#and i wont need to concern myself with making waves on his account ever again tbh

[thegreatyin]

🎉 CAERU HAS BEGUN RAILWAY 🎉

it took. So Long to actually draw the card. jesus christ.

[v-thinks-on]

Jeeves Gets Sick - Part 2

Previous

A small warning: This installment includes some referenced/implied past violence and the resulting scars.

The next morning, I awoke with a rummy feeling that not all was well with the world, call it a premonition, if you will. My dreams had been restless ones that had me tossing and turning in the night and I awoke none too cheerily to the morning sun streaming in through the window. I took only a minute or two to blearily blink into awareness, hoping, but not expecting Jeeves to come rippling in through the door at any moment, tea in hand, but I could have told myself it was all in vain, and I believe I very well did say to myself that Jeeves would not appear.

All was probably well with the man - as well as it had been the night before, that is. In fact, it was a good sign that he was still sleeping, resting away his illness, but I couldn’t shake the suspicion that the man had taken a turn for the worse in the night. I slipped out of bed, flung on a dressing gown, and toed it to the man’s quarters, just to be sure. I didn’t pause to knock, perhaps that was my first mistake. I pulled the door open and found myself face to face with the broad, sturdy back of my man, Jeeves.

Now you may be saying to yourself, what’s so remarkable about the sight of Jeeves’s backside, certainly he must occasionally turn away from his employer in the course of his usual duties? To answer that, a few points must be clarified; it was not merely Jeeves’s back, but his bare back, not precisely in front of me, but only a couple feet away - plainly I had caught the man mid-dressing. But it was not the bareness of his back that really caught my attention, but the scars. Every inch of his skin was covered in scratches - most long and thin, but some deeper and more contorted - as though the surface had been cut up and reassembled.

I did not stare for long. Jeeves didn’t so much as have a chance to turn around and greet me with a weary “Sir?” I stumbled back away and shut the door behind me with rather more force than was strictly necessary. I may have shouted an apology as I retreated.

I hobbled back to my room and was myself in the middle of fumbling with a tie when Jeeves rippled in, as silent and sure as ever. He put aside the tea tray and deftly took the tie from my hands to tie it into a perfect knot. I tried to stand dignified and unaffected, but my eyes acted of their own accord, flickering back to Jeeves’s torso, now glaringly aware of what lay beneath his starched suit. I could only wonder how he moved so effortlessly despite the fabric chafing against raw skin.

“My apologies, sir, for my tardy appearance. I assure you it will not happen again.”

I waved it off eagerly, relieved to be back on familiar ground. “Not at all, Jeeves. You’re sure you’re clear to be up and about? I don’t want to run any risk of relapse, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

I tried to subject the chap to my strictest scrutiny, but the man was inscrutable as ever. By all appearances, he seemed to be back to his usual self, the very image of health without a single hair out of place. His movements were silent and efficient. But now I knew there was something lurking beneath his impeccable appearance, that even though his illness had passed, all was not right with Jeeves.

“Why don’t you take it easy today, what? Just to be certain, I mean.”

“Sir, that is hardly necessary.”

I shushed him. “No, Jeeves,” I said firmly, “you should rest. Work a little if you must, but take it easy, will you?”

“Very good, sir.”

After breakfast, I went for a long rambling walk, echoing the shape of my thoughts. I wandered to and fro, eventually, inevitably winding up at the Drones for a rather earlier lunch than is my usual wont. The place was on the quiet side, most of the Drones presumably not yet out of bed, but Bingo was in on account of Mrs. Bingo Little - the celebrated novelist of romantic drivel known to her public as Rosie M. Banks - being occupied with authorly duties, as Bingo had informed us at the revels the night before.

“What ho!” I shouted upon seeing him, and he shouted back the same, and waved me over to his table.

Bingo and I, if you don’t know, are old chums, going back years and years, and as such know each other only as such pals do. He was truly a sight for sore eyes, especially under such circs. He was just the chap to lend a sympathetic ear in a fellow’s time of need.

