#like holy fuck the moments where you see iri's point of view on things and deep and slightly harrowing way it colours what

[castleinthemist]

LIKE i'm still meditating on the, like i've talked a LOT about how watcher hides/obscures/masks her relationship with fixer and how we as the audience, the player and the characters are not privy to it but in parallel to that, and in conversation to, and in the many ways this game layers the various facets of everything, the fractals of itself, i am still thinking about the way its paralleled with iris and in the keepers. "my fixer" | "my iris"

[darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts]

Echo pt4

@forallyourikemensengokuneeds

Warning: This is a little dark. There is blood, death, Strong Language and yeah … please read with caution. **Still not sure what direction this is taking so I should add a warning for Author with no plot **

Masterlist

—

Echo part 4

The ground crunched slightly underfoot here. It was darker than twilight should have been but that was because the trees were so dense, it was casting a darker light over the area. Perfect for moving around unseen, not so good if you are the one being followed.

Tentatively picking its way through the undergrowth a Doe appeared as if on cue. It wasn’t exactly the quarry they were after but life essence was life essence and whilst it was different, it was no less potent. They had been unlucky in locating anyone else around here and venturing too far from the rift was never a good thing. Time was against them once they had the necessary ingredient it was a race to make the elixir before what was needed was lost.  

*Snap*

A twig, about the size of a finger broken underfoot. Dammit! The Doe’s head jerked up and its ears began twitching and swivelling around with its dark eyes searching for possible danger. The scout could feel the shift in energy. The Doe’s blood was pumping faster as its heart rate picked up in preparation to bolt at a moment’s notice. They removed a pellet from their thigh pocket and loaded it into a small pipe. A sharp exhale later and the soft plug from the blowgun had splattered onto the neck of the creature. The sticky substance disappearing into the flesh like butter melting on hot toast.

---

Her body felt like it was pulsing all over when she climbed back in her car. The conversation with her Dad had taken a lot longer then she had thought and the story he was telling her seemed like he was flat out delusional for the most part. Still, the fight between rational logic and sense of self seemed to be raging inside her and it was not one she could ignore.

The headache was full-blown now causing some of her peripheral vision to shimmy and blur. The files on the passenger seat were scattered around a little and she could see the map reference for the area of concern. If it was happening again as it was last time to have it occurring in the same area couldn’t just be a coincidence. Her dad and Col never said where the exact location for this rift was but something was telling her it was close to where this whole mess was happening.

Call it reckless, call it dangerous. It was naturally all of that and more but Kit had never been one to ignore a fact or to shy away from a lead that could help. She still wasn’t sure how much of what was being told was truth or fiction but she could go with facts at hand. Bodies were turning up in that area. It was confirmed it is same as before. She had some training in self-defence so she could join teams on deployment and was confident in her skills enough to know she could put up a fight if she had too. If Col was here, he’d be screaming at her to get her butt back to base. A wry smile on her face she turned on the ignition and pulled her car out of her dad’s drive.

---

Wide black eyes once blowgun and full of life were now fixed frozen, their gaze lingering somewhere in the distance. The warm body growing colder by the second fell like a puppet with its strings cut as it became part of the harvest.

The long incision tracked the carotid artery in the beasts neck the warm fluid ran in a river, pulsing with each beat of the heart as it left its confinement within the flesh. A smooth polished stone the size of a palm was placed near the laceration. The crimson colour growing deeper as it absorbed the flowing liquid as if it were a sponge of some sort. Not a drop was to be wasted. As the flow slowed down you could see the power of this curious palm stone. The blood, the life energy of the deceased creature was vanishing, every last drop sucked deep within the stone and trapped there until nothing remained either inside the creature or visibly on the flesh outside it. Removing the stone, the scout put it inside a black velvet bag covered in runic enchantments. A singular gloved hand swept over the wound closing it seamlessly, a sign of thanks in an ancient ritual for life taken.

Making their way back to the rift the felt a tremor. The Queen’s crystal began to hum with an almost inaudible noise. It was like someone had made a noise in a cave full of fragile glass. The citrine colour was turning clouded.

---

She had no idea what she thought she would find from doing a drive-by of a scene that was so organic. Evidence of nearly everything was pretty much lost the minute you found it in the wilds. You couldn’t control mother nature, it reclaimed everything it could. Pulling over to the verge she let the engine tick over while she turned on the internal cabin light for the car.

Met files in hand she started to look at the survey map and compared it to the copy of the one from work she had snapped on her cell. She was definitely in the right area but from what she could see nothing looked out of place.

“Well, what did you expect Kit?” She muttered to herself sighing. She was tired, her mind was going a mile a minute and she knew she should be at home right now. She put the files down and turned off the light inside the car. Plunging herself into darkness with only the dash lights to illuminate her hands she pulled on the steering wheel and made the car turn back on the woodland road.

A few minutes later travelling back along the uneventful road home something holy unexpected happened. Something dropped right out of the sky and landed with a sickeningly loud thud on the hood of her car. Her clear view of the road ahead obstructed completely by whatever it was caused her to slam on the brakes and the car jolted to a sudden stop.

“What the Hell!?” The object rolled and slid from the car leaving a massive indentation in the warped metal. A hissing sound came from the car as funnels of twisting steam leaked from it. “Fan – fucking – tastic.” She looked around outside the car.

The road was close enough to the tree line and mountain range behind it that it had her wondering about large cats. It had been known for them to drag a kill up high into a tree to protect it whilst they enjoyed a meal and it was that thought that had her checking for anything that was going to tell her there was a mountain lion or something. She reached into her bag and removed a handgun before leaving the relative safety of her vehicle.

Keeping an observant eye out over her surroundings she edged towards the front of the car her foot found the limp limb of a very dead deer. That mountain lion theory was looking pretty good about now, at least it would be if there had been a missing throat or something. The barrel of her gun dipped a little as her eyes roamed over the unblemished pelt of the poor creature.

The hairs on the back of her neck were already raised but for some reason she felt her skin prickle as the rest of her body joined in with the silent call to high alert. A crackling sound like a fire had her shift her gaze quickly in the direction of what looked like a floating yellow orb. It looked as if it was floating towards her in the darkness unhindered. It wasn’t until it got closer that she could make out the hand holding it. Her body naturally tensed and muscle memory had her training her weapon on the approaching suspicious figure.

“Stay where you are.” Her voice came out a lot more confident than she thought it would. That crackling fire sound was stronger.

The figure stopped standing statuesque in the bleak landscape. The light from the headlights picked out some details. Muted dull coloured fabric with binding wrapped tight around the extremities giving the appearance of a rather badly dressed Egyptian mummy.

“Who are you?”

“That’s my line.”

The yellow light looked like it was cracking with some sore of trapped electric. It flared brightly like a miniature clap of lightning.  “What is that thing?”

“Nothing of importance. Unlike you.” She didn’t have to be familiar with what the curious yellow storm trapped in glass was to know that the pointed words from the individual in front of her meant trouble. Her dad’s warning played on a loop in her mind. “Danger is coming. And it’s coming for you.”

She felt infinitely stupid. She had allowed her own curiosity to get her right in the danger zone and whatever happened now. How many times Col would have screamed at her telling her she was a reckless moron. She knew she had no one else to blame but herself and all she could do was accept that. Her grip tightened as the muscles in her hand contracted. The cold metal feeling heavier the longer she held it aloft. Just over 33 grams of metal versus a life never felt like it balanced out very well to her. But if it was life or death, she was sure she would rather go down fighting than just let herself become a target.

Oblivious to the internal struggle going on in her mind the figure holding the luminous object moved closer. The sound of crackling electric increased as the yellow light arched and flashed.

“Stay still. I will shoot.” She angled the barrel a little too far left and fired. The bullet from her firearm sunk into the bark of a tree right next to the figure but they ignored it as if it were little more than a fly on a windscreen and continued closing the distance.

“Who are you?”

“Not someone you want to test.”

