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coffeeghoulie · 11 days ago

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broke the mold (change will come)

chapter 1: can't explain a thing

"For a very long time, I thought I was fire too."

The only person Swiss has ever told this story to is Aeon. But that is centuries from now, and he is not yet Swiss.

I've been thinking about and working on this fic since I wrote Eternal Heatstroke last year, and it's finally ready to share! You don't have to have read EH before reading this, but this is technically its sequel.

Much thanks to @askingforthesun for letting me bother them with this fic and helping with the worldbuilding, @mintea-in-space for reading through it, and to @belle--ofthebrawl for letting me yap about this fic in person. <3

Title and all chapter titles (unless otherwise specified) are from (Coffee's for Closers) by Fall Out Boy. Updates on Fridays.

Contains emotional child abuse, religious doubt, a large group of ghoul OCs, dissociation, and a large crisis of faith. Please mind the warnings <3. 5.9k.

divider by @wrathofrats <3

He's just gotten comfortable in the little nest in the corner of their room when the door creaks open. Golden light spills into the late night darkness, revealing the silhouette of a teenage fire ghoulette. Her horns are just starting to curl back over her head, silver jewelry threaded into the braids that brush over her shoulders. The hall light glints off of them, catching his eye.

"Aurum," she says bluntly, no hesitation or care that he might be asleep. He shuts his eyes. "Mother and Father want to talk to you."

Aurum squeezes his eyes shut even tighter, a pang of fear and deep seated dread sinking into him. He groans under his breath, biting down hard on his lower lip. "I know," he says, reluctantly extracting himself from his nest just as Scintilla, his sister, curls up into hers in the other corner.

"Be quiet when you come back," she says, disinterested in the obvious fear in his scent that he can't quite mask. "Some of us care about our studies in the morning. Ignis is already asleep."

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, feeling his sister's eyes burning into the small of his back. "I'll be quiet, Till." He’ll at least try to be. At least for his youngest sister’s sake. Sometimes, it feels like she’s the only one who doesn’t just hate him.

"You better be quiet," she grumbles, settling into her bed. "You certainly weren't last time."

Aurum shuts the door as quietly as he can.

The walk down the hallway gets longer every time he's summoned, he swears. Every step harder to take, unavoidable. His heart pounds in his chest. It rattles at his ribs in an attempt to get free. He waits for a moment outside of their door, the frame seeming to loom over him despite him being rather tall for his age.

There's shuffling within, blankets and papers, quiet murmurs that Aurum can't quite make heads or tails of. He knows his mother and father's voices though. He swallows hard, turning the door handle and stepping into his parents' room.

Aurum feels like he's spending more time in his parents' room than his own, these days. It's the third summoning this week. Their room is exactly the same as the last time he was summoned here. Their hearth sits against the far wall in an intricate weaving of bedding, two dressers on the wall opposite. The window is tightly shut, and if Aurum squints past the glare from the lights on their nightstands, he can see the glow of the City below.

Aurum ducks his head as both of his parents' gazes lock onto him. Pyra sits in her nest, legs gracefully tucked under her. There's papers and readings sprawled out in the blankets, her glasses perched on her nose as she looks over the frames. Inferno stops pacing by the window, turning to look at his oldest and only son, dull yellow eyes staring into what counts of his soul.

"Your father and I both know why we've asked you here, Aurum," Pyra says, reaching back to where she's tied back her hair. A few loose twists have escaped her ponytail, and she pushes them back behind her ears neatly. Ever prim and proper, even when winding down for the evening.

"Yes, Mother," Aurum mumbles, taking the space he knows well at the foot of their hearth. His arms go behind his back, and he hangs his head, his braids falling into his eyes.

Inferno tuts, and Aurum jolts. "You look at your mother when she speaks to you."

Aurum swallows. "Yes, Father." It's always hard to judge if Inferno gets involved on nights like this. He usually yields to his mate, but some nights... Aurum just has to hedge his bets. But he swallows hard again, straightening to meet his mother's dark amber gaze.

"Why do you think we've called you here?" Pyra asks, her attention split between him and her papers. Aurum's made the hypocrisy comment before, about him forced to be at attention and her being allowed to pay attention only when she pleased, and it didn't end well, so he keeps his mouth shut.

"I don't know, Mother," he says. In reality, it could be any number of infractions. Iggy, even though she's his favorite little sister, loves pushing his buttons until he breaks and snaps. It could be the way he isn't keeping his nest clean to Tilly's standards. It could be anything.

Pyra whips towards Inferno, something red glowing in the darkness of her eyes like embers waiting to be kicked back to life. "By the Prince, Inferno, he's just like you."

The larger ghoul throws his hands up, raking claws through close-cropped curls. "I know, Pyra, I'm trying to make sure he doesn't turn out like me."

"You're not trying hard enough," she snaps, turning back to Aurum. His ears pin back. "'I don't know' is not an answer, Aurum. Try again."

Aurum wracks his mind, even as everything starts to blur around the edges. He digs his claws into one of his wrists, squeezing as hard as he can. He hopes the pain keeps the dissociation at bay. "I- I really don't know, Mother."

She snarls, slapping the papers in her hand against the nest. Aurum flinches, but he knows better now than to physically recoil and step back. He'd learned that lesson a long time ago. He instead tightens his grip around his wrist.

"You are here, again, because your tutor told us that you weren't trying at all to improve your magic. Again."

"I am trying!" Aurum says, eyes glancing nervously between his parents. His father stands stock still, staring expressionlessly. "Saint Jezebel, I'm trying, I swear!"

"Watch your tone." Pyra tuts, her fangs clicking threateningly. She picks up the stack of papers and thumbs through them. "I'd believe you, Aurum, only, that's exactly what you said about the last tutor. And the last one. And the one before that."

Aurum takes a deep breath through his nose. "Because it was true then, and it's true now. I am trying, Mother. I don't know what's wrong with me that I can't use my magic like I used to. I can't do anything right." He snaps the last sentence, unsure if he's angry with her or at himself.

She shakes her head. Her eyes lock on his and it takes everything in Aurum's power to not look away. To stay here and present and focused. If he misses something, she will make him live to regret it. "Tone, Aurum."

He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. "I'm sorry, Mother."

Pyra doesn't respond with much more than a huff.

"You know how your mother feels about 'sorry,' Aurum," Inferno snaps. He leans against the bedroom wall. He watches. It feels like that's all his father ever does. Watches, never interferes. Except when he's angry enough to start yelling too.

Aurum hates those nights. He hopes this isn't one of them.

"Yes, Father," Aurum says.

"Quit it with the 'Yes, Father, yes, Mother,'" Pyra says. "We're sick of hearing it."

Aurum squints, brows furrowing with exasperated confusion. "Well, if I don't address you, you yell at me for being disrespectful. If I do address you, you get angry. I can't win."

She mirrors his expression. He can't tell if she's mocking him. She probably is. "So you admit that you think this is a game?"

"No!" He says, throwing his head back to look up at the ceiling, a silent prayer in his mind. "That's not what I said at all!"

"You are squandering the Prince's gift!" Pyra snaps, her many fangs long and sharp. "He said that you would-"

"Grow to great power and bring honor to my name in servitude to the Throne! Mother, I know, you've told me!" Aurum says, his claws curling into his wrist and threatening to break his own skin. "You tell me every time I don't do good enough for you!"

"Aurum," she growls, standing from the nest. She's just barely taller than him, and her eyes bore into his. "You would do well enough for us if you just tried. I know you can, I've seen it."

"What, when everything was fucking easy?" He snaps. Aurum's exhausted. He wonders why they can't have these little "discussions" earlier in the day. When he wouldn't ache for his nest. Wouldn't have to worry about waking his sisters.

"Don't take that tone with me," she snarls. She's never done more than snap her teeth, grab at his wrist, but there's enough threat in her voice that Aurum flinches.

He lets his eyes flick up at the ceiling, the familiar words starting to rush through his mind. Seven Sisters, grant me the strength and patience I do not-

"Don't roll your eyes at me, Aurum!"

Aurum's eyes go wide, glancing back to his mother's face as she stands in front of him. "I didn't!"

"I fucking watched you, Aurum, I'm not stupid!" She lunges, so close Aurum can feel her spittle hitting his cheeks. "Quit fucking lying to me, it's not going to get you anywhere."

"Mother, I didn't roll my eyes, I looked up-"

"Knock it off," Inferno says. "Listen to your mother."

"I am, Father," Aurum says, bravely looking away from Pyra to glare daggers at his father. He feels the anger burning in his chest, coals kicked into flames with each heartbeat. Whenever he calms, in hours or days, who knows, Aurum knows there will be no forgiveness for his father's enabling observance. For never putting a stop to this. He's close to grown now, he can leave soon and never have to do this again.

Not much longer until he's grown. He's gotten this far. He can make it a few more decades.

The tiny voice in the back of his mind reminds him that he's not sure how much more of this he can force himself to endure.

Pyra's clawed hand grabs his chin, forcing Aurum to make eye contact with her. "You need to try harder, Aurum. The Prince said you would bring honor to your family's name and follow their footsteps. Do not make a false prophet of Him."

"I am trying as hard as I can, the fire's not- It's not coming to me the way it used to, and I don’t know why," he says, tail curling around his calf sheepishly and ears pinned back. "I'm sorry. Mama, I’m sorry."

She rolls her eyes, huffing. Her voice goes soft, and her thumb smooths over his cheek. Gentle. He fights every instinct to lean into it. "I don't believe you. Aurum. If you really meant it, you would do something to change it."

Aurum sinks his fangs into his tongue until he tastes blood. Even despite the pain, he can feel his mind retreating deep into his brain, leaving him feeling almost hollow. Pyra's talking. He knows he can hear her, but nothing processes. She can probably see the way his eyes are going dull.

There's a muted dread that settles in his chest. He knows she's saying something he needs to listen to. She'll be pissed when she realizes he isn't hearing her. His father'll be pissed too. But Aurum can't get his brain back online even despite that threat.

He can hear her talking. So close he can feel her breath, his eyes crossed as they try to focus on her. He cannot make out the words but knows the tone. He’s heard it before. He knows how to make this stop, how to stop nights like these, but he’s been trying just as long.

It feels like he’s living the same day over and over and over and over and over again with no end in sight.

Eventually, she lets go of his face, takes a step back to her nest. To where she’s brought her work home from the Palace. Flamespeaker’s duties never ending, and Pyra’s served the Prince with honor since long before she’d met his father.

"You are dismissed," Pyra huffs. She gestures towards the door. "Do not wake your sisters."

Aurum nods, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat as he tries to force himself back into his body. "Yes, Mother. Good night."

It isn't returned.

He shuts his parents' door as quietly as he can, turning the knob as it latches so it doesn't click loudly. His tail tucked between his legs, he slips back down the hallway to his and Scintilla's room. He's fighting a losing battle, his eyes stinging and blurry with tears, and by the time Aurum creaks the door to their room open, they've started dripping down his cheeks.

Aurum's nest waits for him, and he slips under the covers as quietly as he can. Best he can tell, he was successful on not waking either of his sisters. He counts it as a win.

He throws the blankets over himself, eyeing the lump Scintilla makes under her covers carefully. Her breathing is slow and steady, and he nods, knowing what she looks like when she sleeps. He's been sharing a room with her for almost two centuries now, has been practically his entire life. Iggy, his baby sister, youngest of his den, had slept in their parents' hearth far longer than Scintilla or Aurum had, and when she'd finally outgrown the habit, Aurum had been more than happy to give up his room for her.

Aurum watches Scintilla breathe for another few moments, just to make sure he’s followed through with his promise. When he's certain she's asleep, he grabs a big handful of the thickest blanket in his nest, sinking his teeth into the fur to stifle a sob.

The barrier breaks, and it all floods out of him. He sobs, curling up in on himself, knees to his chest, and he shakes. He's tired. So tired. Scared, and upset, and wailing like a brand new kit. He hates himself for it. He's almost grown, and here he is, crying so hard his tears steam up on his cheeks.

Of course his fire makes itself known now.

Aurum hates it all.

He tries to keep it quiet. He really does. But he freezes when he hears a snap of fangs from the other side of the room.

"Be fucking quiet," Scintilla hisses. Her tail unfurls from around her body, the spade smacking threateningly against her nest. She rolls over with a quiet growl. “Or I go get Mother.”

Aurum whines, caught. He turns over to face the wall, tears still streaming down his face as more shame settles into the core of his chest. His tail uncurls from around his thigh, and he takes the spade between his teeth.

He bites down until he tastes iron, willing himself to fall asleep.

Aurum's dreams have always been strange. Tonight is no exception. He finds himself in the shadow of a tall ghoul, a man he doesn't recognize. Everything's too fuzzy to make out the real details. He's lit with fire, steam and shadow obscuring the details. All Aurum can see are the broad features. His hair falls in long locs down his back, horns curving out from his head.

Aurum calls out for him, so close, yet when he tries to take a step towards this strange, familiar ghoul, he gets no closer. "Hey!" Aurum calls, reaching as far as he can.

The man pays him no mind. He does not say anything, doesn't even acknowledge that Aurum's called out to him. He starts to walk away.

“Hey!” Aurum panics, breaking into a stumbling run after the man. "Wait!"

With every step, Aurum gets further away from the man, even as he reaches with arms outstretched, runs as fast as he can. "Please don't leave me here!"

The man pauses. Looks over his shoulder. The moment Aurum meets his eye, he jolts awake in a sweaty, disheveled mess. He doesn’t fall asleep again. Mind too frantic, trying to figure out what it meant. He has no answer.

Things are still tense in the morning, a bitter taste on the back of his tongue, coating the roof of his mouth. His sisters share glances with each other as he steps out into the common room, even Iggy. She looks tired. Something like disappointment pangs sharp in Aurum’s chest, and he curls in on himself.

"Didn't sleep well," she says to no one in particular, spreading jam over a stale piece of flatbread. There's a dog-eared book in her lap, and her tail brushes against the stool leg as it sways absently behind her. Ignis ties her locs back out of her face as she eats. She doesn’t look at him. That hurts worse than anything else.

Aurum's ears pin back as Scintilla glares at him from where she sits next to their sister. "No wonder," she says dryly. Her fingers work at a piece of silver jewelry that had come off of one of her braids in the night. “Someone doesn’t know how to be considerate if the instructions were written out and shoved into his face.”

"I'm sorry," Aurum mumbles, tail curled around his calf as he goes to get himself something to eat. He knows his mother has already left for her duties, but he can't quite remember if his father had a meeting scheduled for this morning or the next day. It's always best to try and appease his denmates just in case he's still home.

