#I have so many more drawings to color but ill spread em out over a couple posts probably

[meruz]

some kids

[icemintfreeze]

What’s each of your Object OCs’ personalities, likes and dislikes? I really think they all are really cute and would really love to draw them in mini scenarios!

oh!!!! OH!!!! thank you?!! i have. a lot of them because each one is gonna play a big role in the show, so ill list em below if thats ok!!!BIG LIST BELOW O:

SO!! here we go:

Lava Lamp- Anxious, timid, closed-n? But he’s trying his best to be positive, to heal, to be better than he was!Slime Jar- JUBILANT! Sweet, very bright, loving! Lava Lamp’s right hand woman, they’re the closest of pals Water Wand- Welcoming, a great listener, very nice and always offers a cup of tea when they have visitors. They believe they’re magical; they want to live in the performing art city; not where they are now.Cuckoo Clock- Ditzy, loopy, high (off of life jahdhssh) never thinks twice, vulnerable to ALL danger. Has one brain cell sjdjjdjxSticky Notes- Very moody, each color sticky note is a different mood (green-happy, red-angry, Yellow-afraid, etc.), works 3 jobs, just. Tired FOODSJelly Bean- Sweet! Loving! A baby!!! A child at heart, she’s very bright and believes that the world is amazing.Cake Pop- Sassy, yet polite, a fashionista; mysterious aura. he aspires to live in the city of beauty, but he’s stuck with the foods; he feels like an oddball.Peanut Butter Cup- Rude, arrogant, close-minded. She knows how to cut someone down to nothing, let it be mentally or emotionally.Heart Lollipop- Ambivert! Loving and forgiving, yet self-depreciating (shes trying to drop the habit!)Lemon- Blind, somber, yet grateful to still be alive. Not afraid to speak up for their sibling, Lime.Lime- Protective over Lemon, doesn’t really care about himself. He’s either very cool n’ chill, or very very sour.Cough Drop- Drowsy, sad, constantly thinking about…..him. Feels extremely misplaced; focused on making cures for illnesses. Coughs sometimes. Nature PalsPoison Ivy- Brave, stubborn, kind of a jokester. Kind of mean. Can’t really come in contact with any one, otherwise they get a really nasty rash.Touch-Me-Not: Shy, scared, weak. Isn’t the strongest, can’t handle anything without crying or closing up. No one knows much about them.Ocean FriendsFire Coral- Tough, bilingual (knows english spanish n many more). He’s very smart but doesn’t like to show it; he’d rather be seen as a toughie than a nerd. Like Poison Ivy, no one can get close to him; they’ll get a very bad burn.Sea Anemone- Faithful, wise, trustworthy; the mom friend of the group. She will destroy anyone who hurts her pals. (she. has no arms tho…..)Fish Bowl/Container(?)- Skillful and mature. They take care of the beta fish inside of them, with the help Sea Anemone and Sea Glass (and sometimes Fire Coral)Sea Glass- Isolated, misty; they honestly can’t find much joy in anything. But, pair them with Slime jar, or Sea Anemone, or anyone? They’ll be  happy and alive; life will clear up for themMessage in a Bottle- Local postman of the ocean part, LOVES to spread gossip. Very conceited.Arts n’ Crafts!Canvas- very expression ate! if you were to draw anything on her face (or if she does so herself), her mood/personality would match the painting! (ex. draw something sad, she’ll be gloomy. draw a tree? she will stand still and up; like a tree).Clay- confused, silent, doesn’t know who they are. Tries looking for themselves in others; the way they do this? shapeshifts into other arts n crafts. (loves to shapeshift into Ticket’s form. Though, Ticket isn’t very fond of them).Glitter: Imaginative; spaces out constantly. They’re very silly, yet very sangfroid when it comes to situations.Bead Box- Glitter’s buddy, she’s very vitriolic. She has more book-smarts, she doesn’t want to be in this town anymore. She loves to learn; she loves to build, most of all.Water Bead- very sincere and honest; has a high tolerance for everyone, and is a great pal to vent to. But who knows whats going on in their head…BeautyEye Shadow- A former model, eye shadow is very non-verbal. She only speaks in a mysterious, yet soothing tone of voice. Her past is full of questions, and she has a mysterious aura wherever she goes. But don’t fuck with her; she will NOT have it.Earrings- Siblings, blue agate jewels; they absolutely LOVE to mess around with Eye Shadow. They like to misplace her things, mess around with her, play pranks; though they do it at a point. They never push her limits. They’re very respectful and when she is ticked, they keep their distance. The two love to bake.Card- Party animal!! He loves to throw extravagant parties, or wild ones, even small, calm ones! He doesn’t know why he was put here in the city of beauty; was it just because of his card cover?Tourmaline- they’re two in one! They both enjoy studying other types of minerals and diamonds. The most nerdy in the city, the others come to them for answers about regular jewel stuff; “where are diamonds found?” “how is gold made?” and, the most common: “do I look better with the rubies necklace or the pearled necklace?”Lights! Camera! Action!Music Box- can only sing or speak on a harmonic tone; very emotional during her performances. Very gentle and sweet, doesn’t mean no harm.Ticket- Very grumpy and hates this stupid town. Wants to be in arts n’ craftsville, because they love to draw. But they sell tickets for a living; and they hate it.SpooksGhost- Scares everyone they meet, but they don’t mean it; they’re very joyful and full of. life. they can float and they have strong supernatural powers; if they’re sad, it rains. if they’re angry, the earth shakes. spooky.Planchette- Pale, insane, paranoid yet proud of it; he sees things no one else can really see, sometimes summons demons when he’s truly angry. Otherwise, he’s just a trembling train-wreck during the day, like a vampire.SCIENCE!!Cursor- Very technology based. They’re a big nerd, they will randomly spew out facts that they’ve learned from the web; or, facts about gadgets they’ve built. Battery- Zany and Fidgety, she doesn’t understand why everyone thinks she’s so smart. She’s filled with so much energy!! When she’s running low, she’ll be very sluggish, and won’t know whats going on.Virus- Knows about all sicknesses and diseases. They’re the doctor of the group, but don’t get too close- they’ll get someone sick. They’re mostly bossy and they lead everyone else in the city.Glitch-In constant pain. They don’t remember what happened that made them this way. They believe that everything in this utopia isn’t well, but can never speak it out. No one knows about their past…Magma- Bold and fanatical, he thinks he’s the greatest in the city. He gets called Lava by a LOT of the objects; and this ticks him off.SO!!!! THIS WAS A LOT IM REALLY SORRY ANON BUT!!!! I HOPE THESE ARE GOOD!!!! they’re all still a bit of a WIP

