#anyway that final episode is just... chokeful of references i keep having to pause and do the leonardo dicaprio pointing thing at my screen

[ladsofsorrow24]

love how studio orange made vash go super saiyan mode to explain him getting the trimax hairstyle lmao

[gdcee]

Road to Nowhere

Pairing: Loki/Sigyn - mild, might have to squint to see it.

Summary: Loki and Sigyn talk while she escorts him to Kid Loki's Kingdom.

Warnings: Panic attack.

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"You know I'm only going to keep pestering you until I have the answer."

"I wish you luck in your endeavour," Sigyn returned coolly, stepping lightly as she began to climb the massive pile of garbage blocking their path. "Nevertheless, my lips remain sealed."

Loki huffed, a slight quirk at the corner of his lips which was not quite a smirk. He set off after her, determined to be the first to the summit of Rubbish Peak.

He had to admit he was quite intrigued by that tantalising crumb of information this Sigyn (so very like and yet not quite like his own) had dangled before him. Of course he was curious about the identity of the lucky bastard who had won her fidelity.

All he had was a preferred pronoun. That at least eliminated half of his (admittedly rather short to begin with) list of possible lucky bastards.

After he had gone through the list (which did not take long because as stated earlier, it was really quite short), he started throwing out random names to see if any of them got a reaction.

No such luck.

His attempts to tease and fluster the information out of her had been just as ineffective.

Her reaction to his puppy dog eyes routine had been...perplexing. He'd gotten one soft, achingly tender smile before a heavy melancholy had descended upon her. Like the dark shadow of a mourning veil stealing the brightness from her eyes and the colour from her cheeks.

She had not reprimanded him, but he made a note not to pull that trick again anyway. Besides the practical reasons for keeping her goodwill (survival, information, mental stimulation), the simple fact was that she was Sigyn.

He didn't want to be the cause of her unhappiness. Not anymore.

Being a harmless annoyance and pest was still perfectly acceptable though.

He stood atop the great mound of refuse, his hands and face smeared with oil and other liquids of questionable origin, grinning triumphantly down at Sigyn. He vanished the grime he'd accumulated before gallantly holding out his hand to her.

Sigyn huffed a soft little laugh, the barest hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. Without any hesitation, she reached out and allowed him to pull her up.

Loki glanced down to where they had started and noted that it was a long drop. Not nearly enough to kill an Asgardian or a Frost Giant, but enough to hurt.

Trust.

It made him feel as giddy as the first time he'd tasted the enchanted, heady liquid gold that was the mead brewed from honey harvested from the hives of the talking bees that resided near Iðunn's famous apple orchards.

"Ahem."

Loki realised with no small degree of embarrassment that he was still holding Sigyn's hand. He hurriedly worked a spell to remove the dirt under her fingernails and let go. Then to cover up his embarrassment, he resumed pestering.

"I don't understand why the identity of your beau necessitates such secrecy," he sighed with the lightest touch of a pleading whine, "Do you think I would object to your taste? He can't possibly be worse than Theoric."

"I think my life choices are none of your business."

"Exactly! You should forget about my opinion. Shout his name to the world and damn the naysayers and killjoys."

"I would but sadly, Alioth has a sense of hearing."

With that, she picked up a flat sheet of metal lying loose and proceeded to slide down Rubbish Peak on the improvised board. Despite being only at most a quarter Ljósálfar on her mother's side, she moved with their characteristic effortless grace.

Loki peered down, did a couple of quick mental calculations and snapped his fingers. He disappeared from the summit with a flare of green light and reappeared at the bottom no more than a second later in similar fashion.

"Good to see your teleport still works," Sigyn tossed her wind-mussed hair out of her face, "Why didn't you use it earlier to get to the top?"

"Too much debris and no decent eyeline. I didn't want to risk getting stuck under a foot of garbage." He frowned, pondering. "Still works?"

"Not a reference to you personally," she moved forward without looking behind to see if he followed, "Just something I noticed about some of the other Lokis around here."

"Power loss? Nothing to do with you and that coven of other Sigyns whose domain I and the other Lokis are forbidden from entering, I presume?"

"No, I've seen it even in Lokis on their first trepass - if something is limiting their power it's not us. In any case, we would never do anything to permanently disable a Loki's magic. There's just some things you don't do to a fellow mage, you know?"

"You just rough them up a little and kick them off the property?"

"More or less. Except for the kid and alligator."

"Do I want to know how one instance of me ended up as a semi-aquatic Midgardian reptile?"

"You can ask him yourself when we get to the Kid's Kingdom," she paused for a moment, as if she'd just remembered something, "Or maybe not, I think only the old man you knows how to talk to him."

Loki blinked.

"There's an old me?" He asked, disbelieving, "As in a wizened, wrinkled, looks like your grandmother me?"

"Eh, not quite as old as Grandma Hretha. Maybe about 4,000? 5,000?" She shrugged, "Either way, your vanity may rest easy; you look perfectly fine as an old man."

"Thank you for that milquetoast endorsement of my future self's good looks," Loki said dryly, "I was more perturbed about...something else."

Curiouser and curiouser.

How had the aged variant escaped their destined end? How had he managed to grow old before the TVA arrived to arrest him for cheating his final death?

He thought about the tape featuring all the TVA approved highlights of his life.

He thought about that other Loki, the Loki who had played out the role assigned to him and how very young (the same face as his own) and terrified (the same fear as his own) he had looked with the Mad Titan's monstrous hand around his throat.

Loki swallowed thickly and pulled at the collar of his TVA issued office shirt which suddenly seemed far too tight. The tie impeded his work and as he struggled to loosen it he could feel his terror rising up to choke him.

there will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where he cannot find you

inevitable

you think you know pain?

Inevitable

HE WILL MAKE YOU LONG FOR SOMETHING AS SWEET AS PAIN

He felt his legs buckle and his knees hit the ground as if it were happening to someone else.

"Loki!" Sigyn's voice was close but he heard it as if a great distance separated them, "Loki, breathe."

"What do you think I'm doing?" He wheezed.

"I am going to remove the tie and unfasten your collar," Sigyn continued as if she had not even noticed his rudeness, "I will need to touch you to do this. Alright?"

Needing help for such a pitifully simple task was galling. But he didn't want Sigyn to leave him. Loki managed a shaky nod. He let her ease his trembling, sweaty hands from his shirt collar. With quick, brisk movements she pulled the tie loose and tossed it somewhere to join the rest of the garbage.

"Follow my breathing now." Her voice was clearer to him now, more present. She was kneeling next to him, so close and warm and oh, her hair did still smell like apple blossoms. He watched the regular rise and fall of her chest and tried to match it. "That's it. Very good. Nice and slow."

Her fingers were at his throat for a mercifully short time. Just long enough to pop the top button loose and push the starched fabric away from his neck.

"Stay with me. You're doing very well. Breathe with me. In. And out. In. And out."

Without really thinking he grabbed her hand and pressed her palm against the centre of his chest. Perhaps he was possessed by some irrational notion that the pressure against his breastbone could keep his thundering heart from beating right out of his chest.

She didn't try to pull away. Her hand was warm, even through the shirt fabric. She moved a little, and one of her dainty fingers slipped into the open gap of his unbuttoned collar and brushed against the dip between his clavicles. His breath caught in his throat for a moment before Sigyn's gentle prompting had him matching her rhythm once more.

"Feel better?" She asked after what seemed an eternity.

"Yes," he breathed, "Yes, much." His chest still felt a little tight but the worst of that dreadful episode was over.

"Good." She lifted her hand from his chest and patted his shoulder firmly - a gesture that he had seen Týr bestow upon struggling Einherjar recruits after they'd passed the final leg of their training. "You did very well."

He didn't feel like he'd done anything worth praising. He'd collapsed like a pack of cards. This wasn't the first time he'd experienced terror but every time before now he had been able to push past it - stamp it down through sheer force of will and that primitive, animal part of his brain that knew that danger was never far away.

Why had he folded now? Now - when he was probably the most at ease he'd been in ages (months? Years? How long had it been since New York?) and the threat of Thanos was no longer an issue-

...a terrible thought suddenly occurred to him.

"Just out of curiosity," Loki tried to sound nonchalant, "Have you ever come across a fellow by the name of Thanos here?"

"Thanos?" Sigyn's brows drew together in a frankly rather adorable expression of pure befuddlement.

Ah. Well, at least he could place whatever nexus event had led to her pruning as occurring before Ragnarok and Thanos's massacre of half the Asgardian survivors.

"Big purple fellow," he explained, "Quite ugly, enormous chin, has rather disturbing ideas about resource management."

"Uh, no, I can't say that I've ever met anyone like that here."

"You're not just saying that to make me feel better?"

She quirked an eyebrow. "I can swear on my magic if that would reassure you."

Sigyn had always been very leery about oaths, especially ones bound with magic. Most mages worth their salt were.

And yet...he couldn't really explain why, but he'd always felt like her issues with them were less about best practices and more about some personal grievance.

That she would offer him such a thing...

Loki felt completely undeserving.

"No," he said hurriedly, "No, no, it's fine. I...I trust you."

Sigyn smiled. It was the first real smile he'd seen so far and it was like watching the sun come out from behind a cloud. He didn't know if it would last - if that melancholy from before would snatch away the sweetness of this moment.

So Loki ruined the moment before it could be stolen from him.

"...even though you refuse to tell me about your paramour."

Sigyn scoffed, all exasperation but it was better than seeing her sad.

"You are insufferable."

"Thank you, I do try."

She snorted and shook her head. "Alright, come on, you goose," she helped him up, and even though his legs were slightly shaky, he stood and did not fall. "Our first rest stop is about 20 feet...thereaboutish-" she waved vaguely in the direction of a mostly empty grassy knoll upon which a gaggle of the oddest creatures scurried. They resembled iridescent headless chickens with little purple spheres hovering over their severed necks.

"I still think we should have taken the car."

"Ugh," Sigyn wrinkled her nose, "Cahrs. Nasty, noisy, smelly things. I swear, Midgard really went downhill after those monstrosities were invented. "

[criminalminds4days]

Family Matters | Chapter 9: Apologies

Hello Everybody!!

