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lemonietrinket · 4 years

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Broken Crown ||| Prince!San x Reader

Summary: San receives a present from the leader of his kingdom’s governing body that turns his life upside down, and not for the better. His only comfort in life has been you, and now that comfort is being taken away from him. Genre: angst, bits of fluff with a happy ending Warning(s): big sad, description of an item of clothing thrown out of frustration (not at or in front of anyone, there is no one nearby at the time); foul language (2x f**k) Word Count: 3037 Song(s): Ambience AN: well im here hurting myself with this... hope its not too angsty anon (i cant find your ask tho idk where its gone) happy (slightly late) birthday to my boi san! :))

fem!reader royalty au

~~~

Rocks sank to the bottom of his stomach as San’s entire body flushed ice cold, and then fire hot. Eyes unblinking he peered round at the sea of smiles, their sincerity leaving him reeling. It was as if his head had been submerged in a pool of twilight sea water, the sun’s warmth leaving it lukewarm and dark, forcing his eyes to sting and glaze without even his full knowledge.

It wasn’t until he spotted the widened eyes of his cousin, far down at the other end of the table, that he realised something was wrong.

“Oh I can’t wait to see the two of them down the aisle!”

“She’s a real catch, Sannie! You’re so lucky!”

“Aww, look, he’s so overcome with emotion he’s—!”

“Oh my baby is growing up so fast!”

The world span and words merged into one inconceivable mass as San turned. A thick silence permeated his mind, flooding it with nothing but heaviness; the sound of his fleeing footsteps, the echo of confusion behind him, even his own heartbeat—all swallowed up. The only thing that pierced it was a high tone clatter, accented by a delicate crack and the shattering of glass.

Tripping up the stairs, his ankle twinging as he went, he broke through the doors to his room, where he came to an abrupt stop. The doors slammed behind him out of the sheer power he’d shoved them open, and as the adrenaline began to phase his brain back into control, he stood heaving. While fury flourished through his chest, gentle caresses graced his cheeks, painting them flushed when the two met at his throat. The unstoppable heat met numbing cold, and it was as if his throat became carved of hot stone. He was teetering on the edge of screaming, but having silenced himself, all he felt was the urgent threat of bursting.

Seeing no way out through his lips, his hands began wrenching off his numerous layers of clothing. The heat was too much to handle, yes, but feeling the silk burn through his fingers, and then watching the embroidered jewels scarper across the room as he flung them was a release in itself. Enough of one to allow the ice to cascade through him.

A shallow, creaking breath poured from him as he frantically followed where his coat had gone. Chewing on his lips, his hands felt around the fabric, still intact minus a few embellishments that had been torn off in his outburst.

No no... no no no...!

His gaze darted across the varnished crystalline floor, desperate to catch a glint, a twine of thread. With the quartz patterning blurring and yet somehow shining as if possessed, he had no clue if the words were coming from him out loud or were just in his head. There was no way for him to be sure, as days prior everything that had coalesced in a matter of seconds had been nothing more than a nightmare.

Tears trapped themselves between his eyelashes, leaving the world around him in the state of a dream, until he finally gave in. Wiping his eyes with the side of his fist, clenched and weakening, he sucked in air carefully. It felt too humid in his lungs and did little to quell the urge to succumb completely, but it was enough to hold it down for just a few more moments. And peaking up between his fallen fringe, that was all he needed.

He threw himself at the doors to the balcony, hands tugging at the handles until they finally broke open, and the outside greeted him.

It was an abrupt change, freezing wind slapping him in the face and grasping at every inch of bare and clothed skin it could get its hands on, but he could breathe. The shock stunted the tears long enough for him to clear his eyes properly, his murky salmon dress shirt—too loose to actually be comfortable and yet still restrictive at the shoulders firmly placing it as his least favourite piece of clothing he was routinely told to wear—finally serving a purpose he agreed with.

The heels of his palms collided with the stone balcony and sent a small hum of pain through his throat, though he paid no mind to it. His attentions were much more focused elsewhere—that being scouring the gardens below, the canopies of the trees beyond, and finally the lights of the city in the further distance. To his annoyance the damp air, enrolled to be the welcome mat for an oncoming storm, decided to shirk its duties and mess with his hair enough so he couldn’t see. Though what shook him up even more and truly beckoned the suffocating feeling to return was the absence of your silhouette.

It took all the willpower in him left to resist calling your name into the dark. As time went on however, the more he began to worry that he wouldn’t even be able to anymore, if he could. Becoming frantic, he slapped his hand against the stone and cursed. Once then twice, and then again and again until he slumped over the edge. The stone dug into his rib cage, leaving him even shorter of breath than he already was. He let his eyes fall closed, a whimper leaving his lips, leading him to press them straight and firm. San needed to stay together in one piece, and with the cold bringing an onslaught of reality checks in his head, the more he realised he needed to not behave any worse. But his tether was running short.

