He’s been faking it pretty well, even though he’s still totally convinced they’re all going to figure out what an imposter he is and all turn on him.

Imposter syndrome, Gladio called it in one of his letters, and told Prompto not to let it worry him.

Easier said than done.

Here, though, he has no one to impress, and that feeling – that questioning feeling, the feeling like he shouldn’t be here, because he was only ever part of the group because Noct wanted him to be part of the group – Noct, who isn’t here, who’s gone, who –

Ignis smiles abruptly. “General Prompto,” he says, and his voice is warm.

Also –

“Don’t call me that, Iggy,” Prompto says, flushing. “It’s just for the MTs.”

“Oh, no,” Ignis says, his smile widening even more. “If I have to go by ‘Supreme Commander’, then by the Six, you’re going to go by General, General.”

And suddenly the ice is broken, and Prompto remembers that Iggy does actually like him as a person, not just as Noct’s useless shadow.

“Just for that, I’m going to find some extra titles for you,” he threatens, grinning and coming over to hop onto the title. “How do you feel about, hmmm, ‘the Great and Glorious’?”

“Don’t you dare,” Ignis says primly. “Besides, do you know they haven’t thought of one for Gladio yet?”

“We have to fix this.”

“Certainly.”

“What’s the dumbest military-related name you can think of?” Prompto asks. “Maybe, hmmm, Brigadier?”

Ignis snorts. “I’ve been threatening him with ‘Headmaster’, actually, what with his school.”

“Nooooo, you can’t do that, he’ll just make a ton of jokes about –”

“He already has,” Ignis sighs dramatically. “But enough of that – you’re here! How have you been?”

“Pretty good,” Prompto says with a grin. “We’re making progress on the Quay – I brought you fish.”

“And for my fish, you’ll be taking away one of my generators for a few more round trips in one of the drop ships,” Ignis says dryly. “Yes, I got your message. Tell me, do you still have that terrible goatee?”

Prompto rolls his eyes. “No, Iggy,” he says patiently. “I shaved it off. The MTs thought I was crazy for having it in the first place.”

“Don’t be modest, Prompto,” Ignis replies. “We all thought you were crazy for thinking it was a good idea.”

Prompto laughs.

“I assume you’re here for the six month mark?” Ignis asks. “You’re a day early.”

“Well, yeah,” Prompto says, unable to keep from smiling. Typical Iggy. He’s forgotten.

Iggy, who never forgets anything, always forgot –

“Supreme Commander Ignis,” Eufiv says, coming in through the door, closely followed by Dustin and Monica, Ignis’ closest aides. “General Prompto. It is good to see you.”

Eufiv still says ‘good to see you’ in his scratchy radio monotone MT voice, like he’s not sure why it’s necessary to say it, but human is as human does, as far as Prompto’s concerned.

“Good to see you too, Eufiv,” he says. “Dustin, Monica.”

“You’re holding something,” Ignis says, frowning. They are, in fact, holding a large box between them. “What is it?”

“How do you always know?” Dustin asks.

“The floorboard in front of the door is creaky,” Ignis says dryly. “The volume of the creak varies by the weight of the person entering. If I know it’s you, but the noise is louder than usual, it means you’re carrying something heavy.”

“Man, you’re good,” Prompto says admiringly.

Ignis does his best to look unmoved, but he preens just the slightest bit.

“Gladio informed us that he would be running late and that we should get started without him,” Eufiv announces.

“Huh,” Prompto says. “Iggy, you’re right. We need to get him a title right away. It’s not fair that he just gets ‘Gladio’.”

“I did tell you,” Ignis says. “Get started on what? Did we have a meeting planned?”

“Sort of,” Monica says, and she and Dustin put the box in front of Iggy and unveil it. “Ta-da!”

Ignis reaches out with his hands and runs them over the structure.

“It’s…what is this?”

“A model,” Monica says, very smug.

You made me a model,” Ignis says blankly. He’s clearly touched by the gesture, while simultaneously very visibly thinking, “…a model? Made of what? And who had the time to sit around and make one?”

And apparently saying it aloud now, too.

Prompto dissolves into sniggers.

“We all chipped in,” Dustin says cheerfully. “Whole team.”

“Technically, models, plural,” Monica corrects. “The first one is a three-dimensional depiction of what the expanded refugee housing units and our administrative center will look like. The second one is an in-progress model, tracking the building progress.”

“It’s currently a hole in the ground,” Dustin adds. “It’ll be more interesting as we start building, though – the current plan is to update it twice a week, and then accelerate to three times a week as construction proceeds.”