Once again, I have forgotten to add my personal note to the episode and forgot it published today!

Sorry for all that, I have been having a really long couple of weeks, but hopefully I will get some time to review and edit the chapters I have before I publish in the upcoming weeks. Hope you enjoy this chapter.

Warnings: Swearing, sexual references, violence and murder references, public embarrassment, and very bad jokes!

Word Count: 4.1k

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tag list: @mcntsee @lets-be-gay-for-the-angel @evelyncade @haylaansmi @paulaern @myfandomlife-blog​

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(This gif is not mine)

Chapter 9: Apologies

"You snore." The woman said as she heard him approach the kitchen, his pants from the night before hanging loosely on his hips and the infamous sweater covering his chest. She was facing the counter, making her famous recipe of coffee, her back to him. "I don't mean it as an insult. Just thought you should know."

"You snore too." He spoke, as she turned to him, not registering his clothes. "I also don't mean it as an insult."

"Coffee?" He nodded and she placed the sugar on the table and poured two cups of coffee. "Are you wearing my sweater?" She questioned as she finally noticed. "Why?"

"Can I ask you where you got it?"

"Emily gave it to me on my first case. We went to get hot dogs-"

"Really? Hot dogs? Do you know the crap that is in a hot dog?"

"Spencer, I love hearing your fun facts and I absolutely love that you share them with me, but please don't ruin hot dogs for me. I just can't tolerate that." He rolled his eyes and smiled at her, and she returned to the topic. "As I was saying, we were eating hot dogs and I ended up spilling ketchup all over my white shirt, so Emily ran back to the hotel and got me the sweater."

"So Emily is the one that gave you my sweater?"

"What do you mean?"

"This is my sweater."

"Why did Emily have your sweater?" As a possible reason came to mind she almost choked on her coffee. "Spencer, did you sleep with Emily?!"

"What? No!" He said, his face showing disturbance at the thought. "Emily is a very attractive woman, but I have no romantic feelings for her."

"Hmm."

"I mean it. Don't get me wrong, I am loving this jealousy scenario we have going on, but nothing is going on between Emily and me."

"Then how did she end up with that sweater?"

"Well, I packed it on my go bag during that first case you worked with us. Morgan made fun of me by saying what you told me when we met and ended up leaving the sweater on his bed. Later that day you were wearing a very similar one and when I got back mine was gone. I concluded it was the same, but I had no clue how you got it."

"So, Emily somehow got the sweater from your room and gave it to me. Why did you never ask for it back?"

"Because that conversation would have been really uncomfortable!"

"Fair."

"Anyway, now I can take it home and the mystery has been fully solved."

"First off, the mystery has not been fully solved because we have no idea how Emily got her hands on it. Secondly, you are not going to get that sweater back, because it is now mine. I am fine with letting you use it from time to time, that way it will keep your scent, but that is my sweater now."

"But it was one of my favorite sweaters."

"And it is my favorite. Besides, I am your girlfriend now, I get to keep your sweaters and hoodies."

"I don't like that."

"Well too bad buttercup." Before he could protest, both of their phones rang. "It's Emily." She said, with panic.

"Hotch is calling me."

"Go to the hallway to answer, they can't find out we're in the same place."

"Good thinking." He walked outside.

As soon as the door closed she answered the phone. "Spencer is not here, why would you think that?" She said to the woman on the other side of the phone.

"I didn't think he was there."

"Of course you didn't. I just had a dream that you did and your call woke me up."

"Okay," there was a pause before she continued, "we have a case."

"I will be there in about thirty minutes. I have to go pick up Reid at his apartment. Where he surely is right now. Because that's where he lives, obviously."

"So you guys made up?"

"Yeah, turns out I was imagining things. Nothing to worry about, everything is back to normal. Nothing new, nothing predictable. Reid and I are friends as we were before, not anything less, and not anything more."

"You are seriously worrying me, do you want me to go get you?"

"No! I will be there soon. Bye!"

After hanging up she moved to her room to change, deciding to wear jeans and her favorite top. A couple of knocks on her door made her return to the living room. She opened them to find Dr. Spencer Reid and her neighbor, Mrs. Johnson smiling awkwardly at each other.

"What are you doing out here?" She asked.

"You told me to take the call out here, remember?"

"Oh right," she moved aside to let him back in, "why did you stay out there?"

"Because your door was locked!"

"Sorry, didn't mean to leave you out."

"It's okay, though we should stop by my apartment, I don't think showing up in the same clothes as yesterday will be good."

"You're right. I just wish the next time Hotch says we have time off we actually get the time he promised us off." She whined as she placed her hair in a bun, too lazy to do anything else with it, and knowing full well she would regret it once she had to brush her hair again.

"I will make sure to send out a communication to all serial killers when that happens." He said sarcastically, "also, please change. We said no blue, remember?"

"Can I wear the sweater then?"

"Fine." He took it off and handed it to her, who immediately used it to cover her favorite top. "Let us get going. We do not need any more reason to arise suspicion. It usually takes us between thirty-three and forty minutes to get from your apartment to the coffee shop, then to my apartment, and finally to the office, and I got off the phone with Hotch about three minutes ago, so we need to hurry."

"Yes, sir." She grabbed her keys and handed him his shirt that he had forgotten in her room along with his shoes and took her go-bag and keys, making sure everything was off and/or unplugged before leaving.

About ten minutes after she was waiting for Spencer as he ran to change. She thought of the first time, a couple of months ago when this all had started. She was waiting for him in that same car, as he got ready to pretend to be her boyfriend to annoy Anna. Now, she was waiting for him to get ready so nobody would actually suspect that they were dating and he had spent his birthday night with her. 

How the turns have table.

"Okay, I am ready." He announced, entering the vehicle. "Let's go to work."

"To catch a psychopath we go!"

"Actually, most of the serial killers and criminals we catch aren't psychopaths. There are a lot of narcissists, sociopaths, and pedophiles in the mix."

"Never would have guessed." 

After a couple of minutes of driving, Spencer reached out for her hand and intertwined their fingers. The gesture was romantic and heartwarming, but she was not used to driving with one hand. She tried for two lights to do so but eventually gave up, knowing they would get in an accident if she kept driving with one hand.

"This holding hands, I am here for it. I love the energy, but if I keep holding your hand we will die."

"Sorry, I have seen it in a lot of movies, it always turns out really well. I should have thought of the real-life consequences." He said letting go of her hand, she placed a kiss on his cheek before letting go of the break and continuing to drive. 

"As I said, I love the thought, it's just that I am the clumsiest person to have ever lived and I am not a good driver as it is so I am trying to not get us killed."

"I know."

"So, how do we make this work?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I am trying really hard not to pull over and make out with you in my car again, so how are we going to make it work, without arising suspicion among anyone in our team?"

"We are profilers, how hard can it be to hide our emotions?"

"Apparently really hard, because everybody knew we liked each other but us."

"True, but if we keep acting as we did before, maybe they will think it is only because we are still in denial."

"I don't see a single flaw in your logic." 

As she undid her seatbelt after parking, he made sure no one was around before placing a soft kiss on her lips. How on earth was Spencer Reid so good at being a boyfriend? He was like everything she had dreamed about and they had only been dating for about eighteen hours! He gave her a soft smile and exited the vehicle. He waited for her, as he usually did but didn't attempt to open the door for her, as the one time he had tried he had received an hour-long lecture on how opening a door was not difficult and she did not need his help to do so.

They made their way to the round table and found all their coworkers sitting. JJ gave her a smirk as if her question from the night before was still as amusing as it was then. She tried not to hide under a rock and took a seat next to her. The blonde pulled a box of chocolate glazed donuts.

"I am sorry for eating it."

"JJ, I honestly wasn't that mad about it." She said but still took the box. "However, my mom did teach me to never say no to a gift." She offered the blonde one and this one took it. "Sorry for being a jerk to you."

"It's okay. You have feelings for Spencer and thought I was getting in the way, I mean, I can see the appeal but he and I are just friends."

"It's not that I have feelings for him." She lied, "cheating is something I just can't get past. But now I know it was silly to think that."

"You are absolutely right. I love my husband, and while Spence will always be special to me, it's not a romantic kind of special."

"I know."

"So, shoot your shot. I have a pretty good feeling he feels the same." She winked.

"Let's not go there!"

The woman laughed, inciting her to follow. She couldn't help but feel giddy. Everything seemed to be falling into place. Her eyes met his, a smile playing on his lips. She winked and returned her attention to the food in front of her.

As they made their way to the hotel, she was paired with Emily as it usually was and they both made their way to their room. They laid their bags on their bed and sat for a couple of seconds before heading to the police station. Her friend looked at her as if analyzing her behavior.

"Something is different."

"Yes, we are not in D.C. anymore."

"No, that's not it." She observed her for a couple more seconds. "You're glowing."

She tried not to give herself away, her body language and micro-expressions as controlled as possible. "No, I'm not."

"Spill it out."

She knew denying it any longer would be a mistake. "I met someone." She said.

"What do you mean, you met someone?"

"I'm dating someone." She admitted.

"Does Spencer know?"

"Yes, I told him last night. After I drove him home and he's happy for me."

"What's his name?"

"I'm not gonna tell you because then you'll go and tell Penelope about it and you'll stalk him." And because his name is Spencer Reid, she avoided saying.

"I'll be right back."

A couple of minutes after Emily left, her phone buzzed with a text message from Dr. Reid.

Why is Emily in my hotel room hugging me and telling me everything will be alright and that you'll come around?

She fought the urge to laugh, but it was in vain. Instead of responding to the text, after composing herself, she decided to make her way to his hotel room, not before reviewing a text from Hotch urging them to make their way back to the police station.

"What are you doing here?" Emily asked as she opened the door. The woman entered, looking for the doctor.

"I could ask you the same thing. Where's Spencer?"

"He had to go to the bathroom. Why?"

Before she could answer the bathroom door opened and Reid emerged, a face of relief as he saw her. She tried to hide her smile.

