jojopitcher:

Anonymous asked: Requests open you say? OwO Can you slap me around with some chocobro x reader polyship stuff? 💙💙

This is my first time writing polyship, I hope I did it right 💞

~~~

• Being in a relationship with all of the guys means getting the best damn treatment anyone can ask for. This includes getting littered with gifts every now and then.
• Prompto often takes you shopping so he can buy you the things you like. He also always likes to stop for ice cream and has a thing for sharing it with you.
• Gladio will bring you chocolate treats that he spots in shops around the city. Each time it’s a different type of chocolate. You of course share some with him but he always lets you have the last one.
• Ignis buys you all sorts of different things, varying from bath salts, books and socks. Yes I said socks. One can never have enough socks.
• Noctis however is a little bit less clued in to what to buy you. Don’t get me wrong, he loves buying you things, he’s just…not very good at it. It can be anything from a new bed to a mop head. He tries.
• Of course they all dote on each other just as much but they feel like you need that extra tlc because you are newer to the relationship.
• Gladio likes to cuddle with you on the sofa while you watch action movies. Prompto occasionally joins you aswell. You end up squidged between the big guy and the little guy. It’s adorable.
• Noctis likes to play computer games with you. He likes you sat between his legs, resting against him while you play. He finds comfort in it and that way he can steal kisses from you every now and then.
• Ignis loves to teach you how to cook. He likes giving you small touches as you stir food in the pan and has a thing for kissing the back of your neck. You call it a kink. He calls it dedication.
• Prompto will randomly run at you and begin tickling you as he loves to hear you laugh and giggle. But he’s never learnt his lesson as you are quite the tickle monster yourself. Payback is a bitch.
• When you’re feeling down Noctis will be the first to drag you to bed and lie down with you and just talk sweet nothings with you until you fall asleep in his arms. You always feel so much better when you wake up with him.
• Gladio likes to whisk you away and take you camping with him every now and then. He loves to spend alone time with you but there are occassions he brings the other guys along. Much to Noctis’ protests.
• If you’ve had a long day at work the guys will make sure you have everything you need for when you get home. Ignis will have cooked you a hearty meal. Gladio will run you a nice hot bath. Prompto will smother you with affection. Noctis will give you a nice shoulder massage.
• If anyone gets a tad jealous seeing you with another bro, it’s Noctis. It’s not that he’s going all red faced and mad about it, he just feels a little left out, but you can see when he’s feeling like that and will make sure he gets your attention at some point.
• Sometimes you all have a massive gaming session until the early hours of the morning which leads to you all crashing out on the living room floor. You are almost always in the middle of the gang. Prompto likes sleeping next to you and draping his arm over you. Noctis has a habit of lying on your chest as it helps him sleep better. Ignis and Gladio are the big spoons and keep you three warm.
• All of them are amazing lovers. They treat your body like a piece of art and cherish you. Prompto and Noctis are more gentle with you in the bedroom which has earned them the nickname ‘soft boys’.
• Gladio and Ignis are a bit more fruitious when it comes to making love to you. You put it down to them having a little more experience. Lets just say they teach you some things which you then teach the other two 🙂
• ~~~
• Tag list: @the-immortal-marshal , @goldenbluebunny , @vundis-scientia , @thesilencebeforeastorm , @tatacametoearth , @demidemon09 , @amicitonia , @theyearofdiamonddogs , @alice250598 , @lucisizunia ❤

asidian:

Author’s Notes: Thank you so much! I’m so glad you enjoy my writing. 🙂

Sorry for the delay on this prompt, but I hope it’s something close to what you were looking for. ❤

===

Fox Fire

===

The first time Gladio sees the fox, he’s fourteen years old.

He’s in the woods at the time, just one member of a search party combing the area. The prince’s advisor-to-be has gone missing; no one’s seen him for two days.

It’s kind of a big deal. Gladio’s met Ignis, once or twice. He can’t picture the starched-shirt, straight-backed boy running off to let his hair down for the weekend – and neither, he guesses, can Noct. The prince is all of eleven years old, and trails the search party to the Citadel gates to see them off.