[glittering-snowfall]

Prompt: “He told me to follow him.”

WARNING: ANGST, PAIN, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH

This is the sequel to the previous prompt I filled. It makes the crossover much clearer.

He is long and lanky, like a shadow cast at the end of the day. Bony cheekbones. Sunken, shadowed eyes. They match the color of his carnivalesque attire, those eyes. He wears a coat of dark purple – or perhaps maroon, Elsa cannot tell. When the light catches it one way, it seems only the ragtag outfit of a street performer. But when the light catches it another way, it reminds the queen of dried blood. The vest he wears is bright purple – gaudy like a showman’s garb. It makes him seem cheap, a two-bit huckster, hardly a threat. Even the skull and crossbones on his top hat seem only a gimmick to catch the eye of some bumpkin. Yet the rusty, bloody quality of his coat in the light keeps Elsa ill at ease. In the same manner, his eyes seem to flicker in the dim light, shifting like a slippery shadow... one moment violet, another moment seeming to be just touched with flecks of red…

Like a slippery shadow…

His shadow… Elsa keeps her eyes fixed on it, for it seems to move of its own accord. It mimics his movements, but something is just off enough in the synchronization to make her anxious…

“Who are you?” she demands.

The Shadow Man chuckles to himself. Oh, that’s the voice of a girl born with a silver spoon in her mouth, alright. Surly. Proud. Thinks she’s in command. He’s heard voices like hers all his life, talking down to him from their fancy cars, from up on high in their big New Orleans mansions.

He loathes them so.

No matter the time or place, these fat cats always sound the same. High and mighty. Holier than thou. They treat you like the mud beneath their boots, but they’ve got skeletons in their closets, oh yes…

He feels the tremble in her voice. It does him good to feel it. She’s still clinging to her fine airs. What will she do next, threaten call the guard on him? Well, let her wear her haughty tone like armor. No armor will protect her. He already knows she’s bleeding from the inside.

