#gunmyth

      '   i wish we could have had a chance.   ‘    it’s everything someone ten years ago lacked the courage to say.   someone ten years ago who snuffed out the callings of his heart lest they ruin him completely.   a long-held memory surfaces, a bastion of warmth against his lips as the coldness of the crystal envelopes him, grounding into him the notion that one day he will return to this - no matter how short-lived.   noctis takes his hand [  CALLOUS AND ROUGH, IT BEARS THE MARKS OF THE MAN PROMPTO HAS BECOME  ] and covers its expanse with his own, misery’s blight cradled upon his lips.   ‘   if i could stop this,  i would.   ‘

“Nope, no way,” Whatever it is, he’s adamant, waving Prompto away. “You’re not driving the car again.” // @gunmyth​

             “.....”       walks away.

❛ When did you learn this is what you love ? ❜ He’s been into photography for a long while, Tidus can easily tell despite his own ignorance on the subject. Maybe it’s the way the blonde holds the device, or how he’d comment on the most appropriate light on their way there. Now, treated to a delicious fulfilling meal, he can feel the tongue unwind -- how typical, and the sense of curiosity arising from within. He’s seen Prompto in action; that was a fascinating world, one that doesn’t differ too much by his adored recording-sphere. Still, nothing has prepared him to other’s preparedness. His keen and trained eye -- !  So, he... feels he just has to ask, now.   ❛ You think I’d make a good model -- ? ❜

 source                                       . . .    @gunmyth​ !!

           𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃 back together with ease by the work of 𝓹𝓸𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼, phantom pain still finds itself at the forefront of ignis’ skull. it is blinding, for lack of better wording, an all-encompassing pain that makes his head throb. the shaking of the train around them only makes it worse, the rattling metal filling his ears to further disorient him. he reaches out with a barely hidden urgency, long fingers wrapping plainly around a thin wrist.    ‘   prompto,   ‘   he calls, the most miniscule of tremors riding along the timbre of his voice.

      prompto’s words are as piercing as one of his shells.   it takes the wind out of his lungs, leaves his heart sinking in its absence.   is this how atlus felt holding up the world?    ‘   what? what are you talking about? did someone say something to you?   ‘   he’s been given a lifetime of retainers, all born into a royal duty with no choice but to be amicable.   but prompto.   prompto is finally something he got to choose.   something they both chose, that wasn’t influenced by honor or duty.   something his.   and he’s reaching out, stopping just short of contact and stricken with hesitation.   ‘   did i do something? please, talk to me.   ‘

            an  arm  extends  straight  from  his  chest     &&     he’s  wiggled  his  fingers  miles  from  that  sun,     beating  thin  shadows  across  his  lashes,       quivering  little  layers  of  light  swayed  in  tandem  to  his  restless  eyes,       “      or  doesn’t  anyone  think  𝙞𝙩  𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙨  𝙩𝙤     ?       can’t  say  you’re  satisfied  making  that  your  be  all  end  all.     just         .            .            .       lugging  all  that  baggage  everywhere .        ”