SAVIOR KING.

how he manages to remember to be a gentleman behind all that hedonism is clearly a testament to his princely upbringing. that, or he genuinely does care about her feelings, which leaves her with an odd but not unwelcome warmth in her belly in its own right. to be wanted is nice. to be wanted by the crown prince of lucis? well, that's an entirely different level — one that even now, as he grinds his cock into the skirt covering her ass, has her in disbelief. corinne is no one special, after all. not a drop of noble blood in her veins. but she gets to have noctis all the same, if only in secret; if only in her most heartfelt dreams.

Flush blooming among porcelain skin,ㅤthe frustration threaded through every chosen word,ㅤthe tension of someone cornered not by anger.ㅤJust by simple exposure.ㅤThat honesty feels far more revealing than the answer itself ever could have been.ㅤㅤ❛❛ㅤㅤThe weather wouldn't have reacted nearly as interestingly.ㅤㅤ❜❜​​​​​​ㅤㅤThe femme replies smoothly,ㅤthough the edge from before has dulled with observation.

A pause follows with amaranthine lingering on the visible irritation,ㅤa conceal of the oneself beneath indignation.ㅤSomething almost unfairly endearing about it.ㅤA dignity that holds itself together while it slips through his fingers one piece at a time.ㅤㅤ❛❛ㅤㅤBesides,ㅤㅤ❜❜ㅤㅤA continuation that evokes the tilt of the head slightly towards the right side.ㅤㅤ❛❛ㅤㅤif the topic alone unsettles you this muchㅤㅤ...ㅤㅤPerhaps it was never as insignificant as you wanted others to believe.ㅤThough I suppose I should commend your restraint.ㅤMost people would've snapped long before now.ㅤExpressions are terribly honest things.ㅤSo,ㅤwhat do you think of the storm comingㅤ.ᐣㅤㅤ❜❜ㅤㅤ

noctis lounges — always outstretched ( taking up as much space as possible, relieving the joints, the memories in marrow, the forever. ) galas, charities — they were never his favorite things & that much remains even now, barely holding onto all the idle chatter that happens to come his way whether its dignitaries from accordo or socialites interested in whatever it is the prince has to say in conversations of lesser consequence. ' i've always liked storms. ' eyes closed, guard up, tone even & controlled — as if they could be talking about anything else. ' it'll be good for the foliage, for when we all return. ' return to where? even he's beginning to lose the plot.

the sea at galdin was quieter at night; the waves did not crash so much as breathe, and the fishermen were no longer trying to fetch their bread for the day. sand was still warm from the day, and it sank beneath sett's weight as he sat there, forearms resting on his knees, watching the tide creep in and out. the prince's vocals interrupted that silence, coming almost apologetic, a hush that broke the thought of peace. his head turned in response, and he studied him silently. ❝ you ain't wrong... ❞ he dug his digits into the sand, feeling the grains slide and shift, always moving even when they looked still. ❝ well, half the things they say about me ain't true either. back home, i'm as bad as one can be... and it somehow makes a good story. looks good on wanted posters too. ❞ he huffed a laugh, head shaking. ❝ but... in your case... maybe you're just looking at the wrong parts of the story. i understand all the stuff you hear about you. they make you feel more like an idea instead of a person. but... the good parts, maybe... there is truth there. ❞

A CONCEPT — A SUGGESTION — A HINT OF PERSONHOOD, SOUL GIFT - WRAPPED BY ULTERIOR MOTIVE — UNIQUE, QUAINT, TENDER. unsubtle insecurities remain all the same ( newspaper reports of thousands of lives lost, his own included & now in ways, he is little more than a memory. ) a brat prince, troubled soul, lost beneath the weight of the crown — but sett's words are reinvigorating in their own way, a realization that the soul can start fresh if given the chance, that the shadows of doubt are far larger than any truth there may be & while there are no roads to return to, at least this way, in some twisted accomplishment of freedom, noctis could forge his own path. he drags his knees to his chest. ' when you put it that way … the wanted posters really do you justice. ' how does the old saying go? their words are glue but he is rubber, so whatever they say bounces off & sticks back to them? something like that… he thinks of ignis & gladio & prompto, the good parts of this whole thing. ' maybe it's a good thing. ' he's really trying to convince himself, maybe sett too, with all that awkward social skill he's manifested over the years. ' i mean, i can be whatever i want — so why not become a fisherman? '