Prompto grins when he sees Ignis visibly affected by his team’s efforts. A visual model, so he could ‘see’ how construction was going, since he couldn’t actually go out and ‘see’ the real construction – Prompto told them that Ignis would like it. Twice, even.

“I see,” Ignis says, clearing his throat a few times. “We’ve cleared enough space to start proper permanent construction? I thought we were still a few weeks away from that.”

“All squads worked double shifts to ensure completion,” Eufiv says. “Human and MT both. The prospect of completion was very encouraging and morale increased steadily once completion was in sight. Additional encouragement was put in place to ensure completion by the present date.”

“Additional encouragement? Did we promise them something?”

“Not supplies,” Monica says, chuckling. “We just pointed out that it’d be nice to finish by today.”

“Today..?”

Prompto laughs. He can’t help it. “Happy birthday, Iggy.”

“Happy birthday, boss,” everyone else (including a somewhat confused but game-sounding Eufiv) choruses.

Ignis looks positively dumbfounded.

"I –" he says blankly. "I – oh. Oh. Thank you."

"I thought you indicated that Commander Ignis would respond positively to the 'birthday'," Eufiv says. "Is this a positive reaction?"

"Very positive," Prompto assures him. "He's speechless. That almost never happens. Usually we're trying to get him to shut up."

"Yes," Ignis says. "I – very positive, thank you, Eufiv. I must admit I had forgotten."

"You always forget," Prompto says. He doesn't mean to call up memories, though they're always hovering so close it's impossible not to think of it – years and years of Noct conspiring to present Ignis with a present and sometimes a cake, the shocked expression on Ignis' face when he realizes he's forgotten again (only sometimes faked), the many times they were all together, back when Noct was with them, back when Ignis could see...

But Ignis is still smiling helplessly, running his hands over his model, shaking his head. "Thank you," he says. "Thank you all. Walk me through the model, please."

"It's a staggered structure," Monica says, beaming. "Based on the system we've put in place with the portable fortresses already. We're still using the portable fortresses as the baseline, but we're creating 'streets' that go through them, with regular center squares for congregation – parties and such like – while avoiding excess crowding –"

"Our streets will be a minimum of twelve people wide," Dustin chimes in. "We wanted to avoid people feeling claustrophobic, but at the same time we wanted to ensure that we had adequate defenses if we got attacked -"

"There will be barriers between the residence structures," Eufiv says, reaching forward and demonstrating. "Essentially a horizontal portcullis, but at multiple points rather than just at the city gates. It will enable the 'streets' to become locked down –"

"— but to avoid people being trapped, we've also created internal tunnels through the buildings themselves –"

"And the administrative center is in the middle, of course; we're planning on expanding it significantly as soon as the tents are all cleared out –"

"What about new refugee groups?" Ignis asks.

"We're thinking that they should get a separate zone until they're assigned permanent housing," Monica says. "That way, they can assimilate before being allowed in, and we can avoid any more MT incidents."

"MT incidents?" Prompto interrupts sharply. "What MT incidents? Was I told about these?"

They blink at him, except for Eufiv, who doesn't say anything but assumes that perfect 'at ease' stance that Prompto has learned, via several months' experience, signifies smugness and ‘I told you so’ in an MT.

"Prompto is to be informed of all MT related incidents, Monica, Dustin," Ignis says mildly. "I've already alerted you to that."

"Ah," Monica says. "Yes, of course. I just didn't think it was relevant, it being an internal issue..."

"It's an MT issue, and that means it's relevant," Prompto snaps. "I'm responsible for them, and to them, and I can't do my job if people aren't telling me things! What happened?"

"Nothing serious," Ignis says. "Or I would have had you informed regardless. There was some unfortunate language directed at some MTs, with threats of escalation to violence."

"You call that not serious?!"

"No," Ignis says patiently. "Because they were foolish enough to say it within earshot of Gladio."

Prompto can imagine Gladio's reaction. He's very nearly as defensive of his adult students as he is the children.

"Oh," he says, deflating a little. What was he thinking, shouting like that? Of course Ignis had it under control.

"You were correct, however," Ignis says. "The MTs are your responsibility, and you need information. Monica, going forward, all information relating to MTs is to be copied to Prompto."

"Will do," Monica says. "Sorry, Prompto. It won't happen again."

She seems serious about it, too, even though he just ripped her a new one.

"It's good to see you asserting yourself," Ignis says to Prompto, quietly. "You're too often reserved on matters when you're undeniably correct, which is just as bad as being too aggressive."

Huh. Yeah, Prompto can see that, he guesses.