The light flashed brighter. She felt sick, a wave of nausea was washing over her with the yellow glow. She squinted against it trying to keep a clear view and failed. The barrel of her gun was covered and effortlessly held away. Close enough now to see the figure for what it was she felt like she was in an episode of the X files. The eyes were black as glass. No colour or iris definition. The skin was pale but also had some faint markings on it like the mottling on a horse but it looked faintly green and leaf-shaped. The ears that were on visible because the hood of their outfit had fallen back seemed to be almost animal-like. If it was a fancy-dress workshop, she might have called them elven but there was definitely evidence of them having fur.

As she took in and tried to process her observations the creature in front of her gasped. For the first time a flicker of what looked like genuine fear and panic showed on their face.

“You!”

“Me? You know me?” Her words seemed to cause the creature to snap back to reality. Quicker than she could blink she felt pressure on her wrist. Something almost paste-like has been spread on the inside of her wrist and was melting into her arm. “What did you just--?” Her body stopped responding to basic commands. Her knees gave out and the arms of the creature near her caught her before she could become acquainted with the floor.

---

It was taking longer than they expected. The body they had left unconscious and propped up near the rift site was beginning to stir and come back to life. There wasn’t much that could be gathered that they didn’t already know from searching the scout. Everything was almost frustratingly banal.

With a flash and an unusual sizzling sound, the second scout returned. The black bag hanging from their belt was swinging in a way that told him the contents had become heavier. Successful hunt I suppose. They looked around for a few seconds before their eyes adjusted enough to the gloom to pick out the feet of their friend. Striding over they gave the soft souled boots a kick waking the semi-conscious man up properly.

“No sleeping on the job.”

“Ssorry” they apologised as they yawned. “Get everything?”

“And then some. Help me with this one, would you?”

The two disappeared and returned just as quickly. A small female was being carried between the two her hair was a mess of spun gold and her eyes that were as blue as ocean water had a fixed doll-like gaze towards the heavens. They watched as the scouts made their way to their horses hoisting up the paralysed woman.

“I don’t get why you bought back a live one. What are we doing with her?” The taller one asked ducking to avoid a low branch.

“Trust me there’s something weird bout this one. The Queen’s gem went insane around her.” They replied, suppressing a shudder as they looked at the girl trapped between the saddle and their own body.

“What does that mean?”

“No idea. But I can tell you one thing she looks just like her highness when angry.”

Snippets of conversation carried in the wind as they left the clearing. Resting their hand against the rough bark of a tree trunk two saffron-coloured eyes glowed in the darkness. the rest of their features hidden from the moonlight by the hood of their cloak.

“Well now, this is an interesting development. I wonder how this will improve our little game.”

---

[triplehelix]

for those 5 word prompts! "you can't be here now" but keep it fluffy and lighthearted to the best of ur ability that is my challenge to u c;

dallie…….this got away from me. know that i love you.

It’s going to be a good night.

He was able to get out of his council meeting early, and Gladio dropped him off in the residential district. He’s meeting Ignis at his place for a change; Ignis had promised to make something good. That means they’ll have a dinner just for the two of them at the table in Ignis’s apartment, which really feels more like a date than anything at Noct’s apartment because Ignis is over there all the time anyway. Then the two of them could just…hang out like usual. Noct could sit on the floor beside Ignis’s armchair, falling asleep with his head against Ignis’s thigh while Ignis holds reports with one hand and cards through his hair with the other.

Yeah, that’d be nice.

And who knows? Maybe they’ll end up making out on the couch or something. He can only hope.

“Ignis?” Noct calls, nudging the door shut behind himself. Usually, Ignis can be found sitting at his kitchen table or curled up in his armchair, drinking coffee while he works through some reports. There’s no sign of him now, and the warm yellow light of the lamp by the armchair is missing. And there’s a curiously sharp smell in the air that he doesn’t quite recognize. He thinks he’s smelled it a couple of times at Prompto’s place or when he’s over at Gladio’s house and Iris is around.

“I’m here!” Ignis calls, voice strained, from across the apartment.

Noct drops his bag to the floor, holding his hand out immediately in anticipation of some sort of blade. He hasn’t decided if it’ll be a dagger or sword yet. “Specs?” he asks quietly. “You good?”

“Apologies, Noct, but-”

“But what?” Noct slides his foot further along the hardwood of the apartment, heading towards the sound of Ignis’s voice. If there’s something or someone here, and Ignis of all people was caught off guard, what could he possibly do to stop that sort of person?

Ignis is silent for a moment, and then his voice sounds through the apartment with a faint echo. Bathroom, then. “You can’t be here now.”

“What’re you doing, though?” He clenches his fingers into a fist, deciding that a dagger would probably be best. He can throw those. He flips it in his hand, stepping closer to the bathroom.

No reply. Maybe a sigh?

“Specs?” he calls lowly, and his heart gives a lurch of fear. Not Specs, not Ignis, c’mon-

He throws open the door and leaps through the doorway, knife poised at the ready.

Ignis stares back at him, wide-eyed, from the bathtub.

Noct banishes the dagger immediately. “Uh.”

“Noct!” Ignis exclaims, cheeks turning scarlet. He’s not even wearing his glasses; his hair lies flat against his forehead like it used to, now a little darker from the steam in the air. “I didn’t think you’d be arriving for some time, Noct, so-”

“I got let out of the meeting early. My dad shut a lot of the council’s suggestions down,” Noct says dumbly instead of getting the fuck out of the bathroom. He should leave. He should leave. He should really leave.

He pauses for a moment, considering all the things Ignis might have been doing in his absence, and he flushes. “I can leave if you’re, y’know. Uh. Busy.” They’re not at that point in their relationship yet, really. He really shouldn’t be here.

Ignis goes even brighter red, eyes widening. “Nothing like that!” he protests immediately. “No, Noct, I wasn’t-”

“I should go,” Noct mutters, and he scrambles for the door handle, about to show himself out of Ignis’s apartment and hide in his own bed for about fifteen years.

“Noct, wait!” Ignis reaches out towards Noct, almost as if he’s about to leap out of the bathtub and chase him down, but he seems to realize what he’s doing, and where he is, and his arm just ends up hanging at the edge of the tub, fingers splayed desperately along the enamel.

Fingers with purple fingernails.

Noctis stares.

Oh, gods.

“Are you painting your nails?”

The smell makes sense now, of course. Holy shit.

“I’m also taking a bath, but…” Ignis trails off, biting thoughtfully at his lip. He seems to come to some sort of conclusion and makes direct, unwavering eye contact with Noct. “Yes. I am painting my nails.”

Noct blinks. “Oh.”

Ignis’s fingernails tap out a restless rhythm on the edge of the tub. Noct can’t stop staring at them. “This isn’t exactly how I wanted to tell you this, Noct.”

“It’s not a big deal.” It’s a big deal.

“To me, it might be,” Ignis argues softly.

Noct winces. He’s said the wrong thing again. Okay. Course correction. Empathy. Conversation. He asks, “Is this why you always wear gloves?”

Ignis looks down; his long eyelashes cast shadows along his cheekbones. “Part of the reason,” he admits. “Or perhaps the gloves just became convenient when I started doing this.” He huffs out a little breathy laugh, startlingly loud in the echoing silence of the bathroom. Maybe the echo makes it resonate all the more in some part of Noct’s chest that he can’t quite name. “It’s embarrassing, really.”

“Nah.” Noct against the doorjamb of the bathroom. “I don’t know why you’re embarrassed about this.”

“It’s improper, Noct.”

“It’s your body.” Noct shrugs. “Who cares what you’ve got on? You’re still doing the job in the same way. The best way,” he adds, and he can’t help the blush that rises back to his cheeks at the words. Gods, is he really complimenting Ignis right after barging in on him in the bath?

Fuck, Ignis is naked right now, isn’t he?

They haven’t gotten too far yet. This is still new territory for both of them, and Noct’s afraid that anything going wrong here could jeopardize everything that they are to each other.

Ignis doesn’t seem to have any such qualms. He lifts his hand - gods, look at those nails - and makes a vague wave over to him. “You can come over here, you know.”

Noct raises an eyebrow and hopes that the expression masks how much his heart begins racing. “You’re sure?”