"Hotch needs us at the police station."

"Oh, right." The woman made her way to the door, "our conversation isn't over Dr. Reid." She said before exiting the room.

"What did you say to her?"

"I told her I was dating someone." She replied.

"Why would you do that? We can't be dating, you know?" He asked anxiously.

"Relax genius, I didn't tell her you were my boyfriend, I said I met someone but I didn't want to tell her because Garcia would stalk him, which is true by the way."

"Did you tell her I knew?"

"Yes." She nodded.

"Well, that explains it all." He said, she raised an eyebrow, questioning him. "She knows I had a crush on you, so she probably thinks I have a broken heart or something."

"Why did you tell her?"

"It was more like she told me."

"Did she make you list my qualities?" She asked, and he nodded. She reached up to his tie and pulled him closer. "Can I hear them?"

"No, it will only boost your ego." He quickly placed a kiss on her cheek and pulled back. "Now let's go, we have a job to do." Before he could get too far, she had pulled his tie, making him now stand at mere inches from her. "I don't think this is a good idea." He whispered.

"I'm full of bad ideas." She said with a wink.

"What on earth is happening right now?!" Emily's voice made them jump.

"Spencer had his tie crooked, I was trying to help."

"Bullshit!" The woman cried. "Is this really happening? Is my ship finally real?"

"Way to go, miss bad-ideas."

"Shut up." She responded and turned her attention back to Emily. "Sweetie, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Drop the act, Blackwood." The woman said, using her mother's last name. "You two are dating, aren't you?"

"You need to promise you won't tell anyone." He said.

"Spencer!"

"What? There was no way she was gonna buy any excuse, we might as well just tell her now."

"I can't believe it?! How long has this been a thing?"

"Just since yesterday, but we mean it, Emily. None can know. Especially not Hotch."

"I know, but this is just so exciting! I get to be your guys' cover-up!"

"I am serious Emily, you can't tell anybody. And please, act normal. We work with a bunch of profilers, if we aren't discrete they will figure us out."

"Says the one that blew our cover after only twenty hours," Reid mumbled.

"Watch it genius." She reprimanded.

They made their way to the police station after receiving three calls from Hotch urging them to hurry and using the disappointment card due to their lack of professionalism. They made their way through the station and joined the rest of the team in the briefing. 

As it turned out, there was an unsub abducting people and making them place calls to estranged family members or past loved ones. The call usually consisted of a request for forgiveness, when the person granted it, the person was released as far away from their abduction site as you could get, if there was no apology, the body of the caller appeared near the great salt lake. Turns out Utah was not as quiet as she remembered.

"Any insight?"

"This unsub is clearly taking apologizing to an extreme. I have to question who he really wants to punish." Spencer said, and all eyes turned to him. "On the one hand, if you've wronged someone and they accept your apology, you deserve to live. If they don't, you deserve to die, so we can assume that is the punishment. However, if the person does not accept an apology they will have to live knowing this unsub killed the person they used to love or used to be close with simply because they couldn't accept an apology."

"The question is how this unsub is getting the information needed to choose their victims," Hotch added. "And why them, why punish both parties, how does this satisfy his needs?"

"This is gonna sound pretty obvious," she spoke up, "but I think this unsub has mommy or daddy issues." She coughed, clearing her throat, "what I meant to say, is that the unsub sees himself as portraying one of these roles. I can discard the role of the caller simply because of the way the victims are disposed of. No care, they are simply garbage. It seems clear someone wronged him and he is trying to get back at them."

"Well, we aren't sure it's a he." Rossi pitched in.

"Women are not subtle about this. If the unsub was a woman, there wouldn't be as many victims. She would simply go to the source." she reminded him. "If this was a woman, one of the first victims wouldn't have made a call, but every single one has."

After more analysis and a well-established profile, they were directed to question some potential suspects. Reid, Prentis (who had begged Hotch to join them), and she made their way to the house of Lucas Heavensbee. A man who seemed to fit their profile but was still being stalked by Garcia for any link.

They knocked on the door and made sure to identify themselves as FBI agents.

"So, aren't you guys gonna hold hands or something?" Emily whispered after the other girl knocked on the door again.

"Do you know how impractical that would be?" Reid responded.

"You guys are no fun!" 

Before she could remind her best friend of where they were, the man they were looking for jumped out the window. "Suspect is running!" She informed and chased after him, really glad she wasn't wearing heels at that particular moment. 

Though even if she had, there wasn't much that would have changed, as after five minutes the unsub stopped and started breathing heavily. "Give me two minutes and then we can continue running," he said.

"Nice try buddy, but you're coming with us." She approached him and cuffed him. "Now that you've made us lose our time, I hope you will be a little more considerate and cooperate with us.

"Depends, are you gonna interrogate me?" The man played with his eyebrows.

"She's taken, you creep," Emily said.

"Agent Prentiss!" Spencer grabbed her by the arm and dragged her to their SUV. After they were settled, with Emily behind the wheel and Spencer in the front seat, she placed the man on the left-back seat and took the right.

"This is the nicest car I have been in, I have to say, being arrested has its perks."

"Please do not try to start a conversation while we take you in for questioning."

"Tough crowd." 

They entered the police station and placed him in the interrogation room, none of the team members ready to question him. They still had to come up with a strategy.

"Lucas Heavensbee. Twenty-nine. His dad abandoned him and his mother after this one had a miscarriage. A couple of months ago, his mom died of cancer."

"Told you guys it was daddy issues." The woman said and approached the door to the interrogation room. "Guess I'll take this one."

"No," Spencer spoke up. "That is exactly what he wants, besides, we don't have a strategy yet."

"I do." She said, turning to face Hotch. "I know how he thinks. In his mind, there are two types of people, nothing more. He will not crack under pressure, he has designed himself to shield any attempt to invade his thoughts from someone who isn't like him."

"How does that help us?" Derek asked.

"Because I was him. I of course didn't murder anyone, but I thought like him for a really long time."

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes, I need to go in alone." 

"Go then. Leave the camera on, so he knows he's being watched, it might give you the edge you need." She nodded and made her way in. The guy was so obvious about the issues he had, she almost felt bad for him. That was if he hadn't decided to kill innocent people. He was even good looking. If she didn't have a boyfriend and he wasn't a serial killer, she would have even flirted back.

"Well, if it isn't the cute agent."

"Well, if it isn't another guy with daddy issues." She answered as she made her way to the camera and turned it on. "How about you tell me what I need and we get this over with?"

"Now, honey, I am not that easy. At least take me to dinner first."

On the other side of the mirror, Emily and Spencer had placed themselves under Aaron's orders. He wanted to make sure the interview went well and if she needed moral support, the two people she trusted the most would be there. The rest of the team was going over the evidence, as at the moment everything seemed purely circumstantial. 

"This guy is a jerk." The man said.

"It's a façade, it's all about appearances. He's testing her."

The woman took a seat and opened her file. "Your dad left when you were ten, soon after your mother lost her baby, that must have been hard."

"Oh please, as if you would know anything about that."

"What hurts more, losing a sibling, losing your father, or losing your mother?" He banged the table with his fists. "Hard to choose, makes sense."

"You didn't even blink." He noted, a smile spreading across his face. "Was it your mom or dad that hit you?"

"That is none of your business and it is irrelevant."

"It was your dad, wasn't it?"

"If you must know," she paused, looking slightly at the camera, "it was neither of them. I grew up with cousins who didn't like me very much. Now, stop acting like your some kind of macho man when we both know you're nothing but a sexually frustrated man who can't seem to get over his father leaving so he decided to take it out on people who were innocent and had nothing to do with his little show!"

"Ah, now there is the real you. Feels good to be free, doesn't it." His view changed directly to the mirror, "Who's on the other side? Your boss?"

"No, all of my team is making sure you never get out of prison."

"Is that why they sent you here? Because you were of no help out there?" 

"No, they sent me here because I am the only one that understands your punk phase. I too had one. The difference is I outgrew it and it outgrew you."

"Did your dad leave?"

"Let me make a deal with you since you seem determined to snoop at my business. I will turn that camera off, and you will write me a confession. If I am satisfied with it, I will answer five questions. If I am not satisfied, you get to rot in here."

He smiled as if hearing those words was all he wanted. "Deal, agent."

"It's doctor, actually," She clarified. "You have twenty minutes."

She exited the room to find herself faced with Spencer Reid.

"Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" He asked as he examined her, "you are not going back in there."

"I have exactly what I need. I am definitely going back in there, now can you please stop? You are not being very subtle right now."

He let go of her and moved closer to Emily, suddenly aware of what he had done. 

"Is there anything that can put him away?"

"Not unless we get a confession." She looked at the man, who was writing on a notepad that had been placed there when he arrived. "Why does he have to be handsome?"

"I know, right? If he wasn't a serial killer... Ugh, you cannot find men that look like that anymore."

"Excuse me?" Her boyfriend asked.

"Are you gonna tell me he's not hot?"

"Just because I think he is, does not mean I want to hear you say it!"

The man placed down the pencil, signaling he had finished. Now was the time to beat him at his own game. 

[oddsocksandstuff]

Mercy

For @badthingshappenbingo

Square filled: Not used to freedom

Fandom: Supernatural

Genfic.

Tags: reference to torture, aftermath of torture, canon compliant, rescue, first meeting, trueform!Cas, brief mentions of being buried alive and coming back from death.

A story of an Angel of the Lord plucking the righteous man out of the black. (Set briefly before Season 4 episode 1) 

Reprieve in hell was a fickle thing, it came at the expense of another’s pain. It came perched on the tip of a blade or inside the flickers of flame directed at another. You held out until you didn't, and everybody cracked in the end; a small splinter that grew until you caved in on yourself and became hollow.

An endless feedback loop, a snake eating itself, a spiralling path that turned ever inwards; down and down into depths darker at every turn.