And, well, the MTs are his responsibility.

Prompto always did find it easier to defend others than himself…

Ignis clears his voice. "What's the purpose behind the expansion of the administrative center? Are the lines too long?"

"No, but we'll need room for the departments," Dustin says, clearly relieved to be switching subjects.

"The departments?"

"You've authorized quite a few individuals to pursue projects in the last few months," Monica says. "We took the liberty of organizing everything into departments. Sanitation, Energy, Food, Defense, Registration..."

"That does sound more efficient," Ignis says, looking interested. "How have they been organized?"

Monica produces a thick file, all typed in that dual-language – typed text and raised indentations – that all the documents in Ignis' office has. "I figured I'd leave that to you," she says gleefully. "Here are the first set of reports."

"They've all been transcribed into the raised alphabet?"

"No need," Eufiv says. "The first shipment of upgraded typewriters recently arrived from Hammerhead. Cid and Cindy said to wish you a happy birthday."

Ignis is surprised into another smile.

"And how is Cindy doing?" Prompto asks Eufiv wickedly, earning a splutter of static in response. It's nice not to be on the receiving end of that teasing.

"Leave him be, Prompto," Ignis says. "It wasn't that long ago you were taking a photo of Hammerhead for your, ah, Goddess of the Gears, was it?"

"Shut up," Prompto says, grinning. He's not even embarrassed about it anymore.

Okay, maybe a little. But that was ages ago! At least seven, eight months!

Wait, really? That little?

It feels like it’s been forever.

"Speaking of which, Prompto, you never said what you got me," Ignis says pointedly. He likes presents as much as the next person, and it makes him absolutely shameless. Prompto enjoys that tremendously.

"Present, me?" Prompto says, batting his eyelashes.

"I assure you, your mere presence is present enough," Ignis says. "Now stop playing around."

Prompto laughs. "Okay, okay! Here's part one."

He pulls a wrapped bundle and hands it to Ignis, who accepts it and quickly pulls free the cloth around it.

"Glasses?" he says, frowning.

"Goggles, really, but stylish - like a visor," Prompto corrects, bouncing on his heels. "Try them on."

Ignis frowns at him, but puts them on. They fit well, as Prompto had hoped – thick yellowed glass, with a black border, a broad strap designed to keep them in place.

"It's better balanced," Ignis says slowly, a little confused. "It'll stay in place better – provide eye protection –"

The glasses activate.

Designed with the same coding as the MT helmet, the glasses are designed to interface with surrounding MT units in the same way the MTs could – via the brain directly, rather than through potentially deteriorated physical facilities.

It can't provide vision – the Empire's scientists which created the system had never seen that as necessary – but it can provide something.

Heat signatures, for one thing.

Eufiv is in the room, which means he's at all times aware of the others not only on the visual spectrum he can see with his eyes, but as glowing infrared signals, with some information included, transmitted directly.

Ignis' jaw drops over and his head turns, very slowly, to focus first on Eufiv, then Monica, Dustin, and finally Prompto.

"Prompto," he whispers.

"It's very vague, I know," Prompto says, plucking at the brand new wristband and earring combo that gives him similar input into the MT conversation stream; Eufiv had given him the first models when he'd arrived in camp, and he's still getting used to it. Based on that, he knows what Ignis is 'seeing', the red-and-black map of the room - he obviously doesn't need the infrared in the same way Ignis does, but he can access it if he wants. "But we finally got it properly compatible with non-MTs, so, y'know, I thought – you might enjoy not having to rely on listening to creaky floorboards all the time just to know if someone's sneaking up on you."

It isn't vision – Ignis is definitely still blind – but knowing about heat signatures would be invaluable defense to a man sitting alone, relying only on his hearing to alert him to potentially violent intruders.

"It's wonderful," Ignis says. His voice is shaking a little. "I – it distinguishes between human and MT?"

"Human, MT and daemon," Prompto confirms. "We designed it so you could expand or contract the link – we'll set up a series of transmitter nodes where you might need personal defense, and a larger set of nodes around the city so that you can coordinate our strategic response in a crisis - sort of like a giant map showing you where the various people are - without having someone narrate." He pauses. "Well, with less narration, anyway. It's, uh, it's not really perfect."

"It's more than I ever expected," Ignis says.

"You need to ease into it, though," Prompto warns. "It takes some time to adjust to. No more than a half-hour a day at first, then steadily more as your brain adjusts."

Ignis nods and removes them, putting his regular glasses on not quite fast enough to hide the fact that his closed lashes and blind eyes are a little wet. "Thank you," he says quietly. "To you and to the MTs both, Prompto."