“A friend,” he says smoothly.

Elsa feels her hands grow clammy. His voice is rich as chocolate, deep as caverns beneath the mountains…

“What do you want of me?”

He only laughs a soft laugh, but it has the rumble of far-off thunder. “I think the better question is,” he answers, “‘What do you want?”

She eyes the stranger cautiously. “What do you mean?”

He loves watching the squirms of guilt, loves the moment wayward souls realize in horror that he can see into their hearts.

“Oh, I know what is to have a hard life, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Since I was a kid, I’ve scraped the shit off the streets. But you? Well, darling, I’ll be damned if you don’t put me to shame! Your life seems to wind like one long river of sorrow… How far it goes, you can’t tell, but the black waters seem to stretch on endlessly. You escape drowning once and, why, your little boat up and topples over again… Living in fear all those years, then your parents dying, then seeing your sister cold as ice. My, my!”

As he speaks, her life swirls before her in a cloud of purple tinged with flame. She sees her parents’ ship swallowed by the sea, sees their anguished faces when they realized there was no hope for them. She sees herself helpless in the darkness of her room. And then she sees Anna’s lifeless form before her like a statue hewn of purest ice.

The purple cloud spreads into a fog, and when the fog rises, a world of light and vapor is before her. The light is not purple or crimson, but white as heaven’s light. And there, at the heart of this glistening vision, half shrouded in pearly mists, she sees Anna and herself.

Naked.

Locked in an embrace.

She feels that rich-as-chocolate voice rustling in her ear:

“All your life, you’ve known pain. You’ve thought of others, buried your own wants for others’ sakes. But you know what you want, Elsa. Take it. Isn’t it time you thought of yourself for once?”

Elsa screams – and with her scream, the shadowland of light and pearl tears asunder, falls to pieces. She slumps to the ground and finds herself in the palace hallway once again.

“Never,” she breathes, and her voice is firm.

But her heart is pounding.

“I… I could never… No… Anna is not some bauble you can dangle in front of my face,” Elsa murmurs through gritted teeth. “She’s her own person with her own life to live. She… she wants to be with Kristoff… She is… happy… with Kristoff…”

Crumpled on the ground, she cannot see the Shadow Man’s face.

She cannot see how his face falls, his lips purse together and pencil-thin moustache bristles… only for his whole countenance to regain composure in an instant.

For the situation is salvageable. His mind works steadily as he studies the young queen curled up on the floor, sweat dripping from her waxy face.

As grubby and slick as a bit of shrimp…

…ready for the skewer.

“Always the honorable one,” he says softly. There seems to be no malice in his voice. “Always trying to do what’s best for your dear sister… but think about this, Elsa. The more the guilt, the shame, and self-hatred from this… lustful obsession… eat away at you… the more pain you’ll cause your sister. Already, your inner turmoil is making you revert to your old ways. You’re seeking out solitude, cutting yourself off from Anna again… and she can feel that, I promise you.”

Elsa looks up helplessly. “I don’t mean to…” she whimpers, but the Shadow Man goes on.  

“She might try to pay it no mind now, but give it a few more years, and there’ll be a gaping wound in her heart she cannot name.”

There is violent panic in Elsa’s voice now. “No… no, please, no…”

“Is that what you want, Elsa? To make the same mistakes you’ve always made? To torture Anna slowly in the process, torture the one person you love most in this world?”

Ugly sobs tear through Elsa’s body. The very act of trying to answer chokes her. At last, after many ragged breaths, she manages to speak.

“I wish I… didn’t have these… these feelings…” she gasps. “I wish I wasn’t such a… degenerate… I wish Anna and I could live as sisters, without this… this canker between us…”

In that moment, she wants something only he can offer.

In that moment, he has her.

How changed she is from when she first spoke – the queenly aura crashing down! He loves watching the mighty fall!

He puts a tender hand upon her shoulder. His shadow reaches out from the wall and does the same. She doesn’t even flinch.

Shadow and man cling to the young queen in a perverse image of comfort.

