#though Noctis has an inkling

[wyrmwinds]

AND we don't even call them by name, making up a nickname is for them is enforced for the sake of building camaraderie and the choice of the name is left completely up to the employer. You even have the choice to change their appearance entirely with retainer fantasia (Though that may just be game features and noncanon, given the dubious canonicity of fantasia itself)

What are the in-universe implications of those who make their retainers look like and take on the names of their (Sometimes, depending on who, dead) NPC love interests. There is not enough gil in the world for this.

something that would be really fun to read imo would be the diary of the warrior of light's personal retainer

[a-world-in-grey]

Take My Breath au - Roadtrip (Cleigne II)

-Sola doesn’t immediately leave the Tempering Grounds. No. She takes the time to sit and see to her weapons and to Genji, cleaning and sharpening them and using the repetitive motions to think.

-Noctis will be the Last of Somnus’ Line. Which means Sola will die first, likely at Noctis’ blade, either before or after he slays the Accursed. Their Uncle, no matter how many generations removed.

-And that, Sola will not stand for. If only Sola were to die, she could accept that. But to make her brother kill her? Heap the grief and guilt of Kinslaying upon his shoulders twice over before he himself is sacrificed?

-No.

-You can take my heart, you can take my breath, Sola silently swears to the Astrals, gripping Genji in a white knuckled hand, when you pry it from my cold dead chest!

-She breathes sharply through her rage. Answers first, then plan. Storing Genji in her armiger, Sola pauses to look at the remnants of Gilgamesh’s armor, the Immortal having faded to dust. After a moment, she takes the silver mask and stores that in her armiger as well. She’d leave the decision of funerary rites to Gladio, as Gilgamesh’s descendant and head of the Amicitia.

-The formal words come easily, beseeching for a meeting with the Messenger Gentiana. The threat of drastic action should Gentiana no answer immediately is far less formal and in no way reverent. Sola finds she doesn’t care anymore.

-There is a moment of dead silence, but then magic blooms across her senses like frost abd Gentiana’s voice sounds from behind her, chiding underneath the formal words of greeting.

-Sola asks Gentiana if what Gilgamesh said is true. Of the Healer King and the Accursed. Of Bahamut cursing Noctis to be the Last of his Line, to slay his sibling just as the Founder did. Gentiana tells Sola that she is not of Somnus’ Line, not since she removed herself after Noctis’ birth. By magic and oath, the Chosen King has no sister.

-From the smile curling Gentiana’s lips, Sola realizes that it wasn’t mere chance that Sola stumbled across that specific oath. But Sola doesn’t let herself think on that for longer than a moment - doesn’t let herself wonder how long Gentiana has been looking in on Noctis’ life - because Gentiana hasn’t said anything to deny the rest of what Gilgamesh said. And Sola realizes that it must be true.

-Sola tells Gentiana that she will not let them sacrifice Noctis. Gentiana’s smile disappears as she tells Sola that Noctis already swore to Lunafreya that he would defeat the Starscourge. Sola snarls at Gentiana, because the only time Noctis met Luna was when he was eight, and a child could not be held to a binding oath! Not even Sola’s oath of abdication! She’d reaffirmed it when she swore her Sword Oaths at her coming of age!

-Sola tells Gentiana she’s already broken one curse, pointing at Gilgamesh’s armor, and reiterates what she told the Lucii. If she will not aid Sola, then stay out of her way.

-She braces herself, prepared to defend against divine fury over Sola’s defiance and disrespect. The Astrals are not known for being kind, and Sola doubts Gentiana is any different, no matter how amusedly fond the Messenger is of Noctis.

-But Gentiana merely smiles and tilts her head, pointing out the scourge racing through Sola’s body, and the very limited time she has left. And if Sola didn’t know better, she’d swear Gentiana is offering Sola a challenge.

-Well, real or not, Sola’s never backed down from a challenge. Sola bares her teeth and tells Gentiana that she’s not dead yet. Until then, she has a threat to her King to cut down.

-And Gentiana laughs. Light and airy, wind scattering snow into flurries across the sunlit ice. Gentiana tells Sola to seek out the Infernian who lingers in shadow. Remind him of the sun’s warmth, and perhaps he will aid her. And the Messenger disappers, leaving Sola with the distant death knell and half a hope.

-Sola squares her shoulders and firms her resolve. Half a hope? She’s worked on less before.

-It’s not quite dawn when she leaves the Tempering Grounds. By the time she reaches the haven Cor has taken shelter at, her uncle has risen with the sun, packing up camp to wait for her, no doubt. Ice blue eyes rake over her appearance, and Sola knows she’s a mess, covered in dust and grime. But she’s uninjured, and her clothes are intact. Which reassures Uncle Cor enough for him to finish packing his things before he wraps her in a tight hug, fine tremors of relief in his arms that Sola doesn’t comment on.

-He asks how it went, and Sola produces Genji from her armiger. And Cor smiles, a small proud thing that warms Sola and she can’t help but grin back. Because even with everything, she defeated Gilgamesh. The oath she swore at ten, she kept.

-She splits from Cor there, and heads to Lestallum. And she is so thankful for keeping her motorcycle in her armiger, or she’d be walking. Instead, she gets there in time to take a shower and have a barber even out the hack jobs on her hair from Cor and Gilgamesh before Cindy calls her about helping out Holly at the EXINERIS plant.

-Sola agrees to help, because daemons in the power plant is all kinds of bad, and she’s surprised when later she’s joined by another Hunter. Over the radio she can’t tell who it is, but then the guy whips out magic and the Royal Arms and Sola immediately knows it’s her little brother inside the protective suit.

-Something Sola teases Noctis about, after they’re safely out of the plant. The Chocobros are ecstatic to see Sola, though Prompto asks about the haircut. Sola forgives the curiosity, because her hair used to reach her waist, but now barely brushes her shoulders. And well, Sola may or may not take amusement in the faces they pull when she mentions having to even out the damage that Gilgamesh did.

-That she makes not only Gladio but also Ignis choke on their drinks over dinner? Priceless. Sola admires the spit takes even as Prompto ducks beneath the table and Noctis doesn’t, squawking in offense as he mops up his shirt. Prompto snaps a picture of Noctis’ wet cat glower and tosses Sola the camera for safe keeping when Noctis lunges for it.

-It’s not until they’re back at Cape Caem that Sola tells them what Gilgamesh told her. All of it. It takes Sola that long to decide whether or not to tell them at all, because she knows it will only hurt. She would spare them the pain, if she could. But that would put them in danger, and Sola refuses to allow that.

-So she tells them. Everything. The Prophecy, Somnus and the Accursed, the Starscourge and her own infection.

-Noctis yells at her. Shouts himself hoarse and then wraps her in a hug and buries his face into her shoulder so she won’t see him cry. Gladio storms out of the small house, furious at Sola and furious at himself. Prompto... looks lost, as though he’s trying and failing to imagine Sola not being there for them. Ignis sighs, but says that he’d suspected something was wrong, but he didn’t know what and didn’t want to assume with so little information.

-And Ignis grills Sola for the information she knows, from Gilgamesh and Gentiana. Sola tells him everything, but she does leave out that she is no longer considered part of Somnus’ Line. She knows Noctis, because her brother is so much like her. Between his life and everyone else, Noctis will sacrifice his in a heartbeat. But put the life of a loved one on the line? Her little brother will fight the heavens to save them.

-Sola will not let her little brother give up his life.

-My heart. My breath. Mine.

-Thank everything for Ignis’ genius. Because Ignis already has half a dozen plans and possibilities to investigate, starting with investigating the Rock of Ravatogh for Ifrit when they seek out the royal tomb there. Sola points Ignis towards Iris, and tells him to contact Axis and Talcott - Sola asked Jared to research the Starscourge before his death. And Sola highly doubts her Glaives actually followed her orders not to split their resources to investigate. She knows her idiots. That gets a snort out of Noctis, and a thoughtful hum from Ignis.

-The drive to Ravatogh is somewhat tense, given the way Gladio is still pissed off at Sola. Sola tells the others to keep out of it, because this is something between her and Gladio. They aren’t camping at havens anymore - with Sola’s admittance that she can’t, everyone is willing to shell out the gil for caravans and motels even though they need to pick up a few more hunts to compensate.

-Ravatogh turns out to be a bust. Ifrit isn’t there, Sola cannot feel the well of magic that marked Titan’s resting spot beneath the Disk of Cauthess. They get the Royal Arm though, so it’s not a complete waste. And Ignis and Sola theorize that Niflheim may have found Ifrit’s body in the years they occupied the region. Given Gentiana saying that Ifrit ‘lingered in shadow’, and the rumors that Shiva attacked Gralea several years back... Sola states it’s possible Niflheim demonified the Astral.

-Ignis is skeptical. There’s no real evidence, but Sola cannot shake the idea. She argues that Gentiana said she’d need to remind Ifrit of ‘the sun’s warmth,’ and the scourge... it’s cold. The chill of no sun, no light or warmth, no life. And it’s the gold magic that allows her to heal, to absorb the scourge from others. Sola grimly tells Ignis that Niflheim has been experimenting on daemons for years now - the Kingsglaive fights their daemons all the time, and those are the only daemons she’s ever seen out during the day, out in the sun-

-Sola cuts herself off at that, thinking hard. This is important. She can feel it. But why do daemons avoid the daytime, avoid the sun?

-She glances at her hands. Considers the leather covered skin. Considers the near instant feeling of sunburn ever since the infection set in, the way she cannot bear sunlight without pain.

-And wonders.

-But as Ignis reminded her, Luna was the Oracle. She could heal her without resorting to desperate measures. And Luna might even have more information needed to track down the Infernian, or could contact the Astrals to get the information they needed.

-Sola’s been watching Gladio. She knows he has a temper as bad as her own. That Gladio’s kept a lid on it for the oast few days? Impressive. But it won’t last.

-So when they finish dinner the night before they plan to depart from Cape Caem, Sola follows when Gladio stomps out of the house. A glance at Noctis has her little brother nodding and keeping the others back. Good, Noctis understands that this is a personal problem between her and Gladio.

-Sola finds Gladio running through sword katas. They argue, Gladio not wanting to talk and Sola refusing to leave it alone. Because Gladio’s firmly set the issue aside so it doesn’t interfere with his duties as Shield, but Sola knows that Gladio’s hurting and no matter how much Gladio buries it, it won’t stop hurting.

-Finally, Gladio asks why Sola asked him to protect Noctis. And Sola tells him that Gladio is Noctis’ Shield. Of anyone, Sola trusts Gladio the most in that position. Gladio’s snort is bitter and disbelieving. He tells her that he’s some Shield. How can he protect Noctis from everything Niflheim and the Astrals are going to throw at them if he can’t even protect Noctis from Sola?!

-And Sola abruptly understands. None of the others will consider it, but Sola and Gladio know that they might not find a cure in time. And if they don’t... If Sola turns into a daemon, Noctis won’t be able to strike her down. No matter how dangerous Sola is, because Sola knows if she turns, it’ll be nothing less than a powerful daemon.

-Sola lets her glaive fall into her grasp and tells Gladio to fight her. He’s worried he cannot protect Noctis? Then prove to her that he can, or Sola will relieve Gladio of his duty here and now. And Sola doesn’t have to tell Gladio that by ‘relieve’, she means kill. The steel in her tone and the hard edge to gold flecked blue eyes are hint enough.

-Both of them need to know that if Sola turns, Gladio will be able to kill her. Because if he can’t, the others won’t stand a chance. And Noctis will die.

-Sola doesn’t hold back. Gladio needs this, even more than Sola needed to fight Gilgamesh. And so Sola throws herself at Gladio with lethal intent, and doesn’t shy away when Gladio matches her blow for blow. She doesn’t stop when she grazes Gladio’s head, doesn’t stop until Gladio manages to get behind her and land a blow across her back, cutting from hip the opposite shoulder, even as she tries to dodge.

-Sola hits the ground hard, and doesn’t get back up. Feels her magic begin to knit the wound back together, a wound that would be lethal to anything else. And she cannot stop the laughter that spills from her chest. Cannot stop the grin as she looks up at Gladio’s wide amber gaze, his face pale with horror.

-Sola holds out her hand, and yanks Gladio down to the ground when he takes it. He hits the dround beside her with a grunt. But his irritation and horror fade when Sola congratulates him on beating her. When she tells him just how she beat Gilgamesh. Not through martial might, but through words. By leveraging Gilgamesh’s grief into getting the First Shield to surrender to execution. Sola admits to Gladio that she’s not sure she could have beaten Gilgamesh through strength of arms. But Gladio? She has no doubt he would’ve kicked Gilgamesh into next week.

-Magic finished knitting her spine back together, Sola sits up and calls Genji to her hand. She presents it to Gladio, and she somberly tells Gladio that he has no need to doubt his ability to defend Noctis. Gladio takes the sword, pride warring with guilt. Sola nudges him and sternly tells him that she tried to decapitate him three times. Nearly would have if he hadn’t ducked, and it’s a damn good thing he has a thick skull.

-Gladio grimaces at the reminder, feeling the deep gash she scored across his forehead. He says that the others aren’t going to be happy. Sola winces and weakly suggests not telling them. She doesn’t have to see Gladio’s skeptical look go know her suggestion won’t work. They’ll take one look at the two of them and know. She holds a fist out and says that at least they can face their doom together. And finally, Gladio starts snickering. He suggests they clean up first. Might help.

-Gladio’s right. They get back, and it only takes one look at the new scar on Gladio’s forehead for everyone to start fussing. Prompto asks what happened, and Gladio has a moment to see the smirk on Sola’s face before the redhead nonchalantly shrugs and says they beat the crap out of each other. In the dead silence that follows, Gladio manages to facepalm before Ignis explodes, scolding both of them.

-Noctis frowns, before he cuts off Ignis’ lecture with a flare of magic, and oh boy Sola can sense just how displeased her little brother is. Noctis looks between them and asks if everything has been resolved. Both Sola and Gladio nod, and Noctis purses his lips. He tells them that he expects there will be no repeat of this. His magic flexes, reinforcing the order, and Sola bows her head, murmuring a subdued ‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ alongside Gladio. Because this is not her little brother speaking, but her king.

-Her heart aches. Her little brother is all grown up, and it’s impossible to deny how much he resembles Papa. Especially when he shoulders the authority of his rank. The grief still hurts. The grief will always hurt.

-But as the tension fades and Prompto asks for details of the fight, Sola realizes that for the first time since Papa’s death, she feels hope.

[talesfantastic]

Muse Introduction: Noctis Lucis Caelum (Final Fantasy XV)

History:

Noctis Lucis Caelum, 114th heir to the throne of Lucis and the son of King Regis and Queen Aulea, was born to die, though for most of his life he was unaware of this. Queen Aulea died when her son was just an infant, and though King Regis loved him deeply and dearly, there was no escaping the burden of the crown. Noctis’ earliest memories featured other caretakers with rare but cherished stolen moments with his father.