Even then, it doesn't really matter if Inferno's home or not. Despite walking on eggshells around them, trying his best to be civil and accommodating, one of his sisters will find something, say something, to report back to their parents. Kicking the coals to restart the fire, whether they mean to or not.

Aurum's used to it by now anyways. No use complaining. He takes a deep breath and turns his back to rummage through a cabinet. Their eyes burn into his skull.

"Quit saying you're sorry, Aurum," Scintilla scoffs. Even with his back turned, Aurum knows his sister has her fangs bared. She sounds like their mother. "We keep going through this because you won't listen to Mother. You are ruining our lives. All you are is a broken record. You're not sorry."

His tail lashes behind him and he whirls on his feet to face her, forgetting all about finding something to eat. "Quit telling me how I feel, Till!"

She just rolls her eyes, snarling a little under her breath. "Don't call me that."

"I can't call you your name?" Aurum snaps, meeting her glare and baring his own teeth in response. "I can't call you your Prince-damned name?"

Her eyes flare with fire, smoke curling from her nostrils. "Tilly isn't my name, you belligerent asshole!"

He snarls, lunging for the counter, and she swats at him, hissing and spitting. Her claws catch the back of his hand, and Aurum shouts as she rakes them across it. "Fuck you," he snarls, clutching his hand to his chest. Dark blood oozes like magma from the cut.

"Oh, get over yourself," Scintilla says, rolling her eyes, getting up from her seat and grabbing her bag. "It's time to go, Ig. We’re gonna be late if we don’t." Ignis follows close behind her, giving Aurum one last glance as she too grabs her bag and follows her sister out the door. The anger Aurum sees there stings like salt in a cut.

He stands stock still until the door latches shut behind them. Aurum snarls under his breath, shoving the heels of his hands into his eyes. He can feel his pulse in his temple and in the gash across the back of his hand. The house is silent around him.

Aurum clenches his fists, claws digging into the meat of his palms. He hastily wipes the blood from the back of his hand. It burns. Or is it just his eyes burning that he feels?

He doesn't know and he doesn't care.

Aurum glances down the hallway to his parents' room, trying to determine if his father is still home. When Inferno doesn't come out from his own room or the living room with all of the commotion, Aurum takes a deep breath, lets it out on a sigh. He marches up the hallway and throws his bag back into his nest. Fuck it all, he's not going. He's already going to have to face his pack's disappointment for being a bad fire ghoul.

He might as well give them something different to be disappointed with. Stir it up a little bit.

Aurum heads out then, glancing down the street to his sisters' backs as he turns in the opposite direction. Fuck being a broken record, he scoffs to himself. Under the anger, a dread starts to settle in his chest. He bottles it up for now.

He keeps his head down as he walks deeper into the heart of the City. He knows his parents should both be at work, but they could very well see him ditching his tutor.

It'll get back to them eventually. Of course it will. But Aurum has things he wants to do before he has to deal with those consequences.

Aurum ducks down a side street between two tall buildings, ignoring the ghouls and demons of all elements moving around him, living their lives. He's grateful that they ignore him, despite all of the gold in his hair and ears that marks him as family of the First.

Out of the corner of his eye, the Palace looms over the rest of the skyline, growing ever closer. Aurum feels his heart race, knowing his mother, let alone the Prince Himself, are in that building, and he's walking closer like he wants to be caught.

He keeps walking, head down, breathing in the scent of a street vendor's wares, frying flatbread and sweet and savory fillings. Aurum's stomach growls. He realizes he didn't actually get a chance to eat before rushing out. There's a few coins in his pants pockets, but food can come later. He has something far more important he wants to get done first.

The Palace looms large on the hill in the center of the City when Aurum steps out of the side street. But he turns his back to it. Saint Jezebel's chapel is a much smaller building, ash grey brick and glass stained every color Aurum could ever imagine. There are grander churches, the ones he attends with his family for Black Mass.

But no one ever looks for him at Saint Jezebel's.

Aurum pushes open the door as quietly as he can, slipping inside. He takes a deep breath and lets his shoulders as he takes in the chapel. He's the only ghoul here, much to his relief. Aurum doesn't need anyone questioning him right now.

He slips into the last pew, eyes forward to the statue on the altar. She'd once been human, Up Top, a long time ago. She’s beautiful, carved from perfect white stone by a ghoul long gone by now.

Aurum clasps his fingers together, resting his wrists on the pew in front of him, before bending to press his forehead to his forearms. He takes a deep breath. "Our Father, who art in Hell," he begins, barely a breath louder than a whisper, eyes squeezed shut, focused on that little seed of flame at his very core. "Unhallowed be thy name. Cursed be thy sons and daughters, of thine nemesis who are to blame. Thy Kingdom Come, Nema."

The little speck of flame caged in his ribs, his magic, the core of his being, flickers in acknowledgment. Aurum tries to spiritually warm his hands by the flame. The Prince had made his ancestors, and by extension Aurum himself, in His own image. Had stepped forth from the fires of the Pit, unholy Creation to rival His Forsaker's.

"Infernal Majesty," Aurum whispers, the air still and quiet around him. "I offer my thanks, to be created in Your image, a creature of fire to burn away all Holy. I know this to be true, Olde One."

His eyes dart behind his eyelids. He knows he's alone. But he can feel Saint Jezebel's eyes, even as she looks through the window behind him. Above him. He wonders if she knows he’s here.

"You love Your creations, like Your father was supposed to love You. And You have made us good, and right, and powerful. I try my best to live up to that legacy, and the future You personally have seen for me."

He looks up, opens his eyes. Saint Jezebel stares out the window towards the Palace.

"Lord Lucifer, Prince Morningstar of the Nine Hells, creator and protector of Your children, I pray to borrow an ounce of the strength it took You to stand up to him. I just want to be a good son, Majesty. I want to make Mama and Dad happy, and do good by you. I don't know why I can't get better."

He hastily wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, dropping his head as he continues to pray. The tears sting the cut still there. "Unholy Lord, if all of Your children are made in Your image, why am I bad?"

The chapel is silent. Aurum's question hangs on the air. Even the little spark of magic at the very core of him, forever dancing and flickering, feels like it's frozen still. Saint Jezebel stares.

Aurum swallows hard, lowers his head again, and keeps praying. "O, most unholy Lord, grant me the sacrilege of your knowledge. Open the channels of my infernal soul and bring sweet release to the darkness inside of me. O, let my understanding of Your abhorrent secrets bring me closer to thee. Nema."

The whispered words almost seem to echo throughout the empty chapel. Or maybe Aurum just feels too small, insignificant to be heard. He asks anyways. "The dream from last night, Lord. A-are you leaving me? Am I that bad a ghoul? What's wrong with me? Why won’t it stop?"

Despite his pleas, desperation souring his scent, Aurum knows the only way he's getting an answer is if he marches right into the Palace. He’s just a kit, he knows they're not going to listen to him if he demands audience. He knows his mother likes to talk. He knows what she's said about him.

He wonders if the Prince hates him. It’s a thought that tastes bitter. But sometimes, the helpful things are. It’s almost like medicine.

Aurum stops praying. Just rests his forehead on his arms, feels the bench in front of him dig into them with the pressure. Lets himself be aware of sensation. Tries to shut off his mind. Can’t quite do it.

He’s only aware of time passing when his stomach growls. Services aren’t until the evening, but the chapel’s always open to those who need it. Which, right now, seems to be only him. He’s never been so grateful to be alone.

Aurum stretches when he stands, and is almost sent back on his ass with the force of the dread that hits him. He can’t stay here forever. And leaving means tucking his tail between his legs and sneaking back home. Walking willingly into the lion’s den.

But it’s not like he has any other choice. Aurum has to go home. Or whatever he’s walking into will be far worse when they eventually drag him back.

They’re waiting for him when he returns. Of course they are. Aurum stops in his tracks, ears pinning back and tail curling tight around his calf as his parents glare daggers at him. “M-mother, Father,” he breathes.

“Would you care to explain where you were, Aurum?” Pyra asks, her arms crossed over her chest. Her magma-like markings swirl and ripple, heat radiating off her like her anger. “Your sisters said you never showed up at the tutor’s.”

Aurum shrugs, swallowing hard as he steels himself, forcing himself to hold eye contact with his mother. “They left without me. I wouldn’t doubt that they’re making things up just to rile you up.”

“Lying isn’t a good look on you, Aurum,” Inferno warns. He bares his teeth, and Aurum fights every instinct not to bare his throat in submission. “We found your bag in your nest.”

“I’m not lying.” He at least has the audacity to look his father in the eye as he lies.

“Oh, I’m sure,” he scoffs, stepping towards him. “Get in here. Quit standing in the threshold.”

“Of course, Father,” Aurum says. Every emotion, all of the fear and doubt and anger, swirl inside his chest until all he feels is tired. He crosses his arms, mirroring his mother.

“Don’t take that tone,” he growls. Aurum just huffs.

“Now what? Let me guess. You’re just going to scream at me until you’re happy, and then send me off to bed so we can do this all again in the morning.” He’s fucking exhausted. Aurum hurts.

“We don’t do this because it makes us happy,” Pyra spits. Her eyes burn, flashing orange and red like embers kicked back to life. “We do this because you refuse to fucking listen, Aurum. You have the power to put an end to this. The ball is in your court. This is on you.”

He just laughs. It’s better than bursting into tears. Inferno lunges at him, infuriated by his blatant disrespect. Aurum flinches back, eyes wide as his father grabs him, pulling him closer to him and his mate.

“I can’t end this, because no matter what I do, it’s not good enough,” he hisses, trying so hard to hold himself together. He knows how they react when he cries. He pulls fruitlessly at his arm.

“It would be good enough if you just did what you were told and tried,” Pyra snaps. “That is quite literally all we ask for, Aurum. That does not feel unreasonable to ask for. We ask for you to just try.”

“I do!” he yells, wrenching his arm from his father’s grip. He feels his body temperature steadily rising. “That’s all I fucking do! I try, and I try, and I try, and you’re never fucking happy! What the fuck do you really want?”

For a moment, his mother just looks sad. But Aurum has no fucking pity for her, for his sisters, for his father. His parents don’t answer, just stare at him.

“What do you want,” Aurum tries again, gritting his fangs. “Tell me exactly what you want, so I can be a good enough son for you. Or is that just it, that you want a different kit because I’ve so thoroughly and repeatedly failed you?”

“Aurum, that’s not what we want and you know it-” Pyra tries to protest. Aurum just rolls his eyes.

“Am I making you a disappointment to the Prince? Am I fucking up your most honorable career, Mother? Aren’t you so disappointed that you’re not raising a good enough successor? Come on, tell me.”

“Don’t bring that into this, Aurum,” Inferno snaps, but Aurum ignores him. Much to his parents’ dismay, all they’ve really done is made him excellent at tuning them out. He cocks his head, raising his eyebrows as he waits for his mother’s answer.

“Mother, you know it’s true. The Prince blessed me, so you say, and I’m proving Him wrong.”

Pyra’s eyes ignite, and if Aurum weren’t so angry, so exhausted, he’d be truly afraid.

"You are so fucking inconsiderate!" Pyra screams, baring each of her fangs. Her markings ripple like lava, running down her arms and glowing bright. "If you were anyone else's son, they would have given up on you by now. You are squandering that blessing, and we still haven't given up on you, Aurum."

Aurum's heart and fists clench so tight he can smell blood. "Well," he says, swallowing hard to keep his voice as level as he can. "Maybe you should give up on me."

He gives his mother one last glare before he turns and walks out of the door.

"Aurum, get back here!" Inferno roars, but it's cut off as Aurum slams the door shut. With a jolt of fear, he starts to run.

Aurum doesn't look back, but he doesn't hear the door open after him. Granted, all he can hear is his heart pounding at his ribs, his panting breaths, his feet on the paving stones. He doesn't know where he's going, just lets his feet carry him away away away.

He slams open the doors to Saint Jezebel's for the second time in twenty four hours, and once again, he is alone. The offering candles flicker at her feet, lit for services that are soon to start, and the sight of fire makes Aurum's chest sting even more.

He storms up the aisle, a growl building in his throat as he reaches up to his hair. Aurum knows he doesn't have that much time before someone caves and comes looking for him. He can't go back. But he moves with purpose until he stands underneath Saint Jezebel, her eyes looking up to the window, out to the Palace.

They do not look down upon him.

With shaking fingers, Aurum takes out every last piece of adornment in his hair and ears. Each cuff and ring and charm, the gold gleaming in his palm, the tiny red gems that had been woven into his braids. It takes longer than he'd like, struggling as he makes himself bare for the first time in his life.

The pile in his hands clatters as they shake. Aurum stares at the jewelry, what had marked him as one of the First and as a ghoul in service to the Prince. Some of the pieces had been his mother's, his father's, grandparents', some from ghouls even older and long gone before Aurum had been born.

Each and every one of them had spent their lives in service to the Prince.

Aurum snarls, staring up at Saint Jezebel. His back is to the Palace. "I asked for protection," he says slowly. Something burns in his chest, nasty and acrid and curling up the back of his throat. "I begged You for safety, from them, from her, and You ignored me. I thought I was Your child! I thought You fucking cared!"

His knees tremble. If he were any less angry, adrenaline burning through him stronger than his magic ever has, he might have fallen to them.

Instead, he balls his fist around the pile of adornment. The metal digs into the cuts on his palm. He turns, staring out the stained glass window out to where the Palace sits on the hill. He hopes the Prince can hear him.

"I'm not your fucking child anymore," he snarls, chest heaving. "I'm no one's."

He turns back to the statue of Saint Jezebel and throws his adornment at her feet. "Fuck You!" he screams, drowning out the sound of the metal clattering on the marble. Aurum's eyes burn, vision hazy. "If You wanted me to care, You wouldn't have made me bad, wouldn't have given them a reason to hate me. Fuck You."

Aurum turns and storms out of the chapel, slamming the doors behind him before he starts to run. The Palace is behind him.

For the first time in his life, Aurum leaves the City. And he doesn’t turn back.

#finally ready to share this fic and i'm equal parts terrified and excited #time to see if my worldbuilding holds water #also i'm not sorry for what i'm doing to swiss. he is my favorite and therefore gets to go through the Gauntlet.#i promise there will be a happy ending. he'll get there. but first the angst.#dot's writing #preach electric wip #eternal heatstroke #swiss ghoul #ghoul oc #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #cw child abuse #cw religious trauma #cw dissociation

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vinelark · 1 year ago

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do you have any whumpy fic recs (ideally romance, but gen would do in a pinch)? Open to any fandoms. I feel like I used to see them a lot more, but they are harder to find these days. Bbts really hits the spot tho btw haha.