“Me and my friends can help with that…”

***

The great masks leer down at Facilier from the squalor of the voodoo emporium.

“Now, fri-i-e-e-e-nds,” he drawls in his smarmy singsong, “I know y’all were expecting me to swish the smoky souls of both that queen and princess into your waiting nostrils, nudge ’em into each other’s arms and watch ’em fall together like Paolo and Francesca, pretty as a picture, but–”

At Faciler’s “but–”, the eyes of the great masks narrow, burning with unearthly light. The greatest among the masks bares its teeth, a growl rumbling from beyond its jaws.

“Now, let me finish! Let me finish!” he cries, arms gesticulating wildly. “What I mean to say is, y’all don’t know that much about how to work human nature. Y’all are fine fellows, sure, but the darkest thoughts are the only ones to draw you in. Now, I’ll admit, I don’t have the highest opinion of my fellow man, but I know what love is and how it works within a body. You wanted to give her the power to sate her lust, but she doesn’t just lust after her sister. She loves her true. She wasn’t going to go jump at that offer. I threw it in her face and she threw it back at me. She’d rather her sister be happy than she herself have her own happiness. So I had to go about things my own way.”

When Facilier had begun to speak, there had been panic in his voice – but the more he spoke, the more pride scourged that panic away. They from the other side, why, they’d almost bungled the deal. He’d saved it. He alone. Through his own raw wit.

In his heart of hearts, he thinks he is cleverer than they are – and while he’d never say it outright (for he knows their rage would be terrible), in this moment, he cannot help but gloat a little… lord their own ignorance over them a bit.

“What did I do?” he says, in full showman style, as though he speaks to a tourist on the street and not the forces of darkness. “I appealed to that love. I made out that, the more her desires consume her, the more she tortures her sister. Queenie has to push her sister away so as not to succumb to temptation, but the more Queenie pushes her sister away, the more devastated the little princess becomes.  You see, that put our Ice Queen in a bind. If she sacrifices her own longings for her sister’s sake, it doesn’t matter. The sister still comes out hurt. That broke Queenie, broke her down but good. And when she was good and broken, I was able to slip a subtle word in…”

The great masks grin horribly now. Facilier basks in the glory, never realizing that he is less than a dog proud of doing a silly trick for its master’s favor.

“She wants to be washed clean of her sin. She wants never to think of her sister in that away again. That way, she doesn’t have to avoid her – and that way, her sister doesn’t end up hurt, heartbroken, and alone. Isn’t that sweet?” he coos. “Well, gentlemen, I’ve never been much in the revivalist spirit before, but now? What are we waiting for?! Let’s cleanse this poor soul! And don’t you worry, don’t you worry! I’ve been watching the sister too! She’s already on the hook, doesn’t even realize it!”

Facilier’s laughter mingles with the laughter of his friends, shaking the shabby voodoo parlor. His long-fingered hand glides across the floor and the floor opens beneath his feet. Instead of wood, that remote part of Arendelle Castle spreads below him. He sees Elsa where he left her, kneeling as if in prayer. Yet he knows she has not the strength to pray. He studies the fine details of her face as though she were an ornately crafted chess piece. He savors the creases of pain about her eyelids, relishes the brittle grey straw of her hair…

Then he reaches down through the portal and whispers:

“So, your majesty, do we have a deal?”

Elsa’s bloodshot eyes snap open at the prickle of his voice.

Other voices whisper to her and she does not know if they are the Shadow Man’s friends or her own pained thoughts…

You’re a pervert…

Monster…

If you remain as you are, you hurt Anna…

You cause her pain…

You can live with yourself this way…

And with her…

As you were meant to…

As sisters…

What does your soul matter – if you can cleanse this contamination in your mind?

What does your soul matter – so long as Anna is safe from the darkness in you?

“We have a deal,” she murmurs, and shakes the Shadow Man’s hand.

There is a sea of light and color and the world becomes a blur.

***

Queen Elsa of Arendelle sleeps better than she has in ages.

That first night, the Shadow Man watches over her like a dark god. The lines of pain which he so loved in her face are melted now. He has kept his end of the bargain.

When she awakens the next morning, she remembers nothing – not of the Shadow Man, not of the deal, not of her unnatural passion for her sister.

