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likes artificial watermelon | sleeps in what they’re already wearing | eats their cereal with milk | listens to music with earbuds | hates the summer | can recite past the first four digits of pi | eats frosting out the jar | doodles on their notebooks | can bake cookies | has a garden | has had a snowball fight | eats pancakes without syrup | prefers shorts to pants | can name more than ten superheroes | has a plan for the zombie apocalypse | uses the same password for everything | can’t hold their breath for more than fifteen seconds | watches anime | hasn’t read harry potter | can say ‘i love you’ in more than one language | prefers mechanical pencils | thinks space is cool | takes personality tests more than once to make sure | can’t tie their shoelaces | has a purse | likes salad | likes cool colors better than warm colors | knows how to braid hair | reads biographies | can ice skate | knows their mbti | reads astrology charts | prefers the star wars prequels to the original trilogy | plays video games | reads the newspaper | likes chocolate ice cream better | doesn’t cuss | memorizes song lyrics | collects coupons | has a preferred order at starbucks | likes movie theater popcorn | has seen a play | listens to music with headphones | owns a hoodie | would rather own cds than online copies | has written a poem | can shuffle cards | subscribes to a magazine | double dips when eating | drinks directly out of the milk container | keeps a journal

“Shit… sorry, Noct, I didn’t even think…” Prompto winced as he spoke, a small sigh leaving his lips. He was always trying to help, to fix things, and sometimes he didn’t remember that he couldn’t always do that. For normal exhaustion, sure, the tea may help, but for what his friend was going through? He doubted anything would really help in the long run. Nothing but getting this all taken care of, and done with. “It’ll be okay, though. Just take your time to relax, and let yourself sleep. Don’t think.”

here have a read more bc tumblr likes 2 fuck up the formatting and not link shit properly omfg

It’s an open-minded way of viewing things, Ignis thinks, and he sorely wishes his own desires would be so inclusive of everyone. However, he’s intricately aware of how he works and its in that he knows his desire isn’t quite as… welcoming. As—well, bisexual, it seems Noct is. Ignis knows the terms. He just doesn’t wish to give himself a label. But, of course, Noct is like that. To Ignis, he’s kind. Warm. Welcoming. A beacon. 

Dramatic, perhaps, but Ignis is… well. He very much… he very much likes Noct.

I would prefer to talk more about you, he wants to say, but the words stick in his throat when Noct shifts his fingers. For a moment, there’s a leap in his heart, something like anxiety, that has him thinking the other will withdraw and that’s—that’s fine and he’s okay with that but then Noct’s suddenly intertwining their fingers and Ignis thinks his heart stops for a brief moment, stutters when there’s a sudden squeeze.

“Would that I can believe that,” he murmurs, closing his eyes. He doesn’t want to see whatever expression rests upon Noct’s face at the moment. He doesn’t quite want to move away either. “It’s—ah, perhaps I was… not verbose enough before about my mindset on this situation. I do not find the preference inherently terrible. It’s more-so…” His breath hitches. This is going far too close to home. He inhales. When he exhales he opens his eyes. They’re dry and vacant as they rest lackadaisically on Noct’s hand curled around his own.

“I’ve a duty to my people, Noct,” he says monotonously, flicking his gaze briefly up to meet the other’s. “I can’t afford to be like this.”

He doesn’t notice how tightly he grips Noct’s hand at all.

At that, Noctis snorts softly. “‘Be like this?’ Be like what? Gay?” That’s probably stepping too close to insubordination, seeing as how Ignis hasn’t really explicitly said that, either, and probably hasn’t for a reason. ( saying it made it real. Noct could still remember telling dad. he’d been seventeen. and yes, saying it made it real. Regis hadn’t cared, thankfully, and now he had the penchant for pointing out ‘cute people’ when they were out together, but still. coming out was hard, and he wasn’t even the prince. ) 

He backtracks a little, sweeping the pad of his thumb over Ignis’s hand. “Yeah, you’ve a duty to your people but that doesn’t mean you can’t go kissing guys. Or women,” he adds, just in case he’s misinterpreting this horribly even though he knows he’s not. Maybe tacking ‘women’ on there will make it easier for Ignis. “Or whatever you wanna do. Go fuck someone. Go fuck everyone, I don’t care.” That’s definitely insubordination, but slightly less... sensitive. “Doesn’t matter what you do in your free time, Specs, what your personal life involves, that doesn’t mean you’re gonna be a bad king. Anyone who says anything different can go choke.”