“Tish,” I declared as I took a seat, by way of letting him know things were less than rosy in the life of Bertram W.

“Girl trouble?” Bingo asked with a knowing smile.

I shook my head. “Jeeves.”

“Dictating your wardrobe again? What’s it this time, a tie? Or those trousers?”

“My trousers are perfectly fine, thank you. I’ll have you know Jeeves picked them out himself.”

“What is it then, if it’s not a girl and not clothing?”

I hummed and hawed a little over this part. Bingo is a lifelong pal and all, but there are some things a chap doesn’t even tell to a pal like that. I knew well enough to tell that I wasn’t supposed to see Jeeves’s injuries, I couldn’t very well go telling the rest of the world.

“Jeeves came down with a horrible illness!” I said at last, sticking to the truth, just not all of it. “Well, he’s better now, but it was touch and go for a time.”

“Oh! No wonder you were so mopey last night. The lads had a bet going after you left. Gussie’ll be disappointed; I convinced him to put his money on you having fallen in love at last.”

“No, nothing like that,” I insisted.

“But if Jeeves is back to his problem-solving self, then what’s there to beef about?”

“I’m just worried about the chap, that’s all. Getting sick isn’t like him, you know? What if he’s been out over-exerting himself or somesuch?”

“Jeeves, over-exerting himself?” Bingo asked skeptically.

“I know, but there must be something! Maybe he’s been sneaking out at night fighting bears in the woods.”

“What, and he caught the flu from the bear?”

I hastily added, “What if it rained while he was out? Or maybe he’s a secret agent and got attacked by enemy spies - in the rain!”

Bingo gave me a skeptical l., “Bertie, what’s gotten into you? Jeeves is a remarkable cove and all, but I doubt he’s doing any of all that. What does it matter anyway, if he’s back to form already? Nothing’s ever gotten in the way of his work before.”

“I suppose not. But it’s my responsibility, isn’t it? He does the feudal thing and gets me out of the soup, and I’m supposed to do the feudal thing and give him a fiefdom and what not.”

“A fiefdom, Bertie? In your London flat? I know it’s spacious, but that’s a bit much.”

���Not exactly, but you know, all the things you’re supposed to give a vassal, protection and justice and all that. And I know his quarters aren’t exactly the height of luxury, but I have plans to fix that.”

“And he’ll go fight for you in the Crusades?”

“Bingo,” I protested.

“So not fighting for you in the Crusades. But so Jeeves got sick once in - how many years has he worked for you? And?”

“It’s-” I stopped myself short of revealing Jeeves’s secret, whatever it meant. “Oh, it’s nothing,” I said moodily.

“That’s the spirit! Now, you have to hear what happened last night after you left! I’m sorry you missed it, leaving early.”

Bingo chatted eagerly about the later part of the previous night’s revelries, but my heart just wasn’t in it. After we finished eating and such what, I made my excuses and set out across the city - while half-listening to Bingo prattle, I’d come to a decision.

It wasn’t too far from the Drones to Dr. Watson’s practice. I knocked haltingly at the door, still rather out of my depths, but no longer in such a frantic rush as when I stood on that very spot the morning before. Again, the maid ushered me in.

“What ho!” I said as she directed me to a little waiting room of sorts. “Dr. Watson about?”

“No, sir,” she said. ”He’s on his rounds, but he should be back shortly, or I can take a message for him.”

I settled in to wait and the maid biffed off for some tea. It felt like a rather long while before the good doctor returned, but in fact, the clock informed me that it wasn’t more than half an hour that I waited, sipping at a cooling cup of merely passable tea - when a fellow is accustomed to Jeeves, any alternative seems rather lackluster in comparison.

“Mr. Wooster, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Dr. Watson asked as he appeared at long last.

I jumped to my feet to greet him. “It’s Jeeves,” I explained without even a “what ho” in greeting.