Ignis blinks at him slowly, tilting his head to the side to study Noctis. His eyes look darker green than usual, or maybe that’s just the lighting. “I’m sure,” he says. “You’ve already gotten this far.”

Noct almost wishes that there had been an intruder. It would be easier than this. It would be easier than a lot of things that have to do with Ignis, and Ignis in the bath, and Ignis in the bath with his nails painted. It would be easier than being faced with every godsdamned reason why he finally decided to ask Ignis if they could start dating. He can already see half his fantasies playing out like a movie behind his eyes, reminding him of every way that he wants Ignis, and more.

The soft rug beside the tub is a welcome feeling beneath his knees, because by the gods, he drops like a rock beside Ignis.

Ignis smiles at him, radiant and soft. “Welcome home,” he murmurs, and that’s no fucking help.

Noctis returns the grin, hoping that he’s not too red in the face. “Good to be home.” That’s good. Good answer. In control.

But up close, he can smell whatever soap it is that is undeniably Ignis. The scent of it reminds him of just how wonderful it is to bury his face in the crook of Ignis’s neck and experience every bit of him, and that’s not helping at all. Thankfully - thankfully? - the shower curtain is drawn enough that it obscures the view of anything too far down in the tub, and the bathwater itself is thick with suds and color. And Ignis. He’s there too. In the bath. Next to Noct.

Gods, he’s in way over his head.

To distract himself, he reaches for the hand that’s still resting on the edge of the bathtub, lifting it up carefully. Ignis lets him without a word of protest, so Noct takes the opportunity to really look at the varnish up close. It’s pleasantly iridescent up close, subtle and elegant while still retaining an air of beauty. Dark purple - wine, coeurl print, the spines of some of Ignis’s favorite books - fits him well. On Ignis, on his fingers, this is dangerous. Noct has always loved Ignis’s hands, capable and deft and deadly.

“I like the color,” Noct tells him. And then, before he can stop himself, he blurts, “You always look good in purple.”

The corners of Ignis’s mouth lift up in a tiny, pleased smile. “Thank you, Noct. I’m glad you think so.”

“Maybe…” He’s pushing his luck, but he’s already here, and he might as well. “Maybe you could try black next time?”

Ignis chuckles. “A bit unsubtle, don’t you think?”

“Well.” Noct lifts the hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the knuckles there. He raises his eyes to meet Ignis’s gaze, unblinking. “It’s my color.”

“Do I look good in black too?” Ignis teases.

“Fishing for compliments, are we?”

“I believe I’m owed a few, after the scare you gave me.”

“Okay. Yeah. Valid. Don’t tell anyone I did that.”

“It’s endearing. Very valiant.”

“Don’t call me valiant.”

“As my prince commands,” Ignis teases, and Noct can’t help but smile. Ignis tugs his hand out of Noct’s grip, studying him quietly for a moment. “I was planning on making something with rice tonight,” he muses. “And after that…you could stay, if you’d like.”

“Stay?”

One of Ignis’s legs shifts in the water, sending ripples of water up to lap at Ignis’s chest. Noct swallows. He’s not going to look. He’s not going to look.

Fuck.

Ignis smiles. “I’d certainly welcome your company.”

Noct breathes out through his nose, controlling himself as much as he can manage. “Will you keep the gloves off?”

Another smile, pleased and soft. “If you’d like. Certainly.”

“One more question, Specs.”

“Better hurry. The bathwater won’t stay warm forever.”

Noct grins. “Can I kiss you now?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” Ignis breathes, and he reaches out to catch Noct at the back of his neck, digging his fingers into the soft skin there as he pulls him close. Noct shivers; he can almost imagine that he can feel the layer of polish there, and he leans in to close the distance between them.

It really is going to be a good night.

[moonraccoon-exe]

No one can tell me that GladNis isn't canon coz Gladio was ready to slap Noct around for getting Iggy hurt. Like, Gladio's dad died, along with Regis. His home's been taken over by enemy forces! He didn't seem bothered much at the time. I mean, his outward appearance didn't look to be shaken, ya know? But when Iggy loses his sight, Gladio's ready to pound Noct into the ground! The very guy he's sworn loyalty to, to proctect! C'mon now! GladNis is def canon!

*sips from grape juice**clears throat**puts glasses on*

Okay, you all buckle in because I SO am about to type this 

Post on Gladio’s psychology post-chapter 9

*cracks fingers*

[There’s a Keep Reading line ahead, for those using the mobile app that can’t see it. Sorry]

Dear anon, thanks for dropping by! I too strongly believe in the canon-icity of Gladnis because the chemistry is there! Nobody can deny that, like holy shit. Even with the stupid ‘girlfriend’ issue, I’m not buying that. Come on, the chemistry is THERE, it’s impossible to deny! It’s so clear in chapter 10 and on their own small journey when they separate from the guys on chapter 13. It’s EVERYWHERE. 

Bbbbut, I don’t agree on the WHERE you see it, anon. I’m not rejecting what you offer, but I do would like to clarify or to give away my opinion on what Gladio was feeling, thinking, and why he acted like that. This is, of course, if you don’t mind. I just really like the psychological side of any story I read/play, and while your entry had me smiling and nodding, I can’t fully agree with the overall view you’re offering. And not that it’s wrong; I just see it from many other angles that make it a bit wider.

I don’t think Gladio snapped out at Noctis and raged at him for what happened to Ignis (which wasn’t Noctis’ fault, let’s comprehend). At least, not only because of that.

That Gladio shows to stay cool and not bothered at the events you list doesn’t necessarily mean he doesn’t care, or that it doesn’t bother him enough to make him snap out, or that they were less bad than what happened in Altissia.

That you don’t react to something in the same second it happens doesn’t mean you don’t care, sometimes it just means it’s hurt so deep inside you that your mind literally can’t finish to understand it happened at all.

Or, simply, that you’re not letting yourself feel it.

Imagine you have spent 23 years of life hearing everywhere and from everyone’s mouth that your only task is to serve the guy that’s your best friend and brother of other blood. That you live for him. Imagine you’re asked to escort him some place, and then find out he’s in danger.He’s your priority. He’s the only thing you live for.He’s priority from over your own feelings and choices and needs.

Gladio knows his job. Despite how playful he can show himself to be, he’s incredibly mature and he knows what his duty asks of him. He dared face a god of war only to become better in what he does in life, only for Noctis’ sake. 

Gladio knows his homeland and the place he loves was taken over and destroyed and that he’s probably not ever going back. He’s slapped in the face with the understanding that his father died. There’s the doubt of whether his sister survived or if she’s currently a pile of ashes or a corpse. And he knows war is lost.All at the same time.

He learns ALL OF THAT at the same time, at the same second. Imagine you receive those news. The shock must be unbearable. The shock must be so great you may possibly not even react at all because it’s too much to be real. That’s why the guys need to go see it themselves, it’s just too much to handle.

Now, we see Noctis break down at the news and rage and get depressed and flail all over the place….Because he can.

Because, even though he knows his duty and role in life and what he has to do, he doesn’t serve anyone, like his friends do. 

Ignis, Gladio and Prompto must have been as hurt and desperate as Noctis, but there’s a difference never told but still understood: they all are meant and literally tasked to aid him, and he’s only tasked to go marry someone. Whether we like the sound of it or not, Noctis is a prince that’s served and the guys serve the prince, that’s how the world goes. They do it proudly and happily but they still serve, int he extent of the word.

I dare say Gladio must have been the one to handle the news much, much, by far much more heavily than Ignis or Prompto.

Ignis seems to only have his uncle for family, and while Prompto does have his parents, his relationship is poor with them. So their affectation is mostly on Niflheim taking over Lucis. Gladio, on his side, has THAT affectation plus the complete, full awareness that his dad has died. The king never dies before his Shield. And Regis is dead. Which must have hit Gladio like a bolt: Clarus is dead. Dead. His father. His only father. His family. His dad.

And to that point he still doesn’t know whether Iris survived or not. Handling losing your homeland in a war is heavy, then add losing your beloved father, and add the possibility of your dead little princess, my god. 