ANY fandoms? oh boy do i.

Hotel Heart by Laughsalot3412 (and its sequel Safe as Houses): not quite romance but not NOT romance ot3 leverage psychics au where eliot is a hitman who used to be under the control of a horrible empath who left him with major mental scars and huge trust issues. he reluctantly ends up protecting another empath (hardison) and thief (parker) and sloooowly starts to work through the aforementioned trauma while they take down the aforementioned evil empath together. excellent series with excellent pangy plot. also i knew nothing about leverage when i first read it and it’s what got me to watch the show.

Hold my Eyes to the Sky by myrmidryad: an enjoltaire/les mis longfic set in a 1970s(?) wizarding au in which grantaire is a very sad and lonely werewolf and the idealistic activist he’s hopelessly in love with just got himself turned as well, and grantaire has to help him navigate the changes while dealing with his own self-worth issues and tragic backstory. you want whump? look no further.

Occultation by Geese_in_flight & pineapplesquid: a novel-length au of the book Winter’s Orbit, in which the main difference is that kiem, not jainan, is the one dealing with a previous, horrible arranged marriage. somehow this simple switch brings so much fresh potential to the characters (i loved seeing how this played into kiem’s self-worth issues, and also loved this exploration of what jainan’s character would be like if he had been able to flourish the last few years), with a whole new set of pangs. i recommend both the book and the fic!

爱不释手; never let me go by yiqie: a post-cql wangxian getting together fic with the classic amounts of yiqie pain & pining & h/c & devastatingly beautiful writing about the devastatingly beautiful experience of being in love. also blood. honestly most fics by yiqie probably fulfill this request (are you into vashwood, perhaps?)

Morning, keep the streets empty for me by feyburner: a wangxian modern au oneshot with self-sacrificing wei ying getting into trouble and landing himself in the hospital while pining very very hard for his cultivation partner. i’m reccing this one out of all feyburner fics because it has the obvious physical hurt but fey is so good at weaving pangs into fic that tbh there’s emotional whump to be found in most of them. also, god-tier writing in general.

the kite string and the anchor rope by fleurdeliser: a wangxian canon-divergence au that falls into the sickfic whump subgenre. the pangs! wangxian’s love for each other and for a-yuan and the way wwx’s desperation and powerlessness in the face of a sick child (and his own illness) clash with how the world perceives him at the time is so 🤌🤌. this is saved in my h/c favs folder for a reason.

The Long Way Home by itsnatalie: extremely whumpy batfam tim & jason fic, which i’ve definitely rec’d here before but if i’m reccing whumpy longfics it HAS to be on the list. good god this fic is a masterpiece, both for the angst and for the absolute beautiful worldbuilding/navigation of its horror tropes.

and since you like bbts, i’ll also self-rec a few of my older fics! i think you’d probably enjoy this river runs to you, a wangxian/mdzs modern cultivation longfic feat. (sort of) identity shenanigans, angsty backstories, self-worth issues, and the main character getting all manner of hurt. also: you’re the trouble that i always find, a wenzhou/shl dreamsharing/amnesia/sort-of-timeloop fic in which the main character is supposed to dream about killing his love interest but said love interest keeps dreamcrashing to change the plot.

this reclist could’ve been dozens of fics long tbh. i live for The Pangs which usually go hand in hand with good whump, and seek those fics out whenever possible, so as always this is a super incomplete reclist! also i welcome any and all recs in return.

#fic rec #asks #a buffet table of fandoms #i KNOW i’m forgetting like 75% of my favs here #my organization system exists in my heart #anyway these span years and years of reading and i will probably come back to add to this post #the whump in wangxian fandom alone could power a small city for a week #also i wish i could manifest the 500 incredible pangy fics my friends and i have brainstormed in the DMs because whew. the angst #i forget they don’t exist outside of our brains because they’re part of my own mental canon

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automatisma · 24 days ago

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2024 reading review

I was tagged by @bright-thehawksflight because every mutual of mine knows how much I like to talk about what I read (thanks <3). In 2024 I have read 31 books, excluding uni manuals and comic books: a decent year with some interesting books, although nothing could top some 2023 readings. I have already gushed about my favourite books in other posts, so here's some other highlights:

Midnight Robber by Nalo Hopkinson

It's Carnival time, and the Carribean-colonized planet of Toussaint is celebrating with music, dance and pageantry. Masked "Midnight Robbers" waylay revelers with brandished weapons and spellbinding words. But to young Tan-Tan, the Robber Queen is simply a favourite costume to wear at the festival--until her power-corrupted father commits an unforgivable crime. Suddenly, both father and daughter are thrust into the brutal world of New Half-Way Tree. Here monstrous creatures from folklore are real, and the humans are violent outcasts in the wilds. Here Tan-Tan must reach into the heart of myth--and become the Robber Queen herself. For only the Robber Queen's legendary powers can save her life... and set her free.

It was my first Hopkinson novel and I was very curious to position her on my imaginary sci-fi map. I loved the richness of the initial world and the smoothness with which Hopkinson introduces the reader to its worldbuilding, even if most of this alien-ness gets thrown out of the window when the novel reveals itself as a bildungsroman about surviving trauma. The fact that exploration of said trauma is handled with such grace and understanding of its protagonist is what keeps the novel from falling apart at the seams and what ultimately sold me on it.

Use of Weapons by Iain M. Banks

Special Circumstances had always been the Contact section's moral espionage weapon, the very cutting edge of the Culture's interfering diplomatic policy, the élite of the élite in a society which abhorred élitism. The man known as Cheradenine Zakalwe was one of SC's foremost agents, changing the destiny of planets to suit the Culture through intrigue, dirty tricks or military action. The woman known as Diziet Sma had plucked him from obscurity and pushed him towards his present eminence, but despite all their dealings she did not know him as well as she thought. The drone known as Skaffen-Amtiskaw knew both of these people. It had once saved the woman's life by massacring her attackers in a particularly bloody manner. It believed the man to be a burnt-out case. But not even its machine intelligence could see the horrors in his past.

I had quite liked the two Culture books I had read so far, so I figured it was time for the next novel in the series. I realized how much I missed the witty back-and-forth of Banks' dialogue and the complex politics of the Culture, while I definitely didn't feel a pang of nostalgia at the wobbly pacing that sometimes gets in the way of the tightness of the narration (although this being essentially a character study does lessen the annoyance a little bit). As for the rest, well, it's the Culture: grappling with morally interesting choices, snobby robots and most importantly, a fucked-up plot twist that may or may not keep you up at night.

Violenza alle donne. Una prospettiva medievale curated by Anna Esposito

Le forme di violenza esercitate nel Medioevo contro le donne compongono un catalogo impressionante: percosse in nome del diritto del marito a «correggere» la moglie, del padre a costringere e punire la figlia, del padrone a battere la serva; ingiurie connesse al comportamento femminile; stupri, segregazioni, omicidi in nome dell'onore tradito; spoliazione di beni, a partire dalle eredità e dalle doti; matrimoni e monacazioni forzate; manipolazione delle coscienze e violenze inquisitoriali; maltrattamenti, prevaricazione e discriminazione nel mondo del lavoro. Concentrandosi soprattutto sul basso Medioevo italiano, il volume racconta come si vennero codificando i comportamenti violenti contro le donne, senza peraltro tralasciare i casi di violenza di donne contro altre donne o la loro risposta violenta nei confronti di chi le minacciava e aggrediva.

I think it's highly unlikely that an English translation of the book has been published, but if you happen to understand Italian this is a very interesting and straightforward book about all the different forms of violence women were subjected to during the Middle Ages. It doesn't shy away from exploring the ugly and oppressive realities of supposedly "safe" havens such as the monastery, the marriage and most importantly the family ("un luogo di specifica e variegata brutalità"), which I think is its main sellling point - aside from the clear and concise style and the broadness of analysis.

No tags because if my beautiful mutuals have anything to share they should use this post as an invitation: please tag me if you do <3

#tag games #summaries courtesy of goodreads #i've also read man play and games by caillois! which i didn't put in the highlights because well #it has a second part. which is to put it mildly. not that interesting and also very much informed by racism (yeah not in a self-aware way)#the first part is incredibly interesting and foundational though #so if you feel like moving your first steps into the magical world of games i strongly recommend to check it out

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aquadestinyswriting · 11 months ago

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The Origins of Selene's Name

Ok, so here's something completely different. This isn't necessarily a worldbuilding post or a specific story, so much as it is an explanation as to where Selene got her name. Thanks absolutely must go to @druidx for helping me with the folk tale at the end of this little explanation.

Tags: @druidx, @sparrow-orion-writes, @ashirisu, @blind-the-winds, @philosophika, @the-down-upside-finch

OK, so, I wrote about Selene's birth family a long while back and realised that Sel's name does not fit the naming conventions of the rest of her family. Of course I came up with Selene years before this part of her backstory, but I wanted to explore a more in-universe explanation.

Selene was born in the equivalent of early January, on the night of a full moon on a crisp and clear night. Her mother, Rosalie, recalled a word her grandmother had used to refer to the kind of moon present in the sky that night, and decided it would make for a suitable name for her newly born daughter should she survive the 4-5 months until her Name Day.

Selene, when she was a little girl, did ask her mother where the name came from, and Rosalie explained that her grandmother had said the name at one point and made mention of an old fairy-tale passed down through the generations that had been mostly forgotten. While the full story was no longer remembered, parts of it were, and Selene was told it was to do with the moon, mid-winter and this name. Skip forward a few more years, and Selene is talking with Yastromo after her arrival at his tower near the Darkwood. Yastromo notes how unusual Selene's name is in comparison to the rest of her family, and Selene tells him what her mother had told her. Yastromo, as much older and very learned man, realised that the fairy-tale passed down through Selene's family, was the same as an old folk tale from a tribe of nomads that had once lived in the area that the little town of Toreguarde now occupied. While the old wizard could not be certain that Selene's family had any connection to this nomadic tribe, he did decide to regale Selene with the full tale, which has been transcribed for your pleasure below:

A long time ago there was a fair young girl with skin as white as freshly fallen snow and hair as silver as the stars. She lived a simple life with her mother and father in a little house on the edge of the forest. One harsh winter night, the girl's mother got sick and the wise man of the nearby camp told her father that the only thing that would cure her was the heart of a pure white rabbit. The girl's father asked the girl if she would go out and look for this rabbit so he could cut out its heart to cure her mother. So, off the girl goes into the woods in search of a pure white rabbit. The girl spends a whole day searching the woods, but does not find a pure white rabbit. When the sun sank below the ground to go to sleep, the girl started to get very tired and hungry and curled up underneath a tree to rest. When she awoke, the night was lit by the soft, silver light of a full moon, and sitting at her feet, cleaning it's little pink nose, was a rabbit with fur of purest white. The girl slowly brought out her knife from her boot, knowing that the only way to save her mother was to kill the creature. But a pang of pity stayed her hand at the last moment. The rabbit looked up, twitched it's nose at her. The girl started to cry, for she loved her mother and did not wish her to die. But neither did she want to kill an animal so innocent and pure. The rabbit sat up and smiled at her, "Little girl, why do you cry so?" it asked. The girl explained her predicament, that she needed the heart of the rabbit to save her ailing mother, but that she did not want the rabbit to die either. The rabbit cocked its head to one side and looked up at the moon. So full and bright was it that it reflected perfectly in the rabbit's eyes. "You are a good and gentle child. If you promise to return home and never again return to this forest, then I shall speak with Selune to see that your mother's life is spared." it said. The girl looked at the rabbit in confusion, "Selune?" she asked. The rabbit nodded, it's ears flopping. "Yes, my mother. She lives upon the moon, you see, and watches all of Titan's children through the night." the rabbit explained. The girl thought for a moment, then nodded, "I promise never to return to your forest and disturb your rest, so long as my mother survives this sickness." she agreed. The rabbit thumped its foot upon the biggest root of the tree, then turned tail and hopped away. When the girl returned home without the rabbit, her father was furious. He took off his belt to beat her, but was stopped when his wife came through the door and asked why he was shouting so. While she was still tired and pale, the mother was in no danger of passing that night. The girl hugged her mother, then ran to the window and smiled up at the moon that gleamed in the night sky. She then told her mother and father of the promises she and the white rabbit had exchanged, and never again did the girl or her family ever return to the forest.

When Selene heard the tale, it resonated with her so much that, once she turned 16 years old, she officially began using the surname Frigidwake rather than the one she had been given by her birth family. The idea of promises kept also resonated, hard, and Selene has a personal oath to never break a promise she's made if she can help it at all. It also means that she can take sincere promises made by others extremely seriously, especially if they're made by friends or those she considers family.

#aquadestinyswriting #titan fighting fantasy #selene frigidwake #tales of the librarian #folk tale #writing meta

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darkx-the-dragon-kn1ght · 4 months ago

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Chapter 41- Part 13

Oh yeah, the fact that she Hyper Beamed you folks on the lake- Xera didn't just hear what happened, she was more or less there for it.

Oh, so the fact that Team Meteor is consistent with partnering is an actual in-universe worldbuilding thing and not just some gameplay quirk, cool! Well- not that it helped them against a Dragonite here, but still.

You mean like you guys decided to ambush the sitting ducks in the mansion?

Look, I get it, Dragonites are scary, but you guys have been causing all sorts of chaos across Reborn and now Chrysolia since the beginning, eventually more people besides Xera and co. were gonna start fighting back, what did you guys expect?

…oh.

...Oh, um…uh…sorry for your loss…?

…my point from up above still stands though, not to disrespect the dead or anything-

Hey, hey, settle down with the angsting for a sec, can we go back to what you said about “twice”-??

Buddy, you've got a long way to go before you're on Saphira’s level…I think. Though she could just Hyper Beam you without bothering with a battle, too…

I…have no context to what you're talking about, so I'll oblige and just leave you be.

I'm gonna be honest- I don't think Xera would care much about Tara being dead. After everything Team Meteor has done to her and her friends (as well the general masses of Reborn), the horrors she's had to witness…she's not gonna feel much of any sympathy for the deaths of some Grunts. Especially Grunts who were in the process of trying to capture a bunch of kids, who had already been captured by them before. In her mind, Saphira was 100% justified in using deadly force to protect her sisters, given Team Meteor's own penchant for violence and causing death and the fact that they…you know- attacked first.