Luckily, the respite arrived in a matter of moments, and though they may have felt like hours, the ache of waiting soon washed away as warmth reached his side upon the balcony, and the scent of the wild world below was brought to him.

Despite your hands being carved from days of work you always held him so tenderly, as if never wanted to let him go—and for once, not in a precious gem kind of way, but more in the sense of a memory. A story from years before that never failed to bring a smile to your face. One that meant nowhere else felt like home but with him.

He didn’t really know how you got up onto his balcony, without alerting the guards or making the slightest of noises. Nor did he know truly where you were from. It wasn’t like you hadn’t told him—oh, he’d asked you about your life thousands of times and you’d complied in answering every single time with a content smile on your lips—it was just that he had no context to it. You told him of the streets and the lamp-lights, the cheers of the evening and cries of the night, the merchants and the bakeries and the patrols barely on watch, the docks and the promises it held of the future, a new world. But San had never been, so how could he ever fully understand and know of your past, when he knew very little outside his own upbringing? These were the things he lamented when the moon began to sink and you ushered him to finally rest, pointing out that he was moping again.

Your voice was as gentle then as it was now minus the mischievous tones, pressing hushes into his messy hair at your jaw while you cradled him to your chest.

“Shh, my love, it’s ok. Everything’s ok.”

Hands clutching at your leather jacket, ribbed with gashes that even you couldn’t place, he let himself relax. In your arms, his sobs spilled out so much quieter than they had done before, and his shaking slowly came to an end when they could have easily continued long into the night. Sat upon the stone floor with you, his problems seemed to drift away. He almost wished you weren’t as sensible sometimes, and that you’d let them pass. That way he could stay there in silence wit you for longer, just listening to the beat of your heart and how it aligned with his.

It couldn’t happen however, he had to face the consequences at some point, and when you slowly lifted his head to meet your gaze, he knew there was little he could do about it.

Your motions were met with a disgruntled pout as the boy you fell in love with—now old enough to rule a kingdom without an Aide—wiped his eyes and blinked at you, happy to wordlessly pretend that none of that had happened.

“Happy birthday, Your Highness,” you teasingly greeted, cupping his hallow cheeks so you could trace shapes into his temple. Your face instantly fell when his did, however, and you realised that you’d struck a nerve. “Sannie, what’s happened? I haven’t seen you this upset in months.”

His gaze dropped as his head did. Your hand didn’t chase him, instead you settled it upon his own, balled between you against the floor. “San?”

“She promised me, Y/N,” he finally began, swallowing thickly, “she promised me and she broke it in a day. It meant nothing to her.”

“Her?” you enquired. “Your mother?”

He shook his head languidly and you could feel his fingers tense between yours. “The Chair. The Chair—she promised my status would be nowhere in any agreement in the trade talks and the—she fucking lied! Next week—with all fucking expenses paid for by the government no less—I... she—a-and she did it on my birthday! Told it to me now, gave it to me as a gift, so now there is absolutely no way I can refuse her! She did this on purpose, Y/N, she knows what she’s doing, she wants me over there for something and I... I don’t want to play her... her games—!”

“Hey, hey, it’s ok,” you breathed, stroking his white knuckles, “take it easy. What did she do, San? What’s happening next week, where are you going?”

“I’m getting married.”

His abrupt words stunned you into a paralysis. No breath left your lungs, there was no flicker of your fingers. It was like you became a statue.

“She’s married me off, Y/N. To this princess from Lontaiko no less. I won’t be here after it, I’ll move away, and then I’ll be completely at her mercy.” San glanced up at you, meeting your glazed stare with a sigh ridden with guilt—as if he had any choice in the circumstances. The sight of you without your smile was enough to make his heart sink, and so witnessing the colour drain from your cheeks and your touch go limp forced him to blink back tears once again.

He pulled your rigid hand to his lips and planted a kiss to your fingers. It brought you back to reality, throat dry and eyes wet, but his touches left your heart aching, his wound now a part of you too. And it tore your heart gradually apart, one thread at a time.

“Why?” you finally managed, gripping onto his hands almost as desperately as he’d done before.

He spat a laugh of disbelief. “’Peace’, she said. ‘Peace’.”

You scoffed a weak laugh, hiding your face within the shadows cast from soft candlelight behind. San didn’t let you go, his lips soft at your skin, trying to stay strong and encourage you that it would all be fine but you could feel in the caution of his movements that he didn’t believe it either.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, “I’m sorry I didn’t put up more of a fight, I don’t want this, I don’t want to leave, I don’t want to be king—”

“I love you,” you finally whispered, words fragile and very nearly swept by the wind.

His lips fell still. It was far from the first time you had told him, as every time the moonlight shone upon the two of you, the words kissed the night. Now, however, was different. Seeing you so curled in on yourself reminded him of the first time you had confessed to him.