…but then he decides to bottle it all up.

Gladio knows his job, I repeat. He’s mature. He knows very well what he has to do. And that is to aid Noctis. To help him become stronger and much more aware of what he has to do. Guide him. Protect him. The situation desperately needs for the three of them to guide and push and hurry Noctis on his task, on his destiny. 

Right now the only thing that matters is Noctis. Not his feelings.They are obstacles.

We know they’re not, but that’s how Gladio sees that, how anyone in his position and with his knowledge must see. Ignis does that, too. Even Prompto. They all never show themselves bothered not because they don’t care but because they know that mourning right now is useless and that the only thing that’s important is to continue the journey and do something, work, fight and win. Not mourn; that can wait. 

So Gladio just bottles it. Except I think, for the things listed above, that he has quite some particular reasons to be upset. But he bottles it and bottles it.

And he insists on doing that to the point the glass is already full but even then he goes against logic and doesn’t let it spill because he can’t allow himself to feel and let it all out, not when his king needs him.

But then Altissia happens.

Imagine that you’ve spent 23 years of life training and working every single day of your life, every…single…one…just to be the strongest and the best on your duty that’s literally protecting somebody else. Imagine you’ve spent 23 years with the only purpose in life of protecting someone. Literally.Imagine you went through a trial of a GOD and defeated him only to become better at your duty, that is, again, only and literally protecting somebody else.

And then find out that your best friend was majorly injured and lost his sight. In the same battle you were in.

And then go through a day in which the person you sworn to protect was barely found alive and is in a coma state, that the important Oracle is dead, that half the country was destroyed, and that the man and friend that understands you best was found barely, vaguely alive, unconscious, bleeding, agonizing and with this huge burn/injury on the eye and wakes up goddamn fucking blind.

Imagine one of your dearest, if not the dearest friend (Noct is more like a lil bro) goes through that….

While you came out of the fight entirely unharmed.

Dude, I want you to imagine how it must feel. To know you did your best, yet this was the outcome. All your friends harmed, one dead, the other barely alive and waking up to become only half-a-life (we know it gets better in the future, but in the immediate present, Ignis IS losing a major/huge part of himself, seen as half/all the things he used to do/enjoyed were all related/needing of his sight).

There’s a bottle already past full of rage and sadness inside him, this was the very, very, very last drop to spill it. Problem is, it was not a drop, it was a FUCKING CASCADE.

Gladio’s strong, but he’s a human, too. And he, like any of us, has his limits. And I think that,by this point of the story, he’s gone further the limits of his limits, already. And he…as the human he is…merely exploded.

I’ve shared this in other similar posts and I repeat it here: in psychology, in school, I once learned that anger is only a mask for sadness, which, at its time, is a mask for fear.

That Gladio snaps out at Noctis is not necessarily Gladio blaming Noctis for what happens to Ignis and raging over only that.That Gladio snaps out at Noctis is only Gladio’s excuse.

You know these moments when you bottle something up, somebody does or says something, and you snap out at them maybe a bit unnecessarily?

Like, maybe the boss fired you, the bus was late, it rained on you, they robbed your clock and wallet, and when you finally get home, your mom accidentally moved your computer from this room to the other…And suddenly you’re raging over that last fact.

And you’re maybe snapping out at your mom, and you go nuts because “how could you do something so stupid, you know I like my things to be where I leave them, it was connected to the light because it was on and now it’s off and blah blah bla”. 

It’s stupid. You’re raging over a stupidity, a small thing. But you can’t stop. You know why? You’re not raging at your stuff being moved.You’re raging at everything that happened earlier, all the major stuff. The last event is only your excuse. You’re taking the first thing that maddens you to scream at it and to yell at it and to cry at it not because THAT caused it, only because THAT is offering you an excuse to let all the previous things out.

This is the very same thing with Gladio.

He’s not raging only at the fact that Noctis can’t stop being sad or that he’s “not showing any care about Ignis”, he’s raging at EVERYTHING. Everything, from Insomnia’s fall and his dad’s death to Ignis’ injury and almost death, added the more self-centered fact that Gladio let that happen to Ignis when he had worked so hard to become the best Shield ever.

Imagine you’re meant to protect people, yet somebody you love almost dies in front of you while you’re completely unharmed.Gladio’s not only suffering Ignis’ injury, he’s suffering some sort of personal break of his idea of himself.He knew himself something, but the events at Altissia could or not may have had him take the blame to himself. Imagine you know yourself the best Shield ever, then look behind you and see all this death and your dearest people injured and bleeding and barely breathing, and you’re standing there…like, the enemy didn’t even pay attention to you, like you’re useless, like you’re not there and just went past you and killed them all.They went past him. Like he was not there.Like he’s an intangible shield.A shield that is not a shield.A shield that isn’t there.And realize that if a shield isn’t there when YOU are supposed to be one…Then what are you?

I don’t deny that chapter 10 and ahead and the treatment Gladio offers to Ignis all over it is partly to blame on why I adore Gladnis and see it as almost-canon. 

But I don’t think that it’s what happened to Ignis what made Gladio rage like he did. 

Of course, I’m not saying that Gladio doesn’t care about Ignis. It’s most obvious he does, even during the events of the past traveling with a healthy 22 y.o. Ignis, Gladio’s constantly showing how much he particularly cares about him. Sometimes it even feels like he talks more about Ignis than he does about Noctis. The events of Altissia must have made him completely rage, but I don’t think it was only THAT. 

It’s not that Gladio prefers Ignis over Noctis. It’s that Noctis was Gladio’s psychological “drop of water that spilled the glass”, and Ignis’ injury only happened to be the nearest major event, the closet chronologically to Gladio’s outburst. Gladio knows Noctis comes before anything else, but he’s a human, and he simply could not help but finally explode after bottling up months of major event after major even after major event being crowned by not only having your dearest friend majorly injured and eternally handicapped, but to most possibly have also seen him almost die. 

…-deep breath-

Phew.

….

Still, I can’t deny that I love the way Gladio behaves with Ignis post-Altissia. It’s overprotective and so careful. I love it, hahaha. Nobody can tell me Gladnis isn’t canon, either, the chemistry is always there no matter which point of the game you’re playing!

[itsclydebitches]

Preacher Summer Secret Santa Gift: A Three Flower Bouquet

Title: A Three Flower Bouquet 

Summary: Jesse's said before that their lives resemble the start of a bad joke: an ex-preacher, a rich wedding planner, and a foul-mouthed bum all walk into a flower shop...

Fandom: Preacher

Words: 4,574

Warnings: None (except maybe cursing, but if that bothered you you wouldn’t be watching this show lol) 

Pairings: Jesse/Cass/Tulip

Where to Read it: Below the cut or on AO3 (AO3 recommended for formatting)

A/N: Hello, @homelygrantaire!! I come bearing a gift! Just so you know I had a blast writing an OT3 flower shop AU, so I really hope you enjoy this little present. Happy Summer Secret Santa! 

A Three Flower Bouquet 

Week One

Jesse had once read in National Geographic that there were only six degrees of separation between him and every other person on Earth. A friend's colleague's niece's kindergarten buddy grew up to be the wife of the barista who once served the President a cappuccino, that sort of deal. He'd never put much stock in that kind of science-y nonsense, though it might go a long way towards explaining how the hell the three of them kept ending up in here together.

A former preacher, a bum, and a renowned wedding planner all walk into a flower shop...

"We're the beginning of a bad joke," Jesse muttered, hefting his watering can like a pistol. He aimed it at Tulip's head. "What can I do you two for?"

"I need BIG flowers," Cass said promptly at the same time that Tulip went, "The Montoya order." They turned to glare at one another. Jesse just shook his head.

And so the day began.

***

The first time Tulip walked into his shop she was all figurative fire and brimstone—except for the literal fire at the end of her cigarette. She'd commanded the small space with all the ferocity of an army general, laying out a series of rare and rather large orders that she'd need from him within the coming months. At no point did she give her name—which, Jesse would come to learn later, was because she assumed everyone should already knew it—and paid him no heed when Jesse insisted that this was too large a job for his small, out of the way establishment.