Gladio overhears his voice, usually a study in practiced nonchalance, kind of tremble when he asks the king how long it’ll be before Ignis comes home.

The kid’s a brat at the best of times, but he worries for his people, apparently – and as far as Gladio’s concerned, that’s a point in his favor.

So now here they are, tearing Insomnia apart to find a missing boy. There are glaives combing the downtown center, and Crownsguard going door to door in the residential areas. And here they are, in the little wooded plot of land nestled just to the west of the Citadel, a spacious park in the heart of a bustling city. Here they are, and all Gladio can think is: if they’re having us look here, we’re looking for a body.

He’s not crazy about Ignis, but he doesn’t want to find his corpse. Sure, the kid’s kind of a know-it-all; he’s stuffy, and way too proper, and kind of a mother hen, even though he’s a year younger than Gladio.

But Astrals, he hopes they don’t find a body. He doesn’t want to see that carefully-combed hair all mussed up and matted with blood.

Thank all the gods, a body’s not in the cards today. Instead, Gladio finds something else.

His first hint is the sound: a low, whining growl. When Gladio turns away, making to ignore it, it gets louder – turns into a yip, bright and urgent, tight with pain.

Still, there’s a search to conduct; he doesn’t have time to hang out with the local wildlife. But the yip comes again, and a whine so pathetic he can’t help but shove aside the leaves of the bush to his right, trying to get a look at where the sound’s coming from.

What he finds is a fox, the fur a sleek, pale brown, like coffee with cream – matted, and gnarled, like it’s been struggling for a while. It’s not fully grown, still gangling and awkward with the early stages of adolescence, and its eyes are an odd moss green, bright with intelligence and pain.

The left rear leg is caught in a hunter’s trap, one of those ugly steel monsters with unforgiving teeth. They’re supposed to be illegal within the wall, to say nothing of a city park. No telling whether some unlucky kid might stumble into one and lose a foot.

“Well, shit,” says Gladio.

The fox whines, as if to say it agrees.

He considers it for a long moment, nonplussed. At last he says, “You gonna bite me, if I try and get this off you? I kinda don’t want rabies.”

The fox whines again. It reaches with its front paw to touch the trap, gingerly, and stares up at him with those wide green eyes.

“Okay,” says Gladio, after a beat. “But I’m taking that as a promise.”

Astrals be damned, the thing actually doesn’t bite him. It keens like its dying when he pries the steel jaws open, but it doesn’t make a single threatening move.

If he had time, he’d take it to a vet and see what they could do for that leg. But he’s got a missing person to find, and people take priority, so he says to the fox, “You gotta be more careful, next time.” Then, not knowing why he feels the need to explain, he adds: “I gotta go.”

The fox is just kind of lying there, panting, beneath the low branches of the bush. It twists around to get a look at its leg – whines, and twists back, and sets its head down. It reminds him a little of the way someone squeamish might get, at the sight of too much blood.

“Got places to be,” says Gladio. “I can’t take you with me.”

The fox doesn’t move, and Gladio, frowning, leaves it there to press on with the search.

The night drags on, and on. No one finds a body.

Around noon the next day, Ignis limps his way into the front gates of the Citadel, looking like he’s gone a couple rounds with a Jabberwock. Gladio isn’t there, but he hears the story from the Crownsguard on duty.

He hears all about the way Ignis blushes to his ears when he says he stepped on a manhole cover that wasn’t on properly, went down hard, and messed up his leg too bad to walk home. Word is, he apologizes to the king personally, for all the trouble.

It’s kind of a big deal; the leg’s broken, and he needs stitches. The king passes some new legislation about safety regulations for city property.

They heal Ignis up with magic, so he only spends a week or so on crutches.

And that, Gladio thinks, is that.

===

The second time Gladio sees the fox, he’s nineteen years old.