A few nights had passed without a single flicker of your silhouette, no curl of the blossoms and brine that melded with you. He’d let it slip first, all doe-eyed and lips pursed amongst multitudes of pillows, waiting for his first kiss that you would bestow upon him. You had rushed an apology, brushing your lips against his forehead in a promise before fleeing. Every time the moon then rose he waited while dread trickled through his veins, until you finally returned. Your voice seemingly stolen and hands wrung together, gemstone eyes avoiding his at every cost while you waited on the wrong side of the balcony. You’d given him such a fright when he finally spotted you through the bronze embroidered windows—the first time because he couldn’t tell it was you, the second because you could have slipped and fell at any moment, perched where you were.

As soon as he joined you outside, he’d rambled about how worried he had been, not even trying to temper his volume.

You’d interjected him suddenly, “Can I kiss you properly?”

He’d been silenced immediately. And then between a small scowl, a pout and the puffing of his cheeks, he’d huffed, “Yes.”

You hadn’t relaxed until he’d held you, lips meeting in the golden haze of the torches that danced with the silver of a crescent moon.

It pained him to see you in such a way now, for all the wrong reasons. Reasons that couldn’t be helped, he reminded himself, his thoughts possessing a snarl and leaving the pit of his stomach broiling, nothing can ever be done... right...?

Shifting his weight, he raised himself so he was even with you, before at last holding you close. Your hands sprung into action to clutch at his back as he did so, your head nestling into his shoulder while your breaths became shallow. Nose pressed into your hair, he kissed your head as you begged him, “Please don’t leave me, San. Please, please don’t leave me.”

His eyes narrowed as he stared at his bedroom. The grandiose sweeping canopies of his bed curtains, light peach and without a speck of dirt. The hard floor that was always cold to his bare feet without fail, and too hard to welcome him home after a long day of duties. The emptiness of the room’s vast expanse, adorned with nothing but elegant plants twisted around veiled sticks to force them to grow how the keepers’ wished. His eyes changed focus then, coming to glare at the dull reflection in the glass. The faded lines of his hands stroking your back, his intense expression, all stared right back at him, as if in challenge.

And something inside him snapped.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Upon the day of the wedding, after a week of flurried throngs of people and preparations being made, just after the clock chimes sang for seven o’clock, a single member of staff sped through the long corridors to the palacekeep at the very end. Minutes later, he marched with her in tow through to the King’s bedroom, where they found the monarch working at his desk, a bright grin upon his face.

At exactly 7:08, as the sun beamed down upon the kingdom of Silarrean—nestled between the rises of two valleys, neighbour to the realm of Lontaiko— the King fainted.

When the shadows of the sundials met the halfway mark for that same hour, those same persons that dotted the palace halls like bees within a hive, made up the crowds of search parties pushed to scour every inch of the city at the castle’s feet.

Within days, the Silarrean Prince San, who the Chair had announced to all the people was destined to marry the delightful youngest daughter of the Lontaikan royal family, was officially declared missing. The wedding was called off, though the King ordered no cease in the search.

It would prove null, however. The young prince was long gone.

Not that San knew of any of what was occurring back in the place where he had once lived. He could imagine it happening though, the images in his mind that hazy vivid that always accompanied him when he let his mind wander upon things he’d never known.

Leaning out to stare into the distance across the ocean waves, the boat proved to have a balcony of its own. This time though he was on the other side of it, and the correct one too: the one that actually involved living how he wished. He ran his fingers across the crown between his hands, the edges of silver carved into entwined laurels still sharp, and he knew he couldn’t wait for them to become rounded with age. He found he kept returning to the centrepiece, with its intricate feathers tinged with blue and the cracked azure gemstone in its centre. The split was shaped like a lightning bolt, and it brought a smile to his face, thinking of just how much of an impact he made upon the world around him. It symbolised how he would never return, and that they could neither replace him. He had taken very little with him, but the crown was his birthright, and so he would take it with him, but also leave its life behind.

Stood by the helm, you watched over him carefully. You would have joined him, but someone needed to steer. The small boat was only a relic, you’d been surprised that it even moved at all. The adrenaline, that had left your heart in your mouth when the rudimentary engine had coughed and spluttered on the night of your grand plan, had long since died down. It remained on the edge of your conscience, ready to cascade through your veins when you needed it. And you were well aware that on the route you were taking through life you were definitely going to need it. Until then though, you relished in the salt of the sea and the calm waters that the rising summer brought for you.

It didn’t matter after all, what would come. You’d find a way, as you were together, and you were both free.

