"Specs has the spare," Noct breathes, and Prompto, eyes wide with terror, vaults off him and to the other corner of the couch. He yanks the throw blanket off the couch's back and onto his lap, not an instant too soon. Because the door clicks open and then there's Ignis, toeing off his shoes and stepping into the entryway. "Good evening," he says, pleasant and mild. "Hey," Noct answers, pretending at indifference. "Hi," squeaks Prompto, face a remarkable shade of red.

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.

Ignis' cooking gives various status effects, depending on the recipe. It's never done this before, Prompto knows. This being the unstoppable urge to fuck his best friends, over and over and over again. Good thing they all ate the same meal.

Every royal is given Retainers. These Retainers are expected to attend to your every need, even the ones behind closed doors. This is a story examining Prince Noct's relationship with his three Retainers, told in segments and timeskips across several chapters.

Prompto was sitting on a concrete barrier nearby, cleaning his camera lens. He looked up as Noctis approached. "Got what we need?" he said, tone neutral. Noctis shrugged, puzzled. "No luck. Shop's closed." He looked back over his shoulder. "Apparently some kid robbed them blind just a while ago. They're still sorting things out." Prompto tapped his foot, ducking and adjusting a dial. "Huh. That's weird. It was open when I went yesterday," he said. (The bros, unbeknownst to Noct, sometimes have to do some less-than-wholesome things for his sake. Kinkmeme fill, complete.)

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."

"Just, you... you don't have wings." Noct gives him a funny look. "Who says I don't?" he laughs. In the world of Eos, legend has it one's wings are the physical manifestation of one's soul. Prompto does not have wings; instead he has two large scars on his back. (Kinkmeme fill, complete.)

Clarus claims that he can handle raising an infant Gladio on his own. Regis is certain that he no longer feels the bruise of an empty house without Aulea. They're both wrong. A little story about Clarus and Regis finding love, raising kids, and dealing with the unexpected news that Noctis may be the chosen king of legend.

Nyx wakes up on an alien world, the imprint of the Ring of the Lucii burned into his finger. It's still not the weirdest thing that's happened to him in the last twenty-four hours.