When he was little more than a toddler, he was introduced to Ignis, who would one day become his Hand and the core of his retinue. His oldest and closest companion, his one true constant even as other people cycled in and out of his life, Ignis was his rock.

Unknown to Noctis, when he was five, his father discovered that he was the destined King of Light, and made the decision to try and give him as ‘normal’ a life as possible, even allowing him to go to public school - which would later backfire spectacularly.

At eight, Noctis nearly died in a Marilith attack. Several servants and caretakers he was fond of did die, attempting to protect him until his father and the rest of the guard arrived. His injuries were so severe that he slipped into a coma, and only through the protection of the Messenger Carbuncle was he able to escape. Even after, he was taken to Tenebrae in secret to be healed by the Oracle, Queen Sylva. It was then that he befriended Princess Lunafreya who gave him his first insights into what would be his destiny. At such a young age, he didn’t really grasp what he was being told, but was eager to work with his new friend to help save the world.

Niflheim’s invasion, the death of the Oracle, and being utterly helpless while his father and Crownsguard fled - leaving Lunafreya and Ravus behind - would go on to be further sources of trauma that would haunt him well into adulthood. 

Living with severe chronic pain and several sources of childhood trauma meant that the bubbly, bright boy he had been was not the same child that came back from Tenebrae. Noctis was withdrawn, subdued, and quickly formed a brusque, prickly exterior to keep people at a distance and protect himself as he tried to deal with the strain of public school. He didn’t fit in. He didn’t make friends. He was not, by any stretch of imagination, happy - and that was exacerbated by his initially strained relationship with the second of his retinue.

His and Gladio’s relationship started out admittedly rocky, due to their conflicting natures and very different ways of approaching things. Gladio was always pushing, and at first Noctis was very resistant to step outside his comfort zone - especially when it came to things that literally hurt. But Gladio was smart, patient, and knew just how far he could push. Eventually, they settled into a more comfortable give-and-take, and a deeper bond of trust that let Noctis and Gladio both be themselves around each other, without requiring Ignis’ intervention.

Moving into his own apartment at fifteen was a beautiful gesture, but not necessarily the right decision as it isolated Noctis even further and played into his unhealthy instinct to withdraw from people. It wasn’t until high school that he would make a real friend untethered by station - Prompto Argentum came from a vastly different background, but was exactly the sort of determined sunshine Noctis desperately needed.

Despite being accused of being lazy and uncaring about things, Noctis graduated at the top of his class. At the same time, however, he struggled with the pressures of his station and the sudden grasp of his father’s mortality - and the fact that he might well be actively dying under the strain of the wall and the stresses of being a king at war. Though they were by no means close (another source of stress) he still cared deeply and it hurt.

He was only twenty when he was informed he would be sent off to Altissia to marry his childhood friend, the current Oracle Princess Lunafreya to help end the centuries-long war with Niflheim. He barely got to see his father in time for a send off, ceremonially king-to-prince and scarce moments of father-to-son. He would forever regret that his last words were sassing the man.

Because the treaty was for nothing. Niflheim came in full force, stole the Crystal, killed his father, and destroyed the Crown City. And somehow, he was supposed to fix things.

It was only then that he had even an inkling of what it meant to be the King of Light.

Description:

At twenty, Noctis reaches his full adult height of 5’9. Black hair is kept short, and admittedly a bit messy, especially for royalty. His eyes are more commonly blue, though they can turn shades of red depending on how much / what kind of magic he’s channeling. His clothing, when he has a choice, is casual - all Lucian black, of course, but his favorite outfits are dark tees, baggy cargo capris and calf high boots.

Few realize that the baggy clothes hide at least one brace on his left knee and often also a back brace. His single glove, likewise, hides a wrist brace.

|| character tag || character page ||

[battleshot]

𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙽 : 𝚂𝙴𝚇𝚄𝙰𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈. 

𝐽𝑂𝐼𝑁𝑇 𝐻𝐸𝐴𝐷𝐶𝐴𝑁𝑂𝑁 𝑊𝐼𝑇𝐻  @inscmnus​​

As stated in his fact file, Prompto is bi-sexual. Generally his preference fluctuates. When he’s with Gladio, the chances are the discussion will mostly be revolving around women. Ignis, it can swing either way. As same with Noctis. Even though Noctis might have not expressly spoken of his preference until a developed friendship, he always made Prompto feel comfortable enough to talk about whoever and whatever he wished. No judgement, just support.

He has always been attracted to females, only in his later teens did he have some inkling that perhaps he liked men too. He and Noctis shared this first experimental kiss together. After a few drinks ( Not drunk ) Did they get into topic and figured they were best friends who could laugh about it after. Find out what all the fuss was about. It was pleasant enough, and didn’t change their friendship, but it was what he needed to reaffirm that he had an equal preference for the same sex. 

He is not ashamed, embarrassed or shy of this. If asked, he has no qualms in discussing it.  He would’ve told his adoptive parents around the time he finished school. Not in a big grand gesture --  considering they weren’t that close anyway, t’was just more of a heads up for who he might be bringing home when he was coming of age. 

[tenebraetrash17]

Wait, Ravus had the eyes of Etro?

Yes !!! Or well, a variation of it? Maybe?

In the original Versus trailers, Ravus was depicted with a hood, which has been said to either: 

Block his visions because they were too strong for him to handle

Shield him from witnessing the Souls of the dead

Nothing, it’s just a fancy accessory

Personally? I honestly don’t know. Ravus is said to have powers like Noctis during the Versus era, albeit his was more using bolts of light rather than an arsenal. So if Noctis was able to see the light of expiring souls, I’m assuming Ravus was able to as well. 

Interestingly enough, sorry, I’m gonna go on a tangent here, in the Comrades Boss Battle, Ravus does have a move that is light based, although it’s white and not blue. It’s where he casts his arms out to the side and suddenly you get hit with MEGA DAMAGE. I’ve only been able to activate it once though, and it’s very quick. Similarly, his lightning could also be considered as an adaption from that one move, as he treats it in rather the same way. (see where he creates a field of it on the ground and shoots a long bolt of it). So in a sense, Ravus’ Versus abilities are still in play.

Unrelated as I do know that his purple eye is his Magitek eye, but Serah’s eye when she receives her visions is actually a very similar color? That or my eyesight is tricking purple for blue oof

It might be a little blurry because I had to crop. But it’s pretty much a very similar color! And according to a strangely valid sounding leak, Ravus has gone through the least amount of changes. 

This is with the lighting a little bit brighter? It kept on discoloring him and making lighter patches whiter and darker patches darker, but for the most part, it’s a very similar color!

It’s pretty curious, considering Ravus is often able to see things he shouldn’t. That one scene in chapter three where Ravus seems shocked and repulsed by the Emperor, and he does that little recoil where his eyes widen? Well, in Chapter 13.v.2 Ravus proceeds to call him a “Puppet of the Darkness” , if Ravus had an inkling of what was happening before hand, it would explain why he looked like that when Iedolas said “My Crystal.”

Ravus also saw through Ardyn’s Gladio disguise somehow, a feat that no one else was shown to do, not even the Kings of Lucis. Here’s looking at you my boys, Noct and Reggie although with Ardyn-Noctis, he was unable to do so, perhaps because of his injuries, but it’s a little thing that never was revealed as to why Ravus knew.

So yee! That was hella off topic, but it’s a curious thing to consider if Ravus does retain his Versus abilities, just to a lesser extent. 

ALSO, if my “Luna ascends to a Goddess Theory” is a reality, is it possible that Luna becomes the XV version of Etro, so Ravus having the “Eyes Of Etro” would be as some sort of tie-in to her. Like making him Luna’s seer/guardian/messenger etc??? LISTEN, THERE’S POTENTIAL HERE SQUARE-

[wrathbites]

A kiss...

... goodbye.

Characters: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia Rating: Teen and up audiences Warnings/notes: cross-posting older fics from AO3

When they are children they don't know any better of easily shared affection.  Holding hands and hugs come naturally to them, just like breathing and swimming and causing all kinds of merry hell for the adults watching over them, despite Noctis's station as Prince and the inkling in the back of Ignis's head that perhaps he shouldn't be so comfortable with this.  But they are children and the worries of adults are strange and puzzling things to them, boring and stuffy books in the face of adventure and cartoons he's dragged off to watch the very moment they're allowed to.

But for all that affection is easy and Noctis is a delight to get along with, Ignis is never one to leave a kiss upon the Prince's cheek, no, that is something reserved for Noctis to bestow on him, alone.  The first time it happens, Noctis draws back just as quickly as he'd leaned in to stifle a yawn behind his fist and blink sleepily at Ignis where he stands with a hand on his cheek, mouth dropped open in shock.  "Good night, Noctis," he says, because he doesn't know what else to, and ruffles black hair because he can and it makes Noctis giggle, before he takes his leave from Noctis's quarters and trots off to his own with a Crownsguard escort.

The second time it happens Noctis doesn't even make it to bed, simply drops onto Ignis's lap and conks out right there like he's the comfiest pillow in the world, trapping him on the sofa far too big for just the two of them.  Ignis doesn't mind, really, except his leg is already kinda dead and he's gotta pee, but he doesn't want to disturb Noctis and - and he only wakes when his Uncle comes to fetch him, hiking him up in spindle-stick arms even though he's a lot bigger and a lot older since the last time he'd been lifted and it's not quite so easy anymore.

Such kisses become frequent things in their friendship - always laid upon his cheek when he's to depart Noct's company either at the end of the night or when their studies pull them away.  A few are left on his forehead, too, when he's too tired to move from all the running and jumping around they've done and the adults come to fetch them from their grand adventures and mischief, a slurred "g'bye Iggy" the last he hears from Noct until the following day, Noctis flopped over him one moment and gone in a whirl of spooky cloaks the next, smiling at him like he'd announced a holiday from all classes at another.

He never thinks to return them, not when Noctis favours hugs the most and buries his face so quickly into Ignis's chest every time, burrowing under his jumper to hide from the King and his "princely responsibilities" (or vegetables), pouting and whining and stubbornly refusing to let go.  He likes the kisses because they're warm and funny and only Noct gives them, and Noctis likes the hugs because Ignis is around his height and doesn't scoop him clean off the ground like some giant about to squish him for being an irritating bug.

And then he does, once.  Only once, because Noctis and the King are to visit Altissia to pay respects to the Astral slumbering under the city and he won't be seeing his friend for a couple of weeks.

"Goodbye, Noctis.  Have a safe trip," he says, and plants a kiss right on the tip of the Prince's nose, complete with a loud mwuah, much to the amusement of their caretakers and Noct's annoyance, jumping away from Ignis with an outraged squawk and flap of his hands before he's slapping at his nose as though he thought Ignis would be so sneaky as to steal it.

"Ew!  Gross, Iggy!"

"You do it to me all the time!"

"Yeah, well!  I make sure I'm not drooling, first!"

- - - - - -

When his friend returns from that trip, cut short by a disaster that has the whole Citadel buzzing with anxious activity and extra guards posted everywhere Ignis can see... he is a shadow of that indignant boy, an empty husk curled up in the wheelchair pushed by the King, and Ignis feels his stomach drop through his shoes, caught up in indecision.  Does he run to Noctis and replace the King's hands with his own?  Does he hug him?  Will that hurt him?  Does he ask if he's okay when he's clearly not?  Or does he flee?  Does he put distance between them and clap his hands over his mouth and never utter a single word ever again?  Does he keep his kisses to himself to spare Noctis anymore pain?

He'd kissed Noctis the day of their departure.  He'd kissed him and wished him a safe trip and said goodbye.

He'd cursed his friend to suffering, to countless nights screaming and sobbing, ill and weak and shaking in his father's arms while Ignis peers in from the doorway, crying himself and clutching the Carbuncle plushie Noctis gave him for his birthday.

I'm so sorry.

- - - - -

"This isn't goodbye, Noct," he says with only a mild touch of surprise in his tone, dipping his head down to stare at the arms locked around his chest from behind, first, then twisting just enough to get a glimpse of his friend's wild tangle of hair mashed into his shoulder.  There is a surprising strength in that hold of his and Ignis is tempted to start walking, to determine if Noct can stop him, or stubbornly cling on and be dragged along for the ride.  Warm breath sinks into his shirt, his skin, steals away his own and momentarily wipes his brain squeaky clean of any thought expect the close proximity they haven't had in years -

Proximity he couldn't allow.

- since they were children, and Noctis is mumbling something he cannot decipher, the whine sliding through his voice speaking of his discontent at their impending separation louder than any words he could string together, a scream for all that he's quiet, and somewhere behind all the iron walls Ignis has meticulously crafted over the years his heart gives a painful squeeze.

"What was that?"

"... said I'm gonna miss you," is the mumbled reply and he turns in Noct's hold so he can return it in kind, risking all kinds of hell for his sanity when he's on his own by nosing into that riotous hair permanently stuck as "bedhead", closing his eyes and breathing a deep sigh.  Surely they are allowed this comfort, surely he can lay his hands on Noct's back and feel the play of muscles under his palm with every minute shift, surely he can touch his fingertips to the line of Noct's spine... surely no doom can come from this?

"It's only college, Noct, and I'll drop by for a visit every other day."

"Y'know I'm gonna die without your cooking, Igs."

"Tsk.  Ever sculpting mountains out of molehills.  Your kitchen will be kept well stocked for your foray in independence."

- - - - - -

A hand on his tie, and any protest he might have for the creases being scrunched into it is dashed to the southerly winds with the sudden press of Noct's mouth to his own, lips a little chapped but welcome -

He pulls back with a desperate noise, scrabbling for distance, for clarity, for strength to deny but Noctis is, and has always been, a tenacious fiend, shadowing his retreat with a complaint of his own and Ignis goes down when he collides with the sofa, the added weight of a persistent Prince at his chest sending him over it with a squeak of protest he'll deny later, tumbling all at once in a flail of limbs and tangling with Noctis until there's no escape and he's doomed.

He's powerless and doomed and this will be the final rule broken, the strike for dismissal, the end to their friendship and he can't -

"Wanna kiss you."

"Technically you just -"

"Shut up,"  Noctis says, and Ignis does exactly that, head dropping back with a solid thunk and hands lifting above it in surrender, utterly at Noct's mercy, following his lead and kissing him back because he is a weak, weak man and there couldn't possibly be a regret greater than if he was to turn his head aside now.

- - - - - -

There's something off about the grip in his hair and the play of tongue over his, Noct's sluggish response to his coaxing.  Hesitation that hasn't been there since their first kiss in that tiny apartment, caught up in the hormonal rollercoaster of teenage years, and Ignis pulls back with something like dread in his gut.

Noct's eyes are distant and dark in the false light the Glaives have managed to generate to keep the daemons at bay, shadowed and sad and the dread turns physical, a pain that steals his breath and twists his stomach into knots.

"Don't you dare say this is goodbye, Noctis.  We've come too far for this to be your end."

"But the prophecy -"

"Fuck the prophecy.  I didn't fight Ardyn and burn at the hands of your ancestors ten years ago for the gods to pluck you from this earth and rip you from my side.  I will not allow it."