He’s had a little too much to drink. Or okay, maybe lot too much to drink. He’s kind of thinking someone at the gala for the new Crownsguard recruits spiked the punch, cause he’s a big guy, and he’s damn near falling down with it after just four cups.

He figures it’s okay, though. Noct’s safe in his room at the Citadel, with other guards to take care of him, and Gladio – well, it’s Gladio’s night off.

If he wants to get smashed now and then so he doesn’t have to think about the way Ignis looks in formalwear, all starched collar and narrow tie and perfectly manicured hands, well. That’s his business.

Booze is supposed to be good for that: keeping him from thinking about the way Ignis would look rumpled and undone for once, and how those trim fingers would linger on the buttons of Gladio’s shirt.

It’s not helping all that much, though. Before long, Gladio’s stepping outside into the cool night air and the lush growing scents of the manor’s garden, to calm his head and remind his body that yes, he is past puberty, and yes, he should probably stop perving on someone he’s supposed to have a professional relationship with.

He kind of misses being a kid – those long-ago days back when he thought of Ignis as some kind of stick-in-the-mud mamma’s boy. It was easier then.

It’s not so easy now. Not when the liquid courage running through his brain is telling him to march the hell back in and ask. It wouldn’t hurt to ask, right? Best case scenario, he wakes up tomorrow with his arms full of Iggy and all his questions about the kind of noises he’d make between the sheets answered. Worst case scenario, Ignis pins him with those deadly-serious eyes and flays him with just a stare, and he runs away with his tail between his legs and drinks some more, until he forgets he made an idiot of himself.

Well. Maybe better not to ask, after all.

Gladio’s not sure how long he’s out in the garden.

Five minutes, maybe, or ten. Long enough that he’s starting to think he ought to go back.

He’s about to – draws himself up to push away from the wall he’s leaning against – when he becomes aware, almost gradually, of another presence.

It feels the same way it does when someone’s standing too close: that fission of awareness down the spine. Gladio turns, not knowing who to expect.

What he finds isn’t a someone at all.

It’s a slender brown fox, fully grown now, fur the color of creamed coffee. Its eyes are the same piercing moss green, and even in the poor lighting, Gladio thinks he can see the spot on its rear leg where the bone didn’t quite set straight.

“Huh,” says Gladio. “You again.”

The fox just looks at him.

“Thought I’d get some air,’” says Gladio, not sure what else to say to a fox. “Try and keep myself mostly sane.”

The fox tips its head to one side, a curious gesture.

“You wouldn’t understand,” says Gladio, accusingly. “You’re a fox.”

The fox inclines its snout a little, in a gesture that almost seems to say: try me. It occurs to Gladio that he’s much drunker than he initially supposed.

“Fine,” says Gladio. “I’m into him, okay? Shiva’s tits. Why’s it have to be the prince’s damn advisor?”

The fox makes a – a squeak, almost. When Gladio looks back down at it, those moss green eyes are comically wide.

“Huh,” says Gladio. “Didn’t know foxes squeaked.”

The fox stares at him for another endless moment. Then it turns around and disappears into the shadows of the garden, with nothing more than a rustle of leaves and a flicker of tail before it’s gone.

===

Ignis shows up at the door of Gladio’s chambers a week later, heralded by a polite, proper rap of knuckles on wood.

Gladio answers, half dressed and still damp with his shower, dragging a towel through his hair. “Yeah?” he says.

Ignis looks all business. His vest is crisp and black and ironed. The buttons on his high collar come all the way up to the middle of his neck. His hair is sleek and carefully brushed, and his hands are closed around a clipboard as though it’s the most important thing in the world.

“A moment,” says Ignis. “If you would.”

“Yeah,” says Gladio. “Sure. What’s up, Iggy?”

Ignis takes a slow breath in. He lets it out. His face is smooth and serious, impossible to read.

He says, “Perhaps we could have dinner tonight.”

Gladio feels one eyebrow climbing. “I dunno about you, but I have dinner most nights.”