Dean had been black for years, if one could count time in hell in the rotations of the earth and passage across the stars. It seemed an eternity, and the reason for his own reprieve was long lost to the recesses of memory. He turned the screw tighter, and cut deeper, and burned hotter and faster and crueller so as not to look back. His own pain like a phantom in the night that never gave up the chase, his own fear a choking fog that drove him ever onward to pulling apart those around him; so that he might be saved the punishment himself.

Not a willing pupil, but an attentive one, an eager learner; how to carve, how to make them sing. They all sang eventually, they all fell to his knife and his whims. 

Reprieve in hell was never a sure thing, and always the terror of being inadequate made him righteous in his anger. How dare anyone, or anything, put him back on the whipping post when he’d worked so long, and so hard, and endured so much to be free of it?

But resolve in hell was a thin thread stretched taut, and he never did his surety waver more than in those last moments. The crash came loud and long, a booming cacophony that echoed from above as though all the walls were falling inward. It grew louder, and nearer, and he gripped his blood stained weapon with all the strength he had. He was certain, for moments that spanned an eternity, that his luck had run out. Alistair must be displeased to come for him with such ferocity, such wrath. Screaming and clashing of blades that seared through his skull and rendered him motionless in fear.

Surely he was done for, the pain about to swallow him whole, the darkness come to consume him.

Light erupted ahead of the noise, the very sight of it overwhelming to his much-dimmed vision. He turned, and struck, and met his match. A flaming, winged thing so very far from Alistair’s blackness. Resplendent and terrifying, it battered his attack away with a blow that set his bones to rattling.

He snarled, and threw himself forward with fists and nails and teeth, and was caught up, wrapped in tendrils of power and strength that smothered and burned. He thrashed and kicked, and threw back his head with a wail. This was worse, whatever punishment he’d earned now, than anything he’d felt before. It seared him from the inside out and he looked down to see blackened, charred flesh fall from his body. Flakes and ash peeling away everywhere the light touched him.

Fighting raged above and behind him, roars of anger and shouts of victory reached his ears. Something looked down at him, peered close and tilted him this way and that. He cowered under its gaze, a gaze that seemed like a mirror reflecting all his brokenness back at him. He saw the ruined, scarred mess of his soul in many giant lidless eyes and clenched his jaw to keep back tears. He knew what he must look like, and he didn’t want to see it.

“Dean Winchester has been saved.”

No!

Fire red and coal dark walls sped past him as he was thrust upward with a lurch, the thing that gripped him held tight and kept him close. 

Stop, no!

“Yes, you have been saved.”

You can’t.

“It has already been done.”

Saved for what?

“For earth, for your purpose.”

I have no purpose, I’m just a tool, I wield and am wielded.

“You are many things, a soldier yes, a brother, a man, perhaps a saviour… it remains to be seen.”

Brother? No? It couldn’t be. That way lay danger.

“Would you like to see the sun again? To be free again?”

There is no sun here, it has all been taken. There is no freedom, not from what we’ve done.

“I can return all you have lost. Give all of it back to you.”

Look at me, I’m not worth saving. Where could I go, that would have me?

“Sam, I think, will be glad to see you.”

You can’t! I’m not… I would hurt him!

“Why?”

It’s what I do, that’s my purpose, don’t you see?

“I see a man, broken, but not ruined.”

I don’t think I count as a man, anymore.

Time slowed, the fire grew colder and the speed of their ascent got slower. Heaviness weighed down on his head, pressure that spiked pain through his being, an ache behind his teeth that ate its way upward.

“It’s all falling away now, all of it left behind. Look back, you can see it.”

He screwed his eyes closed and refused until gentle light suffused him and he gasped.

“Look Dean, it is all alright.”

One enormous eye, on the face of a great lion, held his attention. “You are not withered anymore.”

He glanced back, and down, and saw his own form glowing. Star bright and effervescent, and a trail of dying flesh that floated away from him, burned off by the intensity of the flames around his body.

What did you do?

“Returned you to the way you should be, unmarred.”

It’s all…. gone?

“Memories remain, the taint of them is lifted.”

Why? I don’t deserve it.

“That is not for you to decide. What I see beneath, of who you really are, that is what matters.”

The pressure increased until he convulsed with it, walls closed in and pressed upon him. The being that held him didn’t seem fazed, or falter.

Please don’t take me back to Sam, it won’t be the same. He’ll see what I really am.

“Forgiveness is a glorious thing Dean Winchester, and I believe your brother is better at it than most.”

And you, do you forgive me?

He needed to know, to feel it. The stink of the pit was still in his nose, still lingered on his breath and he wanted nothing more than to be free of it.

Blue irises, emanating light, shone brighter as they looked at him. “I saved you, I think that speaks for itself."

What am I supposed to do? 

“Live, survive, be the light in the world you were always meant to be.”

Saving people, hunting things, the family business… he hadn’t recalled these things in a lifetime. They felt so alien now. Whatever escape he had found came at the expense of his humanity— he had thrown it away like an unwanted gift. He couldn’t save anyone now, not when he was the shadow himself, when he was the monster under the bed that all fathers warned their sons about. He had drowned himself in evil to spare himself a little pain, he was well on the way to having eyes as black as his soul. How could he go back to cutting away the evil in others, as though he didn’t know where it came from?

Who will tell me what to do?

“No-one, you will be free.”

Freedom is just a length of rope, an illusion. Freedom isn’t for me. I’m not made for it.

“You will be, again, in time.”

He felt the press and roughness of earth and stone crowd around him. A physical weight on his being. The Angel— he knew now that was what it was— that carried him thrust harder, forcing them forward. Through. To the surface.

To life. Life that was so far beyond his scope of understanding, life that he had left behind, turned away from. His hope for it had been abandoned to survive the cut of the knife. 

You can’t do this, I’m not ready!

Roots struck out and barred their path and his saviour slowed, carefully pushed them aside like a tender gardener.

“There is no time to waste, Dean Winchester. Life is waiting for you, the world needs you.”

I’m not strong enough, I don’t want it, I don’t want to be needed. 

“No-one ever does, fate has her plans.”

The pressure was suffocating, and he remembered suddenly that life came with breath and breath needed space for air, and there was no air here in this underground place.

It’ll hurt, won’t it. The worst things always did.

“I know little of pain, but I fear it will not come easily. Your body awaits you, go with grace, Dean Winchester. I have faith in you.”

What’s your name?

The Angel paused. “Castiel. You will not remember me, I think, not like this anyway. It has been good to know you, and I will know you again.”

With one final thrust, one parry through the jaws of the earth that split apart atoms with a single push of energy, he felt crushed through dirt, and wood, and bone. Light flashed behind his eyes, energy fractured him apart and knit him back together. He became whole. Spirit and flesh reunited.

He gasped.

And opened his eyes in the dark.

Life in the ground is such a fragile thing. Survival against better judgement is an instinct one cannot fight.

So he clawed, and scraped, and dug, and thrashed until the coffin was empty. Until he was free. Until the hollowness in his chest was filled deeply, until sunlight burned his eyes and he knew reprieve had found him; and it had come at the hands of light, the mercy of blue eyes, and the revival of his soul.

He rubbed the place in his chest where the dark had taken root and resolved to fill it with something else.

Coming home, Sammy. Coming back to life. Whatever that means.

He stood on shaky legs, and started walking.

[also on ao3 here]

[statusquoergo]

It’s been one hell of a ride, but we’re in the home stretch now; this episode is basically Part I of a two-part series finale, so apologies in advance for the cliffhanger.

Except that if you don’t like being held in suspense, you can just watch the promo for “One Last Con” (s09e10). Spoiler alert: Everything’s going to be fine.

Keeping true to form, this episode opens on a flashback to both illuminate and slightly alter canon as it’s already been established: Nonspecific-childhood-age Harvey is playing in “the most important game of [his] life” as Lily looks on, cheering loudly despite Harvey’s face falling at the distinct lack of Gordon by her side. After the game ends, Harvey yells at his mother for…coming to the game in the first place? It’s weird and doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, but I can sort of let it slide because Harvey is an immature preteen. Or teenager, I don’t know. What I’m not going to give a by is Lily saying she’s “doing the best [she] can” to keep their family together with Gordon on the road so much, being that we know she’s cheating on her husband while he’s “working his butt off for [his family],” although seeing as how I don’t see Bobby at the funeral, maybe we’re supposed to casually forget about that thing she did that gave Harvey all those trust issues and caused him to estrange himself from his family all those years that the “Previously On” summary specifically reminded us about and that she never apologized for or acknowledged was wrong of her in any way.

Okay. Now. This funeral is clearly meant to be touching and emotionally stirring. You may find it to be so. I did not. I wanted to; I adore a really well-crafted funeral scene, but…what can I say. It didn’t happen. And I’m writing it up how I experienced it, so just…keep that in mind, if you would.

Harvey begins his eulogy by talking about inheriting his love of baseball from his father and how, up until recently, he always associated thoughts of the game with him. In truth, however, his mother was the one who “took [him] to every practice, cheered [him] on every game”; “she was always there, even when [he] thought she wasn’t.” It’s at this moment that he sees Mike standing in the back of the audience and has to pause to collect himself, which is quite lovely and very well-timed to parallel Lily with post-Seattle Mike in Harvey’s life, which is a little awkward, but it’s nice that they’re trying to convey how important Mike is to him. I don’t really understand why Harvey has to drag Gordon in order to talk about how much he loves Lily, but maybe he’s only allowed one good parent at a time, and it’s no wonder his childhood was so fucked up.

He mourns that “[he] didn’t know [she was always there] for a long time, but now [he does],” and the only thing I can think of that this might be referring to is her knowing about Donna, even though Harvey never mentioned her, because Lily and Marcus gossiped about Harvey behind his back, so…that’s nice? He then says that “she always owned [her mistakes],” and I’m pretty sure this is the biggest reason I’m having such a hard time feeling anything but exasperation and confusion at this whole event. Harvey is clearly struggling to hold himself together and Gabriel is doing a great job of selling it and I know I’m supposed to feel sad right along with him, but I’ve never been particularly moved by Harvey and Lily’s relationship or their reconciliation, so now that Lily’s dead, I as a viewer am primarily relieved that the show isn’t going to have any more opportunities to try to force me to like her just because she’s Harvey’s mother. I’ve long been frustrated that she never took responsibility for her affair, not to mention the fact that she guilted Harvey into lying about it for her, and this show keeps trying to substitute the fact that Harvey forgave her for her owning up to what she did, but they’re not the same thing. Now Harvey’s the one to apologize for not reconnecting with her sooner, choking out a final “I’ll miss you and I’ll always love you”; the benediction is about forgiveness because of course it is, and we cut right past the actual burial to the reception. Probably for logistical reasons, so that’s fair.