"But I have to die."

"You most certainly do not."

"You don't understand, Ignis!"  Hands on his shoulders, shoving him off, and he rolls aside and comes up on the other side of the bunk ready for a fight, blood pounding with the rush of it, and with an electric snap and flick of phantom blue, Noctis is right there, nose to nose with him, fists grabbing hold of his vest and threatening to tear the aged fabric with every push and pull, every effort to shake him.  "I have to.  No ifs, no buts, no maybes.  It's me, or the world and every living soul in it.  I can't run from this, Iggy, I can't hide, you can't keep me safe this time.  It's me or everyone else.  It has to be."

"According to who?  The gods?  Who are they to dictate the lives of those who can bring them to their knees and remind them how it feels to bleed?  Who are they to bestow the gift of life on humanity and then steal it away when the fancy strikes them?  Fuck the prophecy, and fuck those who tout it like some saving grace!"

"Ignis -"

"No," he says, quiet and firm and vicious, mirroring Noct's grip and yanking him impossibly closer until they share every breath and he can see the glimmer of unshed tears, can almost taste the fear his lover tries so hard to hide.  "I will not lose you this night, Noctis, or any night.  If I must storm the Citadel myself and face Ardyn again, without the ring and might of your ancestors behind me, then so be it.  Do not make this a goodbye."

There is no kiss to be had, not in this moment, not with them both so close to a breaking point, and so he reverts to what he once did as a child, and folds his arms around Noct's shoulders, holds on tight until the fight goes out of Noctis all at once and he crumples, buries his face where it cannot be seen and trembles as years of stress and fear and fury and pain tumble off his shoulders, where they never should have been.

"You're not alone, Noctis.  Not this time."

- - - - - -

He lays a hand on his lover's cheek in the dead of night - or what the clocks deem night in the unnatural state the world's fallen into during the decade he's been absent - crouches by the bunk to watch him sleep, just for a minute.  Ignis mumbles something at the contact but doesn't wake, turns ever so slightly into the touch and he feels his heart break into a thousand pieces.

This isn't fair.

No tears.  No hesitation.  No regrets.  Well... all but one.

"Goodbye Ignis," he whispers, and leaves a kiss on Ignis's forehead before taking his leave.

No-one else will die tonight, not for him.  Never again.

I'm so sorry.

[charlottedabookworm]

The thing with Regis simply Not Realizing Nyx is his son is hilarious, but let's go at it from the Troll!Regis angle. He knows, and he's fucking with them. Clarus may be genuinely oblivious, less because of missing the obvious, more assuming Regis is Up To Something Again and ignoring it by long habit. Noctis might think it's a prank his Dad concocted, Gladio might be a mix of his Dad and Noct. The rest of Insomnia has no excuse, though.

Okay, this is hilarious

Maybe Regis only figured it out a couple of months in, but that that point the people in the know - mostly the Glaives - are starting to escalate to increasingly hilarious heights to get Regis to notice and, being the massive troll that he is, Regis pretends not to know.

Because this is hilarious and like fuck is he spoiling it, he wants to see what they come up with next. (Because being King is really boring and this is the most entertainment that he’s had in years)

So, Regis is trolling people by pretending not to know, Clarus took one look at Regis, realised that his old friend was up to something, and promptly ignored it all because fuck that, he isn’t dealing with it. Nope. And Noct just assumes that the Nyx as his brother thing that everyone is trying to sell him is some sort of prank from his Dad and seriously, who would ever believe that? He’s an only child.

Nyx has an inkling that his father is trolling him, something about the spark in the man’s eyes when he looks at someone who is insisting that yes, Nyx is his son, but he doesn’t say anything (because Nyx’s self-esteem issues are real and he honestly doesn’t believe that his dad wants him so)

[ofgunblades-archived-blog]

@totalxclarity ( continued from here )

Ignis chuckled nervously. He had started to realize before he left Insomnia with Noctis and the others he was interested in Lightning a bit more than he should. He had always thought he wouldn’t enter a relationship to not disturb his duties as the king’s advisor, but the more time he spent with her, the more he was starting to think otherwise. He was a rational person, but Lightning was, too. There was something going on between them, but it wouldn’t push them away from their duties.

When Lightning had offered him to help him with his training, Ignis had been relieved but on the other hand, he felt like a burden. He knew how strong she was, and he felt like, now that he was blind, he was out of her league. He couldn’t believe she was still interested in him after everything that had happened.

He took a deep breath and raised a hand so he could gently stroke her cheek. “I just wish it could have happened before I was blind. It’s… a waste.” He admitted before he put a soft kiss on her lips.

          They’d been training fairly intensely, Lightning easily barking orders ( ‘coming in on your left!’, ‘pay attention to my footfalls when I come at you!’ ), teaching him to listen for the subtleties in her advances ---- the slash of her blade or the sound it made during the transition between forms, the crunch and audible shift of the ground beneath her feet when she surged forward, anything that would give him an advantage and alert him to an oncoming approach. It was slow going, but he was progressing, his determination ( or perhaps it was stubbornness, though the two weren’t so different ) not allowing him to fail.

          It was when she’d blindsided him, the flat of her blade merely resting against his neck to signify he’d been bested, that she paused. Out of breath from running circles around Ignis, azure hues scanned their surroundings; they were alone, the others having, perhaps, grown bored of watching and cheering Ignis on ( or, conversely, sensing the tension between them and electing to leave the two in each other’s company ).

          She lowered her blade, studied his features for perhaps a few moments too long, before the words fell from her lips ---- bold, brazen despite her uncertainty. There had always been an inkling that the attraction hadn’t been one-sided, but the rosette had never entertained the possibility ---- not until Ignis has lost his sight. Not until she’d realized she may have lost him.

          And, oh Six, he was kissing her, the weapon in her hand falling to the floor with a dull clatter. It was brief, a ghosting of lips across her own, but it wasn’t enough.

          ❝ Never a waste, ❞ she murmured before lifting a hand to cradle his cheek, closing the distance between them once more, kissing him with all the repressed feelings she’d locked away. 

[thatgirlkennedie]

Title: Hidden in the Dark

Rating: (Hard) T

Warnings: Implied self-harm, implied suicide thoughts, Prompto being sad

Notes: this is a little late but here’s some angst for Day4: Hurt/Comfort @promptis-fanweek

AO3

It wasn't a bad thing but it was weird for Noctis to receive a knock on his door at this hour. He was surprisingly still up for it be 2 am; Flipping through channels out of boredom, not expecting anyone over. He wouldn't put the doubt on it being Ignis since his advisor has done this before but also he had no reason for coming over. Ignis usually would at least let him know a bit beforehand if he was stopping by. Still, it's strange and now his door was being knocked on a little more frantically. He got up from his spot reluctantly and went to see what beheld him behind that door. He looked through the peephole first and well, it was dark and even with the front light on it was difficult to see except for the outline of what looked to be a man in a hoodie. He sighed; Worst come to worst he had his weapon on him. He slowly opened the door, leaving it slightly ajar before getting a full view of the person in front of him. “Prompto? What are you doing here?” And it's not meant to sound rude but really, it's not the usual time to hang out. Noctis wasn't mad at him at all, if anything, he was confused by this. Here stood his best friend who seemed… a little off from his normal self. “Ya know, just been walkin’ around, seeing the sights.” Noctis would have accepted this response if it wasn't two at night. Walking at night wasn't a bad thing to do, Insomnia was pretty safe, but Prompto’s behavior was skewed from his normality which was making the atmosphere a bit thinner. “Now what's the real reason why you're here?” Noctis spoke and it was supposed to sound like a lighthearted question but he saw the way Prompto cringe at the words. He then realized he still had the door cracked open so he opened it all the way but the blonde only stood there unmovable. “I… had to get some air. Being all cooped up all by yourself… can make you go crazy sometimes.” The laugh was a dead give away that something was wrong. It was too stale, too forced out to be genuine which had a pang of concern rise inside of Noctis. Soon though, Prompto took the invitation to go inside. Noctis watched him; Prompto’s movements seemed robotic like, almost stiff as he made his way and sat down on the couch. Okay, it's been about a week since they saw each other face to face. Partly from Noctis being busy with all the royal bullshit and Prompto well, the blonde claimed sicken some days and work other days which, if were true, made sense why hanging out would have been impossible. Also, they're just so used to being with each other every waking moment of the day and a week off felt like their dynamic had changed; Not good or bad but definitely something weird was going on. This was the quietest Prompto had ever been. Noctis figured he'd crack a joke by now but the blonde just sat there, head hanging low with no words leaving his mouth at all. Nothing more than a long sigh left him as he stayed silent which only made Noctis more worried. He walked over to the couch and sat down next to Prompto, waiting for some form of conversation starting. When he got none, he let out a sigh of his own before speaking. “Hey, are you… okay?” And he could tell that the blonde wasn't okay. The question posed as a means for an explanation. “As okay as I'll ever get.” Prompto mumbled out almost too quiet to hear. “What do you mean by-” “I quit my job a couple weeks ago…” Prompto stated his voice barely above a whisper. Noctis looked at him with bewilderment. A couple of weeks ago? Why would Prompto lie to him about working so much in the past week? He's, again, not mad but there's some confusion that lingers. “...What?” That's all Noctis could respond with. “I've been… having a bad day, a bad week, a bad life… things just haven't been going my way lately.” “Prompto-” “I just feel… useless. I fuck things up too much and… I just had to get away.” Noctis couldn't believe what he was hearing. It's unlike Prompto to speak so morbidly in his speech. He's known Prompto for a few years now and not once had he witness him doing anything but quirk the side of his lips up in a bright smile or pure angelic laughter. This, this was backwards behavior and he's so taken aback by it. “Prompto, where is this all coming from? You are an awesome person and you're usually so happy and-” “It was a lie.” Prompto’s voice rose, some heat behind his words. “It's all been a lie, I'm a fucking lie!” He paused to take a breath, turning his head enough to look straight as Noctis. “I've done some… dumb things in the last week Noct… I'm not proud of those things…” All Noctis could do was stare and listen in disbelief. He could only imagine the things Prompto got into and he really didn't want to believe it. “You gotta tell me. What have you've been doing this week Prompto?” He's so damn worried now and he just doesn't know the right thing to do in this situation. “You don't wanna know-” “I do. Let me help you with this. Please?” Noctis had grown desperate for some form of response that could bring light to this situation. Prompto was more than just sad; It's the sadness that Noctis hadn't dealt with since his younger days. That feeling of worthlessness and the dread of doing things or; He's gone through it, not as severely, but enough to pinpoint the symptoms. He had his own rough days sometimes but he could bare them for the most part especially when Prompto was there to help him too; Spontaneous recovery was a blessing in itself. He's not even sure how long Prompto had been like this or if he could even make such a recovery. “Did you ever feel a tug to your magic?” Prompto asked and it's an odd question. In true, Noctis never paid that much attention to when his friends used their weapons. If one of them was constantly using their weapons, then yes he would feel something but he hasn't in a while. “No, why?” He had a feeling he knew why Prompto asked this question but he doesn't want to admit it to himself; He doesn't want to speak the inevitable. “I-I…” The sigh that left him was more shaky, almost on the verge of tears.”I keep… summoning my gun and just… I'm such a fucking coward. I can't do it because I'm too weak but I… don't know what else I can do…” Hearing Prompto so devout of hope was heart-shattering. Noctis would have never guessed Prompto was going through so much; Even more so how well he hid it for so long. “Prompto, what are you saying?” And Noctis is caught between wanting to know and not knowing. If he knew exactly what was happening (and he could take a wild guess), he'd go straight to helping him. Not knowing would only stall the inevitable which wasn't a good thing to do; Not when Prompto is so deep into this mood. “I… I don't know if I can live like this anymore Noct. Life only served to kick me in the ass all the time and I'm not happy, I'm never happy. Happiness is so rare that I don't know the meaning of it anymore…” Hearing that just made Noctis’s stomach drop. He's only ever seen Prompto happy and seeing him like this was still so baffling. It's painful seeing and listening to how hurt Prompto was. It's been happening right under his nose with nary an indication of Prompto’s condition and he felt almost like a bad friend for not seeing the signs but even then Prompto never showed an inkling of his mentality faltering. “W-when are you happy?” It's a pretty broad question. Prompto had even just said the rarity of happiness was so high he doesn't even know what it was. More so, just the idea of Prompto even thinking about taking his life was something he'd never think Prompto would want to do. It's too surreal, too real, and Noctis wanted to do everything in his power to make sure Prompto would progressively get better. Prompto didn't respond to his question for some time. Noctis could see tears welling up in those tired blue eyes, slowly falling down his face as he stayed silent for a bit. “You're gonna think I'm crazy dude.” Prompto’s voice was unsteady, a spike of laughter began to emit from him. It's unlike anything Noctis has seen; Psychosis at its peak. “Try me.” “It's you!” Prompto had gripped onto Noctis’s arms. “You make me happy!” The gesture surprised Noctis but he let it happen; The words surprised him even more. Prompto had leaned into him, crying into his chest with broken sobs. Noctis glanced down a bit to exposes wrist, seeing faded scars and it's so telling what internal pain Prompto had been through. He held onto him tightly, never wanting to let go until Prompto could somehow instantly feel happy again but he knew it wasn't that easy. “You… you make me happy too.” And Prompto only cried harder into his chest. Sadness was definitely not an emotion that Noctis ever thought Prompto could muster up but here he was now, devote of hope, lost in a dark despair that Noctis knew was difficult to get out of. “Wh-why?” Prompto sat up a bit, clinging to Noctis’s shirt. “I'm… I’m nothing but a fuck up Noct. You don't need me, no one needs me . I'm a fucking waste of space that should have offed myself forever ago.” He went to pull away but Noctis pulled him back in for a hug. The prince held him once more; Prompto had gone rigid, completely unmoving. “You make me happy for being who you are. You've been through a lot and I want to do everything I can to help you not think less of yourself. I'll get you all the help in the world if it meant you'd be happy, truly happy.” Noctis voice was low, close to Prompto’s ear for sincerity. He felt Prompto shudder and the cries were back; Sounding a little less sorrowful, a bit more… gentle. “Noct… I'm scared, Noct…” His sobs were quiet and Noctis only held onto him tighter. “I know and it's okay, I'm here for you.” A yawn soon escaped him after he spoke. Prompto had sat up, wiping away the tears that stained his cheeks. “It's pretty late… I should go-” “You can stay here with me for tonight.” Noctis interjected. It's not because of how late it is but Prompto’s stability was too unstable for Noctis to let him walk away; He's doesn't think Prompto would do anything but just to be safe. Prompto doesn't even try to argue it and just nodded his head. They retired to Noctis’s room soon enough. Prompto stood in the doorway when Noctis entered, clearly unsure of entering. “I-I can stay in the guestroom, ya know…” “Yeah but… I just wanna watch over you is all.” And Prompto let out a sigh, acknowledging that it may be for the best if he did stay with him. Noctis changed and gave Prompto some clothes to change into. He saw the hesitation, a look of fear and uncertainty yet Prompto took them cautiously and went to change in the bathroom. Prompto returned, sheepishly walking in and Noctis really looked at Prompto. He looked thinner almost sickly like and those scars were more prominent running up his forearm. Those violet-blue eyes once sparkled now are all hollow, empty with despair. Noctis had gestured him to the bed and Prompto came slowly, sitting down on the sheets and sighing. “I'm sorry for all this…” “Nothing to be sorry for.” Noctis let out a sight too before getting into his bed. Prompto followed suit, making sure he was strictly on one side of the bed as far away as Noctis as possible. It's silent with only breathing being heard between them. Noctis had slowly scooted closer to Prompto as the time passed by. He figured Prompto was asleep but once he gently wrapped his arm around Prompto’s midsection, the blonde stiffened up. Noctis retracted quickly but Prompto scooted back into him to his surprise. This was comfortable; Prompto securely in his arms from any self-inflicting danger. This whole night had opened Noctis’s eyes to who Prompto really was and he was going to do everything in his power to ensure his safety and wellbeing. He wasn't gonna lose the person he cared so much for.