She needed tulips, dammit, and she needed them now.

Jesse had been wrist deep in soil at the time and he’d felt is oozing between his fingers, this woman already grating on his nerves, spine, and driving a steak straight through to the back of his skull. He had to take a deep breath and deliberately release his fists, lest he crush the fragile roots just a hairsbreadth below. Jesse turned with a smile.

"I've got some," he said, probably sounding less amiable and more like he was constipated. While passing a kidney stone. God he hated these richie-rich types. "I've also got a contact an hour out who can make up the rest, but it'll take a bit. Really, ma'am, you're better off hitting a larger store."

The look she'd turned on his was pure in its intensity. Jesse's shop was filled with a color and life that didn't belong in Annville's desert, but this woman didn't belong in his shop, not with that sharp tailored suit and three-inch heels. She'd torn the sunglasses from her face and for the first time Jesse got a look at searing black eyes.

"I'm Annville born and bred," she drawled. "I'm loyal."

Jesse couldn't help punctuating her words with a disbelieving laugh. "You're Annville?"

"Fuck yes I am, you got a problem with that?" And one hand curled into a waiting fist, actually rearing back in preparation.

Oh damn. She was Annville. Alright.

Jesse had raised his muddied hands in surrender and went behind the counter to clean up, getting the order forms ready as she prattled on about her work as a wedding planner, her name in the magazines, how the flowers had best be fresh despite the climate because the Livington's were not an easygoing couple.

Jesse weathered her prattling about wanting whites, or maybe pinks, no, wait, maybe something two-toned, and each time she changed her mind it was another scratch out with the pen. By the time he actually got to flip the order around for her to sign it Jesse had determined that small town pride and stunning good looks didn't make up for this kind of nonsense.

Except then she signed Tulip O'hare and suddenly Jesse's day was fantastic.

"You're a Tulip," he said slowly, "in need of tulips..." Jesse looked up with a stunning grin and Tulip, bless her, just rolled her eyes instead of decking him good.

"Yeah, like I've never heard that one before." She threw his pen back on the counter. "I'll be here next Thursday. You'd best have my flowers."

"You doubt me?"

"Oh good god yes."

He'd laughed because yeah, their 'good god' had doubted him too and Jesse had eventually decided that growing things was better than sticking a dead, white collar on his neck every morning. He'd shed his chain like some kind of dog, mangy and still a little bit feral. But now Jesse had bright colors, heady scents, and the picture of someone like Tulip O'hare just begging that he come through for her. Jesse let his eyes follow the sharp lines of her bodyand thought that he could get used to this kind of clientele.

"Thursday then," he agreed. "It's a date."

"It's definitely not."

Tulip had put her cigarette out in his potted iris and honestly? If it had been anyone else Jesse would have had them leaving his store in pieces.

But she was something entirely.

***

Cass was something else too. Holy shit.

Jesse rubbed at his forehead, unconcerned that he was smearing soil over his skin. What had begun as a headache had blossomed (ha) into a migraine of epic proportions, all due to the skinny little twerp half sitting on his counter. Cass had come in for the first time exactly 69 minutes after Tulip left—a fact Jesse only knew because he was that obsessed with when he could close shop—and if that number didn't encompass the man's entire being, Jesse didn't know what would.

He'd known Cass for a handful of seconds. It was one handful too much.

"Back up," Jesse said. He sighed. "You want a cactus?"

"Yep."

"But mine are too pretty?"

Jesse gestured to the small collection of cacti sitting over by the windowsill, most of them in teeny-tiny pots that people found cute and not too intimidating to take care of. They still weren't overly popular though. People could see dry, prickly brush on their way to work everyday, or outside their bedroom window, free for the taking. No, they came to Jesse for the lush and the colorful, things he either had to import or that he grew himself, so slow that sometimes it was hard to part with them. No one in Annville wanted to buy a freaking cactus.

Except this asshole.

"Look at 'em!" Cass said. His voice held enough indignation that Jesse did look again, half expecting the view to change. "They're stupidly pretty. All fuckin' green an'... an' small." Cass pushed his hands palm to palm to demonstrate their smallness, looking pretty angry about it.

Jesse just stared. "...thank you?"

"It won't do. How they hell am I supposed to give Laura somethin' like that? She'll think I actually like her." Cass shook his head despairingly. "The fuck am I supposed to do now?"

That day had felt like something straight out of the Twilight Zone. Jesse was a small town boy with a small town business and he'd gotten used to his routine over the years. That routine sure as hell didn't include a stranger than normal customer, let alone two back-to-back... and yet, let it never be said that Jesse Custer couldn't roll with the punches.

"One sec," he said.

Jesse's backroom was a mess of tools, soil, and vegetation. On his bench was a pot of very dead petunias, the poor things all shriveled and brown. It wasn't his fault the damn things were finicky in this weather and honestly Jesse wasn't bemoaning the loss of those pink flowers, not when they were that cheap to come by. The plan had been to take back the pot and move on. Now Jesse snagged the whole thing, a few dead leaves trailing behind him.

He set the pot down in front of Cass. "This Laura of yours... she the one down at the auto-shop?"

"Yeah! One in the same."

"That woman's a piece of work."

"You're telling me."

"So how about giving her this?"

It was surreal to be presenting that run-down plant like it was something actually worth selling, but sure enough Cass' eyes lit up at the prospect. In that moment Jesse saw the whole situation clearly, how a man like Cass might think that breaking things off with a shitty gift—rather than just some good, old fashioned honesty—might be the way to go. Decked out in a whole collection of ratty clothes, Cass looked like the kind of creative asshole you only ran into once in a blue moon. He wore at least three torn shirts that as a whole nearly succeeded in covering his chest. His jeans were colored over in marker, like a freaking middle schooler's, and that was definitely weed doodled down on his left knee. The only reason Jesse knew his name was because Cass had a "Hello! My name is ____" sticker plastered on his stomach and he could only guess where he'd picked that up. Maybe one of the church's monthly events. It would fit. Jesse was pretty sure the guy was homeless. He kinda smelled homeless.

"I had my heart set on a cactus," Cass sighed. "But I guess a dead thing is better than just a looks-dead thing. Here," he rummaged in his jeans and pulled out three super wrinkled dollars, jellybeans, and a nearly empty packet of Camels. "Does this cover the shit you weren't even planning to sell?"

Jesse raised an eyebrow as he slid the offering across the counter. He left the jellybeans. "How were you gonna pay me if you wanted the cactus?"

"Duh. Was gonna pay you with a kiss. Gotta move on sometime, don’t I?"

Cass winked, grabbed his dead plant, and sauntered out the door with what he probably thought was a seductive strut. Despite the absurdity, Jesse did find himself staring at Cass' ass.

"Aw hell," he said.

***

Week Five

In the two years since he'd chucked the collar, beat up a few old contacts, collected their funds, and started up his shop, Jesse hadn't seen anyone of particular interest come through the door. Emily often came in on the church's behalf, asking for whatever was fresh and cheap to put up front. Jesse honestly didn't know if she did that because they really didn't have the funds, or because she couldn't stand to look at him long enough to actually choose something herself. Probably both. She'd taking his defrocking worse than most.

Others mostly picked up flowers on their way to and from service. For their windowsills. Their gardens. Local weddings, funerals, stupid boys looking to make up with their girls (of which Cass was in the obvious minority). Jesse had resigned himself to a life of flower mediocrity until those two assholes had plowed through at sixty miles an hour.

It wouldn't have been so bad if they didn't keep showing up together.

"I thought you ran a clean establishment, Jesse."

Tulip said it with all the rancor he'd come to expect of her, looking none too subtly at Cass’ grimy attire. A month had passed since she'd grudgingly complimented the tulips he'd provided and in that time she'd no more warmed to Cass than she had to dressing down. Today was a blue, pleated skirt; bright yellow top; killer heels and jewelry fine enough that it could probably feed Jesse for the rest of his miserable life.