“It may take him a day or two to recover,” the doctor cautioned.

I shook my head. “It’s not that. He’s all better now, but well-” I hesitated.

The doctor showed me into his office and took a seat behind the desk. I belatedly perched on the seat across from him, too keyed up to make myself comfortable as he suggested.

“Now, what was it you were concerned about?” the doctor asked patiently, though he seemed a little wary of what I might say.

“Well, it all started when I woke up this morning. You see, Jeeves didn’t come in with the tea - thinking back on it now I suppose I was up a bit earlier than my usual fashion, but after everything, well, you can understand my being a bit worried about the chap. So, I went to check on him, I know I shouldn’t have barged in, but-” - I faltered a little in embarrassment, my cheeks flushed red - “well, I’m afraid I caught him in the middle of changing. I didn’t see anything, just his back, but it was covered in the most horrible scratches, and I don’t know what’s caused it; if he’s fighting bears or secret agents or what not, but dash it all! Plainly something’s wrong with the man and I don’t know what to do. But you’re his doctor, you must have seen them when you checked on him the other day - it was only yesterday, wasn’t it? So much has happened between then and now that it feels like it’s been a bally week.”

Dr. Watson nodded as though he’d somehow managed to follow the outburst - a remarkable feat given that I wasn’t even sure I could follow everything I was saying. It seemed to take him a bit of a while to compose his thoughts, however, before, at last, he said, “I am aware of Jeeves’s scars and I don’t believe there’s any cause for concern. To my knowledge, none of them are recent; he’s had nothing more than ordinary scrapes and bruises in the past ten years. I doubt he’s been fighting bears or secret agents.” He gave me a somewhat indulgent smile, but I let it slide.

“You mean to say they’re all old wounds? From long before I met him even?”

“I would say so,” the doctor answered.

It should have been comforting, but I found I only had more questions. “That’s an awful lot of them. What was he doing?”

The doctor sighed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Wooster, but I can’t say.”

“You mean to say you know?” I demanded.

He grimaced. “Yes, I know. But it’s up to Jeeves to tell you if he wants to, and I doubt he’ll want to, not if he’s anything like…” the doctor trailed off. After a moment’s thought he picked back up the thread not too far from where he left off, “It’s not a pleasant thing, but thankfully it’s all in the past; there’s nothing to worry about any more.”

“But what is it?”

The doctor only shook his head. “Try not to worry about it, Mr. Wooster, and don’t worry Jeeves about it either. He’s come a long way since then, his fondness for you is a clear enough indication of that.”

I nodded and agreed not to trouble too much about it, but I was still very much troubled when I left the doctor’s office. I took a meandering way back home, torn between wondering what horrible accident had befallen the man and trying to pluck up my courage for what I knew must come next.

When I arrived back at the flat, my slippers were waiting for me at the door and everything else was back in its place, bearing all the tell-tale evidence of Jeeves’s renewed efforts, though the man himself was nowhere to be seen - the chap could never be heard, his recent illness notwithstanding. I stopped at the door to the kitchens with some trepidation, but it was too serious a matter to let I dare not wait upon I would - or whatever the expression is exactly - like the cat in the adage. Still, keenly aware of my fraught errand, I knocked at the door.

Jeeves opened it with a curious, “Sir?” With the door open, I could still smell the aroma of a recently lit gasper, and the Spinoza sat bookmarked on the table, no doubt interrupted in the middle of the scene where the detective discovered the second body.

“What ho, Jeeves,” I said without my usual pomp.

“Is there anything you require, sir?”

“Well, um, actually, I was rather wondering if I could perhaps have a word,” I managed to stumble out the words.

“Very good, sir.” He waved me into his lair, where I had spent an awful lot of time of late - I found myself almost missing the place, though I was happier than anyone to have Jeeves back up and about.

