[ When the rebuilding starts, Ignis is offered a plethora of positions, the vast majority of which while tempting and important would have taken him away from the one place he wanted to be. Not the Citadel, though he did enjoy being home for a given meaning of the word, but no, by Noctis' side.
Some didn't get it; Ignis' dedication to the throne had always been intangible. He served Regis because that was what his family did, and when serving Regis turned to serving Noctis he had taken to that with the same dedication and ferocity he did everything else. What he hadn't expected - what others didn't understand was that it wasn't duty that kept him bound to Noctis' side, though that did play a part. No, it was something raw, something ridiculous, almost, like out of one of Gladiolus' absurd romance novels. It could simply be laid out in one word: love.
He might serve his country and the ghost of Regis better if he were elsewhere, perhaps, but Ignis had meant what he told Ardyn all those years ago, fierce and hoarse and terrified at losing the only good thing this world had. The state of the world paled in comparison to Noctis living and that was his duty above all else. He was an extension of Noctis' will and intent and his place was forever at his side, in any capacity allowed.
In this moment, it's taking a bite of the croissant offered to him and resisting the urge to lick Noctis' fingers clean lest he start something they don't have time to finish. Of course he'd be aware of it; Ignis may be a filter to ensure that idiotic bullshit doesn't reach his king, but Noctis is uncannily perceptive at points. ]
I'm afraid, darling, that I've decided to run off with a woman I met at the market. She sells spices. It will be a boring life, but you can always come visit me at the stall.
[ Oh. The croissant is good. Ignis shifts in closer (not so much snuggling despite that being the entirely appropriate word) and uses his hands to work around Noctis's body so he can butter and spread jam over half of the croissant he's neatly decided is now his. ]
Perhaps we'll adopt the bat boy the tabloids are convinced lives in a closet here.
no subject
Some didn't get it; Ignis' dedication to the throne had always been intangible. He served Regis because that was what his family did, and when serving Regis turned to serving Noctis he had taken to that with the same dedication and ferocity he did everything else. What he hadn't expected - what others didn't understand was that it wasn't duty that kept him bound to Noctis' side, though that did play a part. No, it was something raw, something ridiculous, almost, like out of one of Gladiolus' absurd romance novels. It could simply be laid out in one word: love.
He might serve his country and the ghost of Regis better if he were elsewhere, perhaps, but Ignis had meant what he told Ardyn all those years ago, fierce and hoarse and terrified at losing the only good thing this world had. The state of the world paled in comparison to Noctis living and that was his duty above all else. He was an extension of Noctis' will and intent and his place was forever at his side, in any capacity allowed.
In this moment, it's taking a bite of the croissant offered to him and resisting the urge to lick Noctis' fingers clean lest he start something they don't have time to finish. Of course he'd be aware of it; Ignis may be a filter to ensure that idiotic bullshit doesn't reach his king, but Noctis is uncannily perceptive at points. ]
I'm afraid, darling, that I've decided to run off with a woman I met at the market. She sells spices. It will be a boring life, but you can always come visit me at the stall.
[ Oh. The croissant is good. Ignis shifts in closer (not so much snuggling despite that being the entirely appropriate word) and uses his hands to work around Noctis's body so he can butter and spread jam over half of the croissant he's neatly decided is now his. ]
Perhaps we'll adopt the bat boy the tabloids are convinced lives in a closet here.