As for how I feel about Tara's unfortunate demise? Well, I…I'm not gonna dwell on it immensely like I have Corey and (to a lesser degree) Kiki, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel a genuine pang in my chest when I read she was dead. I'm…surprised by that, honestly- the only thing that sets her and these other Grunts apart from the usual evil Pokémon team affair is giving them names, and make no mistake that's certainly not enough to make me invested in any of them, but…it's definitely a start, and the brief pang in my heart I felt at that text box is proof, I suppose.

Well, that'll make backtracking a little easier from here on out. Now, to deal with all the Meteors on the other side!

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trash-gremlin · 10 months ago

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Time and Again

a short story of grief, hope, and devotion

warnings for character death (very brief) and also probably the most on the nose character and worldbuilding you'll ever read (sorry)

Time waits for no one.

0841

In the heart of the abandoned cottage, Cadence set her father’s golden ornate pocket watch back down on the thick layer of dust that coated the floor. It seemed so out of place, too precious, to exist here. Its shiny surface reflected the bleak light coming from the flickering bulb that hung from the roof. Cadence huffed in frustration at being back here. Time seemed to stand as still as the dense and stale air that filled the room. The only sound was the ticking of the watch, mirroring Cadence’s own heartbeat. The rusty cogs and gears scattered carelessly around blended into the dull monochrome space that she inhabited. She looked around at what had been her only sanctuary for two years, and realised just how small it was. It had seemed more than big enough when she had first found it with Mallory. A sharp pang of fresh sorrow ran through her body as she was reminded of her only friend. She shook her head as if to clear it, her short chestnut hair whipping her cheeks.

Cadence glanced towards the only window in the cottage, feeling suffocated by the cramped walls as if they were closing in on her. Through the grimy window she could just make out the Academy, silhouetted by the morning sun. In the light, the building looked dark and menacing, reminding her of a prison. It may as well be, Cadence supposed. She picked up her pocket watch from the ground and kicked open the creaking wooden door of the shack, determined not to fail this time. She had lost count of how many times she had tried to stop fate. To try and save Mallory. She was the only one in that wretched place worth saving, with her laugh that brightened up any gloomy day, and her beautiful long pale hair and steel blue eyes to match. Cadence set off with a newfound resolve and tucked the pocket watch into her skirt, but not before checking the time.

0844

As Cadence moved through the gardens of the Academy to reach her destination, she couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty of the looming building that she boarded at. Classy gold lettering set on the aged black stone as she walked towards the entrance read: “Appleyard Academy for Exceptional Minds”. Cadence scoffed. The only exceptional thing the kids at the college had was money. That was the only thing that seemed to matter to anyone. That, and reputation. If you wanted to be successful, you needed both.

The institution was littered with what must have been thousands of tinted windows, making the building almost glitter in the light. The pillars on either side of the extravagant entrance were engraved in a delicate lace pattern, similar to the one that decorated her gloves as part of her uniform. Her formal black leather tunic with brassy gold clasps, her long black skirt with gold detailing similar to her gloves, even her low-heeled boots with brass buckles were all a reflection of the place she was forced to call home, though she was only a pale imitation of the beauty held in the ancient building. Its towering presence cast a shadow over the gardens where she walked, and on her own life.

It had been 6 years since her father had shipped her off to the Academy, determined for his only child to avoid failure unlike himself, and she had despised every moment of it. He had the money, but had been broke in terms of reputation since he publicly embarrassed himself, and now Cadence was a pawn in his twisted game to achieve success. The weight of his expectations hung heavy on her shoulders. She suddenly became very aware of the pocket watch thumping against her leg in her skirt with every step she took. Mallory was the only one who made her feel like she was free from those expectations. Cadence entered the grand foyer of the Academy. Her footsteps echoed around her, bouncing off the ornate marble walls, only amplifying the loneliness she felt. The loneliness she would feel without Mallory. Which is why she had to do this.

0849

She quickly glanced at her watch. There was still time. Dodging other students, she crossed the grand foyer, past the hand stitched tapestries displaying the school emblem lining the walls and countless glass cases containing relics from when the Academy was first built, on her way to the imperial staircase. She had just reached the first step of the red carpeted stairs when a familiar voice made her freeze in her tracks.

“Miss Cadence.”

The owner of the voice stepped into her view, displaying her less than pleased expression. Ms Appleyard. Cadence silently kicked herself, she had done this enough times to know that she would have been here to scold her. If she hadn’t been so distracted, she would have been halfway up the stairs before the headmistress had even noticed her in the building, and by then it would be deemed unlady-like to chase a student up the stairs.

“Good morning, Ms Appleyard,” she forced out a smile, cooly running a hand across the artistic gold banister. “How are you this fine morning?”

“Don’t play this little game with me, not again. You and I both know exactly what you’re doing, and it ends now.” Ms Appleyard was a surprisingly young woman for her position, which was why it was surprising that she wore a black choker with a single pearl, the symbol of a widow, partially hidden behind her high collar. With an upturned nose, slim face, and pale, neatly kept hair, she would have been attractive, Cadence supposed, if it weren’t for the rather unattractive habit of butting into other people’s business.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she feigned innocence. “I only went out for a morning stroll.”

“When will you grow tired of this? Of pretending like your actions have any impact on what’s going to happen? How many times have you tried this now? How many times have you failed?” Ms Appleyard wasn’t trying to be condescending, she knew, but she still found herself clenching her jaw and inspecting the overhead chandeliers to avoid confronting the questions her headmistress was throwing at her. Surely, she knew just as Cadence did that it didn’t matter how many times she failed, she only had to save Mallory once.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She repeated firmly, her smile twisting into gritted teeth. The fight quickly died within her, however. There was no point arguing with someone who knew about her careless manipulation of time for her own benefit. “I’m sorry Ms Appleyard,” her voice was barely above a whisper. “But I can’t stop. Not now.”

The headmistress’s expression softened slightly at the edges, betraying her façade of authority. “I understand, but you need to recognise that using that watch recklessly will only lead to more trouble than it’s worth.”

Cadences resolve wavered for just a moment. She knew that time was slipping away with each wasted moment she spent with Ms Appleyard. The black clothes the older woman wore made Cadence realise that if she stopped now, she would end up just like her, wearing the mark of the bereaved. Fresh determination burning throughout her, she took a step away and clutched the pocket watch in her fist. “I’m not like you,” she spat at the teacher. “I’m not going to just give up.”

With that she hiked up her skirt and ran up the stairs, ignoring Ms Appleyard calling her name from behind her, on her way to rewrite fate. A shaky glimpse at her watch revealed the time.

0857

Fire fuelled her body, driving her forward with the force of a thousand blazing suns. She raced through the twisting labyrinth halls of the school towards her destination. She wouldn’t fail this time. Each step she took reverberated through her entire body, orchestrating a rhythm as relentless as the unstoppable march of time itself. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock. Each footfall was a reminder of the time she was losing. The weight of the pressure to succeed bore down on her shoulders, but she refused to buckle. She ran down the hallways, each dark end glowing with the faint glow of hope. Rounding the last corner, she had made it just in time to witness the scene before her:

A breath.

A fall.

A body.

Mallory’s last breath, her desperate gasp for life.

Mallory’s graceful descent towards the ground.

Mallory’s body, her life slipping away like the grains of sand through an hourglass.

The clock had struck its final hour. Both Cadence and Mallory were out of time. Cadence sunk to the ground, a throaty wail escaping her lips.

0901

One hand was closed tight enough around the watch to leave marks in her palm, the other was closed in a fist pounding the ground in anguish. Each strike to the floor made pain flood past her wrist and up her arm. She didn’t mind. She knew the pain wouldn’t last. The weight of failure on her chest was almost enough to crush her completely. Almost. Just like it had almost crushed her the first time, and the second time, and every time after that. Cadence could only hope that next time she would succeed. With growing determination, she set the time back on her watch, and squeezed her eyes shut.

0841

Cadence set the pocket watch back down on the thick layer of dust that coated the floor of the old, abandoned cottage. She swallowed the lump in her throat and the cold feeling of being back in the cabin again. Finding it 2 years ago with her friend Mallory felt like a lifetime ago, and yet the time between then and now had caught up with her. Mallory, her only friend. Her lips tightened into a straight line; Cadence kicked the scattered mechanical parts out of her way as she rose from the floor. As she scooped her fathers golden ornate pocket watch of the ground, she tried not to think of Mallory’s steel blue eyes, or her pale blonde hair. As she hiked up her skirt and trudged out the door, she tried not to think of her lifeless body sprawled on the unforgiving ground. Making sure her precious watch was tucked away in her skirt, she set off. Time waits for no one.

#shut up gremlin #gremlin writes #<- new tag teehee #im confused by the dad character... he a failure but also seeking success? can you make this clearer??#👹👹👹👹 A THOUSAND DEATHS UPON YOU #the original was much better in the sense that the reader had to think at least a little bit #instead of everything being handed to them on a silver platter #oh well. i write what i like to read but apparently a character standing up is too confusing for. ahem. SOME people

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innocent-artery · 2 months ago

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i just recently came across this series and OH. MY GOD.

i am so in love with the author's writing style??? you can tell it's made with so much love, and the attention to detail is amazing. in a lot of current fantasy/period works, even from published authors, you don't see a lot of attention to politics or worldbuilding, it's just solely romance or smut set in a vaguely victorian or fantasy time period. but there's so much attention to the lore of the kingsguards, the intricacy and influence of religion, the politics with the king; it's immersive, easy to follow, and intriguing to say the least.

i LOVE that the reader here has personality and is able to create friendships with the other kingsguards! even though she's a reader insert and as such is supposed to have somewhat of an ambiguous personality, you can tell from her countenance and her words why jisung would be drawn to her. she's a lovable character on her own and that's a very unique trait in an x reader story.

also the dialogue is so realistic! i love the way jisung talks here, the characterization for everyone so on point and so detailed that it feels like you can really imagine them saying these things. his chemistry with the reader is so palpable and the way that both reader and jisung are so utterly disarmed by one another??? i love seeing the male lead getting weak in the knees for the reader. he's not just turned on by her, he's quite literally at her mercy and that's exactly where he wants to be. this has been thus far a 1000/10 slow burn and the pacing is perfect. it's somehow so agonizingly slow (in the best way) and still so action-packed and entertaining in every scene.

this series isn't even done and it's already in the books for some of the best stories i've ever written. the amount of times i've laughed out loud, paused to silent scream into my pillow, or felt my heart pang just goes to show what good reading will do. i know this is just fanfiction on tumblr dot com but i genuinely believe the author could find a career in writing and i cannot wait to see how the story ends!

the kingsguard ; jisung x reader ; part i

pairing: han jisung/reader summary: You are a queen. He is a kingsguard - a member of a holy order that vows to defend the king in the name of the gods. They forsake all earthly goods and swear a vow of chastity to avoid all worldly temptation. When he stands in as proxy for the royal wedding, all those vows are tested.

content info: later chapters get smutty. reader has some physical description: mentions of her having very curly hair and a more curvy body.

content warnings: a royal affair between queen reader and guard jisung. the king is a violently abusive man. this chapter contains a scene of physical violence and attempted sexual assault against the reader who later has a panicked reaction. reader also believes sex is not pleasurable (but learns different to say the least).

please proceed at your own discretion.

chapter word count: 5100 words.

There is no groom at your wedding. Your betrothed is too hungover to attend the ceremony.

You are disappointed but not surprised. Last night, your father hosted a welcome banquet but your husband-to-be ignored the lavish festivities in favour of drinking himself into a stupor. It did not matter that banners were hung in the great hall, that a feast was prepared, that the palace glittered in anticipation of his arrival. It did not matter that you were a vision, resplendent in ivory and pearl, prepared and perfected just for him.

The house, the money, the bride. It did not matter at all.

Such insult would not have been tolerated in any other man, but he is not just another man. He is a king. Only the heavens can issue him orders, just as he commands common blood like yours.

The king holds nothing but disdain for your union and last night it moved like a poisonous mist through your home. There was nothing you could do. You sat and watched your royal betrothed make a crude mockery of your arranged marriage. He travelled to your lands with a contingency of courtiers and they filled your house with his contempt.

They all detest you. Your family is wealthy but your father’s land sits at the border. Many at court consider you foreigners in all but paperwork.

Regardless of that status, your family owns the most prosperous land in the kingdom – a kingdom with coffers long since drained from an overseas war that reaped nothing but blood.

This arrangement will save the kingdom and your betrothed knows that, but he is not happy to marry for money when his bloodline is better. He spent the night belittling your family name, sneering at you, and pawing at the servant girls between drinks.

The king drank. The courtiers laughed.

Only one group extended any civility towards you at all.

“His Majesty sends his regards,” the leader of that group speaks to you now.

He is in black robes, a sword at his hip. He is the leader of the holy kingsguard, an ancient order sworn to defend heaven’s earthly sovereign. There is nothing holy about the degenerate king, but his kingsguard is an ordained ministry nonetheless. They surrender all earthly goods and fortunes, devoting themselves to service and soldiership. That includes a vow of total chastity, so they are the only men permitted to perceive the future queen prior to the ceremony.

What little remains of the ceremony.

The soldier – Chan, you recall – informs you the ceremony will now be conducted by proxy. The king is bedridden today, but the wedding cannot be delayed as he is needed back at court and the return journey is long.

Chan is polite and respectful. He does not mention that the marriage cannot be delayed because the king wants money now. You are certain your betrothed’s condemnation of his otherwise worthless bride was rather more unkind.

You remember the cold eyes of his courtiers, his even crueler sneer, and you blink back tears.

“I understand,” you say. You are practiced at maintaining grace in the greatest adversity. “Thank you, soldier.”

Chan wears a pitying expression. It looks like he wants to say more but he knows his place. The kingsguard is the strictest order in the kingdom. Only the most devout are granted the black cloth and silver sword.

“Your Majesty,” he says with a bow.

You are not a majesty yet. You have weddings vows to swear to a stranger first.

Until then, you are just another woman.

You made the wedding dress yourself. You have always enjoyed the craft of needlework, even where certain jobs could be passed along to a seamstress. Growing up, you spent more hours alongside the working women than at your mother’s table, a behaviour that was indulged until the war.

You run your fingers along every familiar stitch, tracing the embroidered floral patterns down your forearm. You always wanted a spring wedding, but it was not meant to be. You enter the hall with the hot summer sun pouring over the crystal and marble.