I stood about awkwardly, shifting my weight from foot to foot as I cast about the room in search of a place to start. It’s not an easy thing to talk about, walking in on your valet while he’s changing and finding that he’s got more scars than a fellow who ended up on the wrong side of a tiger.

At last, I blurted out, “I went to see Dr. Watson.”

“Sir?” Jeeves asked, sounding a bit concerned now. His eyebrow raised about a quarter of an inch.

“About those scratches, those scars, I mean. I know I shouldn’t have walked in on you without knocking, but once I did, well, I just had to know what was wrong - to do something, what?” I stopped short, preoccupied with Jeeves’s expression and out of words besides. He was watching me warily, with an actual frown rather than that usual stuffed frog expression he does sometimes.

When it was clear I was finished, he asked, more composed, “May I ask, sir, what Dr. Watson told you?”

“Nothing. He said I had to ask you and not to bother if you didn’t want to tell me.”

He nodded. He seemed relieved, though it was hard to tell behind that mask of his - figuratively speaking, of course. “If I may say so, sir, Dr. Watson is a very honourable gentleman.”

I could tell I was trying my luck, but still I had to ask, “But what happened? What gave you all those scars?”

“I prefer not to speak of it, sir.” Jeeves spoke with a solemn air of finality that made it perfectly clear that further inquiry was not welcome.

“Oh. Right-o, then.” I didn’t bother to hide my disappointment, but I knew better than to harp. “Been taking it easy, what?”

“Yes, sir.” Jeeves’s lips twitched a fraction of an inch upward, signifying his approval of the change in topic, and I didn’t have the heart to begrudge him it - or anything for that matter.

One morning, some days later, I was sitting, picking at my breakfast, when Jeeves shimmered over to the table.

“What is it, Jeeves?” I asked.

“I have procured something which may be of interest to you, sir.” He held out a bound manuscript, written in an unfamiliar hand.

I took it from him and read aloud the title, “An Unpublished Adventure of Sherlock Holmes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You mean to say this is the real thing?”

“Yes, sir, penned by Dr. John H. Watson himself.”

“Jeeves this really is the top! How did you manage a bally thing like that?” I stopped. “Are you saying that old doctor is the Dr. Watson?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Of all the rummy things, Jeeves! How did you get to know a chap like that?”

“As I said, sir, he’s my family physician.”

“Does that mean you know Sherlock Holmes too?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why, Jeeves, this is beyond belief! How did you get Dr. Watson to part with one of his manuscripts?”

“I asked him, sir. Given your appreciation for his work, I thought it would be a fitting expression of gratitude for your assistance during my brief illness, and Dr. Watson was happy to oblige.”

“I say, Jeeves! I don’t know what I could ever do to thank you enough.” It seemed a little thick to me that Jeeves was going so far out of his way to thank me for doing practically nothing when I already owed him so much for everything he does for me. I added a little belatedly, “And it’s awfully kind of Dr. Watson to give me a peek at a Sherlock Holmes story.”

“Dr. Watson has taken something of a liking to you, sir. However, he did request that you not distribute the manuscript, as he has deemed it unsuitable for publication for personal reasons.”

“Personal reasons, Jeeves?”

“Yes, sir.”

I delicately paged through the manuscript, all the more intrigued at what it might hold that Dr. Watson had deemed suitable for my eyes only. Probably nothing terribly interesting, but a fellow could only wonder.

“Will that be all, sir?” Jeeves asked, the corner of his lips turned up just a smidge in the suggestion of a fond smile.

I beamed back. “Yes, Jeeves, thank you!”

“Thank you, sir.”

Part of The Mysterious Mr. Jeeves

[promptistrashqueen]

Afternoon Gifts 5

So this is about to get pretty choppy, because yes babies are cute, but when they’re really small they pretty much only do like...five things. Those things are great! but not for writing about, sorry. So small time skips!

They settle into something like a routine around week three. Noctis is the one who struggles through getting both the little ones settled into their cribs and who rubs backs and tummies until they fall asleep. He has too much going on to stay up into the wee hours, but he tries to stay up a while longer than he used too, just in case they wake.