[dktakes12-blog]

Sightless

The warmth of the fire hit Ignis' knees, harsh enough to cause an itchy burn on his skin. A tiny price to pay for having the King at his side once again. He would gladly endure a thousand worse feelings if it meant a few more moments with Noctis. If he let himself think about it, he had already endured far worse.

"I've got the clean up, Specs. Just hang tight." The camping chair creaked under Noct's shifting weight and the crunch of gravel under thick rubber soles told Ignis all he needed to know.

The Advisor stood as well. "No need. You are the King. Rest and allow me to deal with the frivolous duties." Just like old times. But this time, you offered. My, what a man you've grown into.

The laugh left Noct easily, much like their earlier years. Ignis could picture it clearly even though the memory had faded like a worn photograph. Noct's laugh always started with a crinke at the corner of his eyes, an upturn of his lip, before bursting into the board stroke of a smile. It was a sight he could only remember with a young man's face. And, perhaps, it was better that way when things to come were considered.

The clatter of dishes being gathered, Ignis followed the sound easily. The fire warmed his right side and, judging by the paces he had taken and the atrocious snoring, they had settled at Gladio's chair. Ignis reached out and his fingers brushed Gladio's bare arm before fingernails clanged against the cool glass of a beer.

Noct snorted. "Yeah, take out the recycling after offering to do the dishes. Real smooth."

"Well I wasn't aware of what he was drinking." There was no spite between them. It was as if they had been standing side by side for years instead of mere days.

A ruffle of fabric indicated a shrug or perhaps a generalized shift in posture. Ignis could never be quite sure about that anymore. A stack of plates was pressed to his chest and he grasped them without complaint.

"...do you even remember what things look like anymore?" Sadness twisted thickly in Noct's voice. It was a deep beast, one that couldn't have been new. After everything that had happened over the years, Ignis couldn't blame the man.

Man...what an odd thing to deem the boy you once took as a younger brother.

"Some things are clearer than others. It has been ten years after all." Noct's fingers brushed his elbow, leading him to the wash basin Gladio had set up on the other side of the camp. Ignis needed no assistance. He had memorized the set up of the camp through sound and touch hours before. But he had no right to deny the King such small comforts as assisting a friend.

"Tell me about them. The vivid ones." Water splashed and the pile of plates in his hands lessened with each small clatter. The King was a man of responsibility now. The ache in Ignis' chest was stronger than he would have thought possible.

"The sea. I cannot remember the colour exactly, but I know it would match the sky when the sun shone. Almost impossible to tell water from air, I'd navigate by the feel of metal cutting through water. When the sun set, on clear nights, it would mirror the stars. An easy sight to get lost in. I felt as if I was standing next to the Astrals themselves, throwing myself to fate and knowing there was a plan of action. It may have been one I was unaware of, but it existed in the eyes of the Gods. The sea, the stars, is their throne room. I had the blessings to stand inside it."

The scrap of cloth against plastic cut through the dim sight in his mind's eye. Grasping at sight wasn't an exercise he was used to and now he realized how weak the images were. He was losing touch with a part of his world that had once been all of it.

"Another?" Only a hint of hesitation lay in Noct's voice as he reached for another plate in Ignis' hands.

"As you wish." He paused for a moment, lips turned in a frown, before speaking. "The Regalia. The dark leather of the wheel and the smooth run of pavement under tires. Mirror gloss finish on the hood, those absurd decals you insisted on painting the doorways with. What were they again?" A pang tickled the inside of his ribs. The Regalia had been so important to him, to all of them, yet he couldn't even remember what was sealed to the side of the smooth finish. He couldn't pull it out of the bitter fuss of his memories.

"It was the four of us but 8-bit. I won the design in a contest." The smile was in Noct's voice again, in the way the young King flicked water from his fingertips and stacked the last of the clean dishes.

"Ah. I remember now." But Ignis didn't. He couldn't pull the colour to his mind's eye or recall the exact shape each of their figures must have taken.

Noct's silence filled the gentle shuffle of the breeze. The bubble and hiss of daemons spawning overran what should have been the peaceful chirp of crickets and the stir of wildlife in the bushes. Their world had changed in the time it took Noct to return from the Crystal. It had changed more than Ignis' growing fondness for the dark and his lack of clarity.

"Another. if you please." Noct cleared a stiffness in his throat. The sharpness of tears layered the ends of his words and Ignis kept his tongue still. He was blind; he had no right to comment on things he should not know of.

"Shall we move back to the fire before it dwindles?" He turned before he could receive an answer. Best to leave him with some dignity. Ignis settled himself back in his chair, careful to count the paces in his head from Gladio's snoring to seat.

He settled in the camp chair; familiar half-plastic lining cushioned his back and the warmth from the fire had dimmed to more comfortable levels. He clasped his hands together in his lap. Noct's chair shifted beside him as the King joined. Ignis could practically hear the weariness the man suffered.

It's almost over, Noctis. All of this. You'll rest soon with her. The blessing of the Astrals and, perhaps, their curse watch over you.

Ignis picked the clearest memory he could recall. He squeezed his eyes shut; a silly notion to bring the words and the feelings closer in his mind's eye.

"White tile. Always cool to the touch of skin but never unpleasantly so. Worn leather bound pages. Across each ivory page are hundreds of words. Each one is a different tale, some of knights and princesses others of dragons and terrible endings. There was an inkling of truth to all of them, a foretelling of what was to be. But...we were just children then.

"The sheets are a dark, royal blue. They're pulled up under your nose as you listen to them. I read by moonlight, a silver that strained my eyes. It didn't matter. We were brothers and I cared for my younger sibling. I would read, one eye on the page and the other on your chest in the blankets, and mark the space where you fell asleep with my thumb. There were nights were you'd reach out and grasp the length of my sleeve, delicate fabrics as I didn't like rougher things, and cling to it. As if I was your mother instead of who I am...I never pulled away then."

The crackle of the fire struck him then. A harsh snap pulled Ignis out of the memory as a log snapped and broke. It was fitting he supposed. There were no more new memories to be made. It was one that would fade much like the rest. One he would try to cling to, always, despite the futility of it.

Much like clinging to Noct. Perhaps. But always meant something to Ignis. A promise to a dying King and a brother in a Prince. He had no wish to give it up now despite the ending he knew was coming.

"...thanks Iggy." It was half a whisper, one he wouldn't have caught if he hadn't been used to locating his world through sound.

"Always, my King."

~ Iggy and Noct feels. I prefer the brothers relationship because I have such a fondness for this type of non-romantic devotion and damn right am I gonna play with it.

Want more fic? Has more fic. ~ K

[jastiss-blog]

Gamble - Ignis x fem!reader Greatest Showman AU Pt. 2

Finally, the second part of this is done.  Took me ages due to health, and I’m relatively OK with where it’s at so, here we go.  

Lots of angst involved.  Obviously this has major spoilers.

@shadeswritings @atarostarling @sevansheart

[Part One]

The shift in your husband’s demeanor is insidious, creeping.  At first, you’re positive you’re imagining things.  Business booms, which is truly a splendid thing, however he spends much of his time within the theatre performing with his troupe.  While you’ve resigned yourself to supporting Ignis, your girls are finding it increasingly difficult to mask their disappointment.   

Every missed tessenjutsu competition breaks your daughter's heart into more pieces.  It hurts you to hear her sobbing into her pillow at night, her and her sister rarely seeing their father as what he ends up calling a circus runs late into the night.     

Something rouses you from sleep one evening; your elder daughter climbs into bed with you, eyes red and swollen with grief.  Soft sobs wrack her body as you wrap arms around her tiny frame, burying your face in her dark blonde hair. 

"When will we see daddy again?" she manages around hitching breath. 

"Soon, darling," you soothe, hands moving to rub circles on her back.  "Soon." 

Quiet sighs against your chest, where your heart races, knowing you've told her a bold face lie.  In truth, you aren't sure when your husband will return to being a more constant fixture in your lives.  A single tear rolls down your cheek before the call of sleep pulls you back under. 

Months pass, and you can't deny that the success of the circus makes life much easier.  Bills no longer go unpaid, you don't fear something being taken from you for lack of funds.  Ignis is able to have the holes in the roof patched and do other improvements to your home, and things become comfortable.  It's baffling to think you even manage to start saving. 

Ignis wakes you one morning with a gleeful smile, tugging on your hand as you struggle to blink away the dredges of sleep. 

"Darling, come on!" he whispers excitedly, working very hard to not wake your daughters. 

Stumbling out of bed, you notice that many of your possessions are missing, immediately raising alarm that in your sleep, a thief somehow managed to nap your things.  The anxiety must be plain upon your face, for Ignis draws you to face him, smiling. 

"It's fine, Y/N," he assures, bending to plant a kiss upon your lips.  "I have something to show you and the girls.  Could you get them up and ready?" 

"Ah, well, of course, dear," you agree, still confounded. 

An hour later finds you in a carriage heading somewhere very familiar.  The tang of salt fills your nostrils, the willows outside the window heralding your approach to the sea.  An inkling at the back of your mind, suspicion growing as you pass your parent's home.   

"Ignis, are you taking me to the place went to that night all those years ago?" you question, eyes narrowed. 

Though his answering smirk tells you all you need to know, you pull up to the sprawling mansion that you recall being devoured by ivy.  Instead, its majesty is unmarred by the years of decline, looking as if it has just been built.  Your breath catches in your throat, the sheer beauty of it all overwhelming you. 

"For you, my darling," Ignis whispers, stepping up behind you, winding his arms about your waist.   

Around you, life moves in double time, your girls squealing in ecstasy as they explore the grounds of your new home.  Ignis presses a kiss to your hair, finally prompting you to return to life. 

"It's... it's so much," you breathe, still in shock.  "You didn't have to do this for us, Ignis.  We were happy in our home." 

"And just think of how much happier you'll be here, in this life I promised you," he insists, and, rather than argue, you allow his mood to infect you. 

The girls have claimed their rooms by the time you enter the grand foyer, visions of the past causing a bit of cognitive dissonance.  It's surprisingly easy to remember how the space looked last you visited, the wonder taking over your senses, selling you on a life of mystery.  A small part of you wistfully wishes for a grand life far from the one you left behind.  A larger part wonders if the return to wealth will restore your relationship with your father. 

"Does this mean you'll be home more often?  If we're able to afford this, it would be nice for you to take a break," you wonder aloud. 

"Ah, that," he answers, wincing.  "I'm exploring some potential directions to take the circus.  I've found a partner, a man I believe you're familiar with.  Noctis Lucis Caelum." 

Stopping dead in your tracks, you whirl to face your husband, eyes wide in shock.   

"You've convinced Prince Noctis to be your partner?  What on Eos is that boy thinking?  Ardyn will lead the press in an assault on his character the second he catches the boy with you," you rant. 

"Darling," Ignis laughs.  "Perhaps you aren't the only highborn bored with playing the game." 

You huff a breath.  He makes a fine point.  "His father must be so angry." 

"I would guess he cares not for his father's opinion," Ignis muses.  "At any rate, he's going to assist me in appealing to higher society.  We've got the attention of the middle- and lower-class population." 

The confession forces your lips into a thin line, annoyance rising within you.  "We don't need the attention of higher society, Ignis." 

He pats your arm in comfort.  "Of course, Y/N.  You'll see.  It's going to be wonderful." 

It was the first time you begin to question his motives, and as it would turn out, not the last. 

Not long after moving into your new home, Ignis arrives home early one day, a crazed grin pulling at his lips.  Immediately, you're on edge. 

"Noctis and I are heading to Tenebrae with the troupe," he announces.   

"What?  Tenebrae?  Whatever for?"  Incredulity turns your question into an accusation. 

"He's gotten us an audience with Queen Sylva Nox Fleuret," Ignis clarifies, as if it should be obvious.  "It's going to open up so many more possibilities!" 

"The Queen... of Tenebrae," you sputter, standing and pacing about.  "Ignis, what's this really about?" 

"Y/N, I'm simply attempting to fulfill my promise.  To you, and to your father.  To give you the life I said I'd give you, the one you wish for," he states. 

A wave of clarity crashes into you, stealing the breath from your lungs.  You pause in your anxious steps, turning slowly to face your husband.  He's still in his uniform, and you notice a travel bag in his hand.   

"The life I wish for, Ignis, or the one you do?" you whisper, flinging the accusation before the courage to do so blows away in the winds of change. 

Ignis either doesn't sense your hostility or chooses to ignore it.  "They're one and the same, my dear.  Now, bid me farewell.  I must get going." 

Before you can manage a scathing reply, your daughters run into the room, immediately clinging to their father.  Happy chatter from them seems to pass by him as he quickly gives them hugs and kisses, stepping over to give you the same treatment before leaving. 