She awakens refreshed. Sunlight streams through her gauzy curtains. Birds twitter with joy.

Anna bounds into the room, hair wild in the morning. “You’re up!” she cries happily. “Yay!”

Elsa smiles at her, a serene and peaceful smile.

“Kristoff and I are going for a walk later on today! We’ll tell you all about it when we get back!”

“Of course, Anna!”

Anna pauses to look at Elsa closer. “You look… different today, Elsa! It’s a good different! You look better than you have in weeks!”

Elsa feels a warm rush of pure happiness.

“I feel better than I have in weeks, Anna.”

The Shadow Man lets out a sharp bark of laughter.

Days roll into months, months into years. The world seems in eternal summer for the sisters of Arendelle and their loved ones. They frolic in the garden. They go for picnics. In afternoons ripe and lush, they make daisy chains in the meadows. Olaf makes friends with the buzzing bees. In the blue glow of nights, Kristoff plays his lute merrily. Anna rests her head gently against his shoulder and Elsa looks on, beaming like the sun.  In all their hearts, it is summer – warm and glorious summer!

Until the day of reckoning comes.

Usually, in the days before a debt is due, The Shadow Man contents himself with his victims’ mounting panic – their hysterical desperation, their attempts to find any way to weasel out of the deal…

This, though? This might be better.

Queenie doesn’t have a clue.

It makes it so much more beautiful when she starts screaming.

Her sister is there beside her, gazing at her with adoring eyes. Adoration turns to horror as that huge mask shows itself, opens its glowing maw, and inhales.

Its first breath flays the skin from off the queen’s back, sucking her backward.

She tries to cling to Anna.

“What’s happening to me?” she sobs, her face contorted with tears and pain.

She screams her throat raw.

Weke, weke! so cries a pig prepared to the spit.

Her screams are music to his ears.

In clinging to Anna, Elsa pulls her along with her.

Even in the cyclone of pain, she senses Anna being dragged along too.

That is why Elsa finally lets go.

For Anna. To save her.

Anna can do nothing, can only watch Elsa be consumed by the neon glow radiating from that mask’s jaws.

The princess of Arendelle stands still as stone, eyes deadened in shock, gazing at the blinding glare of light emanating from the dark entity.

It is at this moment that the Shadow Man strides into her view, striking against the brilliant green behind him.

Seeing this shady figure of flesh and bone, cold shock kindles into outrage. Anna lunges at the Shadow Man, pummeling him with her fists.

Alas, her pummels are far weaker than usual and come to naught, for Anna is too overwrought with anguish and grief to put much force into them.

“Easy there, girl!” the Shadow Man cries. “Easy there!”

“What have you done to my sister?!” Anna demands.

“I haven’t done a thing to her. She made a deal with some friends of mine.”

And he tells her all in naked detail. He even tells her of Elsa’s love for her, how it ran deeper than the love of a sister.

He sees Anna blanch at that and wishes he could take a photograph of her face – so his friends could taunt Elsa with it over on the other side.

He dearly wishes that he could immortalize that look of confused disgust and use it to sting the young queen for eternity.

But as the Shadow Man goes on, Anna’s features soften. Her disgust for Elsa turns to pity and then to some strange mixture of pity and love – love tarnished by bitter knowledge, but love just the same.

That’s what the Shadow Man has been banking on.

“Take me instead,” Anna murmurs.

“What was that?”

“Take me in Elsa’s place. She’s… she’s suffered enough…”

Ah, the better angels of our nature! Sweet, self-sacrificing Anna! Tinged with pity, tinged with guilt. Maybe a trifle of self-blame in there too considering the way he framed the story he just told!

His grand design works.

“You would do that… for her?” he intones gravely.

Anna stares into the yawning chasm of the gigantic mask’s mouth. She stands upon the brink.

“I… I would,” she says softly, and her voice shows she is afraid.

“Done!” the Shadow Man thunders – and with one rough shove, he hurls Anna headlong into the neon-green abyss.

“I’ll mention your offer to my friends on the other side!” he calls after her. “To tell the truth though, I don’t believe they’ll take you up on it! They’re not the sort of folks that go altering deals out of the goodness of their hearts! I’m sure your sis’ll appreciate the sentiment though!”