Prompto gets up early, is already quietly waiting when the first little whimper starts up and they trade off in the middle of the night when it’s needed. Thankfully it’s not as frequent and Ignis assures them, yes, all of this is perfectly acceptable.

There’s a few things that well...don’t get planned for so well.

“I don’t understand.”

Noctis makes a helpless gesture with his right hand, his left holding the limp rag he’d grabbed in a vain attempt to clean.

“No, seriously, out of something that small, I don’t...what?”

Prompto’s voice tips up in pitch and he surveys the damage again, the small dining room reeks and it looks like a particularly nasty liquid bomb exploded over parts of the table, the chair, and Noctis’ arms.

“He was crying so I picked him up and then it just...so much. So, so, so much, Prom you gotta help me.”

Prompto purses his lips and turns back to their children. Azreal is contentedly sucking on the ear of his stuffed chocobo (really it’s a blanket with a head but eh) and Illyria is waving her little hands above her head and chattering to her uninterested brother.

“That wasn’t very punk-pop of you mister” Prompto tells the little boy, trying, and failing spectacularly, to frown seriously. The baby simply responds by dropping the cloth from his mouth and immediately crying for it.

Prompto huffs and maneuvers it back into place, “If you keep them from rolling away, I’ll go get a mop and some vapor rub, because my nose is gonna be fried if I keep breathing this.”

Noctis, face still screwed up, just nods and waves a hand at him, soiled rag falling onto the table with a useless plop as he moves to their children. The blanket they’re laying on is spread on the floor and he folds down to sit with them easily as Prompto leaves.

“Babies are gross.”

Noctis uses his best authoritative tone and lightly brushes his fingers over Illyria’s cheek, feeling justified by her gurgling in response.

“That’s right, they smell up palaces. They also keep their parents from having any alone time.”

She makes another noise, which Noctis imagines means something like, “but we’re very cute.”

He shrugs, giving her that in their very one-sided conversation as he carefully checks her diaper, it’s dry and he prays it stays that way until they can deal with her brother’s explosion. Azreal’s foot bumps his knee and he checks around him before leaning down to kiss it.

“She’s right, you're too cute to be mad at bud, even if you’re a little demon.”

“I don’t know, I’d like to keep them our little secrets forever.”

Noctis leans against Prompto’s shoulder, cradling his son as Prompto holds their girl. They’ve learned so much in so little time, after all, what’s four months when they have their entire lives?

Prompto’s voice is soft, and Noctis wants to agree, wants to keep their children safe. Everything happened so fast, too fast really and now...

“It’s still a bit unreal man, we didn’t have kids, now we do and tomorrow we have to tell the world all about them. We don’t even really know them yet!”

Noctis tries to keep the stress of his responsibilities from coloring his tone, but the strain is obvious and Prompto sighs under him.

“It’s not like there’s going to be microphones in their faces and they wont start school for so long...they’ll be fine Noct.”

It’s hard, because Noctis has no frame of reference. Sure, he’s royal and he was a kid, but it’s not like he remembers being a baby, and they lost his mom so early the media attention was directed elsewhere. By the time he was old enough that the reporters might have started in, he was hurt and in a foriegn country, and then the war started and really...he was just a fact of life in Insomnia before there was ever a big media buzz.

“Prompto-”

“Noctis.”

The tone does it, mildly annoyed but endlessly fond and Noctis feels his tension start to drain.

“I’m overthinking it again, huh?”

“So hard dude.”

He laughs a little and brushes a soft black curl, longer now, back from Azreal’s forehead. Looking at his little boy he feels his heart swell. He and Prompto are still messy and unsure of a lot and he’s still not convinced they’re going to be particularly great parent’s as the kids grow, but for now...well they’ve been doing alright and as he watches their daughters mouth stretch into a wide oval as she yawns, he knows he’d die before he gave them up.

