His mother, Dahlia, had always been a kind woman. Where his father had scolded him for crying even as a young child, his mother would hold him and hush his cries and pet him. Clarus found himself thinking of the woman now, as he watched his daughter sleep. His mother would have loved both of his children. She would have spoiled them, would have told embarrassing stories about him that his father would have beaten him for.

He smiled quietly, making his way back to his room to look through a photo album. He had sat there for the longest time, finding the sketch of his original tattoo design, one his mother had created. Clarus must have been sitting there for a while because he felt his bed dip and glanced over to see his son. “You should be sleeping.” He muttered softly, not moving to hide what he was looking at.

“..Your grandmother is on my mind tonight. She would have loved you. You know that? She would make you anything you want to eat. She would have just…given you and your sister attention. She would have listened to you. Most likely,” he motioned to his tattoo design in his hand,”she would have asked to design your tattoo. She liked to draw. Paint. She was one hell of an artist.”

Noctis had never been good at getting through to Gladio. Even now, when Noct was nothing but an apparition dependent on the dreams and willingness of his friends, it still felt impossible. He was always the hardest to reach. 

Maybe that was partly his fault, too.

“Guess I get to wake you up now, huh? There’s gonna be a pretty nice sunrise today, you don’t wanna miss it.” 

He sighed. Telling this to Gladio’s slumbering form really wasn’t the same as hanging out. Not really comforting at all either. But Noctis wasn’t the soothing type; being dead hadn’t made him any less repressed. 

All he could think to do was reach out, poking a fingertip at Gladio’s forehead, the same way he’d done when they were kids, just checking if his skull was extra thick or made entirely of iron. 

“Just so you know, you don’t have to live like a shield any more. You don’t have to be strong for me anymore. It’s over. It’s okay.” 

He slid his fingers through Gladio’s hair, tugging it a little, and didn’t let go until he was fading into crystal light.

Confronting sentence prompts. [send these without quotation marks to avoid error!]

“Well, well! Isn’t that better, using your words, eh?” 

When was the last time someone noticed, calling it out so boldly? It was tough work, taming one with brawn and brains.

“Maybe you really can be a good boy after all, hm? You wanna see what I am, beastie?” 

Kefka curled his fingers into Gladio’s hair, pulling it to lift his head. He ran his free hand over his face, down his neck, deep curiosity swarming to the surface of a coldness that never left. 

His thumb pressed against his lips, still bloodied from the rope. Any teasing tones vanished, a low growl replacing them.

Villain/Hero sentence starters

“Oh, spare me the goody-goody drivel, you pertinacious pain in the ass...” 

And what a pain in the ass his prisoner was. Monumental in his mischief. One of the worst pets he’d ever had the misfortune of owning. 

What the hell? 

Rendered so limp by stasis Gladio’s holding him up, Noctis keens in disgust. Forced into swallowing reflexively, he twists and kicks, ready to spit right back...

Elixir. 

All he tastes is energy-drink and rage, life flowing into him, power swarming in his veins once more, the sickly thud of his pulse easing.

Straight to the point? It had been a while since someone called him or anything he did... that.

Still, he wasn’t here to fawn. It was a very strange sense of magic. Vague and unfitting, like the Materia some of the other cretins tossed around. And yet... 

Oho, that shield needed to go... What pretty semantics!

“Look alive, clever one!”

Sparks springing from his fingertips, Kefka electrified the offending armor, a hazy glow illuminating the room.