#otraditor

           ❛   You get none, my friend.  ❜  A PLAYFUL TONE AS the king waves his meaty stick in front of Gladio’s face, merely teasing for the time being.

three word meme  |  CLOSED  |  @otraditor​ 

          given the circumstances, it comes as no surprise that group morale has been low.     there is tension, thick and grating, it’s grip tightening its hold on them all as words go left  ( u n s a i d ).     altissia was a hard blow, one noctis finds himself uncertain of whether or not they’ll ever heal from.     truth be told, he doesn’t know what to do, what to say.     the loss of luna, not to mention ignis’ injuries are just more additions to the pile of failures the prince king is forced to endure, and in all honesty he feels lost.

          though strained, the core bond of the group is somewhat mending.     noctis knows this.     prompto has tried to reassure him, tried to distract him with pictures and witty stories of their high school days.     ignis has tried to assure him countless times that what happened was not his fault, despite noctis’ reluctance to believe it.

          with gladio it’s been different, however.     a wall has raised between them, tall && thick && menacing.     it isn’t as if noctis hasn’t tried to break it;     there has been arguments, brash words aimed at weak spots like arrows against cracks, but no matter how loud they get, or how hurtful, the wall refuses to budge.

          it can’t go on like this.     how can they save the world when they are busy clawing at each other’s throats?

          whatever weak remnant of pride he harbours crumbles in attempts to apologise.     it’s feeble, meaningless, and he is well aware.     after all, what can he possibly say to make things better?     gladio should blame him for what happened, everyone should.     he was weak.     he failed his friends, the gods, the world.     and yet, his voice trembles with emotion;     raw && desperate for something he can’t quite put his finger on.

          forgiveness?     redemption?     a desire for gladio to understand he never meant for any of this to happen?

          “ —— no, ”     perhaps he would have left once, too tired to fight && push.     but time is running out, they no longer have the luxury of licking their wounds — even if it would be so easy to just....     give up.

Sass starters

If looks could kill, Gladiolus would be a pile of hot ashes on the ground - but they didn’t, and Aranea was the one feeling like hitting his perfect face while he gloated about his victory, greatsword resting over broad shoulders like they weighted nothing and very clearly making the point that, once more, he had prevailed in the greatsword versus polearms debate.

Well, if they were going to be honest, Aranea didn’t know the call for help from the Taelpar Rest Area was for a group of pyromancers - they never had appeared there until then. Not only that, but they were also resistant to lightning, precisely the kind of energy the ex-commodore could channel with her gear to help shock the enemies. 

The trick backfired - the thing parried her attack, and grabbed her by the neck in a vicious choking technique and it took Gladiolus to slash the bony army of the creature off so she could breathe again. 

“Now you’re making jokes about oxygen. Ha-ha, Amicitia. Hilarious,” she huffed, walking ahead without sparing a second glance to the king’s shield - the city lights of Taelpar were a blessing indeed, “Next time we’re up against a bandersnatch, I’ll leave you to deal with it, hammering uselessly with that giant-ass sword of yours to no avail.”

“Hey, Aranea, hold on a second,” he said from behind, catching up with her, “No need to run from me, you know. Wouldn’t want you to be out of breath.”

This time, Aranea hit him - squarely on his chest, probably nothing for a man so bulky and heavily built like Gladio, but her hand was protected by the armor still; surprised, he took a couple of steps back and the former commodore smirked at him, hands on her hips.

“Make another joke on tonight’s mission again and you’ll be the one gasping for air.”

“…Is that a promise or a threat? With women, sometimes, I can’t tell.”

fuck you you emotionally constipated shitstain