The media is buzzing in the press room they’ve set up and Ignis is running interference as various reporters attempt to get an early access hint on why they’ve been called. It helps that Gladiolus is shadowing him with an extra moody glower. He doesn’t like the stress they’re about to layer onto the new parents.

“Remind me why we couldn’t just issue a statement?”

Ignis pushes his glasses up again, “It would create a paperwork mess as requests came in for photoshoots and the like, as well as possible speculation about where the children come from and all sorts of things. We might as well take care of it all in one fell swoop.”

It’s a practiced argument already and Ignis feels the start of a headache that he determinedly shoves down. Noctis is a mess enough about things without him and he thanks the six again for Prompto’s handling of the Prince. Objectively Prompto’s taken to be a royal very well, his handling of the press has been clean and Ignis could kiss him for his carefully cultured social media presence.

There are just enough cute photos of the couple on instagram and twitter that journalists are kept at a distance and rumors of romantic unrest are short lived.

It’s something Ignis didn’t think much about until it was nearly gone. With the new additions to their lives Prompto’s not been posting anything, and the quiet has lasted long enough that a few articles about “Trouble for Prince Charming?” have surfaced.

Today is also, in part, to kill those.

Another figure breaks away, like Ignis hasn’t seen him, and tries to nonchalantly push open the door into the hallway that leads to Noctis and Prompto’s private rooms.

Gladio pats Ignis’ shoulder and makes a beeline for the guy even as the advisor takes a deep breath, readying himself to address the curious crowd.

The reporters fall quiet, camera’s holding steady as Ignis steps onto the small platform in the front of the room.

“I ask that you hold questions until the end of my statement. You are all aware that nearly three years ago Crown Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum chose to marry his long time best friend, Prince Consort Prompto Argentum. There were many questions raised at the time, most of which have been since lain to rest. The biggest question that was asked however, has remained a concern for citizens of Lucis concerned for the future as well as those within the palace walls. I’d like to make it clear to you all now that the couple has chosen to go about answering this question in their own way. The question of heirs to a throne, inevitable when both rulers to-be are males, has come to its resolution. Four months ago the Crown Prince and his husband, after examining their options, made the decision to adopt a pair of four month old twins. The boy and girl are healthy and adjusting well to life here. We are opening up a three hour time slot today for photographs of the family, asking that you be respectful of the nature of infants and a certain level of privacy. Any and all questions should be directed to either myself or another staff member, baring simple questions about day to day routine. I will take some of those questions now.” While Ignis spoke the room had been filled with attentive scribbling as notes were taken, questions jotted down. In the second after his last word, a collective breath was taken, and then there were hands everywhere, several voices vying for his attention.

“Yes, you.”

“Cynthia, from the Duscaen Journal, what do twins mean for the order of succession? Will the male assume immediate heir status?”

Ignis smiled, “It remains to be seen, I believe we need to gauge the children’s personal aptitudes as they grow as well as take into account their preferences.”

He selected another raised hand, an unfamiliar shock of green hair.

“Andromeda Publishing,Why now? Does Prince Noctis expect to take the throne soon? Is the stress negatively affecting his relationship with the Prince Consort?”

Ignis resisted the urge to roll his eyes, “The King is perfectly healthy and Prince Noctis has no intention of requesting his father abdicate anytime soon. It was intially planned to be a mere consideration but the couple found children they were very enamored with and decided it was a good time to bring them into their lives. They are very happy together and enjoying this new step.”

A familiar voice cut across the rising questions, ranging from names to almost offensive queries about if the children were really Noctis’ and he’d cheated on Prompto or vice versa.

“Ay, Ignis! Ahre they cute at least?”

Ignis never thought he’d be grateful to hear that ridiculous accent, but considering it was helping turn an ugly tide...

“Dino, I have study photos of past rulers over every decade and I would say they surpass Prince Noctis himself. They are charming.”