The sight of your daughters chasing after his carriage, crying for him to come back, breaks you and you sink to the floor, agony-laced tears dropping from your eyes. 

~~~ 

The subsequent month is trying, dejection creeping into you and your girls as the days pass without Ignis.  Your eldest no longer wishes to do tessenjustsu, preferring to stay at home holed up in her room when the three of you aren't working on studies.  Similarly, your younger daughter keeps to herself as well, sometimes wandering out to the garden to wait for her father's carriage to bring him home. 

Return home he finally does, but he feels strange, distant.  Something has changed and immediately, your heart worries that your future is uncertain. 

To your surprise, he takes time to play with the girls in the garden, their muddy feet crossing the threshold well after dark.  You try desperately to ignore the rising panic, but after dinner when the girls are tucked into their oversized beds, you corner Ignis. 

"Why do I feel as if you're further away now than you were in Tenebrae?" you worry aloud, voice thick with emotion. 

“I’m not sure I understand this air of melancholy, Y/N,” Ignis states, deftly avoiding the searching nature of your musings. 

“Something is happening,” you refute, voice flat.  “Why won’t you tell me?” 

When he pauses, your heart leaps into your throat, choking you.  Taking deep breaths around the lump is difficult, almost painful, but you try desperately to rationalize that yelling won’t fix anything.  His expression momentarily betrays his silence, and your stomach drops to the floor.  

“While in Tenebrae, I made a business arrangement with Oracle Lunafreya,” he clarifies at last.  “She shall be putting on a debut performance here in Lucis and depending on the reception, perhaps we will explore a longer-term contract.” 

“There’s more to it than this!”  You launch your words like grenades, your anger palpable at his evasion. 

He simply smiles at you, his eyes far away.  “Everything is going to be fine.  You’ll see.  Luna's performance is in a few days.  I have little to coordinate so I shall be here with you and our girls.” 

Somehow, the idea doesn’t assuage your fears. 

Ignis keeps true to his word, spending a majority of the following days at home.  The girls are all smiles and starry eyes, hanging upon his every word as he regales them with tales of the trip to Tenebrae.  They spend much of their time outdoors, either in the vast gardens or by the sea.  You feel much like you’re experiencing your own life as if from the outside, barely going through the motions as the days pass. 

Through Ignis' influence, the girls are very excited to see Luna perform.  On the day of the debut, they dress up in their finest wear, their best shoes, hair shining in perfection.  You, in sharp contrast, are nervous for reasons inexplicable, dressing in a daze and hoping for the best.  Many years have passed since you’ve been in the company of high society; you can only hope you remember all the etiquette courses you took as a girl.   

Your father is likely to be present as well, the icing on the proverbial cake.  The man’s never even seen your daughters, despite living not a mile away. 

To be fair, the performance is beautiful; the rumor that her voice is a healing balm certainly holds some merit.  However, there’s as gnawing in the pit of your stomach, your intuition scrambling to set off warning bells but for what, you’ve no idea.  At the very least, it doesn’t take long to find out. 

Ignis introduces you and your children to Luna, at which time the gnawing blossoms into full-fledged burning.  Something is amiss, yet it eludes you before you can place your finger upon it.  You smile despite your immense discomfort.   

During the reception, your suspicions over your husband’s actions are confirmed when he makes a grand to-do in front of Cor.  Lips set in a sneering smile, he waves his new status in your father’s face, flaunting that he’s never come to know his granddaughters, nor achieved what Ignis has.  As the scrutinizing eyes of upper society slide to your shocked face, you scurry forward to collect your children. 

“Ignis,” you hiss, embarrassed and angry, “stop this nonsense at once!  We're leaving!” 

Retreat is the only option; some of the patrons titter behind their hands at the shameful display.   

“Still the tailor's son,” Cor laughs as you flee. 

The world blurs as embarrassed tears burn your eyes, anguish rising as physical pain in your chest.  It steals your breath, forcing you to slow your hurried steps, the worried faces of your daughters coming into view as you hunch over.  They cling to your legs, pressing tiny faces into your dress as they sob with you. 

"Mother," your elder daughter murmurs, "what's wrong with father?  When are things going to return to normal?" 

At her query, you loop your arms about the two of them, shaking your head.  "I don't know, darling.  I don't know." 

Ignis doesn't return until well into the early hours of morning.  Grief has kept you awake, willing you to remain alert until his feet cross the threshold of the home you've come to resent.  To you, it represents the loss of magic, the change in your husband, the many hours spent alone while he does whatever he's doing when away from home. 

With that thought festering in the depths of your mind, you round on him as soon as he enters your bedchamber.  A tired greeting dies upon his lips as you storm over to him, fury rolling off of you in turbulent waves. 

"I knew, Ignis," you seethe, "I knew this wasn’t about getting the higher society's attention to better things for us!  You lied to me, you lied to your children, and Six, what's left of us?" 

He's taken aback, as if your anger is something that blindsides him.  For all you know, he truly has been oblivious to what his behavior has wrought.  "Darling, what's this about?" 

"What's this... what's this about?" you screech, disbelieving.  "How can you look me in the eye and not see what you've done to our family?  All of this to prove something to my father, to the highborn society that you aren't poor anymore.  Their opinion doesn’t matter, Ignis!  Your family is what should matter!" 

It's when he falls silent, not so much as an apology passing his lips, that you zero in on the packed bag in his hand.  Hackles raise immediately, another flood of sickening animus taking over. 

"Oh, I see," you snarl, jabbing a finger in the direction of the bag.  "Off on another adventure, not so much as a discussion over it.  Where is it now, Ignis?  And for how long?" 

"Luna and I have set a contract for a national tour," he explains, voice lifeless.  "A few months, to be sure.  I leave Noctis as ringmaster in my absence.  With the extra profit from the tours-" 

"I don't care about the profit," you spit.  "Keep your profits.  Keep it all.  Just go." 

"Ah, well," Ignis fidgets, "I'm merely making ready.  We won't set off for another few days.  I'll get to spend more time with you and the girls before I leave." 

"I don't even understand why you need to go with her," you grumble.  "It doesn't matter.  I'm going to go to bed, Ignis.  I can't deal with this any longer." 

In the days he remains home, it's almost easy to forget the troubles weighing heavily upon you.  He doesn't visit the theatre once, spending his time doting on your girls, trying to reconcile things with yourself, smiles upon his tired face.  Beneath layers of exhaustion, you can still spy the remnants of the starry-eyed boy you met a lifetime ago. 

The illusion shatters when he leaves again.  This time, you're not so sure you can piece it back together. 

Every day Ignis is gone widens the aching hole in your heart.  You find yourself dancing through the house, remembering the steps you and Ignis used to do in tandem.  A sad melody bubbles up from your wounded soul in time with your feet, the actions a soothing salve on the sting of solitude.  If only it could return your husband to you.  Imagining yourself as the piper brings a fleeting smile to your lips. 

The days dredge on, and news reaches you that more and more protesters are gathering outside of the circus.  The girls don't have much desire to go lately, and it's hard for you to face that which has torn your family tatters.  You note that Ignis' share of profits from the circus is decreasing and for the first time in years, you start to worry about your future. 

An abrupt letter from Ignis states that he'll be returning home, asking that you meet him in a few days at the depot.  Unbidden, your heart soars; perhaps his return home earlier than expected indicates that he has finally awoken from his dreams of fame.  Even your daughters start to get excited. 

However, when the day arrives, it ends up being a nightmare.  Any joy you may have felt at having your husband back in your arms is stolen away when a fire crew races past you, heading for the theatre.  Of course, Ignis follows, you and your daughter not far behind.  The sight that greets you is a harrowing one: the theatre engulfed in a raging inferno, the troupe desperately working to get free.  You spy Noctis run back into the flames, apparently looking for one of the girls.  

Ignis turns to you, desperation settling in crazed jade eyes.  Suddenly, it occurs to you that he means to enter the building as well. 

"Ignis, no!" you shout, but it falls on deaf ears.   

Witnessing your husband run headlong into a burning building is enough to break you, let alone the subsequent collapse of upper floors after he does so.  Tiny gasps from your waist drag your eyes away from the wreckage to grip your girls tight, despair falling over the three of you in a stone blanket. 

Minutes pass, and finally Ignis returns from the scorched building, holding Noctis' unconscious form.  The fire team takes Noctis to the nearby hospital, leaving Ignis to sit dejectedly outside his ruined theatre.  Relief washes over you upon seeing your husband safe and you make to comfort him when a newspaper catches your eye: the front page graced with a photo of Ignis and Luna on stage, their lips meeting as they embrace.   

Ice shoots through your veins at the betrayal and you rush to get your daughters away from the scene before they note the newspaper as well.  Leaving Ignis behind, you take your children and head home to consider your next move.   

The universe seems to have decided your fate for you; there's a notice upon your door proclaiming that the bank is foreclosing upon your home.  Crazed laughter forces its way out of you before you can form a thought, your daughters gazing up at you in alarm. 

"We have to leave, mother?" your youngest asks, a waver in her tiny voice. 

"Yes, darling," your voice holds a similar tone when you answer.  "Pack your bags.  It's time you got to know your grandfather." 

Packing is a haze, an autonomous process that's drowned out by the thundering of your heart in your ears.  Your mind moves faster than you can process, the photo in the paper plastered across each and every thought, the words in your mind static.  A petty part of you is glad Ignis is losing everything right along with you.  The nausea roiling in your stomach threatens to send you retching. 

Hurried footsteps crunching over the gravel of your driveway draws your attention and you're glad you're done packing and can leave.  You've no desire to deal with Ignis in this state and if you're being honest with yourself, maybe never again. 

"Y/N, wait!" he wails as you stomp out of the front door.  "I know you must be upset but please allow me to explain!" 

"No, Ignis," you fire back, allowing the anger from the past few hours to seep into your tone.  "I cannot... you and that woman... I knew something was not right when you left.  And to top it off, the bank taking the home back?  I cannot, Ignis..." 

His breath hitches and he doesn't move to stop you as your girls trail behind you, bags in tow.  "Where are you going?" 

"Home." 

"This is your home!" he pleads, voice cracking with emotion. 

A startled, sardonic laugh bursts forth.  "No, it isn't.  Nor is it yours any longer." 

Something you never expected to do was walk up to your father's door in the middle of the night with two children and no husband, yet here you stand, breaths quickening in anxiety as you stare at the familiar door.  The very same home that felt like a cage to you for so long would now be your refuge.  Well, you certainly hope it will be.  Surely Cor wouldn't send you away, would he? 

Stepping up to the door, you knock upon it with a firm hand and hold your breath.  Moments pass and you're about to give up when the large door opens slowly, the suspicious eyes of your father peering into the night.  Recognition flares in his eyes and he throws open the door with a gasp. 

"Y/N," he hums, and while he's never been of the emotional sort, you can hear it in his voice, "I... I saw the paper.  Please, come in." 

Though it feels a bit awkward, you usher your girls in as he retreats to allow you space.  They huddle into each other, clearly out of their element.  Cor apparently senses this, coming forth to kneel next to them, extending a polite hand in greeting. 

"Hello girls," he says, a warm smile on his face.  "I'm your grandfather, Cor.  It's very nice to meet you." 

They shyly shake his hand and you think maybe this will turn out better than you thought.  Cor directs you to 2 of the bedrooms upstairs, where you take one to settle the girls in for bed.  The day has been so hectic and emotional, they practically fall asleep the moment their blonde heads touch the pillows.  On the other hand, you're feeling very high-strung, wandering back downstairs where you're surprised to see Cor waiting. 

"I..." he starts, opening and closing his mouth a few times.  "I'm sorry to see that things have come to this, Y/N.  I cannot say I'm not happy to have you home, however." 

You shake your head, fighting tears.  "Please, father, not today.  I know your opinion of Ignis.  I know you said I'd come home.  Please, please... leave those words unsaid." 

Whereas you expected a fight, he simply nods and steps toward you, arms extended.  The emotions of the day overwhelm you and you close the distance, crying out your grief into his worn sleep shirt. 

Two days pass in which grief does not loosen its grip upon you.  Hooked claws score your soul, bleeding you of all tears and leaving a hollow shell behind.  There's a small amount of solace taken in that the girls get on very well with their grandparents and for the majority seem to be enjoying themselves. 

The sea calls to you, drawing you to its edge where in the white sand you made a friend.  Allowing the song of the washing waves to take your thoughts, you find yourself humming the song you and Ignis used to sing when life was simple and full of wonder. 

To your surprise, a second voice joins you, harmonizing.  You wonder if you've finally lost your mind, but when sliding footsteps in sand reaches your ears, you turn. 

Your heart clenches at the sight of Ignis standing before you, eyes alight with something you haven't seen in years.   

"Darling, I..." he begins.  "I've been such a fool." 

While you want to be rude and twist the knife in his gut, you simply draw in a shuddering breath, gesturing for him to come closer. 

"Yes, you have," you grouse instead. 

"I allowed my desire to succeed cloud my judgement, turning it into a personal vendetta against the life I was forced to live as a boy," he continues, silently seeking permission to touch you.  "It put me in a position for things to be misconstrued, Luna turned on me out of jealousy and I lost everything in the blink of an eye." 

"Tell me, Ignis," you demand, allowing him to take your hands, "what really happened with the Oracle." 

"She apparently thought I was interested," he clarifies with a grimace.  "When I denied her and made the decision to return home, she sought to ruin my image and pulled me into an unwilling embrace on stage." 

You peer into his eyes for many moments, finding naught but truth within them.  A small smile pulls at the corners of your mouth.  "So, Ignis, where do your priorities lie?" 

"With you, and our children," he answers without hesitation, holding your gaze.  "Always.  I would like to see to the circus and hand it over to Noctis that I may spend my remaining days with the three of you." 

Releasing the breath you hadn't realized you were holding, you wrap your arms about him.  "Go, then, and return to us when you've finished." 

Life returns to normal as Ignis does just what he promises.  The two of you invest in a smaller home, near enough to Cor to freely visit, with enough space for the four of you without too much extra.  Your eldest daughter resumes her tessenjutsu and to your surprise, your youngest attempts it as well.  Finally, life is precisely the way you imagined it as you stood within the overgrown mansion and truthfully, you couldn't be happier. 

[a-world-in-grey]

Jumping off my previous post about Galahdian colors associated with the various Astrals - I’ve got headcanons about Sola and Galahdian art. And Galahdian art. And Sola and art in general.

.

-Sola’s first introduction to fine art is her mother. Aulea teaches Sola to weave tapestries, and Sola’s first creation is a simple yellow sun on a black background.

-Sola’s second creation is more complex, a scene of the night sky, with moon and clouds and stars, meant to be a gift for her new baby brother. It never makes it to the loom. Sola sets the project aside when Aulea falls ill and abandons it - and her loom - completely following Aulea’s death.

-Despite refusing to enter Aulea’s workroom - still maintained on Regis’ orders in hope his daughter will one day continue her brief but well-loved hobby - Sola never loses her love of art. She has an entire shelf dedicated to old sketchbooks, of people and places captured in sweeping lines of pencil. Unlike her tapestries, Sola is much more private regarding her sketches. The few sketches anyone ever sees however bear a remarkable likeness to the cartoons used to make tapestries.