He leans in over the mask’s teeth to mock her, then pulls himself back.

Wouldn’t want to get pulled in himself.

He twitches in mild apprehension.

When the mask’s mouth closes, he looks up at it with a smirk.

“You don’t plan to take her up on that offer, do you?”

The chamber rings with ominous laughter.

“I thought not.”

[mako-lies]

I wrote a fic for @ignoctweek ! The prompt was Pressed Flower. You can read it here or on AO3. 

Title: promise Rating: T  Notes: This work contains allusions to an unspecified mental illness. Mentioned Luna/Noct or Luna & Noct, however you’d like to read it. Takes place in this universe. 

It’s merely a passing fancy that catches him so off-guard that he indulges. Ignis purchases flowers from the supermarket.

The cosmos are lovely—vibrant purple blooms, surrounded by clusters of small white flowers that are delicate as lace. They smell divine—a soft, non-cloying scent—perhaps he’ll have to see if they make candles or soap with it.

If he has time, he chides himself. He has already wasted more than enough of it on this venture.

+

The flowers moulder on his coffee table for nearly a week, beside the photo books that Prompto recommended him. His apartment, while tidy and not wanting for any comfort, is not where he spends his time. Naturally, his days are spent in the Citadel or Noctis’s apartment. On rare occasion, he finds time to go out.

But his apartment is more a place to sleep, when he doesn’t have more pressing concerns elsewhere. (And when he doesn’t fall asleep on the overstuffed couch in his Citadel office.)

Ignis considers moving his flowers to said office, but they’ve already begun to dry and last time he bought flowers for his office, Gladio had teased him about some “admirer” until Ignis had finally given them to one of the elderly Citadel cooks. Gladio had apologized later, shame-faced, and Ignis hadn’t been above accepting his bribe of Ebony.

So he leaves the flowers at home, but the problem remains on his mind.

+

Waiting outside of the locker rooms for Noctis, Ignis finds himself looking at “do it yourself” articles about what to do with cut flowers. He has never been one to leave a problem unsolved, after all.

Of course, pressing them is a classic suggestion, one that is amenable enough.

It has little practical purpose, but surely he is permitted his moments of frivolity? So long as no one can witness them, of course.

+

Pressing flowers, as far as flights of fancy go, is simple enough with the myriad articles he finds on the subject. Seven days later, his flowers come out from between the waxed-lined pages of The Tenebraen Encyclopedia, 7th Edition.

They turn out… decently. Some of the blooms are twisted, like he didn’t get them perfectly on their faces, but most have retained their color and their shape. Two of the seven flowers he pressed he would even consider ideal. Lovely.

But even in their loveliness, they raise a new conundrum: what to do with them?

+

“Now I have pressed flowers that I don’t know what to do with.” He adjusts his glasses for want of something to do with his hands. “I know, of course, that I didn’t have to do anything with the flowers save enjoy them. It simply seemed a shame to throw them out without enjoying them.”

Avery, his counselor, scratches their beard. For a moment, he’s worried they’ll rehash the old—you should spend less time working—conversation. The one that they’ve been having since His Majesty began insisting Ignis attend therapy, shortly after his breakdown following his acceptance into the Crownsguard.

“Must you do something with them? Can it not be enough to have them and enjoy them?” They look at him sharply from over the rim of their glasses, a trick Ignis reminds himself to master for when Noctis won’t eat his vegetables, however cleverly masked.

He supposes—except he can easily imagine himself storing them away and creating clutter.

“I know that look. Very well. Could you give them to someone else?” they ask.

“Some aren’t perfect…” he trails off as Avery gives him another over-the-rim stare. “I’ll try.”

“Good. That’s your homework before next session. Either gift them to someone else, or content yourself with enjoying them.” It seems an easy enough task, but Ignis knows it may well prove to be the most difficult thing he does all week. Including attending the Councilor’s Banquet on Wednesday evening.

+

Gladio, with his blooming love of the outdoors, is the obvious choice, but, as it always does, it comes back to Noct.

Noct is curled up on the couch of his apartment, clutching the notebook he shares with Lady Lunafreya. His mouth is pursed in thought, hair in it’s typical unkempt style, and he surveys the spread of stickers on his coffee table. Unfortunately, in creating the table space, he’s tossed all his books and video games and comics onto the floor under the table. Ignis itches to clean it, but Avery has suggested he attempt to clean Noct’s apartment less, unless it’s absolutely dire.