“You don’t…?” Prompto’s gawking.

Gladio looks more angry than anything else. “You’re joking,” he snarls.

“Gladio,” Ignis warns; he should’ve suspected this, honestly. Perhaps the man shouldn’t be around Noct right now. Gladio never did learn how to bite down his anger in the face of a stressful situation. Useful sometimes, especially when giving orders and controlling multiple personalities in a crisis, but for a matter as delicate as this?

“Iggy, he’s—,” Gladio starts, but Ignis shakes his head once sharply.

“Both of you head back to camp. Get it set up for tonight.”

It’s always relieving to see the others obey him. Not as if he expects disobedience but he’s warmed by the thought of them trusting him to make clear-headed decisions.

“Get better, buddy,” Prompto says to Noct, shooting him a nervous, hopeful smile before pulling at Gladio’s arm. The two leave and, with a sigh, Ignis turns back to Noct.

“That certainly could have gone better,” he remarks wryly. And, ah, as expected, here comes the regular migraine. Gods. He reaches up with a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose briefly. The pressure helps somewhat. Only somewhat.

“Right,” he starts, retreating his hand to his side. “So you recall your name and your position as Prince.” He’d silently noted the way Noct seemed to be searching for his phone. “I’m guessing you recall everyone at the Citadel as well. However, judging by your… reactions before, you don’t remember the others.” Ah, his mistake. Perhaps he should’ve introduced them first. “The blond one is Prompto. The other is Gladio.”

There’s something aching in his chest. Something painful and huge. He tries to ignore it but, really, it hurts. The amnesia would have made sense if Noct’s memories got cut off at a certain age. It would’ve made more sense if he merely forgot everything. However, it’s just… it’s just them. Even if there was a cut off for age, Ignis still would have been included in his memories, and Noct would have had to regress to the mind of a four-year-old to have forgotten him completely.

His migraine throbs painfully.

“You’ll have to forgive Gladio,” he says softly, tucking his hands behind him, and intertwines them atop the small of his back, “he’s merely worried about your safety, as are the rest of us.”

His armiger magic flickers to the tips of his fingers when Gladio’s little outburst comes. He doesn’t intricately remember how to use his weapons but it’s immediately there if he needs it; apparently it seems like they know him, but he doesn’t know them. ( or if he had, he doesn’t remember. ) He can’t be too careful, being the prince.

The bigger question is why Ignis is talking about camping. He’s barely been camping a day in his life and... he’s never been outside the city walls. Speaking of that...

“Uhh, no offense, but I need to, like, get back to the Citadel.” Gods, dad’s probably irate with him. Or trying to tear the city down to find him. Aaaaand he probably won’t let him out of his sight once he gets back. Maybe this was a kidnapping plot or something and these guys had... saved him, or... something. He didn’t know, but he wanted to get home. “Any idea where I can get a ride back? Or, uh, if you guys have a car, I’ll pay you for the lift. Or my dad will.” 

He starts to tremble as soon as Noct leaves.

It takes a moment for him to move. There’s something in him that nearly forces him after the prince, forces him to burst through the door and bite and tear into the human’s throat to access all the sweet, sweet blood within because only then would this ache in his jaw, this burning in his veins, be satiated, only by ripping into his prey can he even begin to quench this—

Ignis gasps and clenches his fists. He digs the nails of his fingers into his palm hard. No. Focus. Focus.

His gaze flickers towards the blood packs provided on the bedside table. Right. He should—yes.