Ignis presses his lips together. He says, “Together,” like Gladio’s the world’s biggest idiot.

And okay, yeah, maybe he is, but they have dinner together anyway.

===

The third time Gladio sees the fox, he’s twenty-three years old.

He’s also strapped down to a metal table in the ass-end of some Niff base, waiting for a doctor in a white coat to come and cut him apart. To cut them apart.
Because there’s Ignis, halfway across the room, and he’s strapped down, too – looking frustrated, that he can’t squirm an arm out from under the shackles. 

Gladio knows the feeling. He can’t break them, either. He’s been trying for the past fifteen minutes, ever since the assholes with the guns hauled Noct and Prompto out of the room and left them here 

“Fuck,” he finally says, with feeling, and slumps back against the table.
It isn’t often that he can’t brute force his way out of a situation he doesn’t like.
It kind of sucks.

He closes his eyes for a second, and he says, “Hey, strategist. We could do with a brilliant strategy about now.”

“I’m aware,” says Ignis, somewhat pained.

Gladio flexes the muscles in his forearm again, just to be sure. All he gets for his trouble is the way the steel cuts into the skin, leaving behind the first prickles of blood.

“Fuck,” he says again, and kicks the table so hard the room rings with the sound.

When the sound subsides, Ignis says, “I may have something that will work.”

There’s something off about his tone. Gladio feels one of his eyebrows quirk as he turns sideways, to take in the expression. It’s grim and unreadable, remarkably pale. He looks like a man about to walk into a bonfire.

“But?” says Gladio.

“But,” says Ignis. “You’ll have to forgive me for not telling you sooner.”

Gladio opens his mouth to ask what the hell that means.

Nothing comes out. Because there on the table across from him, Ignis is changing.

There’s a certain kind of magic to it – a faint glimmer, the way weapons look when Noct pulls them out of that place granted to him by long-dead kings. It’s golden and pretty, faintly pulsating, and it kind of messes with Gladio’s eyes. It seems to get brighter, and brighter, until he has to squint to keep himself from tearing up at the intensity. 

When he sneaks a peek again, the light is gone.

So is Ignis.

In his place, there on the metal table, is a fox, the fur a sleek, pale brown, like coffee with cream. Its eyes are that same moss green – Ignis green, Gladio realizes, years too late. It’s sitting in the discarded pile of Ignis’ clothes.

“The hell?” says Gladio, as the fox hops nimbly down from the table, disappearing from view.

An instant later, the light returns, less intense this time around – more of an ambient glow. Then Ignis is standing beside him, calm and composed and entirely naked.

He reaches for the controls that hold Gladio’s cuffs, face intent and focused – unnervingly unreadable, the way he get with diplomats he’s trying to feel out a reaction for.

“Iggy,” says Gladio, flexing his fingers as his right hand comes free, and then his left. “Seriously. What the hell is this?”

“Our way out,” says Ignis, calmly, but there’s something evasive about the way his eyes won’t quite meet Gladio’s.

“Yeah,” says Gladio, already moving to sit up. “And I’m glad we’re not gonna die, but – a fox?”

Instead of answering, Ignis turns toward the pile of clothes on the table across from them. He shucks on his pants with more awkward haste than Gladio thinks he’s ever seen, except for maybe that one time they almost got caught feeling each other up in the stacks at the Council library.

“It’s a wonder that no one’s ever remarked as to the source of my magic before,” says Ignis at last. He pulls on the shirt and sets to the buttons with nimble fingers. “Even His Highness requires the aid of a flask to master fire.”

Gladio turns that over in his mind.

He turns it over again.

All at once, he thinks of things he hasn’t thought of in years – his father, much younger, with decidedly more hair, sitting on the edge of his bed when he was  very small child. Tales told in the dark of the night: about creatures of mischief, and magic, and power.

“Fox fire,” he says at last, slowly.