Tulip kept a healthy distance between her fine clothes and Cass' scruffy self.

"It's a flower shop," he said. "These things grow in dirt." Cass shook a nearby plant for emphasis. "Manure, luv. Or does your fancy little life not cover some literal day-to-day shit? If you do go is it on a porcelain throne?"

Jesse slowly and carefully leaned his head into his palm. It wouldn't do for Tulip to see him laughing.

He had to hand it to her though, she was a master of manipulation. Tulip kept scrolling through her iPhone, occasionally holding up some pic or another against one of Jesse's flowers, typing out some notes, took a pic of her own... it was only after three long, agonizing minutes had passed that she looked up and said blandly, "Sorry. Did you say something?"

"Jesus fuckin' christ."

"Better question." Jesse raised his hand like a schoolboy. "Are you two assholes actually going to buy something?"

"I like your orchids," Tulip said, for the first time actually taking her eyes off Cass. "But I think they're a little classy for the Taitts. They're humble folk, you know? They need something bright with those white table cloths, just nothing that's going to distract from Laura's dress—it's not a very nice dress, can't afford anything more eye-catching. I do worry about the bridesmaids upstaging her—so maybe those sunflowers. Yeah, over there..." She completely missed Cass 'yapping' with his hand behind her back.

"I've only got enough for five vases," Jesse warned.

"That's fine. Humble, like I said. They've only got enough people for five tables anyway."

As Tulip rummaged for her credit card Cass slipped to the floor (he'd been sitting on the table with the lilacs, a smudge of pale brown amongst all the purple) and sauntered up behind Tulip. Like a kid faced with a dog, too stupid to know he'd get bit, Cass curved his hands around her waist and leaned into Tulip's back. He pressed briefly there before peeking out over her shoulder.

Except miracle of fucking miracles, the pretty doggie didn't bite.

"Uh," Jesse said.

"You better be cleaner than you look," Tulip muttered, still shifting through her purse. Cass waved his arms in demonstration and wow. He was clean. Relatively, at least. Jesse was still trying to re-boot his brain when Tulip said, "Ah!"

"No, no." Cass pushed her wallet back down. "This is on me, luv."

Tulip scoffed. "You can pay for five bouquets?"

"Well, not in the traditional sense, but Jesse and I have got a tab going, don't we?"

They most certainly did not. Cass' 'tab,' established after his first dead-plant purchase, consisted of promises he never kept and a pair of lethal puppy-dog eyes he wielded with precision. Over the last few weeks Jesse had given the man not perfect, but still serviceable flowers in exchange for all sorts of stupid trinkets and words. He liked to think that he gave Cass lilies and irises because he felt bad for the freeloader. It probably had more to do with Cass' obscenely pouty lips.

He was pouting right now, clearly begging Jesse to help a guy out. His arm moved numbly and somehow (dammit) Jesse ended up signing over the month's largest order for free.

"Enjoy," he said automatically, still staring at Cass' hand wrapped just under Tulip's breast. There were 'thank you's and sly glances and when they finally left the shop, Jesse followed them like the scoundrel he was. An apron, muck boots, and pollen dusted t-shirt sort of ruined his look though.

Still, Jesse could move silent when he needed to and what he found in his spying were his two favorite customers hoofing it to Tulip's Fiat 124 Spider, a car so fucking immaculate that it had no place on Annville's dusty streets. It seemed a shame then for the two of them to immediately start defiling it, both literally and figuratively: Tulip hiking Cass up onto the hood of the car, straddling him as he kept them balanced, the kiss that sent flecks of spit down to sizzle on the paint job, Cass' muddied boots leaving streaks on the tire. It wasn't any voyeuristic guilt that finally turned Jesse away. Just the disappointment that neither of those figures were him.

Of course, all that changed when Cass came back twenty minutes later.

"Crush my sunflowers in your enthusiasm?" Jesse muttered, forgetting for a moment that good, respectable businessmen didn't follow their customers out of doors and watch them going at it like bunnies on a sheet of hot metal. He ducked his head over seed packets and thus missed Cass turning the little sign from 'open' to 'closed.'

In fact, Jesse determined not to notice Cass at all until he was making himself at home between his legs.

Cass dropped to his knees and looked up with a rakish grin. If there was a god in this world maybe he wasn't so disappointed in Jesse's career change after all.

"Told you I'd pay you back," Cass said. He pinched a mouthful of jeans between his teeth and tugged, running hands up under apron and shirt. "Just didn't say how, now did? Think this'll clear up my tab?"

The answer Jesse gave was tangled as a vine because by then Cass was pulling down the zipper, palming the wet spot on Jesse's jeans, breathing deep like he enjoyed the scent of both of them together. Jesse gave up on words entirely and when he looked up there was Tulip standing just outside the storefront, watching them with a cigarette between her lips. There was a sunflower in her hair. She caught Jesse's eye and winked.

"Fuck you both," Jesse muttered, tugging hard at Cass’ hair.

He pulled off only for a moment. “Pretty sure that’s the point, eh?”

***

Week 13

So. Those two showing up at the same time—probably not a coincidence after all.

"Do you even like each other?" Jesse asked one Saturday morning, re-potting a Peperomia. "Do you like me? I'm honestly curious."

"You're serviceable," Tulip said as Cass licked his finger and made a sizzling sound. Right. Jesse didn't know why he bothered. It wasn't like any of them were built for straight answers, the kind of lovey-dovey declarations you got in the movies and on TV. Besides, didn't actions speak louder than words and all that shit?

If they did, their actions told Jesse that they were both complete and utter assholes. Also that they had nowhere better to go.

"This place is awful on my allergies," Tulip moaned, pulling a Kleenex from her purse. "And I was supposed to Skype with a potential client an hour ago." She checked her phone and shrugged, too lazy to move from the tiny chair Jesse had dragged out from the back room. Tulip flapped her hand at her face in a sad attempt to start up a breeze. "And your air conditioning sucks."

"Non-existent," Jesse countered. "Its been busted for weeks. The hot house stuff likes it, but..." He trailed off, staring at Cass who'd scrounged up an ancient GameBoy. He leaned against Tulip's legs and periodically peeled her skirt off of his bare back. It was that kind of heat. "Hey. You could fix the damn thing. Earn your keep if you're gonna hang out here all day."

"No," Tulip said. She kept fanning her face, eyes closed.

"Maybe," Cass said. Which meant 'no.' Dammit.

"Excuse me?"

The three of them turned as an older woman snuck in through the door, opening it so slow and careful that the bell barely rung. Her nerves didn't seem to ease when she spotted Cass and Tulip. If anything, she looked like she wanted to sneak back out.

"Welcome to Flowerworks," Jesse said, hurrying up to the front. "Sorry. Ignore them. They're just friends of mine."

"Is that what we are?" Tulip murmured and Jess flipped her the bird behind his back. The client latched onto his arm as Jesse carefully guided her away from his two fools. Her hand was brittle and fluttered like a bird against his arm.

In fact, the entirety of her looked frail, too thin and breakable for a place like Annville. Hair that was white and thin as cotton candy waved about her shoulders, and her dress—powder blue with a sensible belt—hung on her awkwardly, too big despite the 'XS' tag Jesse could see peaking out from the collar. She looked like a good breeze or a decent curse would send her topping to the ground, and Jesse hurried her over to the remaining chair next to the chrysanthemums, lest she fall and break something here where awful things like suing might get involved. Jesse then took a healthy step back once she was settled. Old people gave him the creeps.

"It's good of you to come in, Mrs...?"

Her mouth worked silently. The woman looked up at Jesse and her expression told him that he'd said something unexpectedly shocking, crude even. Finally, she smiled, but it was a small, awful thing.

"Sawyer," she said. "But I suppose it's 'Ms.' now. My husband died last night."

Behind him, Jesse heard the strangled noise that Tulip made and Cass' tiny "...aw shit." Mrs. Sawyer didn't seem to hear. She reached out a bony hand and gripped the edge of Jesse's apron, the parody of a small child and her mum.

