If you've been reading FFXV fic on ao3, then there's no way you haven't noticed the whole MT!Prompto thing. It's full of whump and angst and sometimes fluff, it's got world-building and canon divergence, and it makes me want to scream LOGIC at my screen pretty often. So I recorded it.

Prompto stared, and stared, and stared. Gentiana only smiled. “Let me clarify some things,” he started. “I’m a favorite of the, um, the Six?” “Our Most Beloved,” Gentiana repeated. “Right,” said Prompto. “And because you knew I’d be lonely and, and depressed after Noct brought the sun back, you – brought me to a parallel universe??” “Yes,” said Gentiana, ever patient. Prompto needed a drink. Or twelve.

Noctis wakes to the taste of something foul in his mouth, to the wet stone and hum of a haven underneath him; he wakes with a shuddering gasp, fingers grasping at the area where his father’s sword pierced his chest, only to find the soft beams of sunlight washing over him, and his deathly injuries no longer there. A boon, little king, Shiva had said, before she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. Then, a few spaces away from him, Prompto sputters and coughs a raspy but undoubtedly heated, “WHAT THE FUCK?” Privately, Noctis echoes the sentiment. What the fuck.

Cor looked out at the thirty plus Crownsguard hopefuls with a flat piercing stare. “This is Prompto Argentum,” he said, gesturing to the young blond haired teen standing next to him. “He is a part of His Highness’ retinue. If you manage to land a hit on him, you can skip Basic training and move to Advance.” Someone in the crowd snicker as the rest of them stared, skeptical. Prompto Argentum was built like a stick, just waiting for someone to snap him in half. There was no way the Marshal was serious.

Much has been written of the Eidolons--Guardian Forces, as they are sometimes known. Of their power and timelessness, of their sometimes humanlike quirks, and of the great costs of using them. Esthar scientists say the part of the brain responsible for junctioning them also commands memory; the summoner who calls on them does so at the cost of his or her own past. But rumors persist of occasions when use of them has instead granted memories. Memories of other times, other places, other lives. Whether or not these memories belong to the summoned or the summoner has never been satisfactorily determined, but one must fall back on the wisdom of the ages which tells us: The Eidolon knows not only who you are and have been, but also who you will be.

"Thankfully," says Ignis, "the spiders in this area aren’t of the venomous variety." Prompto perks up, and sets a paper bag of cookware on top of a rock. "Well, that's a relief." "Certain other species," says Ignis, "are not nearly so benign." Noct laughs a little at Prompto's face, which is caught somewhere between terror and disbelief. "C'mon, Specs, quit trolling him. He's gonna wish he didn't come."