Prompto ducks his head a little. "Yeah, well," he says. "You know. Happy birthday."

"And you said this was the first present?" Ignis asks, sounding disbelieving.

"Figured I'd start off with a bang," Prompto says with a grin. "Second one is where we got those glasses."

"That is an excellent question," Ignis says, wrinkle starting to appear in his brow. "Your soldiers wouldn't have had time for experimentation – they found it? But it works with MT technology..."

"It was received from Out Wing," Eufiv says calmly, because of course he knew, the dickhead. The MTs have a bad way of assuming that Prompto knows everything.

"Out Wing?" Ignis asks. "I thought we'd designated the four wings with the cardinal directions – north, south, east, west."

"Yeah, we did," Prompto says wryly. "Four wings, consisting of all the MTs we had, that is. Apparently, we've been miscounting."

"How so?"

"The MT units in the four wings represent the MT presence in Lucis," Eufiv says, as if it should be obvious. "There remain other units which were not deployed."

"Not – you mean back in Niflheim? In Accordo, Tenebrae, in –"

Ignis' voice fades as the realization sinks in. The MTs represented the the Empire's vast legions, and were used for everything from patrolling existing cities and guarding high end magistrates to invading new territory.

"Yep," Prompto says. "They've been in production for generations; there's a lot of them. Don't worry, Iggy, they're mostly staying where they are, because they've obtained shelter and food, but we've worked out an agreement with them – they don't automatically recognize me as boss, obviously, just ignore Eufiv calling them Out Wing, that's, like, MT passive-aggressiveness – and we're going to trade things. Including tech like that."

"And what are we giving them?" Ignis asks.

"Radio access to Gladio's school, mostly," Prompto says with a grin. "The MTs around Lestallum told them that it rocks."

Ignis smiles. "Have you told Gladio?"

"Nah," Prompto says cheerfully. "Why put extra pressure on him?"

"The pressure would exist regardless, would it not?" Eufiv asks. "What difference does it make when he knows?"

"He can't feel pressure if he doesn't know about it," Monica tells him.

Eufiv looks suspicious, but nods.

It occurs to Prompto that he's getting really good at identifying MT emotions, at least when they're not in full on linked-up emotionless marching formation.

He's not sure what to do with that.

"So, what you're telling me," Ignis says, "is that we have a trade agreement with the MTs of Niflheim?"

"Exactly," Prompto says. "And they have something we don't."

Ignis arches his eyebrows.

"Factories," Prompto says with satisfaction, watching both understanding and avid interest light up Ignis' face. "The Empire split off a bunch of them to work in mechanical jobs creating 'useful devices'."

"Which means –"

"Guns," Prompto says with relish. "Bullets. And – you're gonna love this – Niflheim's portable fortresses. They can build them to spec."

Ignis grins. He does love it. "And suddenly I see why we all abruptly became so ambitious in our building plans."

"Exactly," Monica crows.

"This is fantastic," Ignis says. "We will need to have a meeting to discuss this - where is Gladio? And Cor? Iris? I would've imagined they'd be here."

"Cor and Iris are out," Monica says. "They were planning on being here, but there was a crisis out by the mushroom grove and the mycologists asked for help –"

"I imagine their request for help didn't leave mushroom for interpretation," Ignis says.

"I sometimes hate you," Monica informs him. "Anyway, they send their best and told me to let you know that they expect – when they return – that Iris will be able to take full leadership of the hunters, and that Cor intends to join forces with Gladio in the teaching field, except he'll be training up a new Crownsguard. Or, well, really most of them will be trained as hunters, but also in city policing, patrolling, defense..."

"That's excellent news! I hadn't realized they thought Iris was ready."

"The hunters all accept her, despite her age," Dustin confirms. "There was a vote – if they couldn't have Cor, they wanted Iris, with Dave as her second."

"Gladio's gift is going to have to be very impressive to compete," Ignis says.

"No kidding," Prompto says. "I don't even know what it is – he was fretting about not having a gift as soon as last week, then suddenly about two days ago, total radio silence."

"Perhaps he didn't think of one, and is embarrassed?" Ignis asks, frowning. "I hope not. He knows I would appreciate his presence, gift or no gift."

"Gladio has stated that he has in fact located the perfect gift," Eufiv volunteers. "He is collecting the final information now from certain MTs."

"Information? From MTs?" Prompto asks. "What is it?"

"Unclear," Eufiv says, sounding vaguely bewildered. "I am only aware that it came up in a lesson, or possibly in the MT-specific practice sessions afterwards."