It is an ostentatious ceremony. Not even the king could afford such a spectacle. It makes you think he absconded on purpose. What better way to wrestle back his dignity than to disregard the expensive ceremony?

The king’s absence is felt more than your presence. It turns the grandeur of the hall into a theatrical farce. Courtiers giggle behind their hands, the traditionalists casting you withering looks of disapproval.

Your own family smiles and you smile weakly back.

For all their faults, you love your family. They thought they were doing something good by arranging this marriage. A small, childish part of you even hoped they were right, but that hope is gone now. You have resigned yourself to the sad reality of the world. Life is a dreary wash save what small bits of colour one dares sew into its seams.

There are flashes of black cloth around the hall. Chan is not among the present kingsguards as the leader stays close to the king, but a handful of the regiment has been spared to witness the proxy vows.

You recognize a soldier named Hyunjin, standing apart for his beauty as much as position. Several of the ladies tittered about him last night, lamenting that such a handsome form was sworn to a chaste life.

You do not recognize the other two. One is short and stocky. The other has silver hair and a freckled face, smiling at you from the far corner. You stare back at him, taking the proffered comfort of that open sweetness.

You finally reach the front of the hall. You step onto the dais. The minister rises and a hush cascades down the congregation.

You worry your pounding heart can be heard in the highest arches of the hall.

The first words of the ceremony are a name. “Han Jisung,” the minister says. It echoes with a swinging reverberation. “As an ordained soldier of the kingsguard, you have been called upon by His Holy Majesty to stand in proxy for the swearing of the vows.”

Footsteps break the silence, beat by beat. Someone ascends the dais.

At first, you do not look at him. You cast your eyes up to the arches of the great hall, tracing the grandiose architecture. It carries cultural traces of the borderlands. The art of this place is home to you, though it draws ire from the courtiers behind you.

You think that you may never feel so at home again, then you turn and catch the warmth of deep brown eyes. You see the man who will receive your vows on behalf of the king.

Your racing heart stumbles over itself.

Han Jisung. You recognize this soldier from the banquet last night.

The strange man stands beside you. His nails are painted black, stark where he rests his hand on the silver hilt of his sword. His hair is as black as his midnight robes, his brown eyes darkly lined, but his intimidating shadows are softened by the gentler slopes of his face. There is a raw and open tenderness, even where he tries to stifle it with appropriate solemnity.

Your eyes are drawn to his lips and you remember his smile last night. Jisung strode into the banquet with a sword at his hip and a guitar at his back. It is not unusual for the kingsguard to have a bard of sorts, someone who can conjure a flattering song at whim, someone who can perform as if the gods speak through his guitar strings.

Last night, while people danced and drank, you sank further and further into yourself. You smiled prettily but all the spring blossoms in your heart rotted as the summer sunset turned to a miserable black gloaming. Torches were lit and the cackling faces on spinning bodies looked like demons in the lamplight. The king ignored you so everyone else did the same.

Jisung, armed with a guitar, was enchanting a crowd of courtiers and some local palace residents. You watched from a distant seat. You could not help but stare, captivated by this stranger, this combination of soldier and musician and holy man. His glowing face in the torchlight was a solitary beacon, his smile more intoxicating than the ever-flowing wine. His laughter rang out like a symphonic chord, travelling the air to touch your ears where you sat alone.

The man was no one to you, just another stranger in your home, but there such a simple, honest delight to him.

He just seemed so alive.

You were not prepared for the moment he met your gaze. His black robes swished as he jumped, his dark hair bouncing. His eyes seemed to flash gold in the firelight. He stood on a chair above the crowd and said, “A song for the future queen!”

He could not know you loved the springtime but that is what he sang. Perhaps the gods really did speak through his guitar string as he sang of new beginnings and hopeful seasons and cherry blossoms. You smiled.

It was your first real smile all day.

He looks at you now, a flicker of something kind in his dark eyes. You see that twinkle only briefly because he dips into a respectful bow.

You unravel at the sight.

You imagine truly marrying this man, swearing oaths to him and not some wretched figment he serves. You imagine the promise of laughter. You imagine those warm eyes seeking you across the room. You imagine a song every spring.

You know it is a fantasy. This man is a stranger and that version of him is a fabrication. But your heart breaks because that version of you – the girl who is happy for the rest of her life – is just as much an impossible fantasy.

Jisung looks up while bowing. He meets your gaze just as a tear trickles down your cheek. No one else notices, just like one else noticed you last night.

His eye twitches, his polite smile faltering.

He sees you. He straightens slowly. His brow furrows ever so slightly, his teeth tugging at his lip with thought.

You jump when he waves, flicking his wrist like he is batting a fly. The discreet sweep of his thumb across your cheek is so fast, you only know it happened because the tear track dries.

“In the name of the gods,” the minister speaks, “the ancient and the almighty, we gather here today to unite in matrimony the holiest of subjects. This couple has been brought together through heaven’s all-knowing divine intervention.”

You bow your head. There is nothing else you can do. You listen to the recitations and make your oaths when prompted. You swear before gods and men to serve your husband, to obey him, to always be pure and faithful to him.

“The gods grant you to speak on behalf of the divine blood,” the minister says to Jisung.

You look at Jisung. He is already looking at you. His gaze darts down your dress, across the floral embroidery, and lands at your feet.

Your breath catches when he slowly gets down on one knee, keeping his head bowed and eyes down. A gentle murmur disturbs the congregation, but there is no outrage. The king would not have bowed before the queen, but perhaps the genuflection of a proxy is appropriate.

“I swear,” Jisung says, his theatrical voice replaced with a gentler rasp that tingles up your spine, “I will honour you as a wife and a queen. I will revere you as the gods’ chosen consort.” He looks up, his lashes long and dark, his brown eyes so big and warm. You think he is so beautiful; it almost makes you sick. That dizziness worsens when he smiles and says, “I will be your protector. Until the day I die, no harm will ever come to you.”

He stands. Blessings are made. The minister pronounces the union has been sanctified by the gods. The congregation kneels in genuflection, respectful of the rituals even if they don’t like you. You stand on the dais above them all, maintaining a stoic expression.

You are a wife and a queen, though your husband is nowhere in sight, and your eyes stray to a head of dark hair, bowed with the rest of them.

Jisung looks up, a bit of hair falling over his eyes. He flashes a smile.

Your heart picks itself up and starts running again.

You cannot do this.

You thought you could try for the sake of your family. You thought you could try for the sake of the gods. You thought you could try for the sake of the kingdom and all the innocent people within it.

Then the king came to your chamber. He did not attend the wedding feast, just as he did not attend the ceremony. It was a fair excuse to make an early departure, returning to your room while the music played and wine flowed. You were exhausted, emotionally weary, and your face was sore from so many false smiles.

You discarded your elaborate gown. You were in a shift, sitting at your vanity and removing jewelry, when the king arrived. He did not announce himself or knock. He threw open the door and marched inside like a conquering force. He looked over your room with a scrunched face of displeasure, grimacing as if he was standing in a barnyard. He looked at you with the same hateful distaste.

Your throat closed up as if you inhaled poison.

You stood on shaking legs. You had practiced a speech for this moment. You thought perhaps you could convince the king to regard you as a decent friend if not a cherished wife. You were willing to compromise on happiness.

He backhanded you without hesitation. No one had ever hit you so hard. It felt as though he struck you with hot iron, your cheek a stinging welt. Bells seemed to drown out the music downstairs.

“Sire,” you said, your voice shaking worse than your legs.

You found you could not look at him directly. Your eyes burned just turning towards him.

“Get on the bed,” he said. “Wife.” He might as well have said whore for all that the word was spat.

You never expected to enjoy your wedding night. All women know there is no pleasure in acts of copulation. But this was something else entirely. You approached the bed like a deer skirts the edge of the woods. One wrong step and you knew it would be over.

He grabbed you from behind before you could sit. You slammed your eyes shut, curled your fists tighter.

In the darkness, you heard music, a distant voice belting some sweeter tune. You recognized Jisung, his crystalline voice soaring above the bells. Your heart chased the sound, a desperate stampede up your body. It seized control and before the king could do more harm, you blurted, “I’ve started my monthly bleeding.”

He stopped, the hem of your shift in his fists.

“Just – just so you know,” you said.

It was a lie. You braced yourself for the worst. If he chose to disregard it, if he chose to take you anyway, he would quickly see there was no blood and you were trying to deceive him. He had rights as a husband and it was sinful to deny him.

He made a sound like gagging. He shoved you forward. You collapsed in a heap on the bed.

He walked away.

“I will not have you on the road,” he said. You are not sure if he looked at you again because you hid your face in the blankets. Hiding, as if you could will the world away by not seeing it. “You’re filthy enough as is,” he continued. “When we reach civilized society, you will be made as appropriate as you can be. You will be cleaned, you will lose weight, you will be made to look halfway respectable, not like some borderland animal laying in its own filth. I will have you then without exception. Wife.”

You shuddered when the door slammed shut.

The sun was still setting when he left. It has long since vanished from the sky. You have not moved. You fear if you lift your head, he will be there, waiting to strike.

After a long, long time, you surface. Your room is empty. The lavender light of sunset is gone and there is a darker puddle of moonlight, trickling between the curtains, pouring down your back. You shiver. You touch your cheek and find it is still tender.

You try to pray but you are surrounded by silence. Even the music has ended.

In the ringing silence, you stand. Your body is sore from laying curled up for so long. It takes some pacing to straighten fully. Back and forth, across your room. Back and forth, in the silence.

I cannot do this, you think. Back and forth, the same thought, again and again.

Disobeying the king is unlawful. Abandoning him when you have sworn an oath is treasonous. Even the kingsguards are bound to their vows for life. If a soldier breaks his oath, he is put to death, swift and sure. The punishment for a disobedient wife is the same.

The silence is agonizing.

You know what you have to do. It will not be easy.

You have to try for sake of yourself.

The risks are great but you would rather die a swift death than suffer the slow poisoning of contempt.

Your adrenaline pounds. You pack all your jewelry in a sack to sell. You bring some clean clothes.

There are servants clothes in a stack by the unlit fireplace. You mend their worn garments during the busy seasons. They are always appreciative and you like helping people.

You don a pageboy’s garb and tuck your hair into a hat. The king commented on your build and you grant it gives you away, built with your mother��s curves with a cascade of your father’s curly black hair. You hide all your prominent features as best you can. You will be more inconspicuous as a roaming servant boy than as a notable queen.

You tip-toe into the corridor, uncertain if the hallway is guarded. The palace is usually safe but you are a queen now, so maybe the king sent guards. Protecting you was in his oath, after all.

Kings are not beholden to their oaths. The hallway is empty but you are hardly aggrieved. You seize the opportunity and let your racing heart carry you away.

Down the hall, down the winding stairs, through the kitchen, past the door. You slow to a nonchalant canter when passing other servants, making sure to turn your face down and keep to the shadows. Everyone is either busy, drunk, or tired, so you manage to slip past without notice.

Once you are alone outside, you break into a run. You do not leave yourself a moment to think. If you begin to doubt, you will falter, and this will all be over.

You are panting and sweating by the time you reach the stables. You are not exactly in the habit of great exertion. You take a moment to catch your breath while scanning for guards. There must be some. The courtiers have their animals in camps around the palace but the king’s horses are stabled. The kingsguards have alternated shifts to keep an eye on the king’s property.

There are no guards to be found. You approach the stable with cautious steps. No one appears and you slip into the stables unseen. There is a lit lamp, swinging as though recently bumped, but there is no one in here. Just the horses.

You step to the first stall. Your heartbeat is erratic and it pounds harder when you find a horse already bridled. Did they forget to remove the saddle? This is one of your father’s horses and that is unusual, but you do not question it.

You lead the horse out of the stall and into the middle of the stable. You speak gentle nothings to him. You have not often ridden this horse as he is one of the faster animals, but you will need that speed tonight.

Perhaps the gods are on your side after all.

You take hold of the saddle. You are about to hoist yourself onto the mount when a zing of metal slashes through the silent night. The tip of a sword touches your shoulder.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

You recognize that voice.

Of all the kingsguards to find you, of course it would be Han Jisung.

You are so startled that your adrenaline turns from fire to ice. You freeze solid.

“Hey! Little boy!” He lightly jabs you with the sword, just enough to scratch the material of your stolen shirt. “A kingsguard asked you something. Answer me! Now!”

Your hands are still raised when you turn around. It is a slow, begrudging reveal. Your eyes are on the hay-spattered stable floor. You look at his black boots, the silver sheath hanging at his hip. Up, up, up, your eyes slowly lift.

You meet his gaze. His brow is furrowed with frustration but it uncrinkles when he recognizes you. That irritation is smacked off his face, shock changing his whole disposition. The sword wobbles and he takes a startled step back.

“You—” he says. He looks at you, jaw-slacked, then rubs his eye as if he cannot believe what he is seeing.

Finally, the sword lowers to his side. His long black robes swish with the movement. His shock gives way to panic.

“What are you doing?” he demands, his voice breaking on a harsh whisper. He swiftly sheaths the sword and takes several determined steps closer to you. “Are you crazy? Where are you going? And what are you wearing?”

“I’m leaving,” you snap back. The burgeoning panic in your chest begins to putter, making you indignant in your desperation. “And I’m obviously in disguise.”

“Oh. A disguise,” he says, utterly dry. His face is theatrical by nature, brows jumping and eyes widening as he speaks. “Yeah, no one could recognize you like this. Except for, oh, I don’t know—”

Audaciously, Jisung snatches the hat off your head. You yelp, throwing your hands up to grab it, but he pulls it away faster than a blink.

Your hair tumbles free, curls even messier than before. You slap your hands over your head, frantically smoothing them down. Your arms start to shake, all that panic and adrenaline bubbling, needing somewhere to go. You feel as though you are going to burst, a screaming firework shooting through the roof of this stable.

“I would have been fine with the hat,” you snap. “I made it this far.”

“Only because half this house is drunk,” he replies with equal verve. “Look at you, your hair, your woman’s face, your – your woman’s body.” He stumbles over that one, eyes flicking down your form and up again. He clears his throat and shakes his head. “You would have been caught immediately. You were caught immediately.”

“I’ll be fine,” you say. “I know my way.”

“There’s no way a girl like you has ever ridden anywhere past your family’s land,” he says.

You are flushed with heat and aggravation. You want to argue but he is not wrong. You know the general direction to the nearest town but you have never ridden there on horseback.

“I know my way,” you say again.

