#also sorry snap im straight laying on the floor away from snap phone so u dont get crying rn

[hollowfairybabybat]

yk ig a pro of a family member dying is u can cry as much as u want loudly n other family assumes its just that lol n mostly its over that but yk how it b sometimes

[yoitssabrinee]

To Mercy We Plead

I am actually quite dissatisfied with how this turned out, but it got a little too long (is 7 pages and 3263 words long? lol) so here’s the first chapter of what I think is decent enough for a Prompto + Reader thing? Yeah lmao

Many thanks to @inconsistencys​ and @projectcherry12​ for their help, feedback, and all the references they have provided me with--i could never do this without their help and support (and for Christ’s sake please follow them they are amazing people ok thank u) and also i need u guys to point out what i did wrong here and what i amiss because i am seriously delirious rn oh my god

p.s. this is unedited btw lmao i’m still in the dark about what to write for the summary so here’s to nothing!

SUMMARY:

A lifetime of repentance would never erase the regret building inside you as long as the person you’ve hurt are still bound to their past. But maybe redemption is on your way, and you’d be damned to let that chance go. (Prompto Argentum + Reader)

WARNING: Mentions of bullying, harassment.

prologue - part 1 - part 2

It was eight in the morning.

Sun was way up in the sky; the air smelled fresh and nice; the sky was clear; and it seemed to be the perfect weather for a stroll in the park, or maybe a casual walk through the city sidewalks, staring at street-side stalls selling kebabs and ice cream cones or just simple trinkets like key chains and cheap bracelets.

Yet here you were, face down and backside up, spine sore and screaming in pain at the hit it took from the blunt object across the room.

That made it the fifth time you’ve been kissing marble floors in a span of nearly one hour.

Your vision was swimming, unshed tears prickling at the corners of your eyes and body singing with exertion, but you’ve mapped and memorized the layout of the room so clearly from days moving all around it to know which corner was which even when you had your eyes closed—the trick here was to maximize your hearing sense so you could make out the movements of the other recruits, who were crowding the outline of the stage, silently snickering behind their hands.

Lips thinning in defiance, you quickly whirled and jumped into position, scrambling for the makeshift wooden sword laying just a ways away—previously knocked out of your hand—from you and biting back a sob as you stumbled forward, facing the opponent that had been handing your ass back to you in the past fifty-five minutes.

You knew this was not part of training—it was just a simple reflex-based move, dammit—but still your face felt hot with shame.

Not to mention that it was an extremely important day, and you totally blew it.

Baby blue eyes watched you and your opponent’s forms from the side line, silently judging your performance the whole hour you had been on that floor, eyes squinting whenever you took a hit on whichever part of your body that was left open for your rival to strike. It was humiliating—both from having Cor the Immortal’s eyes on you and seeing disappointment crinkling them every time you hit the deck, and catching the glint in your audience’s narrowed orbs as they silently cheered on your loss.

You were a hundred percent sure you just failed the test.

Cor’s voice rang across the expanse, “You’ve got five minutes left. Make it count.”

Make it count.

Like hell you would.

With a yell you charged, wooden sword swiping forward with unrelenting force, your intentions loud and clear—bring the enemy down in one fell swoop and spare yourself from yet another day of insult and embarrassment.

But, of course, this was one of the top fighters you were dealing with—top jock of the elite Special Forces, newly initiated as recruit barely six months ago but he was already making his way up with amazing performance. At this rate even you wouldn’t be surprised to see the likes of him flanking Cor’s side as his right hand man.

Which, to your dismay, just solidified everybody’s—minus yours—opinions on him as he sent you sprawling a final time to the floor, concluding the day’s events.

It was barely nine in the morning.

The applause that followed nearly made you deaf, but you were too busy willing yourself not to cry as you stand up, using the sword as support to steady your stance before you made your way toward the threshold. Ignoring all the pointed looks aimed your way, you trotted toward where the Marshall was standing, clipboard in his arm.