“Indeed,” says Ignis. He turns toward the door – pulls it open with a backward glance and a narrow smile. “Now, if you’re quite ready? I imagine Noct and Prompto would appreciate a hand.”

preciouscisco:

my kink is fictional couples protecting each other not because one is ‘weaker’ (ie the female character) but because they’re both completely equal and their first instinct is to protect each other

itshigh-boop:

McCree: *chilling on his couch, idly swiping left on his phone*

*Sombra’s picture pops up*

McCree: *swipes right so hard that his phone ends up knocking out of his hand and hits the wall*

subsilvernight:

I call upon the fan fic writing gods to bless you with the perseverance to finish one of your unfinished drafts. 

May your fingers dance along the letters upon your device with ease, may the devil of distraction stay far from you, and may your work not need much editing.

I pass this blessing upon every fan fic writer out there.

incorrect-is-correct:

Regis: good night my son.

Noctis: good night.

Regis: good night Ignis.

Ignis: good night.

Regis: good night monster who eats naughty children.

Clarus: [through a walkie-talkie taped under the bed] Good night.

incorrect-is-correct:

Ignis: It’s time for me to strip…

Noctis: …..

Prompto: …..

Gladiolus: …..

Ignis: …off my jacket because it was torn in the last battle.

Noctis: …I feel strangely disappointed all of a sudden…

Prompto and Gladiolus: Same.

incorrect-is-correct:

Gladiolus:When you meet someone for the first time and it’s new and exciting. You know that rush?

Prompto: No. No, see, when I first meet somebody it’s mostly panic, anxiety, and a great deal of sweating.

ffxv-chocoheadcanons:

chocobro-hijinks:

riluu:

imagine ardyn taking a bonk to the head during one of their fights and ending up with amnesia

and suddenly the bros are stuck with this bucket of kentucky fried daemons who doesn’t remember he’s 2000 years old and immortal

i know at least two (2) friends who will enjoy a fic of this 😂

This needs to be a fic, I would love to read this

faierius:

birdsandivory:

---

• Holding his sister as though she is glass after the death of their mother.
• Arm wrestling with Clarus and losing miserably.
• Painting Iris’ fingernails.
• Getting emotionally invested in a book to the point where nothing else matters except what happens to the Forest King.
• Keeping pictures of his mother locked away because he can’t help the tears when he sees them.
• Teaching Noctis how to hold a sword.
• Making his weekly shave a transcending experience.
• Meditating to relieve stress and quell anger.
• Appreciating how his friends have grown.
• Touching the stem of a flower or trunk of a tree to feel closer to nature.
• Drinking a protein shake in the morning and then making a face because it is the nastiest thing he’s ever had.
• Getting jealous when Iris does the same and takes the flavor like a champ.
• Thinking back to when he and Ravus were friends.
• Flicking Prompto’s nose when he does something cute.
• Racing Ignis to the Citadel elevator.
• Sleeping under the stars when he’s upset.
• Calling the people he loves ‘precious cargo.’
• Patching the holes in his pants badly.
• Playing King’s Knight only because Noctis asked him to, but genuinely enjoying it.
• Knowing he has all he ever needs.

---

Racing Ignis to the elevator is my favorite.

itshigh-boop:

Ao3: Chapter | Story
Tags: Pregnancy, Fluff
–

“Huh? Wha-?”

The world is still blurry as he blindly gropes for the alarm clock that rests at their bedside. It takes pressing the clock practically against his nose as his sleep-weary eyes attempt to make out the time.

“Sweetheart, it’s barely gonna be five…what’s wrong?” he finally asks, on the verge of falling asleep once again.

Sombra’s fingers press into his bicep, dragging herself closer. “Mi amor…” she begins in that sweet voice of hers.

Jesse drops his head back to the pillow with a groan. He already knows what she wants and he really doesn’t want to do it. “Really, darlin’? Can’t it wait ‘til a more godly hour?”