He wants to say this is dire, but he’s seen worse. Trash piled to the ceiling. Spilled juice left to mold on the counter. Laundry covering his bed, forcing Noctis to sleep on top of the mountain. He can see it all in his mind’s eye so clearly.

Ignis blinks back to himself as Noctis says, “I need to find new stickers, Specs. The ones I’ve got are lame.”

Bollocks. They are going to spend another series of weeks combing Etsy for new stickers. He’ll need to make inquiries to all the speciality stationary shops in the city. A headache begins forming behind his eyes. Finding stickers is one thing, but finding stickers Noct will consider fit enough for the captive princess… Even Ignis’s training and skills aren’t always up to thattask.

Noct sets aside a holographic skull sticker that Gladio had found in some Indie Music shop. He sighs. Ignis has flashbacks of Noctis spreading a store’s entire selection of stickers over the floor and searching for hours as Ignis’s phone erupted with notification after notification as Gladio live texted a council meeting he’d gone to in Ignis’s stead.

Finding stickers is no simple matter. Ignis sweated into his undershirt, risking sweating through to his dress shirt, when he remembers the flowers with all the desperation of a man holding to the final rock before the plunge of a waterfall.

Pressed as they are, the flowers could easily be inserted into the journal. “I have,” his voice rasps, and he clears it, “I have freshly pressed flowers that might just do the trick.”

“Flowers? Isn’t that Gladio’s schtick?” Noctis asks, picking up a glitzy unicorn sticker and tossing it back into the pile just as quickly.

“Last I had heard, his doctor was checking him for allergies. And I assure you, I find flowers quite pleasant.”

Noctis looks up, frown tugging at his mouth. “Allergies? Oh, he’ll love that. Explains all the sneezing, though.” Then he laughs. “Sure, I guess. I’ll send ‘em to Luna. But when did you start pressing flowers, anyway?”

“Last week. I’ll bring them tomorrow.”

The smile he’s graced with, all but gleaming, shines like the promise of stars Ignis has always dreamed of seeing. His uncle says that he saw them as a child, in Tenebrae before Mother shipped him to his Grandmother in Altissia. But he can recall the stars as well as he can recall his mother’s face, which is to say, not at all.

A pang. He wishes the flowers were perfect. If Noctis is picky about stickers, how will he see Ignis’s first attempts at flower pressing? But Noctis has been—accepting, if not patient—of Ignis’s failures in the past. No matter how many times he fails in making the Tenebraen desert, Noctis still eats them all. Perhaps he will accept the flowers, too, even if he cannot bear to send them to Lady Lunafreya.

Despair claws at his stomach with raptor claws, before he reminds himself—he needn’t be perfect. He cannot be. And striving will only make him a friendless killjoy. He smiles at Noct, and means it, even if he remains unsure whether his face demonstrates that same sentiment. “Well, at the least, it shall give you an extra day to write a fitting message to Lady Lunafreya.”

Noctis flushes, a pleasant pink in his cheeks, and bends once more to his task, fringe hiding his dear eyes. That fond longing wells up, as it ever does. Yes. The pressed flowers will be a (hopefully) wonderful gift.

+

The following day, Ignis sifts through his flowers and finds that three of the seven are fine enough to give. The others have folded petals that are more than unsightly. But those three are near perfect.

He is maybe less than subtle in placing the flowers between the pages of A Brief History of Economic Relations Between Lucis and Accordo, which is not even remotely brief, but is important nonetheless.

Noctis stares at it open-mouthed upon its presentation. He groans. “Seriously, Specs? I’ve got tests coming up. I thought we agreed—no more extra work before tests...” He tentatively cracks open the book like his doom is contained in the dry tome, then he stops at the sight of the flowers. “Oh, wow, Specs. They’re—pretty. Luna’s gonna love ‘em.” He turns that smile on Ignis again, and Ignis alights with it.

Enough that he wonders what lengths he would go to, to ensure that Noctis will continue to smile?

“Do I have to read the book?” Noctis asks, curious fingers gentle on the petals.