~~~

an: i feel like this would work better as a longer piece, where the process of the week is followed, with more depth of lore and stuff but ill be honest with you, it took a lot of effort for me to write this in the first place. not because the idea wasnt my thing (far from it—this stuff is my shit) but because my creativity just doesnt like cooperating sometimes. maybe one day.

also what do you think of my new paragraph break thing? i think its cute. much easier to implement than the photo ones for sure.

all names of places are fictional

Masterlist

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teratoscope · 5 years

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A dangerous predator, descended from an earthly animal, that hunts in orbit, or interplanetary space?

Grootslang

The ride upwell out of a massdriver is apocalyptic. It rattles your teeth even sealed tight in a crash podwrapped in inertial dampeners wrapped in layer after layer of armor andinsulation from the outer shell.But then you break out of theatmosphere and the universe stops shaking—falls utterly still, in fact—and youhear the launch shell separate, laying your shuttlecraft bare to space. Thehull cameras come to life and their feeds crackle into your heads-up-display;the curve of the earth bends out in front of you.You fuckin’ did it. Survived yourfirst tour. Nothing Provisional about your citizenship anymore. You’re an officer now. You get your own room, your own bed, a pledge in the clone vats.Offers from senior officers to follow up on. A vote.But before all of that can getsorted out, you’ll have to cool your heels at the Luna outpost for a while. Youcame up on the opposite side of the planet from home, and it’s less fuss tojust wait for the moon to swing around under the station’s shadow.Which is fine. You’ve waded throughso much worse; you can stand being a little bored with the accommodations.And then you hear the comms squawkat you, an ear-splitting blast of coarse-textured noise. You catch a glimpse ofthe pilot’s face reflected in the main screen, eyes practically popping fromtheir sockets and all the blood gone from his face.You blink, and when you open youreyes again the front half of the shuttle is gone. Your half wheels backward,end over end. For a brief stretch in each revolution you catch sight of amassive form, too huge to fully illuminate from this distance. You can only putit together in parts. It is roughly cylindrical. One end bristles with bulbousdrupes that glimmer faintly with millions of inner lights and throw off animpossible heat haze in the vacuum; the other is ragged, like a hollowed,lightning-scarred stump, and a cloud of waving flagellae erupts from itsdepths, gathering the pieces of wreckage strewn around it and drawing themdown, down.

HD 18 MV 300’ EVA AC 15 AT harpoon tendrils (300’ cone, 2d6 damage, Dex check for half. Ona Dex check that fails by 4 or more, target is snared and drawn to a waitingsphincter-airlock, requiring a Strength check at disadvantage to break looseeach round or take 4d6 acid damage as the chamber fills with aerosolizeddigestive agents) or focused reactor discharge (1,200’ line, 5d6 heat damage,2d6 Rads; roll 1d6 at the top of each round after firing—can only fire again ona 6) or ram (5d20 kinetic damage)Special Alcubierre organ, dauntingtarget

Alcubierre organ—the Grootslang can induce alocalized spacetime distortion that allows it to move at translight speeds atgreat caloric cost. In combat, this allows the Grootslang to retreat from anencounter to elsewhere in the solar system by using a full round to warm up itsbioreactors and sacrificing a quarter of its maximum hp. Hypothetically, usingmethods not currently available with Freestar One’s tech, you could project itsroute and give chase. If the Grootslang would drop to 0 because of its use ofits organ, it enters meltdown and aims its body at the nearest high-valuetarget.

Daunting target—the Grootslang is the size of asmall city and heavily armored. If struck from the outside, it ignores damagefrom any weapon that deals damage that is not either in d12s or higher or usesthree or more dice. Weapons that can damageits exoskeleton deal ½ damage until it is brought to half hp or less.

