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Possession, Flirting, and Other Dice Rolls by chasingfigments for roshytsunami
Fandoms: Final Fantasy XV
14 Mar 2026
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Gladio raps the table twice, then says in the higher acolyte’s voice, “Adept Sancus, you have visitors.”
“Come in,” Ignis says, after a half-second’s doubt. He does not try for anyone’s voice but his own.
“Wisdom check,” Gladio says.
Ignis rolls his d20 and adds his proficiency to it. “Fifteen.”
“The two strangers before you are clearly experienced adventurers, or maybe mercenaries, based on the weapons they carry and the wear and tear on their armor and other gear. They’re successful at it, too, because they seem well-fed, in good health, and have all of their limbs. The woman is a little taller than the man, though they seem of age and are similar enough in coloring and facial structure that you wouldn’t at all be surprised if they were related.”
Ignis hums at that information, considers the backstory he crafted with Gladio, and asks simply, “Has Mother hired you to kill me?”
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Lunafreya isn’t dressed like she’s expecting to leave the suite any time soon, and there’s something about the shorts and oversized t-shirt she’s wearing that make her look soft, touchable. Crowe maybe wants to bury her face in the expanse of skin exposed by the shirt’s swooping collar.
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“Nudges aren’t going to work,” Gladio says, because if they were, then he wouldn’t have needed to rope Prompto into conspiring with two of his classmates to fake a double date and a family emergency.
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It’s going to take several days to make it up to the Vesperpool, and who knows how long after that to see if they can actually locate any of the mythril Cid needs to repair the boat. The first day’s drive is a lot of aching silence, which Prompto tries in fits and starts to patch over. Ignis tries to engage with him, a little, but when his eyes aren’t on the road, they’re on the rear-view mirror and the sullen Noctis in the back seat. Noctis tries even less, and Prompto wilts into silence in the front seat.
Or: After Gladio leaves, Noctis withdraws.
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Ignis wasn’t anywhere nearby when Noctis took two bullets to the chest.
He had the day off. He hadn’t even gotten an emergency alert until after Noctis was already out of his reach in the medical wing. He could have died before Ignis even knew he was in danger.
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OR: After Noctis is severely injured protecting Prompto, Ignis and Gladio talk.
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under starless skies (we are lost) by chasingfigments for Anubis_the_Jackal
Fandoms: Final Fantasy XV
31 Dec 2022
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Gladio gives the order to pack because the reporter on the pier knows who they are and the last organized resistance to Niflheim fell in the night. Ignis has them packed, out of the resort, and piling into the Regalia within fifteen minutes.
Noctis isn’t entirely sure how he got into the back seat. The stretch of time between the realization that the seer’s gift passed to him—because his father is dead, Dad is dead—and sliding into the back seat is smeared across his memory in distorted colors.
It isn’t until Galdin Quay is out of sight that Gladio asks, “What did you see?”
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It’s technically not breaking in if Ignis gave Prompto both the spare key and explicit permission to stop by, but it still feels like it might be a tiny bit illegal considering how sleek the apartment building looks from the outside and how not-dressed-up Prompto is right now. But there’s no point in dressing up when Prompto is here on a mission.
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Prompto passes over a thermos of coffee with a ridiculous flourish and an even worse attempt at a courtly accent. “This humble pleb is honored by thy pre-noon presence.”
The corner of Noct’s mouth twitches—it’s still too early for a proper smile from him—and he steps in close to bump his shoulder against Prompto’s. “You’d better be,” Noctis says, then yawns large enough that Prompto can hear his jaw crack. “So what’re we doing today?”
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“All right, up you go,” Aranea says, and Prompto isn’t quite sure when she got so close, but he tries to help her get himself upright. He staggers, more than walks, to the newly made bed, and Aranea gets him on it, boots and all. It’s not like either of them feel safe enough to strip down when out in the field, and anyway it’s not the first time Prompto’s slept with his shoes on, either.
Not that he thinks he’ll be able to roll out of bed and sprint anytime soon, but it’s the principle of the thing.
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Prompto gathers up the courage to take off his right glove and then very carefully settles his hand on Ignis’s head. Ignis tenses briefly, but when Prompto snatches his hand away, Ignis grips the hem of Prompto’s shirt. There’s a hitch to his breathing that doesn’t disappear until Prompto settles his hand back on Ignis’s hair.
(A moment on the way to Cartanica.)
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Find the True King before he passes through my gate, and bring him back into the sunlight. The trial ends only when the seeker chooses to abandon the hunt or to step through my gate.
“Penalties?”
A portion of what you wish to find, says Etro, and the words are a knife pressed against Ignis’s throat. Death cannot befall a seeker. Every intervention will cost memories of the King of Light.
Gladio’s voice comes dangerously close to a growl. “Until we no longer remember who we went down there for?”
Orpheus and Eurydice + Chess with Death. Ignis descends into Pitioss to retrieve Noctis’s soul after the Dawn.
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It’s raining by the time they reach Cape Caem—a proper late summer storm that has Clarus white-knuckled on the twisting coastal road. The distant, booming thunder and Clarus’s occasional cursing are not enough to make Cor stir in the back seat. Nor does he wake when Clarus hauls him out of the back seat and carries him in both arms through sheets of rain and into the forgotten lighthouse keeper’s empty home.