@hamletsboy

" IT HAS BEEN MANY YEARS SINCE YOU LAST . . . " voice fell , head lifting . at first that scent had been familiar . . . but now that she fully inhaled she could make out the differences , " you are . . . not regis . . . " her work with the mortar and pestle would need to wait . the herbs were not going anywhere . head turned so that eye-like gem could focus upon him . ahhhh . . . the outline of his frame was different . the energy was that of another .

' no doubt he came to you with alleged turmoil in his heart. ' bitterness does not suit him, but in spite of this, noctis presses on — blithe & uncaring for how it might make him sound ( for no matter how much he mourns, he cannot forgive. ) ' did he try to save my mother? ' a question he doesn't truly want the answer to. ' or did he know he would lose thousands of people to save one. '

One must be, in his position, but not out of lack of toleration--- the heir apparent he sits beside oft tests his patience, aye, but 'tis not for this reason that Ignis has perfected the art of tempering it. 'Tis to be a LISTENER, a shoulder for the burdened prince to lean upon when all other doors either shut or disappoint, and the walls continue to close in, threatening to crush, suffocate.

Here, Ignis listens, because Noctis does not open up to just anyone, does not open up about just anyTHING. Even when his jaw tightens at the reminder ( of the king, of the terrible INEVITABLE ), the incessant need to immediately jump in to soothe and reassure near consuming him, he listens.

Waits... and, then, he advises.

" Noct. " Voice stern, but soft. 'Tis to draw attention, not to SCOLD. Ignis thinks to reach out, grasp that hand within his own, but he does not... Noctis will come to him if he seeks it, Ignis has learned. " It is not a matter of whether or not you are capable, your highness, but rather... the CONSEQUENCES that would surely leave your father even more burdened than he already is. "

King Regis, aye, is undeniable ruler of their beautiful, albeit troubled kingdom, but never has he neglected his role as FATHER, too. Noctis may not always understand the innerworkings of his father's mind, but from a caretaker point of view... the young advisor understands entirely. Noctis IS capable... and that is precisely why Regis continues to take on the brunt of the ordeal, and does all he can to shield his one and only child from it as long as he can manage.

' the king's council would rather wait 'til there's a skeleton on the throne than face the truth. ' the sweetest, barest hint of a snarl in his words — for all of noctis's youthful imperfections, sloppy syllables on thick tongue when it comes to public speeches or the trill of consonants as he carefully elaborates the meanings of his words ( made worse now that there is no hint of an anxious lilt, only the confidence of a son who has seen enough. ) ' if we know the crystal is hard on the body, why do we sacrifice them right until the very end? i'm an adult, the least they could do is treat me like a reasonable solution. i'm young & still capable of so much more — ' but it isn't greed that causes him to drive the point home — the danger is to the body & it can kill — & the last thing noctis wants is for the beginning of the end to begin while he still has a chance to save his father. in the quiet, this subtle madness remains.

immense love … noctis snorts, turns his chin & closes up like a flower, arms wrapping around his torso to protect it from whatever else might make him sick to his stomach. here is your shield, given out of love, but gladio is expected to die for him if need be. here is your advisor, given out of love, but even ignis would lay down his life if he thought it meant something. here is your guard, given out of love, but even they will be a distant memory — & so forth until it even reaches himself. here is your royal apartment, given out of love, because noctis can't stop arguing with his father long enough for it to matter. an olive branch is silently extended. ' i suppose if anyone else heard what i was saying, they'd go & tell cor immediately. "the prince is conspiring!" or something ridiculous like that, if you think about it. but i'm just — thinking out loud. '