-(Even when she takes up colored pencils, Sola’s drawings look so much like potential tapestries that Regis cannot help but hope. His daughter is always far more interested in the tapestries decorating the Hall of Arts than the numerous sculptures and paintings.)

-But Regis knows better than to push his daughter. If Sola ever takes up the loom, it must be her idea. It doesn’t stop him from encouraging Sola to pursue a degree in art, after she finishes her high school education. Even if Sola protests that it’s not a ‘useful’ degree, but Regis is firm when he tells her that she should study what she loves. Noctis chiming in with his agreement seals the deal.

-And Sola loves it. Sure, it’s distant learning or online courses while she’s deployed with the rest of Fourth Company, but contrary to popular belief deployment is not actually all that exciting. ‘Hurry up and wait’ is an accurate statement and most of Sola’s time is spent on routine but mundane tasks. It’s not actually that difficult to keep up with her first-year course work in the field, even over the year spent at the frontline hotspots.

-Then Sola gets adopted into the Furia Clan, and is introduced to Galahdian Culture, including the color code she had no idea existed before Tredd taught her. And suddenly, going into her second year of college, Sola finds herself actually seeing Galahdian art and all the breathtaking nuances and symbolisms she never had an inkling of before. She is an Awe.

-The first semester of her second year is also when Sola has her history of art class. It’s the first of several classes that piss her off.

-Look, Insomnians are elitist. Especially in the academic circles. Especially in art. Sola’s art history class covers Niflheim, Tenebrae, Accordo, and Lucis, but doesn’t mention Galahd beyond a couple pages in her textbook. And even that only glances over the types of art Galahd ‘was known to produce,’ as though it’s a primitive and ancient but extinct culture. When Sola asks about it in class, her professor dismisses the notion that Galahdian art is as ‘refined’ or ‘cultured’ as the other cultures being studied.

-Sola is offended. And suddenly, intimately aware of being the only Galahdian in her class. In any of her classes.

-And well, Sola has always run on Spite.

-By this point, Sola’s moved in with Crowe down in Little Galahd, and Sola spends hours with the various Clans. With the Lazarus, the Furia, the Canere, the Tibiae, the Ornata, learning from the Elders and the masters everything she possibly can about Galahdian art. The Tales, the Songs, the meanings. She gets her first Galadhian tattoo - a delicate pattern of black dragon scales beneath one eye.

-When she’s not in Little Galahd, Sola’s at the Citadel, in Aulea’s old workroom. Regis very nearly cries the first time a servant tells him of Sola entering the room, and he arrives to find Sola at Aulea’s old loom, sorting through the skeins of colored thread, so focused on her task that she entirely misses Regis gawking in the doorway.

-It’s sheer Spite that leads Sola to gain her undergraduate degree early. It’s that same Spite that leads Sola to build her senior portfolio with nothing but Galahdian art. Paintings, drawings, prints, ceramics, jewelry, etc, all of it is Galahdian. Her professors are scandalized - how dare the Princess scorn the ‘more refined’ art styles for such a ‘primitive’ culture - especially because Sola’s artwork is no less skilled than her classmates so they can’t legitimately dock her grade.

-Sola is Smug.

-Sola is even more Smug when she starts finishing her various tapestries. Because she doesn’t tell anyone that she’s the one making them. Two show up in Glaive HQ, one of Galahd and one of Little Galahd, hanging on the walls with no clue as to who put them there. A third tapestry shows up a year after that in the Hall of Portraits as Sola’s Official Portrait, and a year after that the fourth one shows up publically in the Hall of Arts, a massive tapestry depicting the War of the Astrals, done in the most unconventional color choices the public has ever seen, but a beautiful masterwork nonetheless.

-It’s at that point the Galahdians clue into the fact that the mystery tapestry weaver is also Galahdian, because the tapestry depicts the Galahdian Tale rather than the mainlander Cosmogony, with the Galahdian color associations included.

-Somehow everyone misses twenty-three year old Sola getting her fingers tattooed with the tattoos of a master weaver. Rather, no one manages to put two and two together, but Sola attributes that to how the Galahdians are in a daze at seeing such a large and beautiful piece of Galahdian art so prominently displayed in the Hall of Arts. Half the Lazarus Clan actually cry.

-(The only person to know that the tapestries were made by Sola is Regis, because he still has Sola’s first tapestry hung in his office, and he knows Sola’s maker’s mark. But Sola hasn’t said anything, so he’s not going to spoil her fun.)

-(It’s certainly not because he’s also highly amused. Shhh.)

-Sola greatly enjoys the sheer outrage when Libertus’ portrait and their wedding portrait join Sola’s in the Hall of Portraits two years after their wedding and everyone learns that Sola is the weaver. And even then that fact only comes out because one of the nobles sneers about the royal family’s lack of taste regarding recent art commissions.

-(Regis does try to protect Sola’s anonymity, pointing out that the weaver was a student of his wife, which does shut up most of the nobles because the late queen was a master of her craft and only an idiot would say otherwise. It’s when one particularly stubborn noble insists that no immigrant could match the skill of an Insomnian native that Sola speaks up, icily informing the asshole that she wove the tapestries and of course she’s not as good as her mother, she only earned her Mastery a couple years back. Of course, given the skill the of the Lazarus master-weavers, Sola is certain that her mother would have begged to learn from them, because those are unparalleled works of art.)

-The Kingsglaive collectively screech at Sola. They’ve been trying to figure out where those tapestries came from for years, and not once did Sola say anything!

-Sola just laughs.

[scribblindown]

Noctis finds out his S/O is a Phantom Thief

For this request

The other boys will be done soon, so please wait for that! 

Set: Here

Scenario: You are here

Headcanons: Here

Maybe it was a bit of a stretch for you—going this far for school, parading around as some masked marauder, living a double life. You were starting to think that you were doomed from the start. 

That was...until you met Noctis Lucis Caelum. 

The early morning bustle is not an easy thing for a sleepyhead like Noctis. He can barely pull himself out of bed before the twenty-minute mark hits and has to forcefully drag himself into the bathroom for an ice cold shower to finally get those blue eyes open. 

After that is a sloppy schedule of pulling on his uniform, wrestling with his tie, grabbing whatever Iggy left as breakfast, and snatching his phone to send you a good morning text. Sometime during this scuffle, he turns on the radio and puts the volume at full blast, thankful for the soundproof walls as he’s listening to half a thought. 

Just as he scrolls through the many selfies you send him during your morning commute, a small smile creeps onto his face unconsciously. His blue eyes gaze up at the clock for a mere second, and he curses, nearly falling out of his chair. He’s going to be late. Noctis jumps to his feet, grabbing his book bag, and tries to collect every stray book that he litters around the kitchen table and over the couches. 

“And now we have to interrupt your music for the morning news. The hacker group Medjed has sent yet another message to the Phantom Thieves late last week, and yet they continue to keep their silence. The--” 

Noctis shuts off the radio with a sigh as he puts on his shoes and makes it out the door. As he gives one last wave to the guard standing outside his door, his hand falls back inside his pants pocket and he begins his walk to school.

“Hey.” 

“Hey yourself,” Noctis answers, and even though his voice has the same airy, flat tone, as usual, you can practically hear his smile. “How was school today? Did something bad happen?” 

“Why did you suddenly jump to negative thoughts?” you ask, your voice lifting in questioning. You laugh, “Are you getting influenced by those council guys your father hangs around?” Makoto tugs on your arm unexpectedly when the pedestrian light turns green, and you’re forced to take your attention off your phone for a second.

“Hell no,” he says, and you can hear his voice lift as well. “But...Some girls were talking about the Phantom Thieves during school today...”  

“Phantom Thieves?” Your eyes grow wide and you mentally berated yourself for pausing so suspiciously. He never brings up the Phantom Thieves, not even when the name comes up on the radio. The thought makes you grip your phone tighter and your stomach churn. 

“Yeah, you must be tired of hearing about them too, but then your school’s name came up—”

“You mean the whole thing about Madarame?” you asked. You shook your head. “That happened ages ago, and I’m fine, he never touched me.” Unless being beat like a drum by his Shadow counted as touching, but you were sure that Noctis was thinking of something else. 

He lets out a sigh that sounded like a puff of air. “I’m glad. Are you coming over later?” 

You stop in your tracks. The realization finally hits you. “C-Coming over?” 

You can feel Noctis pause and press his lips together. He replies, but in a voice that is much more restrained than before. “Yeah,” he almost sighs. “It’s Friday, so I thought—”

“Oh my god, Noctis—I, uh, I completely forgot. Something came up. I have to study with my friends this weekend,” you quickly say. Your heart dropped when he sighed over the phone, as if he was expecting that answer. To think that you were too caught up with the whole Medjed and Alibaba thing that you forgot all about your plans with Noctis. 

“I have to go,” Noctis says. “I’ll talk to you later.” 

You wince pitifully when you hear the dial tone on your phone, and you let out a loud sigh that you didn’t know that you were holding in. You push open the door to Leblanc and listened halfheartedly as the little bell above the door dinged. 

“Hi guys...” you say as you walk through the door, greeting the other half of the Phantom Thieves. 

“Is something wrong, [Name]?” Makoto asks as you walk past her. You make your way to the table as Morgana leaps on top of it. 

“Was that just the prince you were talking to right now?” the cat said excitably. 

Ryuji nearly falls from his feet on the table position. “No way—the prince?! I thought you were just joking about that!” 

“Oooh,” Ann coos from her side of the table as you sit down. “What did he say?”

Instead of gushing about your boyfriend, you give her a solemn look and you shake your head.  

“...I hate lying to him,” you quietly admit, staring at your phone. “I mean I can handle the whole Shadows thing—I just...hate the lies.” You slowly slide down until your face hits the wooden table. 

Yusuke’s voice speaks up from beside you. He looks over his sketchbook. “Are you having relationship trouble? Maybe it is best if you just tell him the truth.” 

“Tell Noctis the truth?” You lift your head up, and stare at the blue-haired artist incredulously. You then turn to Akira, the Thieves’ leader. 

“Can I?” Your voice was full of disbelief, but there was that lining of hope. 

Your glasses-wearing leader pauses for a second, debating on the answer. He stands against the counter, half propping his hips on the bar stool and half resting his weight on his right leg. The Thieves wait in silence for his answer. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he finally says, his voice soft. Your hope dispels out of you like a deflated balloon.  

“You’re not serious, right?” Ryuji speaks up beside him. Morgana yells out a response that was on the same wavelength as the two. You huff and knit your eyebrows at your friend’s answers. Makoto puts a reassuring hand on your shoulder to ease your tension. 

“I understand that it must be hard on your relationship right now, and if he were any other person, we would’ve let him in on our secret, but…because he’s the prince, it’s too risky. You can’t let him know. I’m sorry, [Name],” she says softly. You shake your head. 

“No, it’s fine. I was silly thinking that was even an option.” You sit up straight and give your full attention to the meeting. Everyone stares at you with an unreadable expression. “We came here for a reason, right? What’s our next move?” 

“Trouble in paradise?” Prompto asks, leaning over from his arcade game as Noctis suddenly hangs up on your phone call. 

“...She canceled on me.” Again. That part didn't even need to be said. 

Prompto frowns when he sees his best friend’s downcast expression. He swings an arm over Noct’s shoulders, nearly knocking the prince over. “Come on now! I’m sure something important came up! Let’s go, I’ll buy you dinner, my treat.” 

Noctis lets out a small smile at Prompto’s attempts to liven his spirits. “You’ll buy me dinner?” he asks, his voice teasing.

Prompto falters slightly. “Well...Keep it within my budget, would ya?” 

Your relationship with the prince was an unexpected one, and yet that didn’t change the fact that you two were completely smitten with each other. 

It was easy at first, and despite being mostly long distance, the two of you kept your relationship healthy with numerous texts, calls, and weekend dates when your schedules were both free. 

However, as the Phantom Thieves became more popular—Oh, he needs to be stopped, she needs to be saved, he needs a change of heart—you suddenly feel yourself being pulled both ways as you try to juggle dating the prince of Lucis and your obligations with the Phantom Thieves. 

You were a Phantom Thief before you were a girlfriend, so you feel like your duty with them is just on the other side of the same coin that held Noct’s responsibility to the throne. Yet it seems like you are the only one canceling dates to scope out Palaces, Mementos, and stopping corruption. 

At the same time, Noctis felt tired. 

As the days went by, the times that he saw you became rarer. It was either this came up, or that came up. You had a study session, you had to watch your friend’s cat, your friends needed you. He couldn’t stop that inkling dread that seeps through his skin—That you’re bored of him. The idea that you might enjoy your friends’ presence more than his. 

Now there’s nothing wrong with that. He understands full well that when you two are dating he would still like to be with Prompto, so it was only right that you got to enjoy the same. 

Yet, he couldn’t help but feel inferior to them. This sense of insecurity and jealousy ate away at him. He wasn’t a model like the blonde girl you hang out with, nor was he the student council president, an artist, an athlete, or a natural-born leader like how you often gushed about your friends to him. 

Other than being a prince...he didn’t have much going for him. And even then, he heard you call one of your friends “Queen” once, and if that didn’t send a jolt of childish jealousy through him—You rarely called him “Prince,” and wouldn’t it make more sense if you called him King anyway?

It really did look like your love for your friends overshadowed your love for him.

It seems like being a masked marauder was really straining your relationship after all.

But despite your promises to yourself, you couldn’t make the date after that, or the date after that. Futaba’s Palace took control of the threshold of your mind, and for the next couple of weeks you were rescheduling, apologizing, and exhausted. You tried your best to juggle your relationship and being a Phantom Thief, and you even asked Akira multiple times to—

“Let’s not do that today. I, umm, I have a date with my boyfriend.”

Which made you cringe internally every time because of how much of a lovesick teenager you sounded like. Yet it seems like it is never enough. 

Little spats between you and Noctis escalated to blown out fights, much like the one you were locked in now. 

The two of you were standing in his apartment’s kitchen, ten meters of space wedged between the two of you. The two of you were yelling until you went hoarse, and you can tell that you both were getting frustrated with each other.  

“And for the last time, it has nothing to do with that! That’s what I keep on saying! If you don’t listen to reason then maybe I—maybe I...! Shit!” you shout, slamming your hand down on his countertop. You lift your eyes, brimming with fire as you stared at your boyfriend. 

Noctis was never good at expressing himself, and it frustrated you to no end, knowing that he was backing you against a corner like this. What do you do? Keep lying to him? 

It was late at night, and the group had given you the Saturday off to go back to Insomnia by metro before having to return the very next day to further discuss Futaba’s Palace. The deeper you went into the pyramid, the stronger the Shadows became, and you were tired, and your emotions jumped inside you like an active ball pit. Yet this proved to be nothing more than an arguing fest, a volley of going back and forth with harsh quips at the other. 

It is difficult going to school and having to hightail your way to Insomnia just to see your boyfriend for a couple hours after you’ve been sitting idle for who knows how many hours. Or you have the Metaverse to go to, but can barely keep your eyes awake after that. 

Noctis furrows his eyebrows, and his voice is gravely with all of the emotions spent tonight. You closed your eyes in tiredness and sighed softly, waiting for his next words before you set off a barrage of your own, and start it over again—

“I’m jealous,” he finally admits, his voice raw, yet soft. “I’m really jealous of your friends. I’m jealous of the way you care for them more than you do for me, and no matter what I do...I’m never your number one.” 