It’s awkward carrying him up the stairs and into the bedroom. Cor may have grown nearly ten centimeters in the last year, but he hasn’t yet filled out to match his new height. It gives him a scrawny look, though not as bad as when he first joined the Crownsguard.
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He was careful not to break anything, Prompto whispers.
Don’t start feeling grateful for it, Gladio murmurs back. He’s been fucking with all of us.
During a brief moment of respite in Zegnautus Keep, Prompto asks Ignis a question.
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The decision to come down to Galdin Quay was done in haste; they don’t have much of an itinerary. But Noctis needed out of Insomnia after everything that happened, and the king was willing to send him with the smallest of entourages: Gladio, Ignis, and Prompto. Prompto hasn’t even finished his Crownsguard training yet. A week at a quiet beach house near a resort town, keeping a low profile—with any luck, it will help lift Noct’s spirits.
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Prompto went online on his phone, just once, while Ignis was making their dinner, trying to see if there was any news.
It was a massive mistake, of course, because the one thing that everyone has up is footage of a disheveled Noctis leaving the mall with Gladio and a Crownsguard escort. His clothes were dark with blood, his eyes were trained on the ground, and his face was scarily blank. Not Ignis-scary-blank, which makes people scared for themselves, but Noctis-scary-blank where people are scared for him.
The headlines that aren’t focused on Noctis are focused on the total number of casualties, and Prompto just can’t wrap his head around it. Six dead, seventeen injured, and him. His name’s not out there in the media—no one’s is yet, but Prompto knows it’s just a matter of time, and that’s another thing he’s trying not to think about—but in between the shock and the outrage and the grief, people are already speculating about why only one of the dead people could be revived.
Series
- Part 4 of Emergency Protocols
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A Lesson of Her Own Making by chasingfigments for MuffinLance
Fandoms: Avatar: The Last Airbender
22 Feb 2021
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Katara steals four more lessons that week. Four more boys around her age who know the forms but don’t know the desperation of a true fight. They are bad at anticipating her movements and her decisions because Katara will never have the luxury of learning the way they did. She fights dirty, not fair, and their pride doesn’t let them understand that they’re in over their heads until it’s too late.
They leave her scrapes and bruises and cuts that fuel her healing sessions. When those are done, she goes back to their suite and resumes putting together a combat bending style from stolen pieces and her experience in the wider world.
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Noctis pulls a hand out of his pocket so he can run it through his hair. When he speaks again, there’s a subtle tremor to his voice. “The Ring is killing him, Ignis. I could help. But he won’t—”
Ignis steps into the space Noct’s cut-off silence leaves behind. He offers what hope he can. “Gladio found another candidate. I interviewed him this evening.”
“You did?” The uncertainty in Noct’s expression carves a slice out of Ignis’s heart.
“I’ll be offering him the position in the morning.”
“Do you think he’s the one?”
(AU where Noctis has lived a secluded, touch-starved life in the Citadel due to prophecy, and Prompto joins Noct's guard.)
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The Amicitias may not be royalty, but they have traditions, not quite sacred, of their own. It is the duty of the King’s Shield to train the heir’s. It isn’t a duty that is to be foisted off on anyone else, no matter how difficult it is. They are a family forged in blood and the willingness to sacrifice everything.
Their children. Their parents. Themselves.
Gladiolus is prepared to face his father in the training grounds. He’s known it would happen since he first began his own training to be Noct’s protector. He never thought he would fight his friend.
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Prompto is supposed to attend the ceremony Ignis organized for the anniversary. For the Dawn. Noct’s official funeral, technically, since only the three of them had been there the first time around, and Noctis didn’t belong to just him, or them, anymore. Prompto promised he’d be there just before sunrise as long as he didn’t have to say anything, promised he’d stand up with Ignis and Gladio and try to honor Noctis the way he deserved. Actually pay attention to the sunrise with them this time, instead of burying his face in blood-soaked clothes and crying like the world’s ending instead of starting over.
But some asshole, dozens of them, all around Insomnia, starts lighting fireworks. Bright bursts of sound and color, all through the night before, reminders that everyone on this planet is happy that Noct is dead and Prompto’s only got two options left: explode or run.
So he runs.
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Prophecy, in Plain Text by chasingfigments for somewherealight
Fandoms: Final Fantasy XV
05 Jan 2020
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If Noct’s place as the Chosen King is true prophecy, then it is obvious that Gladio is one of his Swordsworn. Gladio himself had said so when he handed over the list, with a shrug and a dry after two thousand years of our families being bound together by oaths, you really think that I’m not one of them? and Ignis had conceded the point.
He is a little more reluctant to entertain the idea that one of the Swordsworn might be him, yet every time he wants to scoff at the idea of prophecy, of his place in it, he circles back to the truth:
He swore an oath to protect Noctis, and he would rather die than break it. No matter the difficulties they had when Noctis first moved out of the Citadel, no matter the arguments they still get into, no matter how quickly Noctis can drive him to exasperation, if Noctis is to walk a dangerous path across the breadth of Eos, Ignis will be beside him.