You wanted to scream, you wanted to plead to him to give you a second chance. You’d do anything to make up for that lack of performance, the absence of focus that was the main point of all the training you’ve endured for the past nine months. Yet the moment you stood before him, saluting and addressing him by title, the look on his face gave him away. At this rate even disappointment was an understatement; you turned your gaze to the floor, finding interest on the cracks between the tiles.

Hours of toiling and getting decked in the shins at ass o’clock by colleagues who just wanted to bring you down had all amounted to nothing.

You heard him call your name, and when you lift your eyes from the floor you were met with icy blues boring deep into your skull, his lips thinning into a straight line. “I want you to know that you have potential. I want you to know that I know that potential is somewhere in that body of yours, waiting to be brought out.” He was silent for a spell before he continued, “But I also want you to know that today, you didn’t meet the expectations I’ve set up for most of the recruits that have joined us here today. Your posture is off, your stance needs more work, your overall performance is lacklustre at best, and I’m not even going to touch on the way you handle yourself during mock battles.”

You nod, then finding whatever strength you had in you, you said, “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

He took another moment longer to stare at you before he let out a long sigh, signing something off on the clipboard. You didn’t want to see what it was, but you were fairly sure he had just written you off as a ‘fail’.

You dug your teeth into your bottom lip, feeling fresh tears stinging your lashes.

“Right now you’re not ready for that. Not yet. I’m sorry, but you know what this means for you, right?”

You nodded, not daring to lift your eyes to meet his, fearing that the tears would actually spill should they make contact.

Cor let out another sigh.

“You’re dismissed.”

And just like that, you failed the exam that would initiate you into the Crownsguard as an elite.

(s)

The Discussion tab was brimming with visitors, as usual; since the last time you were there, it had reached the triple digits in a span of a week, stated by the ever rotating digital numeral widget tucked at one corner of the website. Today, you were contributing another number to that widget by surfing through the page, fingers finding the ‘Post New Thread’ button on default and flying over the virtual keyboard to type.

It only took a couple of taps to get to where you usually frequented on the forum, having the website bookmarked for convenience on your phone. Since the minute you left the training room, every recruit that had passed you at the halls kept turning your way; you were past the point where you wanted to just snap and tell them off. You never know what they were saying, but you figured anything that they have to say was about you—and anything about you was never a good thing.

Especially since every eye seemed to be judging your every move.

Somnus’ Assembly for the Desperate and Needy—it was one of the only refuges you have, ever since you were initiated as a beginner into the Crownsguard forces; one of the only places where you could express yourself and your words without being looked at as if you were mental. Ever since your accidental stumble into the website during one exceptionally spiralling day, months prior, you have been a frequent, if not a little too infrequent, visitor of the page, occasionally posting threads retelling your troubles or giving out advice to those who you think might need it—or, you know, just drop in others’ threads and comment. In that place where nobody knew anybody except for their tales of toil and distress, no one would give you the side eye because no one knew what your history was and they would never judge you based on what you used to be.

Some, if not all, of the visitors have disclosed their own personal details to give vivid descriptions to their stories, but you weren’t on that level of comfortable to even share your past to the internet world. At least, not yet.

The ‘New Thread’ text box was only filled with a line of words, after a couple of minutes of deleting, then retyping, then deleting before retyping again, because every word you used seemed to expose too much, tell too much of your side. You just wanted to be frank, straightforward, and honest, but at the same time you didn’t want to give away anything.

In the least, you wanted a side where you could keep all your secrets without being appraised. The website have been your saving grace.

 {toothless-vore has posted a new thread!}

 Your lips quirked into a small smile at the sight of the bolded letters gracing yet another tab of new thread discussion on the page, a tinge of relief washing over you at finally letting a piece of distress out. You were about to swipe the webpage out, having done away your trouble, when it suddenly refreshed by itself, and your thread indicated that a visitor had read it, and commented on it.

You opened the post, wondering what it was, then felt the smile at your lips growing wider as you read:

 {yellow-birdboy has posted a reply!} {10:11AM}

∑(;°Д°) omg are u ok?? im sorry that happened to u!! are u alright???