“Do you?” He takes a step closer. “You go north – do you know which trail is overrun with bandits? And the east – do you know which path to take to avoid the mountain lions? Or the west – if you go over the border and the men who live in those woods discover you alone—”

“Stop it!” You throw your hands up over your ears. All that panicked heat simmers and spills. It turns to tears.

You sob.

He’s right. You know he’s right. You let your desperation and your adrenaline carry you this far, but you are not prepared for an arduous journey. You have a sack of jewels that are a greater liability than asset on dangerous roads. What would you have done if they were stolen? What would you have done if someone hurt you? You have nothing. No map, no direction, and no hope.

Jisung’s shoulders drop as he watches you cry. His own passion tempers itself, his frustration cooling in the face of your tears. He let himself get carried away too, but you don’t blame him. He is a kingsguard. He is duty-bound to protect the king and the king’s property, which you are.

He found you committing treason. You are lucky he did not hold a sword to your throat and drag you to the king.

His sword stays sheathed. He looks at you, expression morose.

“I’m sorry,” he says in a soft voice. “You know I can’t let you go.”

“I know,” you whisper, gasping through your tears.

If you were not so miserable, you might have laughed at the look on his face. You are certain this man has encountered many adversaries, but never a sobbing woman. He would have been happier dealing with a real thief.

His hand lifts and falls as he wars with himself, evidently debating whether he should touch you or not. You stand there, sobbing into your hands while he watches helplessly.

When he does touch you, it is careful. First, just his fingertips, light on your shoulder, then the slow curving touch of his palm as he gently squeezes. It is the first kind touch in days and it sends a shiver down your spine. You look at him, eyes wet with tears, imploring with no words.

His mouth opens but he doesn’t speak. A breath stutters past his lips. Slowly, he takes back his hand, curls his fingers into his palm. He swallows.

You stare at each other in the dim lamplight. You are not sure how long you would have stood there, silent, staring, but you are interrupted before you can find out. There is a soft knock at the stable door and Jisung jumps as if it was an explosion. His head whips around, looking between you and the door.

“Fuck,” he says. His brows jump and he covers his mouth. “You didn’t hear that. Quick.”

He does not stop to explain. You have no opportunity to ask questions. He swiftly ushers you into the empty stall, closing the door behind you. He races to the stable door to greet whoever is there.

You hold your breath, hiding in the shadows as someone enters the stable. Jisung and the intruder speak in hushed tones that you cannot decipher. You inch closer to the door, peeking through the slats between the wood.

It is another kingsguard. You recognize him as one from the ceremony, the silver-haired one with the face full of freckles, who smiled at you so kindly. You would recognize such a unique face anywhere, even though he is out of uniform. For some reason, he is dressed in civilian garb, even though you know the kingsguard is not allowed to wear anything but their black robes.

“Thank you again,” the silver-haired man says. You can hear better as they step further inside.

“Don’t thank me yet, Felix,” Jisung replies. “I still think you’re crazy, man.”

“Still,” the man, Felix, replies. “Not everyone would have helped. You didn’t have any problems?”

Jisung is adjusting the saddle on the horse. His eyes briefly lift and meet yours. You duck further into shadow.

Jisung sighs and shakes his head. He tightens the reigns then hands them to Felix.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Jisung says.

Another figure steps into view, one who has been silent this whole time. You watch as the person draws back their hood, revealing a woman around your age. By the style of her gown, you can tell she is a courtier from the capital. She smiles at Jisung.

“Thank you, Han Jisung,” she says. “The gods will reward your courageous heart.”

“Ah-ha-ha.” He giggles nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “I already have everything I need. Some of us—” He casts a withering look at Felix, though his tone is light and teasing, “—can keep our chastity vows. I don’t need anything more than service.”

Felix chuckles, holding out his hand to the woman. She hurries into his arms.

“If that’s your path, I hope it will make you happy,” Felix says.

You watch as they help the woman onto the horse. Felix swings up behind her. They both pull hoods over their heads.

Jisung reaches up, offering Felix his hand. Felix clasps it.

“Brother,” Felix says.

“Crazy man,” Jisung replies.

Felix smiles. They drop hands and Felix takes the reigns. With an expert click, he marches the horse into a swift canter and rides out the open stable door. Jisung strides forward to watch them leave, craning his neck to see further.

Now you know why there were no guards. Now you know why the horse was prepared. Felix and Jisung must have been posted as guards and took the opportunity to sneak Felix away. Felix, who has evidently committed treason, breaking his vow as a kingsguard to literally ride off with a woman.

You doubt this was a whim. You wonder how long the trio has been planning this. If there was ever a time for a guard to steal a horse and sneak away, it would be in the busy chaos of a wedding week. Like Jisung said, most of the household is drunk. Others are tired and resting. A long journey back to the capital begins tomorrow.

A journey you will have to make.

You nudge the door open. Jisung’s shoulders jump, eyes wide as he looks at you, as if he forgot you were there. He regards you warily as you step forward.

“So,” you say. “It’s okay for some people to commit treason.”

“It’s not the same thing,” Jisung answers quickly. “And Felix can handle himself out there.”

You have both witnessed the other commit a treasonous act. You could rat him out to the king, just as he could drag you back and do the same. Instead, you stare at each other, your gazes measuring. They meet in the middle.

“Do you think we understand each other?” he asks.

He holds out his hand in offering. You remember his quick but substantial touch at the ceremony, that moment he wiped the tear from your cheek. For all that darkness circles the periphery of him, there is something warm at the centre of his character. It compels you to trust him.

You take his hand.

“I do,” you say.

#also i had a thought that the king was jyp and now unfortunately i cannot unsee it #also kinda sad there's almost zero felix cause i love him #i haven't looked through author's other works yet but i'm curious to see if there's a spinoff about felix and the mistress #and also with hyunjin because lowkey i know it's not his story but whenever he started getting rebellious oh lord

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mmmleckerlecker · 4 years ago

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I was reading the questions you've answered, and I'm curious now: you said that the co-existence between preds and prey is very recently. So I was thinking the HP world from years ago, when pred could snatch up whoever prey they wanted... How was the society in that time? How did they live? (Headcanon: prey lived underground?) Did the preds have no qualms in consuming whoever they could find? (prey children/teens or the elderly, for example?)... The harmony was founded by a prey or pred? (1/2)

What was the reason for the preds to make the jump from consuming indiscriminately to the public/private contracted prey? (another headcanon: preykind severely disminishing in numbers?) I find your worldbuilding so enchanting, I'm sorry for the avalanche of questions. You're awesome! (2/2)

AHHHH YES!!! THE QUESTION I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR!!! No need to apologize!!! I have considered making a post about stuff like this for awhile now but I’m always like “do people REALLY wanna hear all that?” But now i have the perfect excuse. Thank you, anon! You’re awesome too!! (WARNING this kinda turned into a chapter length read. So I hope y’all like to read history about fictional worlds.)

Okay so. This is all stuff I’ve sorta kept in my head and have built upon when I’ve had ideas, so sorry if there are some gaps currently haha.

So I imagine preds and prey started trying to “make peace” about five centuries ago but didn’t start living in true “harmony” until about two hundred years ago. And I use the term “harmony” loosely because clearly there’s still a lot of infighting happening. Before that, the preds and prey lived in two entirely separate cultures. The prey lived in larger, more stationary groups while the preds lived in much smaller, more nomadic groups. They also DEFINITELY didn’t speak the same language.

So for preds, the groups they would live in were more like traveling pods that consisted of maybe 1-3 families living/working together. Having groups of preds getting too large was… not sustainable. It would create too much competition for food. So each group would usually give other groups of preds a wide berth. Granted there were definitely still spats for territory, especially if said territory had a good supply of prey available.

Prey, much like in modern times, were never really the preds’ main food source, however. Preds would still hunt and gather like normal. It would usually take some organizing to get a raid together on a prey village (or a pred could just get lucky and stumble across one that wandered off alone). Consuming prey all the time was just too much effort. They weren’t a practical food source nor a completely sustainable one if they were over-predated. Also! Keep in mind, the more a pred consumes, the more their body acclimates to handling such a large meal. It would be better for the preds to consume every once in awhile and have their prey take longer to digest (hence, keeping them fueled longer) than to consume ALL THE TIME and risk addiction. I think consuming would probably become more regular in the cold months too, when it was harder for preds to find other food sources.

As for WHO the preds would consume? Definitely adults would make for the best meals. Children? Well, I imagine prey would be very protective of their children, first of all, making them difficult to obtain. But also they would just make… not as filling meals? Also prey children are mostly the same size as pred children so there might be that little hesitation there on the pred’s end as they’re reminded of their own kind. I guess if the pred is desperate? There’s always gonna be a time and place for special circumstances. As for the elderly… I imagine they also live in places that are harder for preds to get to. I also think if a prey managed to live that long, they would have a trick or two up their sleeve. But like I said, there’s always a possibility for things to happen.

Now for how prey live…. Like I said, they live in larger groups. There is safety in numbers, after all. These groups were basically villages, sometimes even cities where prey could really know their territory and set up defenses against any invading preds. (An underground dwelling is really cool idea tho! I also believe that prey evolved to be able to fold themselves up and be comfortable/feel safe in tight spaces that preds could never reach them in, so prey living in like a cave system might actually work really well!) Like it’s been stated in the story, prey tend to have a lot more children than preds for “just in case.” This could cause their towns to become rather large and populous sometimes.

Prey, also unlike preds, usually tried to keep in contact with neighboring towns/villages/cities. This was one of the key factors for what made it possible for the shift to both sides living in harmony to happen. Since the prey lived in settlements and kept in contact with other prey settlements, it allowed for a certain development of culture as well as the sharing and recording of knowledge that preds… just didn’t have. Prey were able to develop things like farming and running water. They could study math and science and share their knowledge in libraries and schools. They were really on their way to becoming an advanced society, they just had one big (both figurative and literal) problem holding them back. They constantly had preds attacking and killing off their people.

Despite their efforts to fight them off, the prey just weren’t winning. So they decided, if a war against preds wasn’t going to get them anywhere, then why not make peace? The first step for this was the prey learning the preds’ language. This was… dangerous, of course. But it was done enough that the prey were able to open conversation with preds. Just this move alone caused a huge shift between both sides. What are you supposed to do when your food, which for centuries has only babbled nonsense at you before you swallowed it down, suddenly starts speaking to you like an equal? It certainly gave preds pause, but not enough to stop consuming. Not that the prey didn’t expect this. They approached the preds with more than just a common language. Their first big move was offering them food. And not just any food, but GOOD FOOD. Cooked food, decadent food, spiced foods, foods that preds didn’t have the resources (nor the patience) to prepare.

Sharing food took… probably a little more effort than one might expect. Prey and preds view food fundamentally different. To prey, it’s sustenance but also something to enjoy and connect with. To preds, it’s simply something to stop hunger. There was a sort of learning curve for preds to actually learn to ENJOY food for its flavor, but once they got it… OH BOY!!! A door was opened! Because despite LIKING prey food, the preds weren’t always so good at preparing it, so it gave the prey something they could exchange for safety. (This is also something that persists into modern times. Preds are still often stereotyped as not having very refined palates and not being very good at preparing food. This is referenced a little in Heart Pangs itself as well as the one-shot I posted last week!) Once the food trade became established, it opened up relations enough to exchange other things!

The prey shared would they could with the preds in exchange for their own survival. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. Sometimes it SEEMED to work but then the preds turned on them and things went downhill very quickly. But the prey had the advantage of sheer numbers and determination on their side (that and if they didn’t keep pushing they would literally be eaten alive). It took generations of negotiations, but the preds and prey eventually came to a sort of truce, though consuming never stopped entirely.

The preds weren’t stupid, they saw the prey had a lot of good stuff to offer them. At first they took what they needed and went their separate ways, but as they gained more trust from the prey, the preds encroached more and more into their territories until both sides were more or less neighbors. There were some advantages to this. If both sides cooperated enough, they were able to make further advances as civilized societies. But there were also disadvantages… like the fact that the preds were always bigger and the prey were always making sure not to anger them so it became very easy for the preds to take whatever they wanted and leave the prey with less than they deserved.

The prey even began to lose their own language as most of the preds couldn’t be bothered to learn the prey’s language (although a lot of prey terms for food and science stuck around). The preds stopped being the enemy who lived outside the prey’s walls and suddenly became the bully who lived next door. Yes, technically the prey were a little safer than before, but the advantages they once held over the preds were slipping away as the preds claimed more and more of what the prey had until the preds were able to start developing their OWN advantages.

For a long time, the preds and prey operated as two different societies that lived in one space, meaning each group had their own leaders and their own laws. But as things began getting more and more strained between each side (as they tend to do when two natural enemies live side-by-side), the prey (once more) tried to make peace. They made the bold move of reaching out to the pred leaders in an attempt to work together and function as a singular society (although both sides more or less continued to live as two societies, just under the rule of one government). The preds were surprisingly open to this change, which was a relief to the prey… at first. But then it became clear that this was mostly just a power grab for the preds to acquire more status and wealth and power amongst the prey.

Besides the fact that a lot of prey were falling into poverty because of this, the most glaring issue was that the “unification” had made it even easier for a lot of preds to break the peace and consume prey with barely any consequences. This caused a lot of prey to flee and seek out safer, more remote places to live. Eventually it got to the point where the prey leaders threatened to break away from pred society completely. The preds didn’t like this, though, as they’d gotten very used to having prey within easy reach. They also knew that losing half the people in their society would cause a lot of problems in terms of keeping everything running smoothly. However, the preds very much did not want to give up consuming entirely. It was in their nature after all, they argued.

So after A LOT of negotiations, both sides came to a compromise. The preds would actually start enforcing consuming as something illegal UNLESS the prey being consumed had agreed to it beforehand. Obviously the prey leaders couldn’t see any prey ever AGREEING to being consumed, so they settled on the compromise thinking that was the end of it. This was the true beginning of the “harmony” between preds and prey, but of course, the preds always have something up their sleeves.

Rich preds began offering up money and food and shelter to all those desperate prey in poverty. Those prey could get everything they could ever want for, the only payment was their lives ending in said pred’s gut (after a specified amount of time). These ventures started slow, but once they started to catch on, BOY DID THEY CATCH ON. The desperate prey began hearing about certain preds who were practically giving away wealth, all it took was a signature written in (figurative) blood. Meanwhile preds began hearing about other preds who had found a loophole in the consuming law and wanted in on the action. Like any good entrepreneur, the preds turned their contracts into a business and started selling them to other preds.