Mike approaches Harvey to assure him that “it was a beautiful eulogy” and “she would have loved it,” and I don’t know if anyone else was worried that they were going to totally whitewash the way Mike and Harvey left things at the end of “If the Shoe Fits” (s09e05), because I was, and they absolutely did:

“Listen, Harvey, uh about what I said the last time I was here—” “Don’t worry about it. You being here now says everything.”

Everything? Are you sure about that?

Anyway Donna interrupts this touching moment to inform Harvey that Marcus needs him, leaving Mike to ask Donna to “give it to [him] straight” about how bad everything really is; she confides that “this couldn’t have come at a worse time” because of the whole Faye thing, and they’re really putting the pedal to the metal to make her out to be a villain before the end of the series, but seriously, she’s just there to get them to stop breaking the law and committing disbarrable offenses every forty-five minutes, it’s not her fault that’s the only way they know how to practice. Donna has an idea of how to fix everything, but it involves Mike forgiving everyone for what happened on the Brick Street case, not just Harvey, and like I get Mike being in a position to forgive Samantha for fabricating evidence against him, but doesn’t he need to apologize for the whole…everything he did? Maybe Harvey prefers to forgive people who don’t apologize to him; that sure would explain some stuff.

In the other room, Harvey and Marcus commiserate over not being ready for Lily’s death as Harvey laments that they had been making plans for her to come to New York and meet Donna (naturally), and Marcus gives Harvey an envelope he found on Lily’s desk that she must not have gotten around to mailing. Gee I wonder if those two things are related.

Samantha and Louis murmur about how touching the funeral was, Louis tossing out a casual mention that he “[doesn’t] ever want to see Superman laid so low,” when Mike approaches to have a word with Samantha; he’s sorry she was fired and she, with the benefit of hindsight, would’ve done things differently, and he doesn’t have a plan yet, but between the two of them, “if [she’s] willing to bury the hatchet, [he’s] pretty sure the two of [them] can come up with something to send that woman packing.” Anything short of actually quitting committing disbarrable offenses, I suppose.

A few days later, probably, Harvey emerges from his bedroom to assure Donna that he’s okay and she “[doesn’t] need to stay here with [him],” just in time for Mike to show up with the episode’s first major callback: “Somebody call for Robin? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I saw the Bat-Signal last night.” Take that, Louis, with your Superman reference. No, it’s very cute, the banter is much better than it was the last time around. Mike says he’s here to return the favor of Harvey being there for him when Grammy died, and sadly no, that doesn’t mean they’re going to stay up late getting high together; instead Donna third-wheels her way into the conversation to translate that Mike is going to help them get rid of Faye, oh and by the way Donna was the one who put him up to it (but “at least [she] didn’t put him up to pretending to be a lawyer,” and no, please, I’m not at all sick of this stupid joke).

Seems that for the week Harvey and Donna have been Out Of Office, Katrina and Gretchen have been doing their best to cover for them at the firm, so that’s good of them. It does kind of bolster my theory that Donna doesn’t have any special qualifications for her job, though. Then Samantha shows up unannounced in Faye’s office and I don’t know if the security guards let Mike up because they know him, or he never turned in his badge, or what’s going on here, but he arrives to explain that Samantha wasn’t announced because she’s here as his guest (how), being that he’s representing her in a wrongful termination suit. Faye immediately determines that this is a ploy to get rid of her and Samantha doesn’t exactly disagree, but then Mike claims that Faye has no proof of anything that Samantha did, and Samantha brags that even though Faye “came in here and took Robert’s reputation, Louis’s dignity, and [her] everything,” they’re going to have the last laugh because “one of [them] is finally getting [their] day in court.” (I mean Robert kind of tanked his own reputation and it was Samantha’s decision to fabricate the evidence that got her fired, but… Never mind.)

Strolling down the hall, Louis finds Harvey back at his desk and pauses for Harvey to explain that Mike and Samantha are filing a wrongful termination suit and he doesn’t want to miss the “fireworks.” Faye pops in to further clarify her role as the Big Bad Antagonist by offering her condolences for Harvey’s loss so that he can tell her to keep them because he knows she “[doesn’t] give a shit about [him] or [his] mom” (so much for that whole humanizing plotline about “crossing a line” to protect her daughter); she then boxes them into representing her by promising that if they can win her case without colluding, cheating, or “telling the other side about this,” she’ll leave because “[she’ll] know [her] job here is done.” Right, because wins in court are always an objective reflection of how well one side argued over the other, and no judge or jury in history has ever rendered an unpredictable verdict for personal reasons or anything.

In any event, Faye stalks out with the declaration that she’s already filed a motion to dismiss and “will have someone in chambers this afternoon” (most judges are significantly overworked and can take several years to address such a motion) and Harvey informs Louis that “if [he thinks Harvey’s] gonna keep this from Donna, [he’s] out of [his] mind.” Donna shows up at just exactly the right moment to hear Harvey’s proclamation, giving Louis the opening he needs to tell her to brace herself because they “have some things to tell [her], most important of which is [they’re] representing Faye,” and whoever wrote that line has to be the same person who wrote Harvey’s “some of which you know, some of which you don’t” bit from “Cairo” (s09e04) and that doesn’t mean anything important but it’s just really irritating that this syntax structure is coming up again considering how bad it is.

Donna immediately goes to fill Alex in on Harvey and Louis’s plight, the event conveyed to us the viewers by way of his quick recap of the scene we just witnessed (in a manner agonizingly reminiscent of Mike’s clumsy recaps at the beginning of “If the Shoe Fits” [s09e05]), and asks him to please look into whether “Faye can really take [them] down” because even though Harvey says he can handle this, she’s worried about his frame of mind because of the whole his-mother-just-died thing. Alex doesn’t think Faye is lying about her ability to do anything, but he promises to check.

Apparently Faye did somehow manage to get her dismissal motion on front of a judge that very afternoon, but just as Mike’s moving to, uh, dismiss her dismissal, Harvey and Louis show up to present themselves as Faye’s counsel, much to Mike’s and Samantha’s surprise (or perhaps dismay at the writers’ inability to think of a way to justify Mike’s return if not to go up against Harvey again). Harvey presents a section of SLWW’s bylaws that makes it seem as though Faye had every right to fire Samantha for any reason she saw fit, but Mike busts out his eidetic memory for the first time since like Season 2 (second major callback!) to quickly rattle off a subsequent paragraph that counters that claim, and the judge not only denies the motion to dismiss, she “[moves] this up in [her] docket to the first available slot” (why).

In the alley out back (or maybe the street out front), Mike presumes that Harvey and Louis are representing Faye so they can help play both sides, but Harvey begrudgingly sets him straight, advising them to drop the case before Faye finds proof that Samantha fabricated evidence. He and Louis offer Samantha a $3M settlement, and Samantha, apparently quite confident in her ability to cover her tracks, tells them to shove it, but Mike interrupts that they’ll think about it. Maybe he can tell this is all super fishy and figures there’s another angle at play? Maybe he trusts Harvey after all? Some actual conversation to that effect might’ve been nice, but I guess I’ll take what I can get.

Back at the firm, Faye approaches Donna to ask where Gretchen is, and Donna lashes out at her for making Harvey represent her right after his mother died, and I mean fair enough, but Mike and Samantha did choose to file their lawsuit right after the funeral, and Harvey did choose to come back to work specifically to see the fallout; what did they think was going to happen? Donna then threatens that if Faye “[hurts] Harvey more than he’s already been hurt, mark [her] words, [she’ll] be the one coming for [Faye] next,” which is…kind of her? But like, what exactly does she think she’s going to be able to accomplish?

At Mike’s apartment, I think, as Mike and Samantha prepare for trial, Samantha proposes presenting herself as a sob story from the foster system who “overcame obstacles to make something of [herself],” but Mike is still suspicious of Harvey and Louis offering a deal when “they can’t stand Faye” and instead suggests making a counteroffer. Samantha’s all begrudgingly impressed that Mike “really [is] as good as they say,” and Mike reminds her that “the two guys [they’re] going up against are no fools either,” which are not words I ever imagined I’d hear come out of Mike’s mouth, but whatever, it’s time to get to work on that counter.

Part II

[rose-of-pollux]

Inktober for Writers, Day 17

Prompt: Ornament Fandom: Perfect Strangers Title: Breakthrough Summary: [Based off of episode 6x17] In which Balki, Jennifer, and Mary Anne struggle to help an amnesiac Larry remember himself--and them.

Notes: Takes place after the events of episode 6x17, “Speak, Memory.”  The episode ended unresolved, with Larry having lost his memories again, so this is my resolution for it.

Cross-posted to AO3 & FFN.

Being unable to remember anything was a terrifying experience, Larry decided. He couldn’t sleep—not because of the headache that had started again, but because he simply could not relax, knowing absolutely nothing.  The other man who had suggested he sleep—his cousin, as he’d been informed—had seemed to be pushed to his emotional limits, which had prompted Larry to leave him be. Larry hadn’t gotten much from him before he had broken down—only that this was, apparently, the fourth time Larry’s memory had lapsed that day, and, not knowing what to say to comfort the cousin he couldn’t remember, Larry decided to turn in, hoping that sleep would, somehow, help to restore his lost memories.

But sleep was a distant thing when his mind was too busy trying to recall what it had lost—and all in vain, it seemed.  Even if he got his memories back, it was likely that they would slip away again.

He got up, heading for the door of the room when he heard a knock on the apartment door.  He hesitated at the door of the bedroom—he wouldn’t have remembered anyone at the door, anyway…

His cousin now answered the front door, admitting two blonde women inside—one was in a stylish black dress, and the other was in a flight attendant’s uniform.