“Not now. But you should try to read most of it before you change classes in April.” Dry though it is, it is an important topic for Noctis to know before he becomes King. Though they all hope the day will be far off, the reality is is that His Majesty appears weaker with each passing day.

“Expensive flowers, but thanks. I’ll start working through it after I finish my tests.”

“Good. I’ll help you study. Let’s take a look,” he says, and guides Noctis to the couch.

They settle together, Noctis pressed up warm and soft to his side, and they go over his textbooks, and Ignis never wants this moment to end. The future will come, but oh, how he wishes it wouldn’t.

+

Ignis doesn’t see Noctis put the flowers into the journal, but with how closely he guards it, it’s no surprise. So he puts it out of mind—and nearly forgets the entire matter, save for those instances when he sees beautiful flowers he could press, that draw him in as though he’s a starving butterfly. But he refrains, in stunning feats of will-power.

Except a year later, shortly after Noct finishes high school, Ignis is helping him go over a new set of trade proposals with Altissia. Noctis frowns at the notes he’s been taking. “My journal is out of space. Mind grabbing me an empty one from the drawer?” Noct asks, gesturing at his desk without looking up.

Ignis makes it a point not to go through Noctis’s drawers, even when cleaning for him.

Privacy is in short supply for the monarchy, and Ignis is driven to preserving as much as it as he can. Not going through Noctis’s things is small, but it is still of vital import.

The drawer is a jumble—pens and notebooks and stickers and what looks suspiciously like his bank book. “Which journal would you like?”

“Blue one.”

There’s a blue satin bound notebook. Purple glittering stars are painted on the covers. It’s lovely, and very Noctis. That boy does love his stationary.

Ignis flips it open to check the paper composition (and to ensure it’s blank, of course) and something falls out of the pages. He bends to pick it up off the floor, and stops when he sees familiar purple blooms. The flowers that he gave to Noct. He didn’t give them to Lady Lunafreya after all.

Were they not sufficient? “Noct… Are these the flowers I gave you?” The words can barely escape his suddenly closed throat.

Noctis looks up. Then looks away again. “Oh. Yeah. They were really nice. So… I kept them. Are you mad?”

“Mad?” He puts the flowers back into the journal, with gentle but trembling hands. Is it true? Did Noctis keep them because he wanted them, more than he wanted something to give the princess? “No. Of course not.”

That Noctis thought them so fine a gift he had to keep them… If that’s the case… “Why keep them? I didn’t think you overfond of flowers.”

“They’re really nice, Iggy. I usually keep the things you get me… It’s—they always remind me of you.” Noctis shuffles through the reports in his hands, but he fixes his endless blue gaze on Ignis.

“Well, then—I must say I’m glad. That you’ve cherished my gifts.”

Something is blooming between them, something with that same sweetness of the flowers. Noctis sets aside the papers and approaches. He stalls—time suspended between them, some tension born of potential. Ignis holds the journal and the flowers. Noctis smiles, so beautiful and reassuring, Ignis’s hands sweat in the second skin of his gloves—Noctis puts his hand on Ignis’s shoulder, touch bright and searing even through his dress shirt, vest, and his undershirt. His skin heats with awareness, that heady sweetness cloying in the air between them, till Ignis fears he will become drunk on this attention. Ignis knows he shouldn’t respond so, but he cannot stop.

As ever, he will gladly drink up whatever affection Noctis will give. “Thanks, Iggy,” Noctis says, as soft and soothing as lavender. “Think you could make me some more?”

“I’ll get you flowers any time you’d like,” Ignis promises.

“And I’ll keep them all. Fill my apartment up with them,” and Noctis seals his own vow with a pointed kiss on Ignis’s cheek.

Alight. Joy bursting at the seams where Ignis had stitched himself back together, painstakingly over the years. Filled where once there was but empty sorrow.

He did have his eye on some pansies at the market. Anticipation curls within his gut, sweet as anything. Something to look forward to, as he dazedly hands Noctis both the flowers and the journal.

Ignis has a whole library. He can fill the pages with flowers for Noct, and it will never match his care or devotion. “I’d best get started then.”

“Hold your chocobos,” Noctis laughs, sitting back down. “Help me with this, first, Specs.”

And, beaming, Ignis does.