That makes you stop. As reserved of a man Noctis is, at this young age, his expression is as clear as day on his face. His lips are turned down, his blue eyes downcast, his eyebrows furrowed. He looks pained. 

You’re taken aback. Noctis shouts, he pushes blame, but above all, he avoids the truth. That’s all he ever does. He averts the topic of his ailing father, and doesn’t listen to logic, and he definitely doesn't come clean about his quelling emotions. 

He sees your shocked face, and that anger has returned in the moment of your hesitation. 

“There!” he shouts. “Are you happy?!” You give no answer, and he a frustrated sound exits from the back of his throat. He takes one of the black couch pillows and chucks it against the far wall. Some glass shatters, but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

“Oh, Noctis...” you whisper. He’s still breathing heavy, eyes lit with a fire that almost tints his eyes red. You slowly make your way to him and you wrap your arms around his torso without hesitation. You can feel the stiffness of his muscles melt underneath you before he relaxes against your touch, and brings his arms around you to return the hug. 

“I’m sorry,” you say softly, “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.” The realization of everything hits you. The fact that you couldn’t keep on pushing Noctis’ feelings aside for a cause that he doesn’t even know you partake in. Everything you do seems to be everything his insecurities lay out, and this makes your heart heavy at the thought. 

The two of you sway slightly, your former frustration forgotten. It’s hard to be mad when you’re both doing something tender like this. 

“Let me make it up to you.” You lift your eyes up to stare right into his. “I’ll spend an entire weekend with you. Friday night to Sunday night.” 

Noctis doesn’t answer for a while. He simply averts his eyes and pulls you in for a tighter hug. You smile in content when he buries his face into the crook of your neck. 

“Promise?” he asks, voice muffled. Your smile grows wider, he almost sounds like a kid. 

You hum. “Promise.” 

It takes a while to convince your friends that you’ll be out the entire weekend, but you all eventually agree on working twice as hard to get the Palace over with Sunday night, and hopefully finish it in time for August 21st. 

So here you were now, getting ready in Noct’s bathroom on a Friday night as he lazes around in bed. 

The prince is watching TV, yet that doesn’t muffle the sound of your phone chiming, notifying him that someone had just sent a text through. 

The Phantom Thieves type in rapid succession. It’s nothing but one after the other with these guys at top speed, so by the time Noctis manages to roll over on his king-sized bed to glance at your phone on the nightstand, your friends have already gone through multiple messages, before finally landing on the one that makes his heart drop to his stomach. 

[Name], you need to come over now.

His stomach is churning like a fortuneteller’s ball, and he keeps on glancing behind him to see if you’re still in the bathroom, or if the shower is still running. The prince feels frustrated beyond belief, out of all the times that you two had a date, your friends had to intrude during this one. 

His mind is spinning, and his palms feel sweaty from the bad idea that crossed his mind. He reaches out for your phone, and immediately dropped it on the bed right after, as if it was going to burn him. He quickly turns again to check on the bathroom door. 

He can’t let you see this, and have you run off with your friends again. 

No, this is wrong, Noctis shouldn’t be doing this. Hell, he shouldn’t have looked at your phone anyway because he respects your privacy and trusts you, but before he can fully stop himself, his fingers are already unlocking your screen and typing out the message, “I can’t make it, I don’t feel so well.” He doesn’t even read the past messages, and instead lets his rationality be thrown out the window as these incoherent feelings take over. 

He hears the shower shut off, and his heart starts speeding up double time. Noctis quickly shuts off your phone without waiting for your friends to reply and plugs it in the charger. 

You walk out of the bathroom not a second later, fully changed, and you leap on the bed to give your prince a tackle. He catches you and the two of you laugh together, the ice of your skin cooling the heat of his nervous body. 

In less than an hour, Noctis forgets all about his guilt. 

Teenage recklessness is a bad thing. 

You let out a loud exhale as you slide down the wall and collapse near Ryuji and Akira. The sound of volleyball could still be heard echoing around the gym even as you close your eyes and drift off. 

It was the Monday after your date with Noctis, and while you were content with it and the time you spent with him, there was something off that you couldn’t put your finger on. 

At the sound of the PE teacher’s whistle, you opened your eyes again and turned to your two teammates. 

“Hey guys—” You stopped midway and your eyes widened. “Oh my gosh, you look horrible!” The words tumbled out of your mouth before you could apply a filter. But there was no space for over exaggeration either. Deep and dark eye bags, messy hair, chapped lips mar their features. 

Ryuji clicks his tongue loudly. “Yeah! No thanks to you!” he says. He’s about to say more, but then a loud yawn that could snap his jaws stops him. 

You raise your eyebrow at what he says. 

Akira huffs softly. “How was your weekend?” he asks, moving you away from Ryuji’s flames. You tilt your head. 

“It was great,” you admit honestly. “I got to spend a lot of time with Noctis.” 

“Huh?” Ryuji’s eyes snap open at your response. “You said you weren’t feeling well!” 

You’re hit with confusion. “I...did?” 

“Yeah!” the blond athlete says. “Apparently we underestimated Futaba’s palace or somethin’ and there was no way that we could’ve finished everything up in time for August 21st. That’s why we spent all weekend clearing the place.” Ryuji lets out another loud yawn. “We only had nine hours of sleep in the last three days...” 

“You fought the shadow?” you ask, then without missing a beat, you continued. “You cleared the palace without me? You spent all weekend doing it?” 

“Getting past the shadows this time was a lot harder without that sneaky little trick that you use on them all the time,” the blond says.

“And you didn’t tell me, because...?” You’re feeling slightly insulted at this point. Did they think that you aren’t capable? 

“You said you weren’t feeling well,” Akira speaks up. You give him a confused look. 

“When have I ever—?” 

“Huh?” It’s Ryuji’s turn to raise his eyebrow. “You don’t remember or something?” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and opens up the group chat. “See? Here.” 

Instead of getting the answer that you needed, you only became more confused. You leaned closer to the screen and snatched it out of Ryuji’s hand. You look closer as you tapped on your message and it clearly displays the time. 

You swallow and clench the phone in your hands in a tight grip.

Noctis.

The door to his apartment slammed open, keys thrown onto the shelf beside it, and shoes kicked off in a flurry. 

“Why?” you demand, stomping closer to your prince. “Why, why, why?” Noctis sits up on the couch. His face flashes with fear and confusion. You grab his shirt collar and pull him close. “Why did you do that?!” 

You look betrayed, angry, but he looks bewildered, innocent. 

“Why what?” he asks. 

“Why did you text my friends?!” you demand. Your hand is gripping your phone and you keep it in a locked hold. 

Oh.

Noctis looks down and averts your eyes. You press your lips together and breathe out your nose. 

“That’s a serious thing, Noct! I can’t believe you did that! Do you even trust me?!” you rant. “I don’t think I can be around you anymore if you’re going to do this again—!” 

“Go then!” he finally says. Your gasp gets caught in your throat. His voice rings into silence, and you have to take an unsteady step back. His face contorts into an unreadable expression. He glares at his carpeted floors. “If that’s what you mean then...!”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!” you say, trying to keep your shaky voice to a minimum. “You don’t know—!” 

 “Know what? That you care more about your friends than you do about me—?!” 

“That I’m a Phantom Thief, Noctis!” 

“...What?” his voice came out as barely a whisper. 

...Shit.

[thetuningofviolins]

a million dotted lines || Promptis, rating: G

@evil-rainbow-sunshine

Hey! I know it’s a little late, but I thought I’d pile on the birthday love. <3 Happy birthday, and enjoy this way-too-quickly thrown together fic!

October 19th—

“Hey, when’s your birthday, anyway?”

They’re walking side by side as they do every day, taking their time meandering between the school and the arcade, hands buried in their uniform jacket pockets against the unusual chill of the autumn afternoon. The question catches Prompto off-guard, enough so that he misses a step, shoe awkwardly catching on the pavement for a moment before he hops out of it, earning a snort from his royal companion.

“What’s this about all of a sudden?” he asks, trying for casual but missing the mark by just a hair.

“I mean, how long have we known each other?” Noctis continues, glancing over at him, “Seems like it would have come up by now.”

Prompto immediately realizes the logic, blanching a bit, but does reasonably well at hiding it. “Little over a year, huh?” (It’s not answering the core of the question; he knows he’s dodging it, but with any luck, Noct will take pity on him.)

“Ha, more like six.”

“We don’t talk about that!”

They both chuckle, for different reasons, before lapsing back into a comfortable silence. The topic seems to be closed for the time being, which makes a grateful little swell of warmth bubble up in Prompto’s chest— grinning a bit, he leans hard to the side, bumping his shoulder with Noct’s. The prince stumbles a step (always a win, as far as Prompto’s concerned), then recovers with a grin of his own, returning the bump full-force.

October 22nd—

His hand shakes, stupidly, as it hovers over the requisite school health form— where it asks for his date of birth.

It’s stupid to be so upset about this.

He’s fine.

(A short, chubby boy, clutching to a camera like a talismanic charm of courage, watching a man pulling on a jacket as he gets ready to leave the house where he so rarely appears.

“Hey— Dad?”

“I’m a little busy, Prompto—“

“The fireworks today…”

“For the prince’s birthday.”

“I know. And it was… a classmate’s birthday last week, too…”

“Prompto—“

“When is mine?”

“…”

“When—“

“…In the fall. The 25th. October.”

“I… I thought that’s when you brought me home.”

“I have to go now, Prompto. Don’t ask me any more questions.”)

Prompto puts the pen down, wiping viciously at his burning eyes. It doesn’t really matter what he puts on the form, right? Nothing’d be any more ‘truthful’ than anything else, right? Even years later, it’s only a guess.

He takes a few sharp, deep breaths to force himself to calm down. It’s marginally successful. Adjusting the sport band sharply around his right wrist, he picks the pen back up and fills out the date of birth— October 25th, M.E. 735. Good enough.

October 24th—

They’re lying across the width of Noctis’ bed, locked in ruthless battle over a racing game on the TV across from them. It’s neck-and-neck, up until the very last second— where Noctis gains a sudden edge and flies across the finish line a split second before Prompto. The prince gives a triumphant laugh, in counterpoint to Prompto’s long, wounded groan.

“How do you do that? I swear, if you’re cheating—!”

“Maybe I’m just that good,” Noctis says snottily, going so far as to turn his nose up, which makes Prompto give him a good shove with an exasperated laugh.

“Yeah, maybe you’re just cheating,” Prompto fires back, and it earns him a playful shove in return— which quickly turns into the two of them mock-wrestling. It doesn’t last terribly long, however; Noctis’ training with Gladio is clearly paying off, because he’s able to get the upper hand on Prompto and pin him down without a ton of effort.

Prompto, for his part, desperately attempts to hold back the wave of heat that wants to flood up into his face (he can’t… help it, the position is suggestive and Noct looming over him all disheveled is flustering enough to process as is and he can’t even move), but reassures himself just as desperately that he could pass it off as exertion if Noctis decides to call him on it. “All right, all right, you win!” he concedes, “You’re just that good; Noctis, Prince of Racing Games; now get off me—!”

Noctis gives a full-hearted laugh, rolling off to the side to flop down beside him instead. “Damn right,” he says with a grin, before his attention drifts over to the window. “Mm, it’s kinda late. Wanna stay here? We can just skip class tomorrow.”

“…Mm.” It’s not really an answer, but Prompto runs his hand back through his hair, a little awkwardly despite the easy half-smile on his face before he pushes on. “Probably shouldn’t…”

“Not like we don’t skip all the time anyway. Wouldn’t you rather do something fun?”

“Says the guy that gets fireworks.”

The moment of silence that follows is just long enough for Prompto to realize what he’s just said and implied; the temptation to slap a hand over his own face is huge, and his stomach sinks terribly. And here he’d been hoping to just… keep avoiding the whole birthday thing. Maybe it’s still salvageable—

Noctis, thankfully, saves him from himself, by shrugging amicably. “Whatever you wanna do. I’m game.”

October 25th—

As it turns out, classes end up cancelled for the day— due to a freak snowstorm, of all things. Prompto had decided to come home after all, and is now somewhat regretting it— while he normally spends the (stupid) day mostly on his own, it’s sort of a different beast altogether to be entirely alone, in a quiet house, on an almost eerily quiet street, the muted light coming in from his bedroom window making everything look washed out and grey. He feels oddly like time has stopped completely, freezing everything but himself in place— a lone creature moving through a world he’s entirely detached from.

Suiting.

He rolls over in his bed with a frown, clutching his left hand over the band covering his right wrist, as though it might fuse the fabric to his skin and blot out the damned thing (the thing that he doesn’t understand, that he only has the vaguest inklings of, that his parents don’t like to talk about, that he knows separates him from everyone else in some terrible way that’s being kept from him) beneath it forever. When that doesn’t work, he sits up, letting the lump that had formed in his throat sink down into a pit of ice forming in his stomach.

“Happy birthday to me,” he sings softly, an attempt at jest that falls entirely flat against his ears, “If there is such a thing. But I’m here and I’m healthy, so I might as well sing.”

The answering silence is, somehow, even less a comfort than he’d been expecting. That lump threatens to make a comeback, but he swallows it down forcefully, shaking his head.

His phone chimes cheerfully, cutting through the stillness sharply enough to make Prompto jump, his heart slamming up into his throat instead out of sheer shock. After a moment of being stunned frozen, he huffs out a low laugh, inwardly chastising himself a bit for being so overdramatic. Grabbing his phone off the bedside dresser, he peers at the notifications.

In this case, a text. From Noct.

let me in it’s cold as hell out here

Prompto blinks a few times as though expecting the words to change, but— they don’t. It’s not exactly unusual for Noct to come over, despite them spending significantly more time in Noct’s apartment, but… with the roads all blanketed in snow? He would have had to walk the whole way.

A few more seconds pass where Prompto just stares at his phone, before it buzzes in his palm again.

don’t tell me you’re not home

He lets out a tiny snort of laughter, lips half-tilting. The idea of Noctis walking the distance between his apartment and Prompto’s house, in the cold and wind, only to find an empty house— it probably shouldn’t tickle him the way it does, but he’s always loved that look on Noct’s face, that look of disbelieving chagrin when a plan of his goes awry. It’s cute. (Not… that he needs to be thinking about that, thank you.) Taking pity as he pads out of his room to the main floor, he texts back:

Coming, coming. Where else would I be? lol

Noctis doesn’t have the chance to respond again; Prompto swings the front door open, putting him face-to-face with the heavily-bundled-up crown prince of Lucis. He’s carrying a couple of plastic bags at his side, and going by the single trail of footprints leading all the way down the street— it does look like Prompto’s instinct had been right and Noct had walked here. Something nameless and terribly warm flutters in Prompto’s chest, making a little color lift into his cheeks.

“Come on in,” he ushers Noctis, stepping out of the way and motioning him in, “Can’t believe you even left your place in this; it’s freezing.”

Noctis brushes his hair out, flinging a few idle snowflakes out of it as he moves into the entryway, handing the bags off to Prompto as he pulls at the thick scarf around his neck and chin. “Least we didn’t have to actually go to the effort of skipping class,” he says with a bit of a grin, shrugging out of his overcoat and stepping out of his shoes, “Picked up a few things on the way too. Just… ‘cause.”

Prompto, ever curious, had already started rooting around in the bags. “Ah!” There’s a bottle of milk tea, one that he’d only ever found once in a shop near Noct’s apartment before they’d stopped carrying it, and he’d mourned it extensively ever since. “You remembered— where did you even find this? Oh—“ As he keeps digging, he finds a couple of packaged snacks (including one of his favorites, a sort of strawberry biscuit), and… a small box tied up with a ribbon, with a sticker of a chocobo on the corner of the top. A little, slightly confused but pleased grin lights Prompto’s lips as he plucks it out, setting the bags down on the table and turning to lean slightly on it. “What’s this?”