He doesn’t quite remember appearing next to the bags. He doesn’t even remember tearing into it. The next moment of awareness comes quite abruptly with the slick spill of cool blood down his top, dribbling from his lips, and a burst of disgust and anger abruptly rises in him at the lack of control. Gods, he blanked out so easily and—

He can imagine, suddenly, moving towards Noct. The next moment would be a blur but the next time his mind is given back he’d see Noct, dead. Noct, with his throat torn out. Himself, mouth full of royal blood.

He snarls, loud and angry and feral. He throws the bloodied, torn pack against the opposite wall and it lands with a wet smack. Even this… even this is horrifying, it’s terrifying. His emotions were out of control. He doesn’t even know if he can keep in control. The thirst is there, still, despite the attempt to quench it with donated blood. It’s not quite as strong as before but it’s strong. It can overtake him.

Well. That only brings him back to his initial idea.

Carefully, he sits down on the bed. He looks at his white shirt and suspenders. Clean before. Now it was stained with blood. He hadn’t even felt the initial spill.

Gods, he’s an animal now. He can’t do this. He can’t control himself around Noct.

Without thinking further on it, he summons a dagger; he vaguely realizes that that would’ve alerted Noct. He doesn’t care. He can’t do this.

His breaths quicken. He lifts the tip of the blade to his throat. An upward thrust through the jaw and up into the brain should be enough. It will be enough.

“I’m so sorry, Noct,” he whispers, and pulls back the blade to gain the momentum he needs to drive it through his head——

If he learns anything from this circumstance, it’s that he definitely still doesn’t like vampires. He hadn’t gone far-- just outside the room, close enough to be nearby for... for whatever. If Ignis needs him. But Ignis doesn’t need him; all Ignis needs is his blood and Noctis is far too aware of that. Still, something keeps him close enough to the room, and it’s the complete opposite of the thing that makes him flinch when something solid hits against one of the walls in the bedroom.

It’s definitely the complete opposite to the way he practically throws himself away from said wall when he hears Ignis growl-- Gods, that’s the kind of sound that puts ice into his veins. He’s never been a very active hunter, himself. He’s been trained in the lifestyle and he’s fought vamps before, but it’s a little different when your closest friend has been turned and you’re standing in the same house as them.

When your closest friend wants to kill you, that is. Noct feels sick.

Still, he only gets a few steps before he feels the disturbance in the armiger-- unsurprising, really, part of the reason he hadn’t gone anywhere. It’s easier to feel the closer that he is, even though every time something is plucked from his arsenal, he can feel like. Like a tickle beneath his skin. This close he can feel exactly which blade’s gone, visualize it, and summon it into his own hand before Ignis can hurt himself. 

He doesn’t even have to go into the room to do it. Actually, he doesn’t dare.

“Cor...” he mumbles, and the Marshal sighs and pushes away from the wall.

“I make no promises, Prince.” He brushes past him, catching a hand at his shoulder and pushing him a step towards the door. “Go.”

Noct dematerializes the blade, heavy in his hand and sticky from the blood that must have been on Ignis’s fingers, and goes.

Cor goes into the bedroom, making for the remaining bags of blood. “What you do with your life from now on remains your choice,” he says shortly. “But don’t be so naive in thinking the only person you will hurt is yourself if you so choose that path.” Ignis wouldn’t be the first vampire to kill themselves. He wouldn’t be the last. Cor couldn’t decide for him, but they both knew how it would affect Noctis if he did. 

He had lifted the mug from the table, emptying one of the bags of blood into it. Now he holds it out to Ignis, expression impassive. “A friendly reminder.”

It’s cute, Noct says, and Ignis must duck his head to hide the ridiculous mar of pink staining his cheeks.

Gods, he shouldn’t be so affected by such a statement, if only because Noct makes such offhanded comments somewhat regularly enough for it to surely be just a joke, but it’s something he cannot help. This is Noct, after all, and Noct is someone he holds… very dear to his heart.