 It was only a simple thread, the top post lined with only one sentence, read: just failed exam, conked out atm, feelin real down and need lots of choc. But to this person who had gone by the username yellow-birdboy, it was a big deal. Funny how you have trouble making friends in the real world, but on the internet, people like this wanted to hear what you have to say and read all your stories with immense interest, especially since none of you know each other that personally to invest time in strangers on the net. One of the perks of being anonymous and hiding behind fake names, you guessed.

 {toothless-vore has posted a reply!} {10:12AM}

yea m fine, nothing i cant handle dw ( ´ ▽ `)ﾉ

{yellow-birdboy has posted a reply!} {10:15AM}

i know u can, but lemme know if u wanna vent yea?? im always up for a lil motivation!! ( •̀ᗜ•́)ง

{toothless-vore has posted a reply!} {10:19AM}

thnx boo, preciate it (✿´ ‿`)

 This Birdboy user wasn’t entirely new in your list of followers and subscribers; in fact, he had been among many who was—supposedly—enamoured by the way you “carried” yourself, as they put it—to them, you seemed like the strong type of person, full of wisdom waiting to be imparted to those who wanted them. You weren’t an admin, not even a moderator, of the forum, so you didn’t know why they would actually take a liking to you, but seeing the increasing numbers of subscribers on your profile, you might as well be one.

It was just that Birdboy—you liked to dub them as that—was one of the few who cared enough to chat you up, lifting your spirits with chats that would carry you into the morning and making you laugh at horrible puns they cooked up for your sake. Contrasting ironically with how the daylight would often turn that smile upside down.

 {toothless-vore has posted a reply!} {10:21AM}

talk bout motivation, it seems like tmro is my 1st apptmt ( •́〰•̀)

{yellow-birdboy has posted a reply!} {10:23AM}

oo yea, u mentiond that like last week!! did ya kno who u gonna meet?? ( ◕▽◕)

{toothless-vore has posted a reply!} {10:25AM}

idk but if its anything like a therapy i doubt the doc wd be any nice ( •́ᗣ•̀)

aaaand i heard its gonna be group ( ; ≧ 〜≦)

{yellow-birdboy has posted a reply!} {10:27AM}

ooh

looks like its gonna be

team-ing w ppl, dontcha think?? ( >ᗜ◕)୨

 You didn’t even realize you were bursting with laughter until the occupant of the bed across yours turned to give you a long, weird look. You immediately clapped a hand over your mouth, snorting into your palm as you tried to calm yourself, fingers of the other hand furiously typing out a response:

 {toothless-vore has posted a reply!} {10:28AM}

WTF that was bad that was really really bad n u shud feel ashamed of urself omg

{yellow-birdboy has posted a reply!} {10:29AM}

HEY!! ( •̀ᗣ•́)

well at least it made u laugh right?? ( ;´ `)╯

{toothless-vore has posted a reply!} {10:31AM}

yea lol

thnx birdie <3

{yellow-birdboy has posted a reply!} {10:33AM}

no prob!! ( ◕▽◕)

oh yea, spk of apptmt, i just scheduled one too

n guess what?? its tmro ヽ( ; ⁰▽ ⁰)ﾉ

im so scared lol

 It was an agreement, basically; if one made an appointment to go through counselling therapy, then the other would support it by making one, too. A promise made during a night where hushed, cynical whispers turned into full-blown brawling sessions that escalated into you—and the party involved—going through the weekend in detention, allowance to go home or anywhere lifted until all of you behaved accordingly.

Not like you actually have a home to go to, but you had plans, and you were quite bummed when it happened.

 {toothless-vore has posted a reply!} {10:35AM}

aw yes u did it bud!!

gud luck 2 both o us then!!

{yellow-birdboy has posted a reply!} {10:36AM}

yep! (•̀ᴗ•́)و ̑̑

hey i know this is sudden but i gotta go so ttyl!!

n tell me everything bout ur session latr tmro ok??

 You barely typed out ok!! cyaa when the phone was wrenched out of your hand, and you watched in horror as a tall brunette before you—dressed in Crownsguard fatigues minus the jacket issued to every initiate—swiped through the screen, reading everything that was on it while sporting a sideways grin—the same grin that you’ve come to hate, because you damn well know who this was, and you weren’t about to give in to her. Not yet.