“Hi, Jennifer.  Hi, Mary Anne,” his cousin said.

“Hi, Balki,” Mary Anne replied, kissing him in greeting.  “How’s Larry doing?”

“Mary Anne’s flight came in just after I’d dropped Mother off at the airport,” Jennifer explained.  “I filled her in on the way home.”

“It sounds like an awful day for all of you,” Mary Anne added.

“It’s not over yet,” Balki sighed.

A look of pure dread crossed Jennifer’s face.

“He… He didn’t lose his memories again, did he!?”

“Just after you left,” Balki said, with a teary nod.  “It’s lasting longer this time, and I don’ know what to do, I…”  He choked back a sob.  “The doctor says Cousin Larry will get his memories back for good eventually, but… I don’t know anymore—what if he is wrong!?”

“Balki, that can’t be!” Mary Anne said.  “The real Larry has to be in there somewhere—we just have to help him find himself!”

“I tried!” Balki exclaimed.  “I tried and I tried, and every time I find him, I lose him again!  It’s all just…”  He trailed off in a language that Larry couldn’t remember, but it was clear what he was trying to convey.

Jennifer, who had been quiet all this time, sat, listlessly, on the couch as she glanced at the ring on her left hand.

“I can’t believe this.  This is a nightmare!” she suddenly cried.

“Jennifer, you and Balki both need to calm down—” Mary Anne began.

“Calm down!?  How can I calm down!?” Jennifer retorted.  “The man I love doesn’t even remember my name!  During dinner, he called me Jessica!”

“Yes, you told me what a disaster dinner was,” Mary Anne said.  “But it wasn’t as though he was thinking of someone else named Jessica—he was thinking only of you!”

“What’s there for him to think about?” Jennifer asked, blinking back tears. “You know, of all the ways I thought I could lose his love, this wasn’t one of them.”

“Oh, Jennifer…” Balki sighed.  “You have lost your true love, and Mary Anne and I have lost our best friend…”

“What!?  No, we haven’t!” Mary Anne pointed out.  “Come on, you two!  I told you, the real Larry is still in there!  That means that he still loves us—with or without his memories!”

Still listening behind his bedroom door, Larry didn’t know what to think. Guilt was gnawing at him—he was bringing such pain to people he apparently loved, even though it was through no fault of his own.  But perhaps Mary Anne was right—if he was feeling this guilty over causing them so much distress, didn’t that mean that he loved them?

“Do you really think so, Mary Anne?” Balki asked.

“Yes, of course!” she exclaimed.  “Balki, even without his memories, Larry trusts you.  Without his memories, he shouldn’t know who to trust, but he’s willing to stay here with you, even if he can’t remember that you’re his cousin.  And Jennifer… When Larry was out there at that restaurant, did he even so much as glance at another woman, even if he couldn’t remember you?”

“…No, he didn’t,” Jennifer realized.  “He was completely focused on me and trying to make a good impression on Mother.  …He must’ve been so hurt and confused, and all he could think about was me.”

“And he was depending on me for help, just like how I always depend on him,” Balki added, quietly.

“You see?” Mary Anne asked.  “We just need to keep at it—he’s sure to get his memories back for good.  What have you been doing the other times?”

“Telling him stories about himself—where he’s from, his work at the Chronicle, all of his quirks…” Balki said.

“Okay, that’s a good start—what else?”

“…That’s all I’m usually able to manage before I break down,” Balki confessed, his voice breaking again.

“It’s okay; we can help now,” Mary Anne said, as she and Jennifer each placed a hand on Balki’s shoulder.  “Stories are good, but you need to give him things to look at—things he can hold and feel. All of the senses play a role in memory—the greatest of all being olfaction.”

Balki and Jennifer gave her a blank look.

“…I took biology in college, remember?” she explained.  “Okay, now what can we do to help spark his other senses?”

“Well, um…  Before this whole thing started, Cousin Larry tried my honey-glazed chicken,” Balki said. “He liked it… until I told him about the yak bile.”

“Well, okay, he doesn’t have to taste it; just smelling it should help,” Mary Anne said, as Jennifer’s expression became momentarily unreadable. “Heat some of it up.”

“He won’ be able to smell it now; he’s sleeping.”

“No, he isn’t,” Larry said, finally opening the bedroom door.

“Cousin!” Balki exclaimed.  He moved to hug him, but paused.  “…How are you?”

“Still can’t remember anything,” Larry sighed.  “Look, I’m…  I’m sorry. I didn’t realize just how upset I was making you all…  This is a lot harder on you than it is on me.  you don’t have to keep doing this; I can try and figure things out on my own.”

“No, Cousin—we want you to get better, and we will do whatever we can to help,” Balki insisted.

“That’s right,” Jennifer said, through a shaky voice.  “No matter what we’re going through now, it’ll be worth it if it means you’ll come back to us.”

“And we’ve got a lot of things to try,” Mary Anne finished.  She walked over and took Larry by the hand, leading him to the couch, where all four of them sat.

“But… what happens if none of them work and… I don’t come back?” Larry asked. He glanced at Jennifer, and then at the ring she was wearing, as though trying to remember giving it to her.

“Then…  Then we’ll help you start over with new memories,” she promised, her voice still a little shaky.

“That’s right,” Balki agreed.  “You would not abandon us; we won’t abandon you, either.”  He glanced at Mary Anne, who indicated the kitchen.  Realizing what she was trying to do, Balki got up. “I’ll get you something to eat, Cousin.”

“Thanks…” Larry replied, glumly, as Mary Anne went over with Balki to get the chicken ready, along with some other foods.

Jennifer hesitated for a moment, but then rested her head on Larry’s shoulder like she usually did.  Physically, he seemed exactly the same as always, though she knew that, mentally, he was in a very vulnerable place right now.

Slowly, he drew an arm around her, which prompted her to snuggle in further; she gripped his arm, as though wanting to make sure he wasn’t going to slip away from her again.

Balki and Mary Anne soon returned with the chicken and some other things to eat; the scents of the foods were comforting indeed.  They certainly felt like home, even if Larry wasn’t entirely sure what home was anymore.

Mary Anne now brought out the photo album, and soon, she, Balki, and Jennifer began to reminisce as they paged through the pictures.  Larry listened intently to their every word as he stared at each picture.  They had certainly been through a lot; it was soon quite clear why they were so invested in trying to get him to remember—all of the stories, good and bad, seemed to have only brought them closer together.

Larry’s emotions were mixed; he was on the verge of pulling together bits and pieces of his life from everything they were saying, but he hadn’t been able to actually remember anything on his own.  Still, he was in a much better spot than before this session.

It was nearly one in the morning when the stories began to be punctuated by a series of yawns.

“We’ve made definite progress,” Mary Anne said, pleased.  “I’m sure that if we keep this up, tomorrow, we’ll make even more. But Larry needs to sleep; it can only help everything sink in overnight.”

“Well, even if it doesn’t, thank you so much for trying,” Larry sighed. “We’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

Mary Anne nodded and kissed Balki goodnight before standing up.

Larry glanced back at Jennifer, who was looking up at him expectantly, still sitting with her hand gripping his arm.  Shyly, he leaned over and kissed her goodnight, as well.

It was as they kissed that a hazy image came to his mind—a different apartment, sparsely decorated with a wreath and a few Christmas ornaments, and Jennifer, standing there in the doorway…

He suddenly pulled back from the kiss, staring at her.

“Larry?” she asked, concerned.

“…Mistletoe…” he said, after a moment.

The others looked around, baffled, trying to find the mistletoe that Larry seemed to be referring to.

“No, not here…” he said, still staring at Jennifer.  “Another apartment…  And you and I kissed there… under the mistletoe.”

Balki and Mary Anne exchanged glances as Jennifer now placed her hands on the sides of Larry’s face.

“Larry!” she said, in hushed excitement.  “You remembered our first kiss!”

“I… I did…?”

She nodded, tears of joy springing to her eyes.

“And you remembered without any prompting from us!” Balki realized aloud.

“It’s a breakthrough!” Mary Anne exclaimed, happily.

Larry found himself swept up in a joyous group hug; there was something wonderfully familiar about the feeling.

Any sleepiness the others had now temporarily vanished, as they wanted to ride the wave of the breakthrough.  Balki and the girls were soon running around, gathering significant objects to hand to Larry in the hopes of sparking more memories—two trophies, books, his lucky pen… Balki even pulled the tapestry that had been hanging on the wall in Larry’s room and handed it to him; Larry had seen the tapestry when he had gone to rest, but, actually holding it, he was beginning to recollect its significance.

“You made this for me…?”

“Yes!”

It was another two hours before exhaustion claimed them all, but in those two hours, more memories had awakened, subsequently awakening others.

Morning found Larry waking up on the couch, surrounded by the others, who were still asleep.  Someone—Balki, no doubt—had put the tapestry over him like a blanket.  Balki himself was facing away from him, face planted in the arm of the left side of the couch; it must have been terribly uncomfortable, and yet, he was snoring away.

…He’s probably been in even more uncomfortable sleeping positions when tending the sheep on Mypos, Larry mused.  He then froze—he remembered that!?

He looked to his right.  On the other end of the couch was Mary Anne, still in her uniform, her arm draped over the couch arm in an attempt to reach for her travel bag; sleep had claimed her before she could’ve even touched it.  Between Mary Anne and him was Jennifer, still using his shoulder as a pillow; still asleep, she was slowly pulling the tapestry off of him and onto her, and Larry realized in amusement that he would have to learn to live with nightly rounds of blanket thievery once they got married.  He didn’t mind the idea at all.

He was content to stay where he was, relishing being able to recall his memories once again.  Between being able to use all of his senses and then being able to sleep, he was hopeful (a rare feeling for him) that, this time, he had everything back for good this time.

Jennifer stirred after some time, waking up.  She gave Larry a sheepish smile as she realized that she’d stolen the tapestry from him.

“Good morning,” she said, softly, so as not to disturb Balki and Mary Anne.

“Good morning.  …Don’t I know you from somewhere…?  …Kidding! I’m just kidding!” he added, hastily, as he saw the look on her face.

She smacked him on the shoulder with a throw pillow before hugging him in relief.

He hugged her back, and they stayed like that until Balki and then Mary Anne awoke, equally relieved and thrilled that Larry had all of his memories back—hopefully to stay this time.

“Balki…  Jen…  Mary Anne…” It was almost overwhelming, being able to know and speak their names again.  “Thank you…  Even if it was temporary, thank you for looking after me when I needed it and never giving up on getting my memories back.  I owe you guys so much…”

“Cousin, on Mypos, there are no debts between family members,” Balki insisted, drawing an arm around him.

“Or between people as close as family,” Mary Anne added.  “…Well, I mean here, between us.”

“They’re right, Larry,” Jennifer agreed.  “We help each other out.  It’s why you have so many memories worth remembering.”

They were all right, of course—had it been one of them stricken with amnesia, he’d have been right alongside the others trying to help them remember.

How ironic; he had initially come to Chicago to enjoy the bliss of solitude and experience living alone for the first time in his life.  He got to enjoy it for all of two weeks before Balki had turned up on his doorstep.  And not even half a year later, they’d crossed paths with Jennifer and Mary Anne for the first time.

And now, with his memories back, he knew that there would soon be more memorable moments to add to them, on account of the others.  That was so much more fulfilling than living alone could ever have been.

[fea-warriorheart]

Ninjago Oneshot: Not The Man You Knew

[WARNING: THIS IS BASED ON NINJAGO SEASON EIGHT AFTER WATCHING EPISODE 81. IF YOU HAVE NOT WATCHED UP TO THAT EPISODE, THIS IS A SPOILER WARNING. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.]

{Lloyd has always had an ache for the father he lost that day fighting the Anacondrai Cultists, and again when the Cursed Realm was destroyed. In fact, he’s tried many times to find a way to bring his father back, but all require magic or things he is not willing to do. So a part of him is hopeful when he learns his father can be resurrected - but unlike Lloyd, the Sons of Garmadon will stop at nothing to get what they want.}

The blond gave an ever-so-soft groan as he lifted his head. He raised a hand to rub at the sore spot just above his left ear where Harumi had hit him to knock him out, but found he couldn’t move his hands more than a few inches in either direction.

“Typical,” Lloyd grumbled.

It felt odd, sitting in the same cell his father once had sat in when Captain Soto and his crew took over the Bounty temporarily. Only this was on completely different terms, even if the ship had been taken over by another group of people.

It didn’t take him long to notice the glowing red eyes of Mr. E watching him in the corner of the room. The blond shifted uncomfortably, but with restricted movement, it was unlikely he could get the android to leave him alone with threats. Probably not at all, if he thought about it.

So, instead, he decided to pry for information.

“We’re going to resurrect my father, aren’t we?”

A slight pause, and then a small nod.

“I read about it when I tried to see if I could get him back,” Lloyd murmured, shifting to draw his knees to his chest. “The Oni masks are required, as is a blood sacrifice from one who is related to him. That’s why you wanted Wu, isn’t it?”

Another nod.

“And now you have me because I was an idiot.”

A whirring noise sounded, but other than that, E did not respond.

“Look, I know I’m doomed again,” Lloyd mumbled. “Even if I can somehow escape, which is unlikely, you guys will still hunt us down, or go after mom. At least I had limits to what I would try to bring him back.”

“Mih wenk reven I.”

Hazel-green eyes snapped up to find E now sitting at the edge of his cell, in visible light. It took a moment for Lloyd to realize he was speaking backwards. “You.... never knew him, is that what you said?”

“Sey.”

“Why do you talk backwards?”

“Noitcnuflam ressecorp.”

“...Processor malfunction? Like... Speaking processor?”

“Sey.”

“Y’know... Zane and Jay are amazing with technology,” Lloyd offered softly. “If we’re lucky enough to make it out alive, I could ask them to fix you.”

“Taht ekil dluow I.”

“You and me both, buddy,” Lloyd whispered, looking down and swirling patterns in the dust. “I just wish things weren’t this way... That there was a way to bring back my father, not Lord Garmadon...”

He saw E reach in, settling a hand as close as he could manage with Lloyd being on one side. “Gnileef yna ro. Ekil si gnileef eht tahw ton wonk i, rehtaf on evah I.”

“You... Oh. No father. Android. Right. Well... What about your creator? Zane called Julien his father.”

“Reh llik ot deredro.”

“....Kill her...?”

“Sey.”

“I’m sorry...”

“Eb t’nod.”

“Still... Anything like that is horrible.”

“Leef on.”

“...Right...”

E moved back into the shadows, then. And as much as Lloyd tried, he would not reply anymore, just watching the blond silently. They remained like that for what felt like hours and what probably was, until the Bounty slowed and gave a lurch as it landed.

Lloyd had trouble swallowing as Harumi entered the cell bay. Unlike before, when her eyes were full of emotion, they were simply cold and harsh, now. She unlocked the door to his cell and motioned E inside. The android moved over, messing with something behind Lloyd before tugging him up. Of course, his hands were still behind his back.

To his wariness, it was dark outside. The moon was just rising, leaving the area covered in darkness. But having been in the dark cell for a while, it was easier for Lloyd’s eyes to adjust - letting him make out the shape of the temple easily. It was, in a way, like the monastery the ninja had first trained in, where his father and uncle had grown up. He couldn’t see much detail in the dark, however, which unnerved him.

Everyone was silent as they moved into the temple, Harumi in the lead. Lloyd was behind her with E keeping a grip on the chain holding his hands bound. He knew without having to try that his elements wouldn’t work; the metal was vengestone.

It was sickening to see how clearly Harumi knew how to go through the temple, making it clear she had been there many times before. Before long, they were in a large chamber with dimly lit torches; E led him to the center while the group spread out to the sides.

When asked how the ritual was performed, Lloyd wouldn’t have been able to say. As a final assurance that he wouldn’t be able to ruin it, E had knocked him out once more; this, however, was a careful blow, only intended to knock him out for a few minutes until the ritual was complete. He woke to find a throbbing pain in his wrists, nearly throwing up to see both had been cut open, marks drawn around the circle in the blood that had escaped. His hands were now free, and... The room was oddly silent.

He rolled onto his back and nearly choked.

Standing above him, peering down at him with blank eyes, was Lord Garmadon.

In the corner of his eyes, he could see E, Harumi, and Killow, all with the masks at their feet and all silent, watching the two. Everyone else in the Sons of Garmadon was lying on the ground, in what Lloyd could only hope was anything but death.

He couldn’t help the soft word that left him.

“Pap...?”

In front of others, he never used the term he had referred to Garmadon as in his early years at Darkley’s. He had grown out of it around people, but whenever he was with his father, he couldn’t help it from slipping instead of ‘dad.’

Garmadon knelt at his side, silent and staring at him still. His eyes strayed down to his arms; lightly, he reached one hand out to brush against the cut, making Lloyd let out a small hiss of pain. Unlike what the father he knew, the dark lord did not pull back.

Instead, he dug his fingers into the cut, and Lloyd cried out.

He cried out until another hand wrapped around his throat and squeezed hard enough for him to choke and lose any precious air he might have saved. His eyes flashed open, meeting the blank, red gaze of Garmadon, only it wasn’t blank it was filled with hate and regret and the sadistic need to kill and a father’s love

Lloyd’s vision went dark around the edges as he lost consciousness. As he slipped away-

As he slipped away, he woke up screaming in the comforting arms of his father.

[a thing i decided to write after watching episode 81. quick and rushed and by no means the stuff i’d normally write - if you wanna see that, i have a quotev account and will be getting an ao3 soon.

anyways, hope you enjoyed!]

[lialox]

Gifted Blight AU

Episode Prompto Spoilers. Full story below. :D 

Rating: Teen, but with trigger warnings

Pairings: None. Maybe Promptis or Noctis/Luna if you look hard enough.

An AU where the complications of Prompto’s birth actually causes him to be very sensitive to the sun. (You know why.) The sensitivity doesn’t just show itself in freckles and sun-burnt skin.

It shows itself as cancer. 

The doctors say it’s caused by the UV light from the sun. There’s no cure. His body rapidly heals what the light seems to decay, forcing his cells to grow unnaturally.

Growing up, it was hard for him to make friends. He knew he was going to die, so what was the point? People always acted different and weird when they found out and he hated that.

But Noctis was different. After telling him of his doomed fate, Noctis only gave him a sad, understanding sort of smile and said:

“Some things are just out of our control. Decided before anyone could have a chance to say otherwise. Everyone’s gonna die at some point--only difference is that, some people know when. Might as well live life to the fullest.”

Then he takes the fourth nap he’s had in a day because they’re going fishing early tomorrow morning. Typical Noct, “living life to the fullest”.

Fast forward to the day they leave Insomnia. Despite Prompto’s failing health, the bros think it’s a good idea to have Prompto see as much as he can before... before he can’t anymore.

“Are you sure it’s okay for me to come with?” Prompto asks. He’s playing with his fingers again. “I mean, with my sickness and all.”

“Of course it is,” Noctis replies. “I’ll take you around everywhere I go. It’s good to get out.”

So they take him around Lucis. Through the deserts of Duscae and the rolling hills of Leide. The peaks of Ravatough and the depths of ancient ruins. Prompto records it all in his camera, because he’s not sure if he’ll ever have a chance to see it again. They let him stay, even when Insomnia falls and the Empire is hot on their tail.

Noctis, Ignis and Gladio all do their part in taking care of their friend. 

Until they reach Altissia.

In summary, there are two types of MTs: "Imperials” (Niffs who have been powered by Magitek like cyborgs, or use Magiteknology) and those androids who have “Magitek” in their names and have glowing red eyes. People are not commonly aware of it, but those androids have no organic parts to them.

Not anymore, at least. The process goes like this: A human is infected with the Starscourge at a young age. Starscourge is a parasite that develops this thing called miasma (the thing that blocks out the sun later in the game) within its host. Miasma is then harvested from the people as an energy source, at the expense of their life. This energy is then stored as what we know as a Magitek Core. **Reference**

Verstael has spent his entire life studying this process. His most recent project is focused on being able to transfer the will of a human being into these cores--a process that should be completely feasible. After all, the entirety of a person’s being converts into miasma before it’s placed into a core.

By the time the events of Episode Prompto occurs, he’s on the brink of death. It’s been weeks since he’s had his medication as he’s got all of the signs--all of the worst ones anyways. His vision is blurring, he’s got massive headaches that escalate into seizures and the halls he’s wandering all blend into one. He’s coughing up blood the entire Episode, leaned on the walls for support. It’s a wonder he made it through so far, but he had to. 

His friends are waiting.

Aranea tries to save him, at the part where she’s supposed to. But it’s not the same, because Prompto... Prompto can’t go on anymore. He’s too sick, and no matter how good of a fighter Aranea is, she can’t escape the facility while dragging a near-unconscious body along with her.

So she makes a call, and damn is it one of the hardest things she’s ever done. 

She leaves. Not without leaving some sort of hope though--no, Aranea isn’t that type of person. She hooks him up to some whatever medical equipment she knew how to operate, and disguises him as an MT. A part of her wondered if she even needed to do that in this particular side of the facility. As she turned away she promised him: 

“Listen kid. Hey. Hang on tight, you hear? I’ll be back with back-up, it’s just... things are gonna get ugly from here on out. ...Hey, are you even up? I’m coming back, and I’m counting on you to be here so I’ll have something to come back to.”

Prompto doesn’t--can’t respond. He lies there, on an unsettling operation table trying to contain his pained noises. Then a patrol passes by. The magitek unit doesn’t seem to see him as an enemy. It’s as docile as they come, and Prompto gets one of his brilliantly stupid ideas.

He takes it down. Rips out its core. And gods, does he show his mechanical ingenuity when he hooks up the offline MT into the initializing machinery with an empty core. 

Then, ever so slowly, crashing into various instruments along the way, he makes his way to where the tanks were. Where the “series” he was from were.

It feels like he’s on several levels of inebriated when he steps into one of the tanks. There’s blood dribbling down his chin and, and gods, he can’t stop coughing.

And the gears start to whir. A pale, viscous fluid begins to pool at his feet. 

For a moment, Prompto thought he was going to drown in the fluids that began to fill the tank, but the fear was overwritten by pain as it shot up from his legs first, burning up through his thighs and eating away at his gut like he’d stepped into a pool of acid. He looks down and--oh god, his legs are gone. They’re gone, they’re gone, they’re gone, and all that’s left was a wisp of particles making their way higher, and higher and then there’s ringing in his ears, and he really is choking on that fluid now, and he’s trying to grasp, claw at at his throat but there’s nothing, where are his fingers, and--

Darkness.

It feels like a million years have passed when Prompto’s vision flickers back, and the first thing he sees is himself. Or what looks like him. Then he realizes that it’s impossible for that to be him. He’s looking at a clone. His actual body should’ve faded into miasma.

He takes a deep breath--finds that he can’t... and looks down on to his hands.

They’re made of steel and circuitry. All hard casing and neutral paint.

Prompto almost found humour in the way that a part of him thought he couldn’t do it. Of course he could. He’s the clone of the damned genius who invented all this in the first place.

He’s traded his dying body for an MT’s and he’s never felt better. Now that he can really fight back. Now that he feels nothing at all. 

The first thing thinks of is Noctis. He can finally help him now. He’ll stop being dead weight, and they can stop taking care of him all the time. Finally, he can stop being useless.

Prompto has to find out if Noctis is okay. But now that there’s so much that’s changed, he’s not sure if he can face them anymore. 

The next time he sees Aranea, it’s at a cave just outside the facility and the meeting came with a spear pointed at his throat.

“Aranea?” Prompto blurts out, his voice a mess of static from a damaged voice box. He’s sitting by the fire, back turned to the water’s edge. He hasn’t had the guts to look at his reflection. 

She gives him a similar pep talk to the one they had in game. Of all the tough love Aranea throws at him, one thing in particular struck him right at his heart:

“This is what you wanted, kid. You wanted to help your friends, and for you to do that you gotta live. There’s no shame in wanting to live.”

These words almost carry him to the pinnacle of the Keep, searching for Noctis. He was so intent on helping him from a distance, if he ever saw them. Even with Aranea’s words, he can’t just walk up to Noct as a bucket of bolts. He just can’t.

But it doesn’t go according to plan. Ardyn captures him; binds him in that metal frame. 

Prompto’s screaming at Ardyn to let him go the whole time because the only thing scarier than pain and death, was the thought of Noctis rejecting his existence. His existence, which was now truly nothing but Magitek.

Ardyn finds it hilarious. So he guides the whole gang to Prompto.

When Noctis walks into his cell, he’s furious. There’s fire burning on the ring on his hand and magic flaring within his eyes. 

“Don’t you get fucking tired of the same joke, Ardyn!?” Noctis spits, turning around and looking for cameras. “Where the hell is Prompto?” Silence. The MT on the frame chose not to stir. “WHERE IS HE?”

“Oh, how awful,” the voice on the intercom coed. “You’ve come all this way, only to fail to recognize the very thing you’re looking for. It must hurt your dear friend Prompto’s feelings.” The voice paused, letting the words sink into the frantic mind of Noctis Lucis Caelum. “Isn’t that right? Prompto?”

And when Noctis speaks, he doesn’t sound angry anymore. He sounds broken. “What the hell did you do him?”

They could almost hear the shrug in his voice. “Hm, nothing at all.” And the voice cuts out.

Noctis extends a hand towards the steel mask. Pries it loose. There’s nothing but metal and wiring on this inside. Of course. They’re called “MT” for a reason.

“Prompto?” Noctis whispers.

Prompto hesitates. It’s only after he realizes that he’s got nothing left to lose that he finally replies: “...Noct.” It sounds like a mechanical whimper. If machines could even do that.

Ignis and Gladio gasp behind him as Noctis pries him free from the metal frame. 

Even after all is said and done, his friends still accept him. Prompto wishes he still had the ability to cry.

When he sees the last trace of Noctis disappear into the Crystal, and fires bullet after bullet into the Chancellor’s back, he felt something deep within wrench and twist. His mind clouded with an emotion he couldn’t release and he understood that even a soul on its own could cry.

As it turns out, being an MT was great in the eternal night that followed. Daemons don’t attack him. He could wander around the world with the same--no, even more freedom than he had before, now that he was’t sick. He took on the most dangerous of missions, taking him to the dens of monsters or from one side of Lucis and back. The missions he went on were impossible for a human. The ability to last for days in a world of daemons without food or water became the most valuable thing on Eos.

He’s never done so much in his life, and he’s never been so lonely. 

A decade passes before he finds his best friend again, only to find out that he has to say good bye.

“What will happen to you?” Noctis asks, curled up under a blanket on the caravan’s bed while Prompto is sitting at the floor. The steel of his back scrapes against the wooden structure of the bed. There’s poorly drawn cactuars all over his steel plates. “Once the sun comes back?”

“I’ll be with you every step of the way,” Prompto replies quietly. “Ever at your side. Remember?”

Noctis does remember. The guilt that’s settled deep within him, surfaces once again when he remembers why Prompto chose to do what he did. He remembers that he was the reason why his best friend’s soul was trapped in an empty shell. He remembers that Prompto should’ve died a decade ago, but only stuck around this long to fulfill a promise made in the name of friendship.

He remembers that, despite this world needing so many more people like Prompto, he has to let him go. So he chocks down any final requests he would have, because the only thing he could think of to ask was for Prompto to live.

But, that thought isn’t quite right. It’s not Noctis who has to let go. Prompto’s already gone ahead, but he won’t move on to the next life without Noctis. He’s waiting for him.

When they reach the throne room, Prompto’s shot with a violet orb he couldn’t dodge--and when he wakes up the battle’s just about over. The only thing left to do is for Noctis to deal the final blow.

“Do you still want to take me with you, Noct?” Prompto asks, fiddling with his thumb.

“My mind hasn’t changed.” Noctis holds out his hand.

Prompto reaches up, hand wavering just above his heart. He unclasps a metal lock just under his left shoulder to reveal a glowing, red orb. Carefully, he unscrews it, and it’s released with the hiss of an engine and a satisfying pop. He’s able to place it in Noctis’ palm just before the red of his eyes dim.

He collapses, one knee first in front of his King. Then his entire body slumps down at the steps outside the Citadel.

“Thank you,” Noctis whispers into the core. Every shade of crimson shifted ethereally. This was Prompto. He treated the core with more reverence than the crown treasures of Lucis.

And it was Prompto he held onto when Kings of Lucis raised their blades. It took thirteen to strike him down, but only one gem in his hands to keep him together. Once Noctis stepped into a realm of void, he saw that his friends and family were with him--but only for a moment. 

It was a fleeting image that didn’t dare to stay. Maybe he wanted to see them one last time that he hallucinated them.

But the ones to stay were Prompto and Lunafreya. The two whose bodies have long since gone, but have found ways to stay by his side. They were both eternally in their early twenty’s, young and baby-faced. They make short work of what’s left of Ardyn, shattering him into oblivion where immortals can’t return.

The battle leaves their ethereal forms in shambles; barely pieced together by each other’s light.

“Okay,” Noctis breathes, when all is done. “Okay.” He repeats again, then looks to Luna, then to Prompto. “Let’s go.”

“Uh. Me too?” Prompts’s eyes flickered to Lunafreya. “I don’t wanna third wheel or anything--”

“C’mon,” Noctis rolled his eyes. “I told you I’d take you everywhere I go.”

The astral plane is long and expansive. There’s no end to the possibilities the three of them can do. Now Prompto isn’t the only one waiting, and there’s a feeling of weightlessness within him now that he hasn’t imprisoned himself into a core.

Dawn rises in Eos.

And their souls are freed.