#swangst?

[geasthewritingrat]

Omg wait, Swiss who can't tell anyone he loves them?? Swiss who gets real confused cause he knows he loves his pack but he just can't say those three little words :(

CW - mentions of sex, fear of love, fear of rejection

Pronouns used; he/him Swiss, Mountain, Dew | she/her Sunshine, Cirrus, Aurora | it/they/she Solaris/Umbra | they/them Rain | they/he Phantom | she/they Cumulus | he/they Aether

It's Rain that says it first, though that part's not much of a surprise. They'd always been more in touch with their emotions than the rest of the pack - Swiss and Dew theorise that's why they're allowed into ghoulette night when they're not. No, what surprised Swiss was how hearing them say it made his ears ring and brain feel like TV static. It was said so casually, as if it was the easiest sentence in the world. He didn't even know what response he gave - years later, Rain would gently tell him that he'd just let out a pathetic little whimpered squeak - but he hated the frown it brought to Rain's face. He'd fled, then, dashing into shadows while his heart raced so hard and fast he worried it'd explode.

Cumulus had been next, curled up on the sofa with the multi ghoul, idly chatting about everything and nothing. Anything that piqued their interests, really, until the topic of what Rain had said just so happened to come up. Of course Rain had told her, they were a pack, they didn't keep secrets! But the change in conversation had Swiss shifting, a movement so subtle it went unnoticed by his favourite little ghoulette until she'd uttered the same words Rain had. His throat felt tight the second they started their sentence, his breathing a choked gasp as soon as she'd finished. He'd been long gone before she even realised he'd moved, his habit of keeping eyes on every exit finally coming in handy.

He really hadn't ever expected Dewdrop of all ghouls to be the next in line to confess. They'd been going at it all night, brutal at first to get rid of all the energy they'd had building up all week, but then things took a softer turn. Dew had wormed his hands up to Swiss' cheeks, pulling him down to rest their foreheads together as he whimpered so softly. Poor guy could barely form words, let alone string a whole sentence together - but he managed it, gasped out an "I love you", and Swiss bit his lip so hard it bled, sinking his fangs in deep. That was the first time he'd ever left without aftercare, and fuck did it make him drop hard.

Mountain had been more pissed off than Swiss had ever seen when he'd said it, fangs bared and scent filled with such an intense anger that just a whiff of it made Swiss' head spin. He'd yelled at him for a while; cursing him for leaving Dewdrop, lecturing him for fleeing from Cumulus, snapping at him for making tears well in Rain's eyes. And Swiss just took it, listened to each bitter, biting word as if he, too, felt like he deserved it.

Cirrus didn't even say it. She traced the words into his skin with her pretty, clawed fingertips during one of their pack movie nights. It'd made Swiss tense immediately, sweat beading at his brow with each letter pressed into the flesh of his arm. But he couldn't move. Aether was laying against him, running his own fingers up and down Swiss' arm as they kept him in place on the sofa. Like he knew Cirrus' plan. If he had it in his panicked mind to focus, he'd've noticed that Aether had been tracing the exact same words in the language of the Pit. He ended up disassociating the rest of the movie, going on autopilot and returning to his room alone after it'd finished.

After she'd been summoned, Aurora latched onto him like a moth to a flame, always seeking him out and trying to get close to him. She'd babbled to Sunny one night about her love and admiration for her fellow multi, trying to find a way to tell him that was unique to the way she felt for him. When Sunny told her, with watery eyes, that the confession she'd given had been met with a stuttered apology and the turn of a body so fast that it'd left her hair a windblown mess, she refused to believe it. And when she did the same, she watched hopelessly as Swiss stumbled in his haste to get up, claws still wet with the fresh coat of paint and multicoloured hearts smearing against everything he touched.

Phantom hadn't lasted long, either. He said it repeatedly, sprinkled into every conversation while trying not to take it personally as Swiss dissolved into shadow each and every time he heard the beginnings of the confession. In all honesty, they'd've continued to say it even if they had taken it to heart - that's just the kind of ghoul he was. He loved and loved and loved, needing to share it with the ghoul he looked up to most, even if the multi could never believe them.

Hells, he couldn't even believe Solaris nor Umbra as they whispered those taunting words to him in the tourbus. It'd spoken so softly, their voice carried along a light breeze as they watched Swiss playing a game on his phone. He'd tried not to let it show that he'd heard it, hoping and praying to his beloved Sathanas that they hadn't noticed the way his shoulders tensed or the way his tail went so completely still, but she did. She did, she noticed, and it used their twin tails to form a heart every time Swiss walked past.

[solsticepurgatory]

I am normal. I am normal. I am normal. I am normal. I am normal. I am normal. I am normal.

[belle--ofthebrawl]

I appreciate you and love seeing you on my dash 🖤

Will you still love me after I post this Swiss angst fic.

[porchwood]

SSS/Writing Check-In: The One That Got Away

(Jude/Madge with the possibility of endgame Gale/Madge and Jude/Columbine, plus every other couple from my fleet of ships)

For all seven of you who are interested, here’s my favorite scene from this week’s onslaught of modern AU hogwash (7,642 words and another 3,000ish words of notes): a prom flashback. Because Jude as Madge’s prom date melts my heart. A lot of stuff here was originally intended for Head Over Feet and may turn up there eventually.

***

Peeta and Katniss skipped the school-sponsored after-prom party, unsurprisingly, while the rest of us splintered off into contemplative pairs. Finnick and Annie and Luka and Johanna both seemed as good as engaged to me, but the announcement had rattled them as well, and Jude and I wound up watching the smarmy stage hypnotist by ourselves in a subdued sort of silence.

It wasn’t that either of us was unhappy at the news, exactly. While I considered Katniss my best friend, we had never been chatty in typical girlfriend-fashion, and yet her impending marriage struck my stomach like an icy stone. You’ll be going to college anyway, I reminded myself, and you’ll stay in touch, but none of this served to soothe.

Jude absently wrapped his tux jacket around my shoulders and then his arm, resting his cheek on the top of my head. He’d barely spoken since the engagement reveal and I couldn’t begin to guess what his uncharacteristic silence meant.

It sounds really nice, he said suddenly, softly. Staying right here, getting married, coming home to a wife and babies.

I wanted to retort something dry and mildly caustic but couldn’t find the words for any reply at all because it was nice, this future Peeta and Katniss were setting up for themselves. I wanted to continue with music as long as I could; to study abroad, to live in the capitol and maybe other cities in due course, but that wasn’t the future either Katniss or Peeta wanted, and why should they force themselves through the college mold, going eyes-deep in debt for degrees they had no interest in and possibly jeopardizing their relationship with the distance and other, inevitable, obstacles when the future they both craved was easily within their grasp?

Madeline, Jude continued in that same soft tone – I was always Madeline or, affectionately, mädchen to him – if Columbine and Gale marry other people, will you go on a date with me?

Almost as long as Jude and I have been friends, we’ve been aware of each other’s hopeless longing for an oblivious sweetheart and openly commiserated about it, with no fear – or even thought – of annoying each other or hurting feelings. Butcher’s son Jude was in love with Columbine Wilhearn, all black curls and lovely voice, whose mother was a small-scale – if highly in-demand – clothing designer and I was in love with broody, breathtaking Gale, whose mother managed the local laundromat and who despised my very existence because, as the mayor’s daughter, I had surely been born to privilege – never mind that my father had been a music teacher before his election and that as mayor he served a rural town of some 8000 people and dealt with weighty matters like dog waste ordinances and ribbon cuttings for tiny antique shops.

We’d both made periodic, futile attempts to elicit our respective crush’s attentions, but somehow for the course of that year – the year of madrigal seat partners and Jane Eyre and getting married on-stage in Fiddler – the longing had felt a little less pressing. Jude still ordered flowers for Columbine on opening night – she was playing the female lead, after all – but in other circumstances he would’ve done so for every performance, not just the first, and he brought me flowers too – a vaseful of red tulips from his mother’s garden to brighten my corner of the greenroom. And while I knew he’d asked Columbine to prom their junior year – and been turned down, of course – I don’t think he even tried the next time around, just cheerfully stepped up to escort me when the opportunity arose.

In fact, to the outside observer, Jude and I probably appeared to be dating for the past year.

The realization left me cross, embarrassed and oddly weary. Jude and I were just friends, everybody knew it, but could we have inadvertently sabotaged each other’s crushes by spending so much time together? Would Gale have emerged to ask me out if I hadn’t been so immersed in the Mellark circle this year – and in Jude’s company in particular?

We’re at prom, I reminded him, my tone shorter than he deserved. I’m wearing an evening gown and your tux jacket. How much more of a date do you want?

I want to pick you up at your house, he replied without hesitation, a brush of lips against my lilac-threaded crown braid. Just you and me and maybe your dad on the porch, to shake hands and talk about the weather and remind me to have you back by 10:00, and I’ll tell you how beautiful you look as I slide an orchid on your wrist. We’ll go to a fancy restaurant and trade bites of our entrees and steal a pepper shaker when we leave, just to see if we can get away with it. We’ll hold hands under the table and slow-dance like it means something, not just because we came together and it’s obligatory, and when I drop you at home, you might let me kiss you under the porchlight.

I pulled away to look up at him, at those gentle smoky eyes – gray like Gale’s and yet absolutely, utterly, nothing like Gale’s – and tried to decide whether to throttle him or burst into tears, because I knew he didn’t mean any of this the way it sounded but it was still the sweetest thing I’d ever heard – and remains so to this day. But I didn’t want Jude – I didn’t, I was sure of it – and he didn’t want me, he was just getting broody – in the hen fashion, not the Gale fashion – because of Peeta’s engagement and Columbine had remained stubbornly indifferent to him, even in a tux or stage makeup or a doublet and tights.

Please, can I go home? I whispered. I’ll call my parents so you don’t have to leave.

Don’t be daft, he said lightly, but his eyes were sad. There’s nothing left to stay here for anyway.

[cantusgratia]

@calamitysshatteredson​ { x }

Keeping a phone with him had taken some convincing.  It was a small object capable of light and noise, another human ridiculousness; save that sometimes that light and noise were also fascinating.  There were games, which had taken a great deal of explaining even before the trial and error of learning the whats and whys, but at times there was some reward to them.  Though apparently the phone itself was for faster, easier communication than summoning.  Probably for the best, in that summoning appeared to be deeply unpleasant.

When the phone rang, despite having spent an agonizingly long time picking out his ringtone to be certain he would know what the sound meant, it took several seconds to realize that he should be reaching for the phone and pressing the green button–

The words spoken through the device drained the hunger from him.  Kyrie.  Not sounding as she had the last time he witnessed her being in pain; she was so much weaker.  And she needed help.  Seemingly instinctively, perhaps unconsciously reacting to his mood, the humans who had been somewhat near him started to move away; but he didn’t notice anything about them.  The humans, the scent of food, it all ceased to matter.

“Wait.”  It was the one word he was capable of; plea and order and… prayer, perhaps.  He was also already backing into a shadowed alley, into the safety that darkness provided.  While he was nearby, always nearby, a fully humanoid form would not be fast enough.

It took much more effort to shift in the human world than it had beneath, and he would require food not long after the shift back, but that was not priority.  Instinct for his own comfort and well-being came after.  It was simpler, faster, to let his arms expand, extending into bat-like wings while his body elongated, phone in one foot-talon, leaping into the air and racing back, caring little who may have seen.

What mattered was remembering that one was not to break, because nothing here reformed itself.  He did not break a window, but he did perhaps over-zealously force the one with the “tricky lock” open, pouring into his standard form and sparing only a moment to pause for the dizzying drain of energy.  The scent of blood was entirely too clear, and finding its source took concerningly little effort.

“Kyrie–”  He was not to contact Nero.  But what of everyone else?  Sephiroth was almost afraid to touch her, as if she might finally be truly fragile enough to crumble, never having looked more frail and vulnerable to him.  This was an attack, this was intended to harm, this was–  “What am I to do?”

It is massively relieving to realize whom she had ended up calling. The tone was curt, but knowing Sephiroth, a slight weight is lifted off of Kyrie’s chest because he’s sure to get to her side in no time. No summoning circle nor extensive rituals necessary.

Ah, she best figure out if there’s food to offer him once he arrives, although... it’s probably more than alright with the demon if she is a little too... preoccupied to handle that for the time being. 

The call continues, her phone simply placed by her feet as she shakily lowers herself onto the floor yet again-- better pass out while she’s already close to the ground instead of standing up right. She leans her back against the cabinet door with intent to use that pressure to pin the shirt against the wound, only to hear an unsettling squelching noise and the pitter-patter of blood onto linoleum. 

Shit, she sighs, thinking how troublesome it’d be to clean up this whole mess... 

And then her heart drops, anxiety wracking violently throughout her frail limbs once more when the sight of small pools and smears of blood on her kitchen floor reminds her of how she’d had to clean up Nero’s in the garage. It had just been mere months ago.

She knows there isn’t enough energy within her left to spare, yet here she is weeping softly now, unable to fight back shallow breaths that eventually turn into small sobs. Her mind is sluggish and unable to offer coherent thoughts anymore, but her chest aches from the emotions that continue to envelop her.

Until Sephiroth finally lets his presence known. Then Kyrie snaps herself out of it as best she can. “Towel,” determination rises slowly from her when the word is barely choked out. “Or... rag... Anyth-- thing... soft. For th’ wound.” Instructions tumble clumsily, breathlessly past paling lips-- she’s trying to stay coherent but she’s feeling even more disoriented by the second. But she trusts Sephiroth to figure it all out eventually: pressure needs to be applied onto the cut to stop the bleeding. It needs to be cleaned. It needs to be covered.

[illogicallyinclined]

formal May I please be added to the taglist? Unformal Add me to da wiggity-wack taglist mAh bruhda

formal: of course, brethren. welcome to the covenant.

unformal: swiggity swangst prepare for angst

[taosaf]

Me : I need to stop looking in the Langst tag, especially late at night.

Also me, at 3 am : swiggity swangst I’m ready for The Langst™

[geasthewritingrat]

to me, Swiss and Rain are two sides of the exact same coin

Swiss is easy to bed because he wants to make everyone happy - hes the ministrys only true multi, he HAS to make sure everyones okay because if hes not making sure everyones okay then what is he even good for?

whereas Rain - sweet, darling Rain - is easy to bed because they want everyones attention on them, they know that if everyones attention is on them, then nobodys thinking about the horrors theyve faced

[geasthewritingrat]

blah blah blah Swiss who literally cannot speak about his problems

every time he tries, the words get caught in his throat like something physically stops him from saying them, a hand clawing into his mouth to steal the words right off his tongue so he can never say them

he knows he should, he knows he needs to, but he just can't and suddenly now Sunny's staring at him like he's grown another head cause he choked and spluttered when she asked if he was alright because he'd zoned out completely when pouring his coffee, spilling the boiling hot liquid all over his hand with no reaction whatsoever

part of him could never forget the look on Omega's face when he asked Swiss about the burns on his hand later - so much later it was a wonder he hadn't been lectured by every ghoul he passed throughout the day - only to be met with a generic answer as if it was either the most obvious thing in the world or the most normal thing in his day to day life; no discussion about why he'd zoned out, no questioning why he tensed up and clenched his jaw when Omega asked if anything else was bothering him, and certainly no mentioning the way he tried to speak but only forced out a whimper the second Omega's back was turned

or when he sought out the comfort of Lake and River's nest at the bottom of the lake, needing to escape down into the murky abyss for a while only to find no solace in that, either, anymore - and, to their credits, both River and Lake tried to coax the words out of Swiss, thinking the water surrounding his everything would stop that terrible hand forcing it's way down his throat to steal his words

it didn't

nothing ever did

[geasthewritingrat]

okay but like what about Swiss going though an identity crisis thinking his pack dont actually like him unless hes putting up the facade and fake personality he creates specifically for each ghoul

[geasthewritingrat]

Lol imagine Swiss taking the blame for every little prank or accident even when it's nothing to do with him because, in his eyes, the ministry and his pack would be fine if Sister got fed up and sent him back to the Pit, but he knows bonds would be irreparably broken should anyone else get sent back

[geasthewritingrat]

Swiss would carve out his own heart and tear it up into bitesized chunks so he could place it in his packmates' hands if they asked him to btw

[geasthewritingrat]

btw also give me Swiss who thinks hes the worst packmate alive which is why he does everything he can to help anyone he sees so that they dont take an extra look and see how horrible a person he truly is ♡♡♡

[geasthewritingrat]

Swiss getting confused when people actually take the time to check in and make sure he's doing okay, cause as much as he helps others he really never even considered that they'd care enough to help him in return

He didn't think he mattered, he thought he was more hassle than he's worth - though he'd never admit that out loud, nor would he ever change his behaviour to be more appealing.

[geasthewritingrat]

Something something Swiss thinking people aren't as interested with him as they used to be and he panics after saying something interesting he thought of or after dropping some casual Swiss Lore to the point where he just stops speaking about himself and what he's interested in :(

Nobody pays it much mind until Perpetua comes along and tries to get to know all the ghouls, seeming genuinely interested in every little detail, and Swiss is so starved of the attention he actually wants that he babbles and yaps until he can't anymore :)

But then Perpetua's mentioning it in passing around the other ghouls and they're all confused cause Swiss didn't tell any of them about the fun little critter he spotted on his walk or the new recipes he's tried out recently :(

They just want their multi back :((

[geasthewritingrat]

Chapter 2 - Insecurity

Chapter 1 - Tumblr, AO3

Not every night was a fun-packed night of joy, but every once in a while there were pack parties bursting at the seams with excitement, laughter echoing throughout the halls. And that's where everyone was now - Cirrus and Rain making drinks, because they're the only ones trusted to not make something absolutely diabolical, Dew yelling at a snickering Mountain over Uno, Phantom and Aether watching with quintessence at the ready in case a fight broke out, Aurora on Sunny's lap with Cumulus pressed against her side, giggling about the filth the ghoulettes were whispering in her ears.

But Swiss?

Swiss was sat on a lone armchair, sipping an all too strong drink that should've gotten much larger of a reaction out of him than it did. Just too used to the sour taste and burning throat, he thought, face scrunching up at the belief that nobody would notice even if he did start to frown. It was his own fault, really, that he was spiralling so deeply without anyone knowing. He had every right, every opportunity to speak up, tell his packmates that he was having a hard time, and yet instead he lagged behind willingly, stubbornly refusing to admit when he needed help. After so long spent perfecting his façade, he couldn't just let it slip now.

Especially not when everyone else was having a fun time.

The last thing he wanted to do was interrupt and kill the mood.

Part of him, further deep down than he could reach, knew that his pack would drop everything to comfort him - though, that subconscious knowledge is probably what made him cover his souring attitude with a tight, forced smile that nobody was really coherent enough to question.

As if they would. His brain helpfully taunted, mocking words floating around his head as he quietly observed the way everyone else interacted with one another.

You've made it your life goal to annoy them as much as possible. That torturous voice inside his head whispered. They're probably all just glad you shut up for once.

It was all too easy for him to slip away, blending into the shadows and retreating back to the lonely sanctuary of his room. Nobody called after him, nobody really noticed, either too pissed or too high to realise they'd lost a ghoul for the night.