Probably over your dead body. Some day.

“Give that back, Adicus.” There’s venom in your voice, and any lesser human would have just handed you what you wanted without even looking at you twice—except you were the lesser human in this case and you knew that the sternness in your tone would do nothing again this person who was literally taller—and bigger—than you were. The two women flanking both her sides did little to assuage your fears; they were larger than you, albeit a little smaller than their taller leader. “Or else.”

But your threat only fell into deaf ears, as this Adicus flung back her chestnut tresses to look at you through raised brows, lips set in a snarky grin. “Or else what, tough one?” she spat out, something dripping from the tone of her voice that made you shiver involuntarily. “Nice of you to try to come at me with that look and tone, considering you just got your ass handed by Melphites and failed your initiate exam.” Then she put a hand over her chest, face scrunched in mock hurt. “Ooh, the pain! Don’t worry, I know exactly how it feels. Too bad for someone who claimed they wanted to protect the people, they just keep failing, y’know? It’s natural.”

Tristus Adicus. You remembered her from your heydays in grade school—the figurative leader of the group you had approached and befriended before a certain fiasco prompted your transfer, thus cutting off your (supposed) friendship with her. She had been in awe of your boldness—that was what she had been telling you, until the moment came to light where you just know it was her doing that had drove you to the spot you were currently in.

Karma had handed you whatever you deserved in return; you didn’t think karma would be this awful.

You were standing now, noting how obvious the height differences were between the both of you as you stood before her, fists clenched, trying to reel in your emotions as to not give yourself—and many others—any trouble. “Adicus.” You weren’t about to lose yourself to her provocations, no matter how bad it was. “Give that back. Right now.”

Provocations be damned. You just failed one of the most important events in your life; you weren’t about to get yourself kicked out of the Crownsguard entirely.

Then, whether it was by common or it was just another Adicus brand of provocation, you didn’t know which, she dropped the phone on your bed, and it bounced once on the springy material before you quickly pocketed it, keeping it out of sight.

She stood where she was, firmly holding her gaze against yours, that lopsided smirk still adorning her surprisingly gentle face before she said, “Just to be clear, I’m still not done about that last time we had it. So be prepared; I might come at you any time of the week, and no one can do anything to stop it.”

Then she left, bringing her two-person entourage with her, and only then you realize how the other girls had been watching the scene, expecting a spectacle, and slowly dispersing under your intense look. But you couldn’t give a damn. You flop down onto your bed, reached under it for the backpack you’ve kept your personal things in, and started rummaging through it.

You opened your phone to see the typed out response still in the Reply text box, but Birdboy had gone offline. As expected. You sent the response anyway, and set about going to tomorrow’s session, hoping it wouldn’t be as bad as the stories the internet had told you.

(s)

“You sure you don’t want me to come along?”

It was comical to see that mop of blond hair—spiked up as it was—bobbing up and down as its owner bent his head over the open zipper of the bag, checking its contents for the second time. The dark-haired young man leaning on the doorway next to him kept watch, eyes sometimes straying to the open front door, adjacent to his bedroom, possibly to keep intruders out, but really, what kind of intruder would be stupid enough to invade the apartment, especially when there were guards posted literally everywhere?

“Yeah, I’m good,” the blond said, finally zipping up and slinging the pack over his shoulders, heading for the front. “Thanks for having me over last night. You wanna go out for dinner again sometime after the session? My treat.”

He was saying it casually, partially gloved hand lifting up and down to emphasize himself, but the boy with the dark hair knew better. The slight shake in the blond’s voice was enough to give him away.

He reached out to touch his friend’s shoulder, bare from the sleeveless top he wore since yesterday. Sign of how distracted that blond partner of his could be, when nervousness and second-guessing began to lead his thoughts into panic. He needed distractions, he needed help. And as much as he could get it, he would find help.

He patted the freckled part of the appendage, smirking at the nervous way the blond was smiling—trying to calm himself.

“Don’t worry, Prompto,” Noctis nodded his head at the jittery blond. “You’re doing great. I know you could do it.”

And Prompto smiled—for real.

He knew he could do it.