The prey leaders, of course, despised this, but what could they do? It all aligned with the compromise they had made. The only thing they could do was stand by and help come up with regulations for this new practice. So they did. Over the decades, the contracting businesses grew to what they are today (large corporate monsters… although the smaller, more private contracts still exist) as well as became the core to keeping the peace. Even the government itself offers contracting services now.

Society has shifted considerably in the years since harmony was reached. The two sides have mostly learned to live with each other. Prey have fought viciously to be treated as equals while a lot of preds go their whole lives without consuming (particularly fatally) even once. And, as you know, the development of neutralizers allowed preds to experience consuming without having to hurt anyone. A lot of progress has been made, but a lot of progress still needs to happen.

And I think that pretty much catches us up to the setting of Heart Pangs (whew)! I keep thinking it would be really cool to write a story that takes places in an earlier time period to further explore how different the relations between preds and prey would be, but I have yet to come up with a plot haha. Maybe someday. I’m sure an idea will come to me at a proper time. Anydays, thank you for your interest! It was really nice to be able to (finally) type all this up somewhere!!

#ahhh this is so much info!!!#but i hope some people are interested in it!!#if i accidentally raised more questions than answered them feel free to ask tho 😂#asks #heart pangs #heart pangs worldbuilding

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alovelyburn · 2 years ago

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i swear you and bthump are the best people to go to when to comes to berserk stuff

you guys just have such a great grasp on the story and really expose the ridiculousness of the western fanbase

The sad thing is, I can't even be proud of that because 90% of it is literally just reading the story (and interviews) without jumping through 15 hoops trying to explain to myself that everything characters (or Miura) said or did means the opposite of what they said or did.

Being in Western Berserk fandom is wild, it's like.....

Griffith: When I think about the dream and Guts, he is definitely more appealing. In fact he just made me forget my dream completely. Fans: He's saying that Guts is only a tool to him and he's only important because he's the best way to the dream.

Griffith: Do you think responding to royalty repeatedly trying to murder me by killing them first makes me a horrible person? Guts: LOL what, who even cares about murder, it's fine, you're fine, what a silly question honestly. Fans: Look at that fucking asshole Griffith what a sociopath. Poor Guts is such a kind-hearted gentleman.

Casca: WTF Griffith you let him do whatever he wants and don't even punish him when he does crazy things Fans: Griffith's so abusive to Guts.

Griffith: loses the most important person to him - eclipse doesn't trigger. falls into a deep depression - eclipse doesn't trigger. massively self-destructs - eclipse doesn't trigger. has a post-sex mental breakdown - eclipse doesn't trigger gets tortured for a year to the point where his body barely functions and his tongue is being used as a torturer's necklace - eclipse doesn't trigger. gets treated like a pile of baggage and a burden by the people he literally prostituted himself to support - eclipse doesn't trigger. overhears that the most important person to him is leaving AGAIN - freaks out, but eclipse doesn't trigger. hallucinates a nightmare of being a doll kept as a pseudo husband by the subordinate who always had a crush on him - eclipse doesn't trigger literally tries to kill himself - eclipse still doesn't trigger confronted by his completely hopeless feelings about a guy who keeps abandoning him - eclipse triggers, offered a sacrifice, just kinda sits there has his mind invaded by demon lords who use every doubt, insecurity, guilt pang and self-hating thought he ever had against him - still doesn't accept the sacrifice. reminded that if he stops he's wasted all the lives that he's been living to justify accidentally ending - bursts into tears, falls to his knees and repeatedly apologizes but still doesnt' accept the sacrifice has the specific words of the one person he loves most used against him by making it sound like that person would approve of him accepting the sacrifice - cracks but still hesitates told that the sacrifices will forgive him since that's what they're there for anyway - accepts the sacrifice Fans: He literally doesnt care, he would have said yes ANY TIME, like if the Godhand waltzed up to him when he was literally sitting on the throne, he would've been like, FUCK YEAH GIMME THE POWER, KILL EVERYONE! because only cares about himself and power.

The Actual Worldbuilding: Sacrifices only work if you love the sacrifice so much that losing them is like losing a piece of yourself. Fans: Obviously you don't need to care about people to sacrifice them because Griffith sacrificed the Hawks, who he didn't care about.

M E A N W H I L E

Guts: Ignores the eclipse as it butchers his friends in order to repeatedly try to save Griffith. Then jumps down and wanders around trying to save literally anyone. Fans (AND THE DARK HORSE SYNOPSES): Guts' primary concern during the Eclipse was saving Casca, he made a beeline for her like, tunnel vision whoa.

S O M E T I M E L A T E R

Guts' subconscious: Why don't you just abandon her? Better yet, rape and murder her so you can be more like Griffith and be closer to him and twirl yourself around him like a vine. Guts: [LITERALLY SEXUALLY ASSAULTS HER WHILE FANTASIZING ABOUT MURDERING HER SO HE CAN BE CLOSER TO GRIFFITH] Fans: Guts loves Casca more than anything in the world, shes all he cares about.

Guts: When I see him I'll ....... Puck: Man, when Guts thinks about this Hawk guy, he gets so mad, but also his feelings are super complicated. Guts: When I saw Griffith there, I totally lost my desire to kill him. Also Guts: What do you mean you don't feel anything, come on feel something [poke poke poke] Hey wait where are you going?! Guts: This sucks just as much as when I left the Hawks, except this time I'm the one getting dumped. :/ Also Guts: Anyway I should drop Casca on Elfhelm and then find Griffith and......................... Berserk Guidebook: Guts' feelings about Griffith include bitter hatred and an unending stream of other complicated feelings. Also Guts: Anyway so, when I see him I'll ....... Fans: Guts just hates Griffith so much and nothing else. It's just hate. He wants Griffith dead so much like its even more extreme than the normal wanting someone dead. SO much deathlust, and NOTHING ELSE.

Guts: /swings at Griffith and misses Casca: /gets kidnapped Guts: I couldn't hit him even a little, and my sword let me down, I have nothing to believe in or strive for anymore. Fans: Look at him he's so broken up about Casca.

I literally feel like I'm in fucking bizarro land when I read your average western berserk fan's commentary it is WILD.

#ask #anonymous #ariel talks about berserk #fandom bullshit

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jaydick-week · 3 years ago

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Owl Me Once You Graduate by @mlim8

Rec’d by @nerd-by-definition and dreamrecurrentdreams

Mel is a genius with such beautiful art, but this comic in particular truly blew me away with the detailed worldbuilding and hard work it must’ve taken to mix DC & HP so intricately (including multiple beloved cameos) meaning there’s always something new to discover and obsess over. Not to mention the absolutely adorable “rivalry” turned flirting between the boys.

26 pages of Mel's art is a gift and a treasure, especially a 26 page comic of magic in the form of beautiful art and storytelling. Readers will experience heart pangs and palpitations alike at Dick getting to know Jason under the candlelight and Invisible Cloak.

#jaydick #spotlight #mlim8 #nerd-by-definition #dreamrecurrentdreams

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natalieironside · 4 years ago

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I have recently acquired both TLGS and Hunger Pangs, and just finished my previous book. Which one should I read first?

Well, I'm probably biased

Depends on what you're in the mood for. They are very, very different books. Read mine if you're in the mood for a swashbuckling trauma ballad that'll rip your heart to pieces and then sew it back together. Read Joy's if you're in the mood for the joyous queer romance, fantastical worldbuilding, and cool draculas but would rather not slog through the deepest pits of human misery in between the beginning and the happy ending.

I guess what I'm trying to say is Hunger Pangs is more of a body high while The Last Girl Scout is more of a head high.

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duelbell-fr · 4 years ago

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Hello and welcome to “Dorian finally shows off the dragons he’s spent all the money he got selling his l25 dressing up” part 1, featuring the bosses of each major location in my Lore{not counting the leader I don’t have yet rip}!

My clan is a city known as Sinner’s Bane, a place where creatures of all kinds are encouraged to indulge in their every vice! In order, we have-

Johnny, the “king” of Sinner’s Bane and the leader of the Shining Hellfire Troupe, a theatre troupe taking roost in a theatre named for them known for their proud attitudes and their incredible performances. Even such details as the set and lighting work are noted by its audience as so great it inspires them to see past their own flaws! {Johnny uses he/him}

NEONDEVIL, the owner of a key part of the nightlife known as Dreamscape Nightclub. The music NEONDEVIL plays there is soothing and hypnotic as much as it is entertaining to listen to, and they employ magic to ensure that even when the patrons succumb to the music and fall asleep, they can dance even in their dreams. {NEONDEVIL uses they/them}

Hephaestus, the Champion of Crackskull Coliseum. Crackskull is an arena built to house professional fights between dragons, with magic designed to prevent its fighters from dying no matter the blows taken. Bets are taken on matches, yes, but to most of the fun is in watching the combatants tear each other to pieces. The “leader” is chosen by the fighter with the least losses, and Hephaestus is unmatched in that regard. {Hephaestus uses he/him}

Bettigan is the bastardly boss of the Silverthorn Casino! The casino is known in equal measure for its fabulous prizes and the dashing dealers who draw in just as many customers as the promise of riches itself. The Casino also functions as a mall- you can buy ancient treasures or genuine statuework or practically anything, and you can bet practically anything on the actual tables or races there- including your soul~! {Bettigan uses he/him}

Showstopper is the ringleader of Nonpareil Carnivale! It’s a circus- its performers are all stunning in ways that draw out the audience’s envy- doing things only just out of reach that nevertheless leave a baleful pang in its patrons’ hearts- not that that stops them from drawing a crowd...

{Showstopper uses he/him!}

Truffles and Rot, the husband and wife co-owners and head chefs of the Diner of Delights! You can indulge in any delicacy you like here, not just of the edible variety! Excellent fashion, the finest desserts, and the softest sheets all await you- though it’s said that unruly patrons are used to feed the patrons with more unusual palates....

{Truffles uses he/him, Rot uses she/her}

Narcissus Lounge s the only place that doesn’t have a set person running it yet{and rest assured once it does, it’ll be one of the workers acting as the sort of “head of council” for the workers there as a whole and not... you know, the thing people USUALLY do with this sort of thing}. It’s a lounge with a bar and lovely music playing, but the servers and the dancers there are all renowned not for their looks alone, but for their talents both in theatricality and... the more salacious end of their job. Any unruly patrons will be quickly shown the door, and while the job of inspiring lust seems to be simple on the outside, the staff take attentive care to ensure they do it better than anywhere else in Sorineth

...man the Lounge will be tough to worldbuild for huh

rip me

#flight rising #dragon share #i KNOW #its not gonna be easy bc i cant get too saucy #but like #i gotta try #also yes they are all cowboys #..most of them #ITS A COWBOY TOWN #thats why the sex workers have so much agency for themselves #is that a joke? who knows #i just like writing characters that have that job and aren't treated like punching bags #because it's a job like any other

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soft-stormcloud · 5 years ago

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My name is Patton, and I’m your Guardian Angel [Guardian Angel AU]

Synopsis: Virgil tries to kill himself, but his Guardian Angel stops him.

Trigger warnings: Suicide attempt (not successful), crying, depression, pills, vomiting,

A/N: Really weird worldbuilding idk. This was supposed to be a high school type au but I’ve been listening to people playing DND so it’s a really weird mix between modern and fantasy. Wtv.

Virgil came in through the front door, making sure to slam it loud enough for it to echo through the entire house.

He had skipped his last class and turned his phone off, not to do anything particular, but to walk around town. He wandered through the shopping district, stopping at a bakery to pick up a cupcake, and drifted to a park with a duck pond near the gates. He was half paranoid that the guards would see him on their break and send him back to school, but no one paid him any mind. He just sat and ate his cupcake and watched the ducks and the sunset.

He had turned his phone back on on the way home and it buzzed with three messages, all from the same person.

Did you get detention?

I’ll wait here another ten minutes before going home. I’m not waiting for all the sports’ practices to get out just to find out you left without me again.

I’m coming over later. Don’t do anything stupid.

He couldn’t help the sharp pang of disappointment. He knew it was stupid, and it was childish, but he just wanted to see if anyone would notice he was gone. Adam did, but that wasn’t really a surprise. They weren’t who Virgil was hoping to hear from.

At the sound of the door slamming, another one swung open down the hall. Remus’s little feet slapped against the tile and, before Virgil could blink, he had an arm-full of his little brother.

“Where were you?!” He whined, grabbing fist-fulls of Virgil’s hair and shaking a bit.

“Ow, Remus, stop,” Virgil mumbled, settling him against his hip.

Roman came into the foyer, clutching his script. “Remus! Don’t be so loud, you know your dad just laid down.”

Remus pouted.

Roman frowned. “Virgil, did you just get home?”

Virgil’s heart rate picked up. He nodded.

His eyes widened. “Where were you? Has Remus eaten? Remus, did you eat? How did you get home?”

Remus shook his head. “Nuh-uh. I walked!”

Roman pressed his hand to his heart. “You walked? All the way from school? Virgil, what’s the matter with you?” He tucked his script in his waistband and went over to them, cradling both of their heads in each of his hands. “I’ve never known you to be so irresponsible. What’s going on?”

He shook his head and looked away. “Nothing. Sorry, I’ll make him dinner.”

Roman kissed Virgil’s cheek, and Remus giggled when Roman kissed his nose. “Just be quiet. Logan’s taking a nap in the living room. I’ll be in our room if you need me.”

The resentment-mixed-shame built up in Virgil’s stomach as he made Remus dinner. While he was cooking the grilled cheese, he slipped on some water and reached out for anything to grab to steady himself- Like the hot pan. He prepared himself for the seering burn with a small cry, only for his hand to be pushed away and his body to be righted.

“Vergie?” Remus asked with a frown. “Are you okay?”

Virgil caught his breath, breathing heavily. He was confused, but he tried not to think about it. “I’m fine.” He sat Remus’s food down in front of him and went to his room.

His phone buzzed as he sat on his bed.

Adam: I’ll be late. Don’t ask. Should I bring my camera?

Virgil: no

He flopped back on his bed, the wrinkled purple sheets a comforting, if albeit boring familiarity under him. His room was always very dark. When he was little, he had insisted, day in and day out, that he wanted to paint his walls black. He wanted it to resemble a cave, and he wanted to sleep upside down like a bat. Roman and Logan told him that he couldn’t do that, because if he painted it black he could never paint it any other colour, and that if they ended up wanting to sell the house, that would make it much more difficult. Virgil didn’t care. He insisted.