“Perhaps I will try to… express my passion more in private settings,” Ignis says softly. His eyes linger on the motions Noct’s own hands undergo as he rinses out a bowl. Coarse, he knows, from the many training sessions he’s endured with and without Ignis. He wants to hold Noct’s hand. He wants to kiss the exterior of his palm. He wants to… do a lot of things with Noct, but what he wants doesn’t necessarily align with what he must do.

“You still have marvelous cooking,” he finally adds, smiling softly. He steps forward to start drying the dishes, rag held loosely in a hand as he plucks the soapy bowl from Noct’s wonderful hands. And, gods, the smile on Noct’s face. It lights up those familiar features like a beacon Ignis can’t help but be drawn to. He’s almost distracted. Almost.

“Your Chiffon cake has quite the unique flair to it.”

Oh Gods, the chiffon cake. He can’t help but laugh a little at the reminder of the chiffon cake. Pretty much his worst enemy in the kitchen. “Yeah right,” he laughs, nudging at Ignis’s arm again. “When it works. Two out of five times I’ve tried it’s just gone completely flat.” Not that Ignis will have forgotten that. Noct’s lamented over that quite a few times-- doesn’t make it as often as he’d like because of that. “Unique’s one word for it.”

Noct rinses a plate off and hums, handing it off to Ignis. “Actually, I should give that a try ag--” He’s interrupted by his phone vibrating on the countertop. “Again, sometime. Soon, I mean.” He dries his hands on his apron again and goes to see who needs him now. Only because it’s an email and not a text does it remind him--

“Oh!” He dries his hands off the rest of the way and plucks the phone from the counter. “I do have something for you, it’s not really for White Day but, uh, I mean you can call it that.” He taps and swipes for a few seconds. “I totally forgot, I saw the confirmation so early this morning...”

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     He could swear the stranger is having a strange, silent conversation with that dog, but Ardyn won’t… well, pry. One, it’s none of his business. Two… It’s a dog, and they’re both bordering on insane if they believe it’s going to start speaking to them.

“You will find that most people are grateful for any assistance offered to them,” Ardyn says while they walk, slowing his pace so as not to lose Noctis. It’s a habit he’s accustomed to now, ever since that ridiculous growth spurt that had seen him towering over many. Noctis is unfortunately another casualty of that.

“Ah - Ardyn is my name. I… don’t remember if I introduced myself before.” He scratches the back of his head - a nervous habit, that, and one that would earn a scolding from one of his parents if he were quite a few years younger.

The streets are quiet, and soon they’re standing at the inn’s doorstep. Ardyn covers a yawn with the back of his hand, reaching down to give Umbra a quick scratch. “Allow me a few minutes to speak with the innkeeper and see what the situation is. You’ll be safe enough if you wait out here, or you’re welcome to accompany me.”

If only he knew how they’ve been introduced, however many years in the future when Ardyn’s not set on helping people, but rather hurting them instead. But Noctis can’t say that, because not only is that not the same Ardyn-- not yet-- but because he’d probably come off as crazy and really, he just needs to get in and out of here as quickly as possible with as much information as possible.

So he’s passive, nodding slightly at the mention of a name he knows too well. When they arrive at the inn, he lets him go in ahead, if only because--

“I’ll wait here,” he says. “Just in case, you know.” He gestures at Umbra, on the pretense that perhaps the inn wouldn’t allow dogs. “Thank you for this... Ardyn.” ( Gods that feels weird. sounds weird. thanking him.) “Really.”

-- he turns on Umbra the second that Ardyn has gone, glaring down at the dog. “What the hell are you doin’? What is this??”

Umbra barks.

“You know I have to get back to-- I have to end him, not travel back in time and befriend him,” he hisses.

Umbra wiggles, and then bows down on his front paws.

“Oh yeah, get some enjoyment out of this. What am I even supposed to do? Stick with him? Or look around?”

The canine flopped down, rolling over onto his back.

“Oh, that’s good. Thanks. At least tell me time isn’t going by in the present.”

A series of barks, and Noct is vaguely frustrated enough that he doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry.