#as per usual some people are having a loud screaming crying argument in my hall

[girlspecimen]

should i go buy myself a sweet treat at the convenience store or should i just go to bed….. top ten questions science still can’t answer

[yoitssabrinee]

To Mercy We Plead

HOLY FRICKIN’ SHIT. I WROTE THIS IN JUST TWO FRICKIN’ DAYS AND I LOVE THIS CHAPTER MORE THAN THE FIRST ONE. HALLE-FRICKIN’-LUJAH.

Tagging @inconsistencys and @projectcherry12 for all the support. I love you guys. <3

this is also unedited so forgive me lmao

As usual, I’m open to critiques and corrections because I know there’s a helluva lot of those in here and I am so sorry omg

P.S. Guess who my favorite character is in this chapter. c:

SUMMARY:

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

WARNING: Mentions of bullying, harassment.

prologue - part 1 - part 2

Someone had thrown glass across the hall.

You have no idea who it was, couldn’t make out who was shouting what, but the sounds of ceramic shattering and choice words echoing all the way to the door of your locked bedroom had done more than enough—it set your nerves on edge, and each time someone came stomping down the hall, followed by a few screamed expletives, you burrowed deeper into the blankets, trying to block them out.

They were always at it. Every single time.

And usually, Papa was the one who had to surrender.

“—was better this way? I could never fathom how you—“

“—please, think about us, think about our child, our family—we’ve talked about this before—“

“—never even thought about me! How could—“

It kept escalating, one argument after another, topics and reasons changing randomly as their voices reached fever high pitch that you felt constant ringing in your ears.

Their voices were loud, thrown in a loop that kept repeating until one day, you questioned yourself, am I crazy already?

And then one day, the voices stopped altogether, and all you could hear was Papa’s ugly sobs as he bent over the coffee table, tears staining its chipped surface.

(s)

The Citadel was but a blurred background by the time you made it out of the gates, sputtering through city streets with the old, rust-colored scooter weaving ever so cautiously between cars and waving at their incessant honking. You haven’t got time to spare; the hospital’s daily visiting time was a mere hour’s away but you have to make it fast so you wouldn’t have to fight with someone else over a vacant parking spot. Again.

The scooter stuttered then halted to a stop as soon as you got the tires right inside the boxed parking lot of Insomnia’s Hospice, the entrance ungraceful but it would have to do—you nearly ran over an old lady when you got through the hospital gates and you were lucky that the woman was kind enough to let you off. Still, as soon as you put the helmet down, you ran toward the main building, crashed through the double doors, and slapped both hands on the lounge’s counter as you demanded, “I’m here to see my granny.”

The nurse manning the counter looked somewhat perplexed, shocked that a visitor had been there bright and early and only the hospital staff were around at that hour. Still, he fingered through the logs, asked for your grandmother’s name, and then let you off to the elevators that headed specifically for the third floor—where they housed the old and weary.

The white-washed halls were empty save for a couple of nurses who were pushing food carts around, trying to make the old people there eat for their lives.

You let yourself through one of the doors, and beamed at the sight of wispy grey hairs adorning the head of a frail figure that was sitting by the window. “Mama!”

The figure stiffened, turned her head, and met the smile on your face with a feeble one of her own as she called your name.

She wasn’t your “Mama��, as per what you’d usually call her—she was only your grandmother, a substitute to the mother that you for more than one occasion had tried to forget, but it was hard. Like, really hard. This old woman was the only other female in your family that you’d consider a mother figure, the one who actually put enough attention and care for you through your years of growing up, and probably because she was the mother of the man that had cared for you, even though you knew she could’ve just dumped you at first glance. She was a tad vain, and a little proud, but you wouldn’t have her any other way.

After exchanging greetings and a hug, she said, “Took you long enough to visit, yet here you are, early as a bird. What’s the occasion, got a new date that I should know of?”

This prompted a laugh out of you; it was nothing surprising, really, of the fact that, as old as she was, she could still speak as if she was in her mid-thirties, if not younger. The sass in her tone, the vivacious twinkle in those sunken eyes… you wouldn’t trade her for any mother in the world.

“Not really a date, Mama,” you said, pulling up a chair and sat next to her. “But I finally got that appointment I told you about. For therapy, I mean.”

She beamed at this, hands reaching out to clutch yours in her wrinkly fingers as she shook them. “Really? I didn’t think you’d go through with that… but you do know that whatever your decision is, I’d still have your back no matter what, right?” Then she was silent for a spell before she added, “There’s still time if you want to back out now.”

“Nah,” you said, tightening your hold on her hand in return. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, and… I think, I just, you know, need the drive to… walk on. It’s kind of stifling, really, but I know I’m making the right decision.” You looked her, really looked her, in the eye. “I need this, Ma. Believe me, I really do.”

She didn’t respond for a few moments, but when she did, there was a kind of mirth in her eyes and voice that you know was her sign of approval, “I’m glad. I’m so glad, and so proud of you, my love. I’m so proud of you, I know you can do it.”

She pulled you in for another hug, and this time, you couldn’t help but let a few tears escape.

You’ve had a life—twenty years and an extra one, spent in the dark about where you should head, whether you should move on or not. As hard as it was, you knew that no matter what you choose, what your decisions were, your grandmother would always be there to guide you back to the right path, and pat you on the back as well as offer encouragement should you find yourself stuck on tough roads.

Just like a man you used to know.

Pulling away and wiping the tears from your cheeks with bony thumbs, she appraised you with a look, smiling as she asked, “There, no need to cry. Life goes on, so you don’t need to worry about what’s in the past now; all you have to do is look forward to something new. But speaking of,” she patted you on the shoulder, brushing off any dust that was starting to settle there. “How did your Crownsguard exam go?”

Your laugh was automatic, partially by the rising emotions bubbling inside you. “Do you want to hear the bad news first, or the worse one?”

She clutched your hands, tightened their grip. “Oh, dear—“

“Yep,” you didn’t even wait for her to finish. “I failed. Like, epically flunked that shit. So now I’m back to square one.”

Taking in the news, she hung her head for a second before she addressed you again, “And the other-?”

You didn’t even wait a beat as you delivered, “I’m being initiated back into support training. I’m starting next week.”

She pulled you into another, much tighter hug, holding you close as you buried your face in her neck, inhaling her soft scent, and trying your darndest not to imagine the looks you’d be getting when they saw you in the beginners’ barracks, trying not to picture the constant shoving you’d be receiving as your fellow beginners began to climb up the stairs higher than you.

No, it wasn’t what you wanted.

Despite you doing your best, it still wasn’t enough.

“Oh, love,” she crooned, pulling away to hold your face in her hands. “This is a trying time for you, I know; but don’t let it get to you too much.” Then she leaned forward to place a kiss on your temple, her smile warm and gentle. “I believe in you. Don’t ever forget that.”

Yes, you wanted to say. I know, Ma. I know you believe in me. But what I don’t believe is myself, and that’s alarming enough for both of us.

But you didn’t. Instead, you let yourself immerse in her warmth, foreheads touching and bodies rocking against the breeze wafting from the open window. The sky was clouded with grey, signs that rain was coming, but you didn’t want to excuse yourself. Not yet. Pulling away from her, you reached for the bag you brought with you, fishing through it to yank a plastic pack containing cocoa-colored buns. Immediately her eyes gleamed.

Of course, you noticed this, and flashing her a cheeky grin, you said, “I brought you some chocolate buns—your favourite. Want some?”

Orbs twinkling at your words, she flashed you a cheeky grin of her own. “If I was younger I’d be having all of it, not just ‘some’. How dare you try to bribe your frail ol’ sickly grandmother with just ‘some’ chocolate buns!”

The giggling would have continued for the rest of the hour you were there if not for the nurse who came peeking through the door, shushing and reminding you to keep it down so as to not disturb the other patrons.

But, you told yourself as she poured a cup of tea for you while you nibbled away on a bun, you wouldn’t trade any other day for a day like this, especially with your favourite person.

Even though it was within the confines of a hospital building.

(s)

“Right this way, sir.”

He was bouncing on his feet, he knew that much; the assuring smile on the attendant was calming enough even though he could still feel the jitters all over his body.

Ironic that he’d feel that way despite it being his decision.

The attendant trudged over a door that led to a long, low hall, brightly lit by low-hanging lights that gave off a warm, whitish glow. The windows were darkly tinted, the doors were the same shade of hazel, and both were lining each side of the walls, ending with a tall window that was letting in too much light, rendering the hanging fluorescents partially useless in a sense. Paintings of fauna, wild critters and children hung off at odd spaces, giving off a welcoming vibe, but to Prompto, he felt anything but.

He felt off, and it wasn’t because of the energy this place was giving him.

It was mostly, probably, because of himself.

He had never felt so sure in his life. Hell, he had never felt this sure in his life.

As he ended the phone call, a nervous but satisfied smile on his face, Noctis came rounding the corner, two steaming mugs in hand.

“So you finally made it?” he asked, offering one of the mugs to him.

Prompto nodded, then reached out for the mug, taking a sip of the honey-mixed tea and feeling an odd sense of calmness washing over him. Warming his hands on the heated ceramic, he settled himself against one of the plush couches, Noctis following suit at his side. A half-eaten slice of pie lay waiting for them on the coffee table set low in the living room, but at that moment, nobody cared enough to take a fork to it.

Unlike the last few days, where Prompto only knew how to stuff his face with every type of food he could find in Noct’s fridge, then proceeded to work out like crazy until his back ached.

“Yeah.” Another sip, another exhale. “I did. Thanks, dude, for like—everything.”

Noct only hung his head, regarded his blond best friend with something behind those sapphire orbs of his.

Last night seemed to be the pinnacle of things, at least for Prompto. After days of coming over, playing games, raiding in King’s Knight then his fridge (generously restocked by Ignis, after the young man took notice of how fast the food he had premade the night before disappeared), he had come crashing through the door, sweating and with next to nothing on himself except for the clothes he wore, and asked if he could stay the night. He had been trembling. He was wide-eyed. The look in his eyes were akin to frightened.

He let him in and proceeded to turn on every gaming console he had in his possession, playing game after game until the sun peeked over the horizon.

That was when Prompto began to talk.

“I think I’m going to set up for an appointment.”

He didn’t think he’d get whiplash from how fast he had turned to face his friend, but sometimes Noct just knew that he himself was an idiot.

“Appointment?” he parroted, still sitting cross-legged on the floor and holding the Player 1 console in hand. “Like, a doc’s appointment, or…?”

It took Prompto a good two seconds for him to turn his gaze from his Wario racing against Noct’s Luigi on screen, to Noct’s fish-gaping self, their eyes locked in a daze.

“No, dude, like-“ how would he say this? Would Noct judge him if he put it that way? …But there’s no way Noct would do that, right? They have been best friends since like, what, grade school? He cleared his throat, trying not to sound like it was weird for him, too. “-like, a counselling, therapy—something like that, you know?”

“Yeah.” Prompto was back in the game, trying to make his Wario blitz past his opponent’s Luigi and noticing how easy it was to do so. He saw Noct still gaping at him from his peripheral vision, sighed, then paused the game before he dropped the console. “I’m not mentally sick, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said, and Noct closed his mouth.

“I know you’re not.” He had dropped his own console too, both of them now facing each other, holding mugs of hot chocolate that had gone cold over the last couple hours of neglect. “But, like, why—I mean, why now—no, wait,” he seemed to contemplate something before continuing, “You’re not saying you were nervous about training, were you?”

Prompto’s face dropped as if Noct had just said he had a weak tactile projection. “Dude, Noct—I am nervous! It’s just… just not about—that,” he said, then sheepishly averted his gaze as if he was ashamed of what Noct’s assumptions would tell him.

But if that princely friend of his had anything, he wouldn’t spill.

He only sat there, silently staring, silently thinking.

Then he nodded.

“You don’t have to tell if you don’t wanna,” he said, picking up his console and unpausing the game before them, his Luigi easily ousting Prompto’s Wario. “I’m still gonna kick your ass in this, though.”

“Hey!” Prompto was scrambling for his own controller now, his Wario—now spawned on the rainbow bridge and on its last life meter—speeding like everything depended on it. “Not fair, Noct, not fair! You asshole!”

He could still taste the sweetness of cold cocoa on his lips, even after he’d left Noct’s apartment this morning. He was lucky that he could get an appointment straight after asking the attendant he phoned for one—even though it was on the unlucky hour of 2pm, where most people were rushing back to their work after lunch break, which meant intense traffic. Still, he had made it on time, barely five minutes left until the appointed meeting, but it was better than late.

The attendant stopped at a door, knocked thrice, and opened it, peeking inside to speak. “Dr. Jules? We have the last patient right here, should I show him in?”

He didn’t hear the answer, but he figured it was a yes, because the attendant had widened the opening of that door, then ushered him inside. He made it to the entrance before the sight of six people, sat in a semi-circle, greeted him—all six faces including a man in white facing him, pensive smiles on their faces.

“Welcome, glad to see you could make it,” the man in white, who he figured was the doctor—or ‘therapist’ in this case—said, gesturing to the only empty seat beside him, which prompted the blond to put his bag by the chair and join them.

The attendant closed the door, thankfully—and awkwardly—leaving them in silence.

(s)

Your old, trusty little scooter, the one which had always pulled through the hardest of times, saved you from danger in some of them, even—was being inexplicably uncooperative, of all the times it decided to break down. Right in the middle of the road.

You threw your head back in a groan, standing before the garage that was—thankfully—not too far from where it broke down. A man on a tow truck was generous enough to help you pull the old thing to that place, which turned out to be where he worked. After doing a little tinkering and saying that your scooter would need a little time until it was fully fixed, you decided that the best course of action was to walk to the nearest hospital—which happened to be where you were headed next.

Checking the time on your phone, you groaned after seeing it was not even close to twelve in the afternoon and shit was already happening to you. It would take some time if you were to start walking now, but you figured you needed to clear your head and calm your nerves before you could face whatever it was that the therapist would do to you. You had never been to that place before; the only guide would be the navigator app on your phone or if you could work the nerves to ask someone for directions.

After giving your number to the mechanic and asking them to call you should they finish with the repairs, you quickly typed in the address to the hospital—found on the website of the therapist your grandmother had recommended to you all those months ago—and blindly followed its monotonous instructions.

And thank the Astrals for such a simple navigating app—you found the white-washed building in less than thirty minutes, having obviously miscalculated the distance in the first place. Insomnia was large, not to mention vast, but some places were strategically placed so people wouldn’t be too stuck during emergencies. Like this hospital right there.

But you found out, as soon as you entered through the glass-door entrance, that you weren’t entirely ready for the whole session thing.

“Um.” You meant to hum, meant to give yourself some more time to think this over and decide if chickening out was the best (or worst) thing you’d ever done in your life, when the attendant at the lounge desk raised her head, and regarded you with a soft smile.

“Welcome!” she asked, filing away whatever documents she was handling and standing up to greet you. “How may I help you today?”

This place really lived up to its nick—the spot where most people would have their sessions because it was rumoured that the staff were nice and the serves were top grade. But you still find it hard to say anything, and after a few tries, cleared your throat and decided to just go for it.

“Um,” gods, why do I have to stutter so much? “I—have an appointment? With Dr. Jules Avers? At two?”

The attendant began to rifle through a series of logbooks, pulling out a suspiciously thick one, then began thumbing through a list of what was supposed to be names under a bolded name, which you figured was “Dr. Jules”. She asked for your name, which you gave, then she broke into a smile before ushering you toward a door situated close to the desk.

“You’re quite early today, I’m surprised,” she said, leading you along a hall that was too brightly-lit for your eyes. “The session wouldn’t start until an hour later, but Dr. Jules is still not in—he’s got an appointment somewhere that he needs to attend, but I assure you that he’ll be back in time for your session. Ah,” she stopped at a door, peeked through it, and then ushered you inside. It was empty save for a series of eight metal chairs arranged in a semi-circle, and a desk with a couch and a working computer placed at a corner, probably for registration purposes… or something.

“Please make yourself at home,” the attendant said as you sat on one of the chairs, trying to get comfortable. “Would you like some tea? Biscuits, perhaps? Or are you hungry? I could fix you something while you wait.”

You agreed to a cup of Ebony and some biscuits with butter and jam, your stomach having knotted into complicated twists that would ensure you wouldn’t be eating anything completely solid by the time this ends. She disappeared with the promise of more beverages and snacks, and you sat there, all alone, playing with your phone while you wait.

Your heartbeats felt louder in a room that was too vacant for your liking.

Slowly, one by one, people began to file in at odd intervals—a man in business suit and slacks came through the door, first of all, wearing one of the most tired expressions you’ve ever seen on a person; next, came a woman in a sundress, eyes hidden behind a pair of golden sunglasses, her hair bundled up inside a straw hat; then, another man wearing casuals, like you; and last, a middle-aged man who was wearing driving gloves and a jacket two sizes too big on himself. All of them saw you, said a simple ‘hello’ or ‘good evening’, then settled on random chairs placed in the half-circle, before going absolutely silent.

Bundled inside a room with five other people that were total strangers to you, you felt immensely out of place.

Then, five minutes before the clock strike two, a man entered, wearing a long white robe and holding a clipboard and a stack of papers in one hand—the doctor, you figured, because he was flashing everyone a gentle, but tired smile, and addressing all of you at once, “I’m sorry for the hold up, I hope no one here has been waiting for too long.” He then took his place on one of the leftover chairs, directly across you, and said, “I know some of you may have already known me from my portfolio they’ve found on magazines and online webs, but I’m Dr. Jules Avers. I mainly dabble in psychology and used to be an assistant to a counsellor serving the royal family, but now I’m doing this work full-time, so there’s no need to feel on edge—you’re in save hands.”

The tension dissipated, at least somewhat, but everyone was eyeing the doctor as if he was going to pounce them at any time, and he seemed to notice this. “But I’m afraid to say that we still have one more member left before he could start our discussion, so if you could please wait the short five minutes until they arrive—yes, Cynthia?”

The knocking on the door had cut him short, and he turned to the open entrance—you saw the same attendant peeking her head through, asking, “Dr. Jules? We have the last patient here, should I show him in?”

“Yes, of course, please,” the doctor said, and she opened the door wider, allowing the most freckled young man you have ever set eyes on enter the scene. He was probably no older than you, his eyes were a shade of blue with hints of violet, and the most striking feature on him was the style of his blond hair, which reminded you of a chocobo’s hind feathers sticking up to the sky. He had a long fringe on one side of his face, though, which balanced it out, but nothing about him strike you as odd—at first.

Except there was this strange gut feeling and you didn’t know what to make of it.

The doctor said his welcomes, invited him to a seat next to him, and the blond flumped himself on that particular chair, before everything went quiet again.

“Right,” Dr. Jules coughed once, then began the spiel that he had enacted before the arrival of the new member. “As some of you had already known, I’m Dr. Jules Avers, and we are all here now to discuss some extremely important matters—matters which involve your past, and how you were going to move past it, correct?” There was a collective murmur of agreement before he continued, “Of course, but first, let’s talk about the rules, shall we?”

Then he was talking about the oath of secrecy—about how everything discussed in the room stays in the room—and about permission to have their conversation recorded for research purposes, and about making the next appointment should today’s session proved to be inconclusive and vice versa. Then each of you were given a piece of paper to sign, detailing all the rules and regulations and your agreement to cooperate together in the session, and then you were signing your name and passing the sheet back the doctor, who took it with another smile of his own.

Your eyes met with the blond’s; he gave you a tentative grin before he went back to his paper, reading everything out and signing the box that was ticked ‘SIGN HERE’.

“Alright then,” the doctor said, once all six sheets were in his hands. “All of you has sent in their papers?” Another collective murmur of assent. “Right. So, before we could start, I know that coming here—deciding, thinking if this was worth it, if this was going to be the ‘end-all-meets-all’ thing—was hard for you. But you all came here for a purpose—to make a change for yourself, or at least to better yourself. But before we could dive into the deeper things, I’d like for everyone here to introduce themselves so we could better acquaintance each other this way, and help each other out in the process. Deal?”

Another murmur; and then the man with the oversized jacket was the one who began the introductions.

What was this feeling, twisting and knotting your gut like it was telling you of something bad? It usually happened when something bad, or meeting certain people, were about to happen, and you didn’t like that feeling one bit. It was horrible. The buttered biscuit you ate not more than ten minutes ago felt like stone lodged deep in your intestines. You tried to will the sensation to go away.

It didn’t help that the blond was—not-so-stealthily—casting you furtive glances, as if he was feeling the same thing.

You wanted to throw up.

You felt like you knew him. But you couldn’t remember who.

The next thing you knew, the blond and you were the only ones left to introduce yourself, and out of courtesy—or maybe not?—he started to speak, his voice a little squeaky and pitched, and stuttering.

“Hi, um,” he said. “Uh, i-it’s nice to meet you. Um, I live close by, and I found out about this place from a close friend of mine who—used to—serve the royal family, and uh… yeah—my name. It’s—uh—“ He coughed, a bit too loudly, then continued, “It’s—it’s Argentum. Prompto, Argentum. Yeah, that’s my name.”

And you swore, by the grace—or curse—of all the gods, that your blood had just turned cold right then and there.