Finally, Logan did it out of spite. He bought all the paint and a bar you used for pull-ups and before he did anything, he asked Virgil if he was sure. Virgil was. So they painted his walls black together, and Virgil got it all over himself, and Roman nearly lost his mind when he got home but his parents were indestructible and Virgil had never seen them fight about anything serious. After his bedtime story, they both sat down and watched Virgil hang upside down on the bar for all of thirty seconds before he decided the black walls were enough and he wanted to sleep normally.

He now kept faerie lights to keep his room as light as he could, as many as he could find, all over his walls, purple and blue and yellow and green. There were ripped posters from bands he didn’t listen to anymore and photographs of him, his parents, Remus, and even a few of Adam, the short time they’ve known each other. By the only window, he had pushed his ferrets’ cage up against it so they got sunlight.

And as much as he loved it, he didn’t think he could bear to look at it any longer.

He reached between the wall and his bed and pulled out a bottle of pills he had taken from the medicine cabinet in his parents’ bathroom.

He had always thought he would be crying when he did this, but in truth, he dried himself out at the duck pond. He didn’t feel too much of anything, just a slowly increasing heart rate and some sweaty palms. It was like his anxiety was trying to poke through, but it was buried under wrapping muscle and bones and blood. It was all… Muffled.

He felt kind of sick after he took all of them, but that could be because of the overwhelming, chalky taste in his mouth. He grabbed the old Mountain Dew off his bedside table and downed the rest of it.

Then he went to sleep.

xxx

There were flashes of white, soft, soothing white, and he was floating. It was nice, until he threw up all over the carpet.

“Dangit,” someone whispered in his ear. He couldn’t recognize the voice, but he wasn’t scared. “Come on, a little further.”

Virgil collapsed against the toilet and dry heaved, ripping a sob from his throat. It felt like his body was trying to turn itself inside out, it was horrible. He had taken the Atarax to skip this part, sleep through it, but now it was like he was in a dream, the bathroom lights blurred and his skin tingling.

“Sorry about this,” the voice whispered before something was shoved down his throat.

It disappeared, and he threw up again. He coughed and gagged, smacking the base of the toilet a few times. An eternity later, he slumped back against the wall, gasping for breath.

“Oh, it’s not working…” They sounded panicked. “Nng, they told me not to do this… Oh, well.”

Suddenly, Virgil’s throat was cleared, and his stomach was empty. He sucked in a deep breath, blinking away the tears.

“What…” His voice came out a horrible, ugly rasp.

“Oh, no, don’t do that! You’ll hurt yourself. Here…”

A glass of water was forced into his hands. He didn’t question it, just chugged the whole thing. When he finally got his vision back, he came face to face with a boy around his age in a blue cloth dress, perched on his sink.

“We should get you to bed,” the boy said. “You need to rest after all this.”

Virgil blinked. “Who are you?”

“Oh, introductions already?” He giggled nervously. Comically small, pastel blue feathered wings sprouted from his back and carried him gently to the ground. He grabbed Virgil’s arm and helped him to his feet. “I’m Patton. And I’m… Well, that doesn’t really matter right now. Gosh, I can see now why we aren’t supposed to do this…” He settled Virgil on the bed and pulled the covers over him. “Oh, wow, I love your room…” He giggled. “Purple was my best friend’s favourite colour.” His voice trailed off into a murmur as he wandered around, his wings fluttering as he looked at photos and trinkets. “Well, his and about fifty others in my class… Anyway, it’s a good colour. Strong.”

The Atarax was pulling him in again, but… He had to know.

“I need to know who you are,” he slurred.

“Oh, you really don’t-”

“Now!”

Patton tensed up, and then sighed with a subdued smile. “Very well. Virgil Sanders-Rios?” Virgil nodded slowly. “My name is Patton, and I’m your Guardian Angel. But I’m new, so go easy on me!”

Part of him believed this was some Atarax-induced dream- He’s hallucinated before when he took too much. It’s never been this… Detailed, though.

“Huh?”

“I’ve been assigned to you for your lifetime to keep you safe. You trying to kill yourself isn’t quite something I’m allowed to let you do, so… Rest up! You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Virgil stared at him. He was asian, with a light brown pixie cut, peach-toned skin, and round, hooded blue eyes. Other than the ridiculous wings, he didn’t look like an angel. He just looked… Normal. Part of him wondered if the wings were pinned on, but no, he could tell they were real. They breathed with him, fluttered occasionally, and when Patton had bent over to look at the stack of books under his desk, they stretched like muscle.

The only thing he could possibly get out was an astounding, “But you’re… My age.”

Patton giggled and shook his head. “Unless you’re 315, I don’t think so.”

Virgil stared at him. And then he rolled over, pulled the covers up to his ear, and said, “I’m going to bed.”

There was no answer. When Virgil looked over again, a few hours later and in between dreams, Patton was gone.

Tagging everyone who reblogged the intro post, lmk if you want on or off the tag list:

@larry-angels @themysticfae26 @comicsimpson @anxietea-and-insanitea @nonasidesstuff @coffeewithhaiku @arri-aspects @sanders-sister @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes @anxiousmess82161 @iamthenewqueenofgames @ninjagirl9797 @luna--28 @a-deceit-salad @plunksaysnope @lovesupportandcookies @normallyaspen

#virgil is v emo in this lmao #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #virgil #roman #remus #patton #guardian angel au

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rentfreecat · 5 years ago

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Final Fantasy and Kingdom Hearts Fanfic Recs

so yeah I figured I should get around to making a list of some of my faves to promote them, I’ve got a big enough collection of bookmarks now. in no particular order. not all of them are necessarily complete or alive

Final Fantasy VII

The Gold Saucer’s Golden Arches by belderiver

Before he doomed the world to ash and ruin, Sephiroth wanted a burger.

note: Sephiroth + sudden hunger pang = mcgold

Meetings by Yinza

Aeris reflects on her few encounters with Sephiroth over the years since her escape from the lab.

note: Aerith having known Sephiroth before is just one of my favorite headcanons

lather, rinse, repeat by annperkinsface

She knows she shouldn't confuse this act of kindness for anything else, but it's hard, when Aerith is draping a towel over her shoulders, when Aerith is warm at her back, humming as she works a thick lather across her hands.

note: adorable Aerti. Aerith being a weirdo. Tifa blushing and being kinda horny. perfect. in case you couldn’t tell I ship it.

In Circles by Larissa

Tifa hates Midgar, and yet she stays, and she stays, and she stays.

Character study/pre-game gap-filler. Written for the Tifa Zine.

note: beautiful mood piece

the nodding golden tansy by Kieron_ODuibhir

“You think this troubles me?”

“Yes,” said Cloud, without looking up from his tea.

note: one of my fave takes on Seph and Cloud’s relationship. wonderfully quiet and melancholy.

not one before another by Kieron_ODuibhir

1) Sephiroth almost corrected the first person who called Aerith his sister, a woman they’d met before they were even out of Midgar’s slums complimenting him on taking such good care of her, while their mother shopped.

2) The other half of Project S took after their father.

3) Blue eyes contemplated him narrowly for several seconds, and then Genesis’ smirk came back, lying on his face more easily, somehow. “So brothers-in-arms to the skirmish shall we hence?”

4) It felt wrong to be relying on anybody but Mother, but Mother…only cared about Sephiroth, and it wasn’t fair. Loz sniffled. “Will she take care of Yazoo, too?”

5) “I’m glad he’ll have a big brother,” she said, as Sephiroth crossed the room. “Little ones always need someone looking out for them.”

Sephiroth nodded, and bent forward, and peered at the squashed little pink thing until it stirred, objecting probably to cool air on its face. “What’s his name?”

“Cloud."

(Five times in five worlds where Sephiroth was somebody's brother, and one where he wasn't anymore.)

note: exactly what it sounds like. personal fave is 4.

Angels Still Have Faces by Kieron_ODuibhir

On the fourth day, Sephiroth looked out a window and spotted his two friends together on one of the outdoor training fields, once again exchanging harsh words, only for Angeal to wheel around and storm off at the end.

note: fics where someone other than the main character time-travels are amazing and this is that and also outsider pov mother bear Sephiroth who doesn’t know what pizza is

Final Fantasy IX

puppet play by zalzaires

starting a drabble collection for ffix. i mostly just write about kuja so hence the name.

note: my personal fave is "curtains, bookends, stars of the show” because Kuja is such so... Kuja in there

Final Fantasy XV

ffucc the wedding by Givethemtriumphnow

Gift for Victortor, inspired by their fabulous ffucc Universe.

Noctis and Luna are the same person, one soul split into two bodies.

In a world where everyone lives and nothing hurts, the wedding is still a symbol of the peace, and the show must go on. Noct and Luna just can’t wait for what comes afterwards: the Big Reveal.

note: I just really like the one person two body trope okay? pretty entertaining read!

Poor Wayfaring Stranger by lithos_saeculum

Out on a mission, Cor Leonis finds a teenager, lost and sick and partway to becoming an MT. Against the advice of all and sundry, he brings him back to Insomnia. There's not a lot of love lost for MTs in the Citadel, but some of its inhabitants may still be young enough to put aside their prejudices.

note: also on my list of likes is MT Prompto trope, and honestly fuck canon that’s just there for inspiration. TW for implied pedophilia and stranger danger in one of the later chapters.

Will You Be There, Standing at the End of the War by Adel Mortescryche (Mortescryche)

When they're attacked by the Imperial Forces at Tenebrae, Regis wasn't prepared to be rescued alongside Noctis, Lunafreya and Ravus by the Commanding General of the enemy forces. Not after the man already cut Sylva down before them.

He was even less prepared for the face lying in wait behind the mask.

He dropped down to one knee, and rather pointedly cupped the left side of Drautos’ head, delicate, making no move to actually hide the fury raging through him.

“Talk, Titus.” Regis whispered. “Before I take this airship down from the sky.”

note: Drautos time-travels and is an absolute bastard. I like seeing his and Regis’s exchanges!

For Want of a Flan by magicgenetek

For want of some patience, Ifrit never freed Ardyn from Angelgard to rebel against the Astrals.

For want of Ardyn, Nifleheim never invented MT Troopers.

For want of MT Troopers, Lunafreya and Ravus were able to escape with Regis, and Nifleheim never cornered Lucis in their war.

For want of a kidnapping, Luna, Noctis and Prompto were able to work together to get ready for the prophecy, and Ravus is ready to suplex an Astral to make sure someone survives the prophecy.

For want of separation, the four of them go to Angelgard to figure out what secrets lay there, and accidentally adopt Ardyn into their plans to save the world.

For want of 2000 years’ prep time, Ardyn’s going to have to get up to speed on the modern world fast if he wants revenge or to fulfill his half of the prophecy.

note: has a good deal of worldbuilding and linguistics nerdery. I like that. I also like the recovery element of Ardyn’s arc.

A Little More Time by Asidian

The sun is brilliant overhead – set in a blue sky dotted with clouds that float like wisps of spun sugar through the high arc of the heavens.

It's more than lovely. It's entrancing, and Noctis takes one long, final look before he turns his gaze back earthward. His vision dances with sunspots for a moment, afterimages from the blinding light – but when it clears, Noctis sees a small black dog there, patient and watchful as always.

Umbra has been waiting.

"Alright," Noctis says. "We're ready to go back."

note: short, punchy, and absolutely chilling

Eschaton by nirejseki

Sure, it's the end of the world, but that just means someone's got to fix it.

And then the world found its somebodies.

(aka, with Noctis gone into the Crystal and no one sure when he'll be back, Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto end up saving the world one piece at a time)

note: I like worldbuilding and MTs alright? and schoolteacher Gladio will never not be funny/great

Astra Inclinant by thekindmagic

“Look,” Aranea laughs, shaking her head. “I’m not trying to shit on your destiny. But the way I see it? A lot of the time, there’s no big mystery. You either keep going, or you don’t.”

note: how could I not rec femslash? beautiful melancholy mood. I’m so sad for Luna

Starlight and Shadow by ohmyfae

While Noctis and his friends are setting up camp, Ardyn Izunia happens to accidentally stumble onto the runes of their haven. The magic of the haven pulls him into two halves; One is Ardyn, a small child with a bit of an ego and a limited knowledge of the world at large, and the other is the Scourge, shambling and groundless, determined to seek out its former host and consume the light it finds there.

note: fun read!

On the Care and Keeping of Prompto by ohmyfae

Congratulations! You have been chosen to ensure the well-being of PROMPTO, who is: 1. An absolute darling. 2. Of more intrinsic value than you, your significant other, your ancestors, and the world at large. 3. Two years and four months old 3a. This is very important to remember 4. Behind you.

note: also a very fun and fluffy read! also the fic that introduced me to the amazing crackship of Ardyn and Cor, and I say crackship but... I want more of it

Kingdom Hearts

The Price of Melodrama by LawnNinja

Xemnas never imagined that one of the hardest parts of his plan would be the stupid names.

note: deny it all you wish but you know this happened. also XULORD

(i don’t need you to) Worry for Me by Cygna_hime

In a fit of defiance and desperation, Vanitas disobeys his Master's orders and goes looking for the missing half of his heart. He finds it, and something else as well, something he never expected to find anywhere...

note: I absolutely love this I’ve read this like... 3 or 4 times? go read it now

Bleeding Heart by keelahselai

Xemnas was fundamentally a bad person. Born from the fracture of Xehanort's heart, he had only caused pain to those he banded together with under the promise of finding a way to return all their hearts. He shattered the Organization he'd founded for his own gain, and he understood this with cool indifference. But beneath everything, carefully kept folded away and hidden from Xigbar's prying eye, he was also made from the other inhabitant of Apprentice Xehanort's body. And as troubling as it could be to their plan, he kept it hidden from all.

(Or, how Terra managed to keep his head above the water for thirteen years)

note: I absolutely love the.. I don’t know what it’s called, but let’s say Terramas even though that sounds like a ship name... I absolutely love that trope. this one has such just a great mood y’know?

By Choice or Chance by Six_Piece_Chicken_McNobody

Lazy afternoons are a universal phenomenon.

note: I just love Xehaqus’s tragedy. this is nice, fluffy, and one of them is going to murder the other in his own selfish lust for power. (I know III said Xehanort had other motivations but I just love the “he’s such an utter bastard that all his relationships are going to end disastrously” interpretation)

Whatever Will Be by NanakiBH

Once I tell you the words I've been unable to say, it will be goodbye.

note: more explicitly melancholy mood than last one, still great.

#fanfic recs #final fantasy vii #final fantasy ix #final fantasy xv #kingdom hearts

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