“Well then let’s seeum!”

Nyx touched his earpiece, having returned as honorary guard to the new little Prince and Princess for the week, he was overseeing the transition from press room to photo shoot. Lunafreya was seated with Noctis while Prompto took some pictures of his own and Nyx felt himself smiling at the sight.

Noctis was dressed perfectly in all black, his outfit relaxed for royalty with a simple silver trimmed jacket, the Lucian crest scrolling down one arm, and perfectly pressed slacks. Prompto was wearing black as well, his trimmed in gold and a bit more elaborate with bands crossing his chest and connecting to his waistfastening on his floor length jacket. The flared cut should’ve looked silly but on Prompto it just looked elegant. The Lucian crest was picked out in gold on the back and he had paired it with slacks and his combat boots. Their children were dressed in matching outfits, a tiny black shirt and shorts for Azreal, and a little black dress on Illyria, a faint chocobo pattern in gold at the edges of each. Nyx had the feeling neither child owned anything else so muted.

Lunafreya was holding the boy on her knee as he watched Prompto move around, smiling a little when his father did. She was a gem too Nyx, in her own silver and white tea dress, the light chocobo pattern present at the hemline of her skirt a subtle nod to her close relationship with the line of Lucis. Nyx himself had his old Kingsglaive uniform on, modified to include the crest of Tenebrae on the arms. Together, they were more than photo ready and he told Ignis as much on the com. The advisors voice came over the line a moment later, “Better tell them to take their places.” The shoot went well, with Dino being invited to stay a few minutes extra to take a few more relaxed shots of the group since he had been so helpful keeping things moving. As a thank you he sent them a photo book that evening as Noctis was putting the children down for the night. The photos were perfect and as he looked them over, Prompto decided he might have to pay Dino for a framed print of the one that he was planning on using as a full color spread. Noctis and Prompto were smiling at each other, caught in a moment of their own, their children cuddled between them looking adorable as they examined a stuffed Cactaur Dino had brought as a surprise (to the jealous glares of other reporters) and Lunafreya and Nyx standing behind the couch they were seated on, looking down at them fondly. Ignis and Gladio visible at either end of the couch, calm, steady book-ends. Prompto felt a warm glow in himself. Family. His family. He flipped to the next photo they’d been sent and laughed. Regis, his eyes glinting as he’d managed to stop in for a few shots,his lap full of grandchild and Noctis leaning over the couch looking chagrined at whatever ridiculous joke he’d been told. He closed the book and set it on the small dresser, turning to help Noctis. Illyria smacked her lips at him, babbling happily and he caught her little hand, kissing it as Noctis wiggled her toes, making her squirm and smile, a little laugh leaving her. Azreal pushed himself up, reaching for Noctis hand and promptly attempting to eat his fingers, making his parent’s laugh. They’d swapped the separate cribs for a larger sleeping bed, still with high sides, and so far the two little ones had been happy with the change. “Maaaaaa” Azreal told them, making Illyria follow it up with her thoughts, “Beh, mm.” Prompto laughed again, “Sounds like you two will be giving interviews of your own soon.” Noctis rolled his eyes and nudged his husband, “They’re already trending all over the place... #CuterthanNoct and #PromsFreckledDarlings have a disgusting number of hits just from a few pictures.” Prompto shrugged and looked at the little ones curling together sleepily. “You’re just jealous.” “Jealous they’ve been getting all your attention maybe.” Prompto turned to his husband, prepared to say something snarky, but Noctis’ hand on his cheek, soft and warm, stopped him. “They’ll probably sleep pretty hard tonight...they had a long day.” Noctis smiled, leaning in for a kiss. Prompto tilted his chin, eyes closing as he sighed a little, only to stumble and open them to the sight of blue shards in the air and, conscious of his sleeping children, tore off after Noctis. In the hallway he heard the other man yell, “I call first shower!” He rolled his eyes, “Or we could just take a bath you dork!”