TheForward Escape project was planned and funded with the intent to field fiveFreestar-class stations, each meant to maintain a stable position at one of theEarth-system Lagrange points and serve a vital function in the preservation ofhuman civilization.

FreestarOne began as the designated military position, and the closest to Earth’sexosphere, situated just outside the moon’s orbit. It has since grown andmutated under the pressures of history.

FreestarsTwo, Four, and Five were meant to serve as civilian habitation platforms andindustrial depots. Of these, only Freestar Two went into position; it waspulverized by enemy mass drivers six months in, forming a cloud of space debristhat still encircles much of the planet. By the time Four and Five were up forlaunch there weren’t enough accounted-for civilians left to send up; thestations were mothballed and stripped down for critical equipment to field toFreestar One. Somewhere earthside, in a heavily shielded geofront whoselocation has been lost to bit rot, user error, and radiation-corrupted drives,the skeletons of these stations still sit and gather dust.

FreestarThree was meant to occupy the Lagrange point opposite Earth’s position in itsorbital path. It was built smaller to minimize its profile and, hopefully,avoid detection in-flight. All of these measures were taken to ensure that itspayload—a comprehensive, redundant vault of biological materials vital to thepotential reconstruction of Earth’s ecosystems, as well as a digitized recordof handpicked cultural artifacts—would go unscathed.

Thestation arrived at its destination in pristine condition. Unfortunately,several specimens had been contaminated by an enemy bioweapon before they wereever loaded on board. The security breach was never traced, and by the timeanybody noticed it was too late.

Thebioweapon incubated for two and a half years. When it matured, it acted fastenough that Prithvi, the onboard AI, was only able to release an incompleteradio-burst warning before the station disappeared from its position in a burstof waste gases.

Eversince, Freestar One has mercilessly tracked the position of the F3organism—what all available footage suggests is an invasive, quasi-cancerousmass inimical to the very notion of taxonomic category. It has colonized the framework of the station and atleast partially integrated into its electronics. Thus far it has never left thesolar system, but it appears to be capable of some kind of non-relativistictravel, given that it has managed several dozen pitstops in the orbit of everyplanet in the system, as well as multiple planetoids.

Observationsuggests that it has been steadily grazing the system for raw material,skimming atmospheres, eating comets and small asteroids, and seeding majorgravity wells with organic “probes” that return by the same means that the F3organism uses to traverse the distances between worlds. Between theseexcursions it suns itself, lounging just inside Mercury’s orbit.

Thepurpose of the F3 organism is unclear. At present it is one of the most directthreats to Freestar One’s existence; the threat of orbital bombardment hasdeterred any further direct exchanges of fire from enemy mass driversearthside, and the Freestar One Highguard maintains human dominance of thebattlefield in orbit, but the F3 organism has human forces beat in space formobility and resilience. It only needs to get in one good hit to screw us, andif we bloody its nose it has the option to run away; we do not.

In spiteof its obvious combat superiority, it has given the station a wide berth,though it does harass Highguard vehicles, Sepian dens, and Iron Saints when itbuzzes the Earth’s atmosphere or makes “pit stops” at the moon, sometimesresulting in confrontations between its spawn and the Luna mining colonyinterns. It just never hangs around in the same hemisphere as the station. Thishas led many to speculate that its purpose is logistical—that it is not only sustaining itself with its grazingpatterns but building a material stockpile to eventually be shared with itsparent species. Certain elements within this camp also point to the steadilydiminishing body of Post-Contact Exotic Artifact signatures detected throughoutlocal space, arguing that the F3 organism was designed specifically toclaim-jump the largest uncontested concentration of the resource that has thusfar driven the second phase of the Contact War.

A lesspopular but significant camp maintain the hypothesis that the F3 organism is a weapon—just a weapon with apowerful and unanticipated safety mechanism. Every time that the F3 organismenters the operating distance of human craft, its presence is announced by aburst of incoherent radio chatter. Those who have spent an inordinate amount oftime studying its output in human comms bands seem uniformly convinced thatPrithvi is still operational aboard the contaminated station, and has justenough control of certain critical systems to deter direct action against thestation and warn aligned targets in the hopes of allowing escape.

If so, theAI is up for consideration for multiple decorations, assuming it is everrecovered.

TheCounter-Xenological Study Committee has assigned the F3 organism the code name“Grootslang.” Standard procedure upon contact is to Retrieve critical mobileassets from the field of operations, Deter Grootslang’s engagement with fixedassets, and Retreat to the nearest safe distance. Direct confrontation is notadvised.

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