When he doesn’t get an answer, he sighs, slowly shifting so he’s sitting, rubbing at his eyes. He already misses the warmth of the blankets and his lover pressed close to him. “What’dya want?”

“Pan,” she says. “Y uvas, por favor.”

“Anything else?” He stands, grabbing his discarded shirt and slipping it on before looking back at Sombra who sits up against the headboard, rubbing idly at her pregnant belly.

“Un beso?” she asks, flashing a smile at him.

Jesse shakes his head, the irritation he felt just earlier melting away. He crawls back onto the bed, placing the kiss she requested to the tip of her nose, just to tease her. When she whines, he rests his forehead against hers, looking down into her eyes.

“Ya drive me crazy, ya know that?”

“Lo se. Pero a ti te gusta.”

He grumbles, parting with one final kiss. “Ya got me there. I’ll be back soon.”

Lucky that it’s a Saturday morning – he has to drive down to the local farmer’s market seeing as how they begin setting up from an early time. Ever since Sombra’s too-early cravings started, the vendors have been all too used to seeing his face around. They’re nice enough to let him buy even though they’re not officially open yet.

“Ya must really love yer lady to be out in this cold,” one of the farmers comments, handing him the grapes he’s requested.

He shrugs, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Can’t really say ‘no’ to a pregnant woman, can ya?”

They share a laugh before he leaves, picking up Sombra’s bread on the way back from their preferred bakery. When he makes it back, he finds Sombra browsing something via her holographic screens.

Jesse grunts. “Here I am, goin’ out to get ya yer stuff and come back to find ya breakin’ yer promise.” He walks over, bowl of washed grapes in hand and wrapped bread in the other. “Thought we agreed ya’d let up on the use of yer implants til the baby came.”

She rolls her eyes and with a wave of her hand, the screens are gone. “It was just five minutes.” Her sights land on the items in his hands and he almost laughs at how her eyes widen.

Knowing better than to keep her from her food, he passes her the bread and she begins to pick at it, ripping pieces off and popping them into her mouth. The grapes remain forgotten and Jesse knows what he’ll be having for breakfast later. He slips behind Sombra, nudging her hips with his knees to have her move forward. She takes her place in the space between his legs, letting him rest against her back. He nearly drifts back to sleep, until he feels something prod at his lips. Opening his eyes, he sees Sombra’s fingers pushing a grape against his mouth.

“I asked for them because I know they’re your favorite,” she says.

It’s a sweet thought and Jesse can’t help but laugh quietly. “Bein’ handfed grapes by a beautiful woman. What a mornin’.”

“Just eat it, vaquero.”

He does, purposefully letting the tips of her fingers slip into his mouth and causing her to squeal in both disgust and amusement. His arms wrap around her, hands resting over her belly as she slowly feeds him. Slowly, the grapes vanish and they sit together, his head resting on top of hers. His arms squeeze her frame every so often, his hands rub at the movement he feels under the taut skin of her belly and her hands lay gently over his. When the rays of the rising sun peek their way into their room, stretching over the floor and their bed, the light finds them huddled close together, sleeping once again.

elumish:

You’re allowed to like your writing.

One unfortunate side effect of the “your first draft is shit” rhetoric (which is mostly meant to encourage the understanding that you will need to edit and that having problems in your first draft doesn’t mean you can’t write) is that people tend to feel like they shouldn’t like their writing. They should only be critical of it, only see the flaws of it, and so be unhappy with their writing.

Being critical is good, but keep in mind that you’re not only allowed but encouraged to like what you’ve written. You should like it because that means it’s something people enjoy reading (because you are a person), but also because you will write better if you enjoy what you’re writing. Reread your old writing and smile at the lines that you love. Enjoy your fun scenes, laugh at your own jokes, cry at the tragedies you’ve written particularly poignantly. It’ll make you feel better. I promise.

my-soul-is-the-new-black:

You’ve heard of

Netflix And Chill

Now get ready for

Sleep Deprivation And Fanfiction ™