MTs get extra practice sessions where they focus on boring stuff like "think of yourself as I" or "name your favorite color" for hours, to the point even kids don't want to participate.

"I wonder what it is," Ignis says, looking equally lost, but quite curious.

"Gladio's present had better be epic," Prompto says loudly, seeing the door open with a familiar silhouette. "Super epic, that's all I'm saying."

"Oh, it is," Gladio announces from the door, beaming so hard it looks like it hurts. "I have the best present."

"Better than mine?" Prompto teases.

Gladio smirks. "You bet."

"Just tell me it isn't Cup Noodles," Ignis says.

“Iggy, this is going to blow your mind more than that case of Ebony we got you for the party,” Gladio promises.

“Now that,” Ignis says, face lighting up as Prompto rolls his eyes at Gladio for giving away the surprise, “is going to be a hard measure to beat.”

“Oh, I’m going to beat it,” Gladio crows.

“Now I’m curious,” Prompto says, twisting to look at Gladio. “Stop stalling and get to it already. What is it?”

“I was talking with a couple of our MTs,” Gladio says. “After-school session, we were working favorite foods.”

“The Empire barely gave the MTs anything to eat other than that awful protein stuff,” Prompto points out. He’s still sore about how they haven’t been able to authorize them to move off of it entirely, even though Eufiv, Tifor and Jiten all assure him that the MTs don’t mind waiting, and have even taken to anticipating their once-a-week not-protein-muck supplement (often Cup Noodles) with glee.

“Yeah, it was tough going,” Gladio says. “Except one of them said they liked fresh tomatoes.”

“How would an MT know about tomatoes, much less fresh ones?” Ignis asks. “We haven’t had enough fresh vegetables to be able to distribute them to the MTs as well as the regular populace.” He looks guilty about that, which is the only reason that Prompto forgives him for having no choice but to order it. Thanks to the daemon blood injects, MTs don’t need vitamins the same way non-MTs did.

“One of the researchers gave them to her,” Gladio says. “Just scraps, but Sixen – that’s her name – still remembered it as a high point.”

“Okay,” Ignis says. “I’m following, but I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”

“Sixen’s originally from the imperial lab down in the Ghorovas Rift,” Gladio says triumphantly.

“But Ghorovas Rift is stuck in a perpetual blizzard,” Ignis objects.

“The lab is located underground to avoid the snow,” Eufiv says.

“That’s not the point,” Ignis says. “How do you grow tomatoes…” His voice trails off.

Prompto’s jaw drops as his mind completes the sentence Ignis started.

How do you grow tomatoes – when there’s no sunlight?

“They developed a method of growing vegetables without sunlight,” Ignis says, his voice soft in amazement.

“They were growing them under high intensity lights, using hydroponics,” Gladio confirms. “Lucis has some very limited experience with it, actually; I’ve been talking with the few agricultural specialists we have left, but they said there was never much interested in pursuing it – after all, what’s the point when we had all the sun and soil and good growing conditions we could hope for?”

“What type of equipment?” Prompto says urgently. “We have the factories in Niflheim now –”

“One of the fortresses could be converted –” Ignis adds.

“There’s plenty of seeds in storage,” Monica says, glancing at Dustin, who nods furiously.

“I have a list of everything we’ll need,” Gladio assures them all. “But it’s actually not that complicated – mostly high-dispersion light sources. Honestly, half of the trouble they were having was trying to work with no good soil, which I imagine will be useful with the daemons polluting it all over the place, but if we do use regular soil? It’s a cinch.” Gladio’s smile somehow, impossibly, grows. “In fact, I’ve already set one up, using some garlic, and I’ve already got green shoots.”

“Awesome!” Prompto cheers. He never thought he’d be so excited about vegetables.

“High-dispersion light sources,” Ignis says. “I don’t suppose those would work on humans, would it? For vitamin purposes?”

“Don’t think they’ve tested it out,” Gladio says cheerfully. “But I don’t see why not.”

“I wanna see the garlic,” Prompto whines. “And Ignis can feel it. Show us!”

“Fine, fine, you big baby,” Gladio laughs. “Come this way.”

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

The next night, sitting around a table filled with papers and plans and ideas, the Crystal wedged in the back of the room in case Noctis decides to make an unexpected appearance, Ignis takes a moment to sit back and think to himself, I have the finest of friends.

And also –

We might survive this after all.

#final fantasy xv #ffxv #prompto argentum #ignis scientia #gladiolus amicitia #magitek soldiers #my fic

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