#ffxv brotherhood

[jxthics]

young gladio & ignis at royal events

[krisssssssy]

[princessnoctis]

hi guys long time no art post! ffxv 7th anniversary is today so i thought it would be fun to post a collection of my fave fanarts i’ve done for it :] very special game very dear to my heart!

[lunarlegend]

i swear no one else could look this threatening while holding a fucking homemade pastry

he looks like he is about to murder someone

[jenkatkatzilla]

[stygiovictoria]

why do the rest of the drawing when you can just do the part you want in your profile picture.

[cathrt1c]

sorry for kinda going ghost for a bit on here. been obsessing over my second (six years later) playthru of ffxv. heres prompto!!! my baby!!!

[agent-jaselin]

Extra number 5

Ruby and Noctis have a somewhat strained relationship. Genetically Ruby is Regis son as well , but Noctis has trouble seeing him as a brother. Ruby can tell how awkward the prince is and dislikes him in turn. 

[charmms]

Happy 7th anniversary to the best boys 🩵

[lilfuturescars]

So… when does one get over FFXV? 👉🏼👈🏼

Asking for a friend.

[kmtapia-art]

[krisssssssy]

[prynacle]

[lunarlegend]

Happy Mother's Day, Ignis

[jenkatkatzilla]

The horror!!!

[every-lemon]

prompto and gladio running buddies short fic

I wrote this for ramel a while back and shared it in the ffxv book club discord server; figured I'd polish it up a bit and share it while AO3 is down. it issss 808 words, gen, prompto & gladio friendship times! post-high school, pre-canon

Prompto’s alarm clock goes off at 5:15 a.m.

The trick, he’s learned, is to just start moving before you really have a chance to think about it. It’s easy when you’re so tired, anyway. No questions asked. Just roll out of bed groggily and stumble towards the bathroom before you can talk yourself out of it.

(It’s all too easy to convince someone who’s already mostly-asleep to just stay that way.)

Like every morning, Prompto washes his face, brushes his teeth while scrolling on his phone, and changes into the running clothes he left folded on the stool the night before: shorts, a tank top, and socks. He keeps yesterday’s sweatband on. He’ll swap it out when he showers later.

The kitchen’s gray and empty when he pads downstairs; the microwave clock says 5:13. His earbuds are waiting by the front door, as are his running shoes, unlaced and waiting to be done up properly. He hums to himself while he pulls the laces taught, checking to make sure the fit’s right before tying them. The spare key goes into the little mesh pocket in the waistband of his shorts; the earbuds, of course, go in his ears.

There. All set. He hits play on his running mix, the bass on a pop song playing probably-too-loud straight into his eardrums, then opens the door to go.

Cool air hits him. Overnight, it’s gone from summer heat to fall chill. He shivers, but there’s no use grabbing a hoodie — it’s not that cold, he’s just not used to it yet. He’ll just end up wanting to ditch it halfway through.

No, the real way to warm up is to run.

So off he goes, pulling the door shut behind him and making sure it’s locked, then jogging down off the steps and setting out down the sidewalk. He falls into his usual pace, brisk and upbeat to match the tempo of the song.

It’s about a mile through neighborhood sidewalks until when he reaches the nice trail: wide, lined with gravel, cutting through the green space that winds throughout Insomnia like a little garden. It’s busy, popular with runners and bikers and hikers alike, but at this hour it’s not terrible. He smiles and nods to each person he passes, whether or not they look up — easier just to do it and not think about it.

Even with the bass beat of some in-the-club-dance-remix in his ears, he hears Gladio coming up behind him before he sees him and steels himself for a hearty thump on his shoulder,, which comes the next moment.

“Hey, big guy,” he greets back, taking an earbud out and slowing down just a tick to Gladio’s preferred pace. “You’re up early today.”

“It’s nice to catch you,” Gladio says. He’s in a plain black athletic shirt and gym shorts, rather than the official Crownsguard workout attire. No jacket, either, but Prompto’s never seen Gladio shiver. “I get slow if there’s no one to keep up with.”

“Glad to help!” Prompto says, grinning. And he really, really is.

Usually, it’s Gladio peeling him off the floor of the training room, barking at him to keep going, and asking him to please do something, anything about those noodle arms. (And Prompto’s guns are coming along nicely, thankyouverymuch!! . . . but it’s slow going.) So it’s nice to feel strong and confident about this one thing. Like he’s not a complete and utter lost cause.

“Think you could get Noct to come with?” Gladio asks after a while of silently jogging along, his breaths coming in puffs. Prompto doesn’t do him the disservice of slowing down, though. Gladio’s got good stamina, even if this pace is a stretch for his bulk.

“I couldn’t get Noct to wake up this early for anything, I don’t think. Not even like, video games and junk food. Not that those are super appealing at five in the morning.”

“Bet he’d get up . . . early to fish,” Gladio says, breaking in the middle to suck down a breath.

Prompto snorts at that. “Maybe? Yeah, you know what, you’re probably right about that. Noct is pretty weird about fishing.”

The wheeze Gladio makes might be a laugh.

To his credit, he keeps pace with Prompto all the way until they reach the point where the trail splits. Prompto will head left, back home to shower and get ready for work, and Gladio will head right, to the parking lot where a a chauffeur waits to bring him back to the Amicitia manor before his work at the Citadel begins.

“Thanks for the run, Blondie,” Gladio says, slowing to a walk as they reach the end. “Glad one of us has such good endurance.”

Prompto can feel himself flush at the praise, but he just lifts a hand in a cheerful wave and keeps on running home.