“I had Ignis make it for you,” Noctis says just a little too quickly, looking elsewhere and rubbing the back of his neck.

The confusion deepens a little, but not enough that Prompto’s curiosity doesn’t push him on; he unwraps the box and plucks the top off— finding a yellow-frosted cupcake inside, with a single candle (also adorned with little cartoon chocobos) sticking up out of the center of it. Prompto stares, almost utterly uncomprehending, frozen in place by the sudden slamming of his heartbeat. What exactly is going on here?

Noctis clears his throat a bit, before coming in close, lifting a hand and touching his index finger to the wick of the candle— and with a little crackle of magic, it lights, bathing their faces in dim orange glow. “…Happy birthday, Prompto.” The prince’s voice is quiet, but warm, tender, in a way Prompto rarely hears.

Prompto’s chest feels like it’s going to burst. It hurts. His eyes sting, vision blurring, despite not being able to pull his eyes from the little flame. “Wh… how…” he starts, throat closed off by that lump he’d thought he’d gotten rid of earlier, “How did you…”

Noctis chuckles a little bit, rubbing at the back of his neck again. “Got stuck running papers for the office the other day, your health form was on top.”

It’s such a stupidly simple answer, Prompto honestly can’t help the short laugh that bursts from his chest, even through the other overwhelming emotions. “S-so… so much for student privacy, huh?” is what comes out, despite a million other words rioting against his lips to escape.

“It doesn’t have to be a big deal,” the prince quickly adds, a growing little note of anxiety tinging his voice now, “I just wanted to— I mean… shit. I’m sorry, if you don’t want— I just thought—“

“No!” Prompto cuts him off, finally managing to tear his eyes from the cheerfully flickering flame to look up at Noctis, framed flatteringly in candlelight, making his heart give another leap, “No, I love it, it’s— I just didn’t think— no one’s ever—“ The words spill over and across each other, tangling up in knots, until they both pause… and burst into a little laughter together. “We’re… not great at this, are we?”

“Horrible,” Noctis agrees, still shaking a bit with laughter, letting his hand drop down from his neck— to brush over Prompto’s free one. Their fingers snare instinctually, like it’s something they do every day of their lives. “… Supposed to make a wish, aren’t you?”

Prompto’s words are stolen away again, along with his breath, as their fingers lightly squeeze together. It’s not as though they’re not usually affectionate with each other, but… this… a wish? What more could he hope for right now? Still, he looks back down to the candle, eyes still a bit watery— before he smiles, broad and warm, and blows out the flame. “… Okay,” he says softly, just for something to fill the space, “Done.”

“What’d you wish for?”

“Isn’t it bad luck to say?”

“Guess so, yeah.”

It’s hard to say who makes the next move first: there’s a moment of silence, of motionlessness, before the cupcake box gets set down on the table and their fingers untangle in order to let their arms wrap fully around each other, Prompto’s around Noctis’ shoulders, Noctis’ around Prompto’s waist. Prompto’s eyes widen slightly for a moment as he feels Noctis press a kiss to the side of his head— before they half-lid dreamily. (He thinks he can feel Noct’s heart beating against his chest— or maybe it’s just his own, trying desperately to escape its ribcage to meet Noct’s halfway.)

“Seriously, though… happy birthday,” Noctis murmurs, nudging into Prompto’s hair affectionately.

Prompto squeezes around Noctis’ shoulders, pushing into his neck in response to the nudge, smiling softly. He thinks he can bear this particular day with no real burden from now on… as long as he has this. As long as he has Noctis. When he responds, it’s a barely-there whisper— but it’s enough. “… Thanks, Noct.”

[culinarystrategist]

@solisaeternum

❝I have, of late, found my waking thoughts assailed by the most inappropriate and entirely unbidden daydreams. Without my subconsciously meaning to, my mind has started to wander into fantasies about Prompto, of all people. It feels as though I am beset by some kind of sickness of the brain - no matter how hard I endeavour to keep my attention focussed on more pertinent matters, the slightest lapse in concentration brings Prompto’s face to my mind’s eye.❞

From an early age, Ignis has been in the habit of keeping a journal. This isn’t out of sentimentality or any love of nostalgically reading back over his history. It’s because committing his thoughts to paper helps him sift through them. Ignis isn’t the type of person to approach a friend to discuss whatever is on his mind. He’s insular in that respect and prefers to deal with anything arising in a practical and pragmatic manner. With his friends and companions, he wears a tightly controlled mask, but in his journal, he can be honest.

❝A few days ago, he offered me a massage, to ease my aching muscles. I will admit, I seriously contemplated taking him up on it. I was, indeed, very sore and the idea of nimble fingers working out the knots was very tempting. Alas, sense prevailed. Because of those imaginings I currently endure, I determined that having Prompto rubbing and massaging my shoulders would only add fuel to a fire that I have no wish to further stoke. Afterwards, I cursed myself for being such a coward.❞

Whenever Ignis faces an uncertain situation, he writes about it in his journal. The process of describing whatever the circumstances are and his associated feelings is cathartic as it is helpful in establishing his preferred outcome. He’s an analyst, and in reviewing what he writes, he looks at the details with detachment. It’s the same way as he’d read any report, prior to making his considered recommendations.

❝Yesterday, I caught myself concocting a menu for the week ahead and choosing only those dishes of which Prompto is particularly fond. I have never even done that for Noctis, but that is not what disturbs me the most. I was halfway through the week’s projection of meals before I noticed my clear bias. It was subconscious and, dare I say, a natural feeling to put Prompto’s desires above those of the others. This, more than anything, is what I feel is an unacceptable development.❞

Thus far in his life, Ignis hasn’t entertained any thoughts of relationships, nor does he plan to. It’s a complication he neither needs nor desires. There is only room for one person of priority in his life, and that is Noctis. From childhood, Ignis was raised to be at Noctis’ side, as a mentor, as an advisor, as a friend. Developing feelings for another would bring about a conflict of interests, and yet he cannot deny the obvious implications of his recent actions.

❝This morning, he caught me staring. I was not thinking about anything specific as I watched him more around the camp. I was admiring him, I suppose. Noctis has always been Noctis, and the same can be said of Gladio, but Prompto has changed immeasurably in the time that I have known him. Once up on a time, I could barely stand to be in the same room as him. His energy was too much, his questions and antics drove me to distraction. But now, he’s a vital member of our group and he has saved my hide more times than I can count. I could not conceive of life without him.❞

There is the crux of the matter: Prompto has, somehow, worked his way under Ignis’ skin and into his heart. It is terrifying to the man, whose primary concern isn’t even for himself; it’s how this would effect Noctis. Would Noctis be hurt or angry that Ignis found himself drawn to another? Would Noctis forgive Ignis for allowing his feelings to stray? Would it be seen as a betrayal of loyalty? So far, his journal is offering no solutions nor clarification, only further questions and worry. He reads over the words he has written and, despite having next to no experience in the subject, Ignis can see what is happening here.

❝My intellect and my emotions are at odds. Someone else, anyone else, reading over these paragraphs would likely reach only one conclusion: that I am at the mercy of my heart, which is currently leading me down a dangerous path. How I long to go back to the days when I avoided Prompto like the plague, saw absolutely no value in him and questioned why Noctis would choose to form a friendship with such an irritating whelp of a boy. I take no pleasure in having been proven wrong. Prompto is far from valueless. He has become the glue that binds us together. During the darkest times, he is the sun. He bolsters Noctis more than I ever have, has caused me to smile more times than I can count and even Gladio has begun to mellow towards him.❞

Everybody in the group knows how hot-headed Gladio can be, and all too often, his barbed remarks are levelled at Prompto, bringing out an oddly protective streak in Ignis. It wouldn’t be the first time Ignis has taken Gladio aside and had words with him, much to Gladio’s puzzlement. Ignis can’t explain it. Or, rather, he doesn’t want to explain it, despite having the answer right in front of him in black and white. Denial is far easier an option than admission. He’s lucky nobody else has noticed yet, but he thinks Gladio might be suspicious.

❝When I asked him to treat Prompto with a little more care, Gladio asked me, ‘What’s it to you?’ What could I say to that? I told him I was merely trying to assure some peace and accord within our little band. He accepted my reason, but he wore that irksome smirk of his. The one that implies he knows something. Of course, I brushed him off, told him his constant needling at Prompto gives me a headache and went off to find myself some coffee. But it’s not my head which aches the most; it’s my heart.❞

The scratch of his pen on paper is comforting. The scent of the coffee growing cold in his mug is familiar. Ignis can hear the others, outside the tent, bickering amiably and it makes him smile. Whenever they do have actual fights, it usually blows over quickly because when all is said and done, they’re brothers. They’ve become a family and that’s what family does - they squabble, they argue, they quarrel but they still have each others’ backs. At no other time in his life has Ignis felt such a part of something and while he doesn’t envy Noctis’ fate, nobody can deny that what they have - what they share - is something very special.

❝I occasionally wonder what would happen if I surrendered to these thoughts. I can entertain the notion for only a few moments before coming to the conclusion that it would be a terrible idea. Assuming there was the remotest chance that Prompto harboured such inklings towards me - which is preposterous, I know - it would create only problems within our group. I cannot begin to imagine the awkwardness, nor the inevitable questions. Gladio would have a field day and Noctis- I imagine he would, at the very least, feel betrayed.❞

Of all the worries Ignis has, his fear of breaking Noctis’ trust is the greatest. It’s bordering on irrational because he has no real reason to believe that Noctis would be anything other than happy if something blossomed between Ignis and Prompto. Yet to Ignis’ mind, it seems like a distinct possibility, and one he would prefer to avoid. It’s more ghastly that the idea that Prompto could reject him, which is the more likely outcome. If only Ignis were more experienced in matters of the heart, then he might have an easier time of making sense of it all.

❝Someone once told me that the difference between love and infatuation is that love grows slowly, over time, and infatuation is sudden and all-consuming. I understand that, in principle, but what I fail to comprehend is how the physical symptoms correlate to those definitions. What does a tightening of the throat mean? Why does my stomach flip whenever Prompto smiles? Is the prickling at the back of my neck an indication of danger or of something else altogether? There are no manuals on this subject that I have found and nobody I feel comfortable in asking.❞

Ignis knows. He knows the answers to those questions without research. Deep down, he’s known for a long time. If he had to, he could pinpoint the precise moment he realised that friendship had turned into something else altogether. In the midst of battle, Prompto was in danger of being taken down from behind. Ignis, without a moment of thought or hesitation, threw himself into the path of an oncoming attack, fending off the enemy and saved Prompto. Nobody saw, and nobody knew, except for Ignis. That one small act is forever lodged in his mind as the turning point.

❝Looking back over everything I’ve written has failed to bring me the clarity I desired. Instead, it has raised more questions and brought further confusion to my tortured mind. A part of me wants our journey to be over soon, so our lives may return to normal, but an increasingly greater part of me wishes for it to never end, so I may continue to exist within Prompto’s presence. It is a folly to speculate whether anything shall occur between us. The practicalities of it are that we have greater matters to which we should attend. I shall content myself with the knowledge that all things come to an end and soon enough, this thing, whatever it is, will peter out and my mind will be my own once more.❞

As he writes his closing statement, Ignis knows that it’s a lie. Feelings such as these don’t die out; they only increase. But if he can convince himself that everything will work out in the end, then he can bear the weight of this burden. Setting his pen down and closing his journal, he picks up his coffee to take a sip. It’s beyond cold, now, and a fresh one is required. He rubs his tired eyes and stands to step outside to refresh his brew. Whether subconsciously deliberate or a product of his sudden tiredness, he leaves the journal where it sits, on the floor of the tent, by his sleeping bag.

Perhaps his secret will yet be revealed.​

[gamesover]

𝒏𝒐𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒔   /   𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗲𝘆𝗲   .

What an enigma he is, though Noctis can forget for now that there are parts of Ignis that are well-guarded, tucked away to never see the light of day. Parts that he’d desperately wanted to know, but things have been changing ever since he’s left the Citadel– not all for the better.   [ His thoughts go back to when he’d so stubbornly looked through Ignis’s file and showed up at his doorstep, demanding answers for a problem that he insisted did not exist. ]   But there are silver linings at least; one of them is that he has not lost him altogether like he feared. 

“ Oh, I forgot. “     Birthdays aren’t really that special, not after his father had begun to struggle to make it to them. What’s a party without his father? Without someone he cares for to accompany him? Just empty gifts lavished upon him that mean nothing. None of it meant anything from the wrong people, but Ignis is the right person and his heart swells within his chest. To be remembered is such a small thing, but invaluable– his retainer knows what makes him happiest ; quality time spent together instead of anything else. A moment of respite in a life growing more and more hectic, day by day.

“ Where are we going? “   The Prince does his best to shake off the fatigue and the tiredness that seeps into his bones. Thankfully the later is a result of a full stomach and not exercise, lest he’d have fallen asleep before this offer was extended.       He pulled the blanket thrown over the edge of the couch and tucked it beneath his arm, already excited to get going, the hop in his step when he bounded toward the door endearing.    “   Is it a lake I haven’t been to yet? Something really special you want me to see?  ”

when the inceptive inkling had dawned,              had noctis known?      ignis thinks:      the prince must have felt it,      surely,      the catastrophe that brought such chaos to slumbering wake,      as it had for him      —      how reality itself had shifted and warped before his very eyes,      in frightening clarity,      to collapse within the wrinkle of your laugh,      once upon a time.      and he would ask:      𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒏𝒐𝒕?        but he already has his answer,      with every diversion he speaks into existence,      faced with furtive yet assertive offers to spend some time together,      in between iron - wrought propriety and uncomfortable awareness.      he knows noctis suspects,      though he do not know what of:      and ignis would make sure it would never come to light,      hidden in the chasm that swallows the space between.      a scribbled line drawn in the sand he cannot cross,      ever so crooked and uneven;      deigned by choice,      his choice.

a hum,      amused.            ❛❛      as i’d expected.      ❜❜            he does not utter any words of unheeded condolence,      nor will he play at any pretense otherwise.      his heart is filled with conflict,      opposing interests that cannot coexist in peace.      but even so,      he cannot abandon noctis in this way,      amidst the quiet moments when the prince’s mind is rarely at ease.      the way he traces the figure to the entranceway,      gaze muted in fondness so rich it tugs at his very core.      but he is ignis scientia,      dedicated in his duty to maintain some semblance of decorum on thy person,      as he leans against the counter,      arms crossed   ever so   deliberately.            ❛❛      𝙥𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚,      noct.      we won't be going   anywhere   if you don’t put   a jacket   on first.      ❜❜