"Howard needs white lilies," she said urgently, gaining some energy. "Although, yes, he never expressed any interest in flowers. Said they were commercial gimmicks. What's the point in spending money on something that's just going to die?" Her voice broke hard on the last word. "But they're coming for him later and I can't leave his grave bare I just can't I—"

"We have lilies," Jesse interrupted gently. He gripped her hand." Plenty of white."

"I woke up next to him," Mrs. Sawyer said. "I've done that every morning,” and all at once she sobbed and put her head between her hands.

This wasn't the first time Jesse had dealt with a distraught customer, but usually they were more composed than this: just slight, hiccupping cries or silent tears that slipped down the cheeks. He was used to anniversaries and useless birthdays, not the immediate aftermath. He floundered, turning to Cass and Tulip, only to find that their support was already underway. Tulip left at a brisk walk to the café down the street, returning with tea and plenty of chocolates. Cass filled the silence with any sort of prattle that seemed to soothe her. As Jesse bundled his best lilies in a black bow, he heard him telling Mrs. Sawyer that he'd once been a preacher. When she looked up with a disgusting amount of hope Jesse couldn't meet her eye.

Mrs. Sawyer left with their awkward condolences. She didn't pay a cent.

"Fucking hell," Cass said. He leaned into Jesse's shoulder as Mrs. Sawyer shuffled out of view.

"Yeah," Tulip agreed.

"What a mess she is. Like a broken doll or somethin'. It's fucking awful." He lit a cigarette with shaking fingers and for once Jesse didn't yell at him for getting smoke around his flowers. Cass took a draw, passed it to him, and Jesse next passed it to Tulip. Cass blew the smoke up at the ceiling, nice and slow.

"Think that'll be us someday?" he asked.

"Can only hope so."

***

Week 27

Flower shops felt like they were always standing still. There was something about the slow growth of the plants, the heady scents that added a dream-like atmosphere, and the contrast to the outside world that made it all... removed. Despite flipping the 'open' sign to 'closed' each evening, Jesse had the distinct feeling that time never actually passed here. Maybe it was a quality that all stores possessed. Maybe it was just his.

Or maybe it had something to do with Tulip kissing him.

"Hey, hey, hey," she pulled back and pinched Jesse's side, merciless. "Don't fuck up the hair. I've got a video call at 2:00."

"Plenty of time to fix it," Jesse murmured, starting in on her neck instead.

"You obviously know nothing about hair care."

"I know some other things though..."

Tuesdays were always slow for some reason and Jesse felt no guilt in dragging Tulip to the back room, especially not after she'd been gone two weeks, supervising a wedding in Oklahoma. She's brought back a sweat-stained invitation and a piece of stale cake that Cass had still eaten with relish. He'd gone out to 'work' (hustling the locals at poker) while Tulip had remained.

She was something to behold now, stretched out across his table, her skirt hiked up and her shirt pulled down. Cass was quick blowjobs behind the counter and late night secrets he’d never admit to in the morning. Tulip was slow and worshipful. She gave you nothing but absolute focus. It was rare for any of them to end up in an actual bed.

Jesse slid off the end of the table so he could put his mouth to work below. Tulip's thighs were the color of his soil, stretch marks pale like veined leaves, she trembled as gently as a petal.

He stupidly wanted to tell her that she was prettier than any flower in this store. Jesse knew she'd kick him for it.

Panting, Tulip propped herself up on one elbow and grinned. She reached behind her, fumbled, and snapped off the plant nearest to her. It was a little spring of aster.

"Got you a flower," she whispered.

"You stole it from me."

"Do you care?"

He really, really didn't.

***

Week 52

Six degrees of separation. They couldn't brag about knowing the president or the pope, but fate had certainly brought three distinct people together. More importantly, it refused to let them go.

"We should go on a trip." Cass said it with all the enthusiastic optimism of a toddler. "Just fuckin' drive outta this joint for a while. You know, see the sights, take in the open road, go all the way to the sea." He raised his hand and squinted, the horizon just beyond his reach.

Jesse snorted. "And who's paying for this idiotic romp?"

"Don't need no cash. You just drive an' shit. Take whatever you're given."

"Just drive," Jesse said. "With that gas you can't pay for. On the food we can't buy—"

"Don't be a shit spoil-sport about it."

"I'm rich," Tulip offered. She looked up from her phone when the room was silent too long. "What? I am. So if we're going anywhere it's in something nicer than whatever beat-up trash you're picturing."

"A camper."

"Absolutely not."

"Where would we go?" Jesse asked, because suddenly it all seemed possible, in as much as the three of them ever planned for anything. Not just the trip either, but that they'd be around each other long enough for more trips. Vacations. Growing old. Life.

"Anywhere." Cass skipped around the room until he found the oxeye daisies. He plucked one and not for the first time Jesse marveled that he wasn't run out of business by these two.

"Who'd watch the store?"

Tulip shrugged. "Wait it out. Cancel orders for a while, sell what you have, give a few things to Emily. She can keep them in the church..." For once Tulip wasn't smirking or glowering his way. "It'll be here when we get back."

"Suppose it will," and just like that Cass knew he had won.

He slid back onto the counter, messing up papers and knocking the poor cash register nearly off the side. Cass twirled the daisy between his fingers before plucking off a petal.

"Hey!" but before Jesse got indignant, Cass spoke.

"He loves me, he loves me not. She loves me, she loves me not..."

Oh. Alright. So the three of them watched, confident in where they'd finally land.

[battystumutchildren-blog]

YULALA: -She's out and about today and was actually gravitating towards a local spot that's been getting a lot of attention lately from those in her "friend circle" (although in reality not very many people are still actually in her friend circle). Her many trappings and jewelry jangle as she walks. She's got her ears buds in, and seems to walk slightly strangely or off kilter as she sways to the beat of whatever she's listening too, and even hums.-

MAVRIK: -Mavrik was in agony. He had kept himself hidden in shadowy corners of this space station, hiding among trash  bags and dumpsters, until his nose and the cuts on his face from the broken glass smashed over his head had stopped bleeding their weird rainbow of colors. Now it was all mostly dirty looking scabs, asides from the cracks in his horn which were still oozing. Oh well, it was close enough to the base that maybe no one would notice...-

MAVRIK: -His bruised and battered rib cage made it hard to breathe, and the headache and waves of dizziness caused by his horn fracture wasnt helping to improve his thinking ability. Which was bad, because he needed to figure out a way off this damn station and to get back to lauctis without drawing any attention to himself. And currently using one hand to cover up his exposed glowing eye and looking beat to hell and back was not the best way to go about being inconspicuous.-

MAVRIK: -He was behind some other restaurant, leaning against the wall and just taking deep breaths to try and tune out the throbbing in his skull when he smells it. A weird, familiar musk that he only knows in the deepest part of his cognitive memory. There is a instinctual tug in his stomach, and Mavrik knows what it is hes detecting before his brain can even muster the sheer near impossible odds that there is another mimic here.-

MAVRIK:  -Either way though he isn't wasting too much time trying to sort out just how or why another member of his species is here. He needs help, and he can only hope that whoever it is they are willing to give it...-

-As Yulala continues walking she might feel like something is following her, perhaps she might even smell him too. But after a few minutes of tracking her down, and confirming with his nose what she is, Mavrik will grab Yulala by the wrist and forcefully yank her out of view of the public eye and into a corridor where he promptly covers her mouth with a hand and speaks into her ear through gritted teeth.-

MAVRIK: (Dont scream, please dont scream, I need help Im alone and need to get out of here, please help me.)

YULALA: -Music may be a relief to her, but apart of the reason she likes it so much is that it swallows all her sensory information and directs it to one place. She has minimal hope of noticing him before the assailant snatches her. For the first few seconds, all she can think about is how terrified and horrified she is. Nothing like this has ever happened to her, and she never imagined she'd be caught so off guard when it did. However, he might be surprised by how strong she is, when she lashes against him like a viper, threatening to knock him back into the wall of the alley and tear herself out of his grip. Not screaming, but a shrieky animalisitc snarl that he ought to be familiar with.-

YULALA: Get aaaaaawaaaaay from me!

MAVRIK: -When she sharply moves to throw him off her Mavrik chokes on the wince he makes from her knocking into his battered body. He lets go of her wrist in favor of wrapping both his arms around his sides and leaning forward as he tries to outlast the sharp radiating pain.- (Fuck!!)

MAVRIK: Pl-Please Im not trying to do anything, I need your help someone attacked me and I think they know we need to get out of here! -He hisses and then looks up at her pleadingly, both eyes open, one seemingly troll like with an indigo iris, and the other bare and neon. A look Yulala might find very familiar.-

YULALA: -Yulala could smell the blood the whole time....Among other confusing...(and exciting?) scents and colors coming off him in waves. It's making both her eyes and nose very confused. She hisses again, but it's slower, like she's thinking it over for a second, although she's still bolt straight and clearly about to attack him again to make her escape. But then she gets a good look at him, and sees the ugly hurt aura of colors that's radiating from his wounds, and that cools her hostility into instantaneous pity. She's not stupid though, she's still guarded. And angry.-

YULALA: Why did you pull me aaawaaaaay like that? It reaaallly scaaaarred me!!

YULALA: ...but you cleaaarly need aaaa hospital....I could caaalll you a caaab? Is thaat what you need?

YULALA: You....-She does notice his neon eye. It stuns her. She's never seen another eye that looked like hers before, except...In a mirror.-

MAVRIK: NO! -He hisses again, but then regrets it and tries to be as seemingly non-aggressive as possible through his body language.- No hospitals!! Are you crazy???

MAVRIK: And I pulled you in here so no one would see us! I can't believe you are walking around like that, look at your eyes what are you thinking!?? -He wheezes and points a finger at her face.- Sunglasses or contacts or something you cant go bare eyed thats so fucking dangerous! I know most of the worlds and stations near here are musclebeast shit backwards without culling laws but for fucks sake...

YULALA: -At first she's confused....and then incredibly offended....and then confused some more.- Aaa.....Aaare you from aaaa plaaaanet with culling laaaws? -She clumsily lets her voice fall into a not-as-agressive tone, a little startled by all these sudden developments.-

YULALA: I...I know you might be scaaaared, but it's saaaaaafe, I promise. My faaamily haaas lived here for aaaaaaaa long time aaaand most of them are offspec.

YULALA: I could...go with you...If you're reaaaaaallly aaaafraaaaid! -She doesn't really want to, despite the offer. Something about him just....unnerves her. His sudden presence in her life is scary and she wants him gone as fast as possible. But she can't abandon a hurt, confused person.-

MAVRIK: -Yes, pity him he is indeed hurt and confused. But mostly confused at her. Mavrik looks at her like Yulala has two heads.- Wh-?? Yes! I came from a damn planet with culling laws, the odds of existing on one of those flimsy "Beforean" minded hell holes is so rare they keep too close of a track on their caverns. -Or so hes been told.-

MAVRIK: I'm from a colony world controlled by Alternian government, or I was. I had to defect to lauctis which is where I'm trying to get to but at this point I'm willing to go anywhere, seriously ANYWHERE.

MAVRIK: -He reaches out and takes her arm again.- But you said your family right?? "Family??" There are more? Please take me to them, take me with you I promise I'm no threat rogue, I lost my group sweeps ago I've been on my own since I just want to meet them, to see others like us again!!!(edited)

YULALA: -None of the trains of thought her racing mind was pursuing seem to be related in any way to this strange troll's babbling. She feels herself kind of withdrawing inward as he talks, noticing the way the splatter of his blood shines. Just like hers. She backs off from him more although the alleyway is cramped and there's not much space to work with. She's just overhwelmed with way he's assaulting her sights and senses. For instance the prisma of his aura of misery and loathing is so bright in comparison to other people she's met that it almost burns to be too close to it.  And he can see her fear rising, probably assume that at any moment she wants to bolt without replying to any of his increasingly alarming statements.-

YULALA: ...

MAVRIK: -He can see her fear, plain as day, even if it comes muddled through the one contact lens. Shit he didnt want to scare her off, but why was she even so frightened?? He was like her! He was one of them! Even with his confusion though Mavrik lets her back up again and holds his hands out in front of himself fingers splayed in a peaceful gesture, and he tries to appear as non threatening as he can despite his heart thudding in his chest and all his senses going crazy.- Please, please just...

MAVRIK: Just get me to lauctis. Thats all I need, and I can explain myself more but we cant stay here. Neither of us.

YULALA: -There's a tense silence....and then she speaks up again.- Whaaaats the point of getting aaaanywhere if your injuries get infected aaaand you die? You don't trust the hospitaaal on Laaauctis either, I guess?

YULALA: You're confused. Aaabout aaa lot. I don't know whaaat you think we haaave in common, but we don't.

MAVRIK: No! I have medical supplies I can't treat myself there- Wh-??? -He frowns at her. He's the confused one?? She's the one trying to get him to go to a hospital where he could easily be exposed and found out! It's like she doesn't even know the first rules of mimic survival!-

MAVRIK: -Then his frown turns more squinty, like he's inspecting her. And then again Mavrik is suddenly invading her personal space again, taking hold of her arms and sniffing at her collar bone, her shoulder.- Holy shit I thought I was seeing things because of a concussion but it's not here. You don't have it. -There is a sudden twisting in his gut, and the strong urge to correct her lack of internal parasite.-

MAVRIK: -Lets go of her wrists and jumps back.- What are you??

YULALA: -It's safe to say that everything he's said thus far has her taken aback, but he doesn't need to see her aura to know how it makes her feel, her eyes squint with surprised hurt as though he slapped her. Its not the first time she's heard those words. All she can do is give him a flabbergasted blurt back.-...No. What aaarre you?

YULALA: -She fiercely yanks herself away from him again.- Stop it! I didn't saaay you could touch me!

MAVRIK: I'm like you! If you need to put a word to it trolls have called us "mihmiks" for centuries. -Says the name with so much distaste and malice it might as well be acid on his tongue.-

MAVRIK: You are parasite free something is wrong with you, where is the rest of your group?? Where are their parasites?

YULALA: Mihmiks. -Her stomach is twisting around inside her painfully. She doesn't understand all of what he's saying- still-  but somehow...she knows what he's saying is true. And it's the worst thing that's happened to her....So far. There's another layer on top of the colors both she and Mavrik can see- an even fainter and more subtle aura of intuition that's for her alone. This person is going to set off an unavoidable chain of events....It's hard not to get lost in that train of thought- it's already trying to unfocus her from the situation and yank her away from reality.-

YULALA: I don't know whaaat you mean by paraaasites....I don't know why you'd waaant to ....haaaave paraaaasites. I waaaas raised by my daaad. An indigoblood!  On a ship. With lots of other offspec trolls.

MAVRIK: -Stares at Yulala like shes gone and grown a third head. Seriously this lady keeps getting stranger and stranger.- .... The lack of parasite is no longer the strangest thing, you were raised by trolls???

MAVRIK: The murderous species that would literally rather have you, me and everyone else like us dead raised you???

MAVRIK: -He cant even compute that.-

MAVRIK: Did they not know what you are!? Well I guess obviously so because why would a troll keep someone that feeds off their kind alive it doesnt make sense!

YULALA: You- we- You're saying Mihmiks feed on trolls? -HORRIFIED.-

YULALA: Ugh! I caaaan't deaaal with aaalll this. I don't waaannna deaaaal with aaaaaaall this!

YULALA: Look, just put a hoodie on, sneak onto a traaansportaaaalizer paaad. I don't caaaare where aaas long aaas it's faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar aaaway from me! -

YULALA: -With that she turns and starts to run.-

MAVRIK: Not really trolls themselves, its an option if you can manage it but mostly its the eggs and grubs. You havent lived until you-- WAIT STOP!! -He tries to sprint forward after her but before he even reaches the end of the ally way he has to stop, he cant run, he cant keep up. Mavrik just places a hand against the wall to support his weight and pathetically wheezes...-

MAVRIK: -She can run while she can, this wont be the last time they will see each other...-