An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
And regrets to the ashes
Fandoms:
Final Fantasy XVI
Relationships:
Dion Lesage/Joshua Rosfield
Characters:
Dion Lesage, Joshua Rosfield
Additional Tags:
Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It of Sorts, Regret, Porn with Feelings, semi primed sex, Possessive Sex, Tender Sex, These boys are very damaged, sex with enough baggage to rival origin, Mention of other pairings, Canon Divergence - Phoenixgate resulted in Anabella's loss
Summary:
The night before departing to take down Origin, Dion, the Emperor of Sanbreque, contemplates his shortcomings and the frayed relationship between him and the Archduke of Rosaria. He resolves to not let regrets remain the mantle asphyxiating them both.(AU where Joshua and Dion are the Archduke of Rosaria and Emperor of Sanbreque respectively and it's not the happy easy relationship they envisioned their nations to have when they were children)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
New Phoenixflare fic!
(what do you mean I didn't post it here the moment I uploaded his hush I forgot)
Everyone that is Someone of Importance knows, if spoken the right words at the right menu at the tavern with a bland name in Kanver, one could get access to The House of Splendors. Dion has heard much and more about this mythical place, where secrets, items and substances of splendorous properties and quality are traded with their own special currency. He never paid much worth to the rumors, although he'd received an invitation to partake a few years back.
But now the first signs of the curse rear their face, and the pain is starting to worsen the weight of the responsibilities he carries on his shoulders. If there's some discrete medicine to keep the pain at bay, it could surely be at that establishment. So one night, when their camp is reasonably near Kanver, he takes a few days off to visit the House.
He doesn't get what he wants. Instead he gets what he needs.
A.k.a. Dion gets wrecked by a man in a dress and acquires experiences Daddy King: the 11k+ fic.
There's something particular to all citizens to Lucis. When one meets their soulmate, a countdown clock will appear in the place they touch first. It's a blessing from Lady Etro, who wants those consecrated to Her know how much time soulmates will spend together in life.
Ignis has had the timer for as longs as he can remember. No matter how much he looks at the countdown, the calculation remains the same.
Twenty years, two months, twenty-one days, seventeen hours, two minutes and thirty-six seconds. When Ignis reaches that age, his soulmate will die. His soulmate, who is nowhere to be found.
Read in AO3!
The first fill for the Promnisweek of 2019! feat. Angst with a Happy ending and Ignis very mixed feelings regarding his soulmate. Mentions of LuNoct and ClarCor.
It has mentions of a mild panic attack too, but it is handled safely. So be careful, if that’s not your cup of tea!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Song of the Ancients
Summary:
Ignis is plagued with nightmares of a dark sky full of stars, ash in his mouth, a convalescent body shivering on his arms, a loving tone in words he cannot hear and lips he cannot read, and the hum of power as the pyre around them lights.
Prompto has no dreams, yet he sees things that aren’t there: flowers he later learns are long extinct, fractals of light when sunlight pours through leaves, cracks of light on the statues of the Old Kings.
There is something in him that sings when he first sees Ignis handle fire. There is something in Ignis that screams when he sees Prompto in black.
There is a prophecy too –one they will destroy.
Even If they have to burn.
Guess who’s finally posting the Behemoth of a Promnis fic? (ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
Late for @promnised-land‘s Promnis Big-bang. But hey, better late than ever!
This ride is over 200k, so get ready! Updates every Wednesday! (ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
Where Prompto starts Crownsguard training, being Cor is Suffering™, Promnis is being devious and sly (Except not really), and some discoveries are made.
For Day 1 of @promdynshipweek
Quote - "Light is easy to love, show me your darkness”
Acta est fabula
In a world where Prompto is the Prince of Niflheim, he chooses companionship and solace in the only one he never should -and maybe that is enough to change fates, to stop the clock, to strip damnation from a betrayed soul with tender and devoted hands.
Ardyn humors a young soul, playing a game where he will tear the innocent limb by limb, where he will corrupt a Prince as thoroughly as he corrupted his father and the Empire he manipulates. But when the game transforms into a trap, he finds himself surrendering to its bars in the form of a pair of hands and violet eyes -and the hope they bring.
Snipets of a story
“Light is easy to love,” Prompto murmurs, and those violet eyes pin him with warmth and the weight of one born to rule and be betrayed. “Show me your darkness.” he demands, but Ardyn too had been a King, once. He hears the plea between the words crystal clear.
It makes him pause, cautious and calculating. This boy is only but a year younger than Ardyn himself was when he embarked in his foolhardy quest of healing.
The Empress is dead. Prompto Argentum, who fought tooth and nail to keep his mother's last name the true legacy of the empire, was the sole heir at five. A prey of gelatinous bones, even if he had overcome the poison that did his mother in. Or the blades that did his brother.
Oh, he couldn't make it easy to Ideolas now could he?
“Your grace must to survive,” he answers, a quaint smile biding his future feast. “Only the living can experience the dark.”
I was experimenting with a bit of storytelling tools last year. Went here on a whim. Each day will be the quote challenge. Most of the entries will be short, like this one.
There will be some implied things but the entries will have the warnings in the tags.
There is no child grooming, though it may seem like it might. Also: mentions of violence and human experimentation (this is Niflheim), a lot of blood, and morbid topics.
There will be underage sex eventually. Though both parties are willing, and the underage is actually legal in the Empire.
Day 6 of @promdynshipweek!
Today’s challenge quote is: “If you live long enough, you see the same eyes on different people.”
Acta Est Fabula - 06
Preface: “There is no need for violence at this point,” Prompto, finally in the red and gold of his family legacy, proposes to the war room, smile impish but warm. “We can trade. Niflheim will return the Lucian territories they conquered if Lucis gives us Bahamut.” There was no need for the conquered territories, not when Niflheim had reclaimed their frozen lands and were on the brink of being continental sustainable.
Aranea crosses her arms, part proud and wary of the negotiating monster she created. She wonders how long will Lucis take to realize that Cleigne was already independent.
“We can give them Galahd right now as a sign of goodwill. The Fulgurian is already gone.”
“Why?” Ardyn asks again, amidst the horror and the blood in his hands. Bahamut’s main sword is broken, but the price… the price...
“Maybe because I’m selfish,” Prompto whispers, sweetly and shy between his arms. A confession so intimate amiss the chaos and carnage of a Citadel hunting them down, and a Crystal in the verge of breaking.
Bahamut glares from above, but he’s biding his time. Prompto’s shot was enough to cause true damage on his armor, on the Crystal that ties his life to Eos. Behind them is Glauca, armor and stance ready, flanked by Sky Admiral Highwind and a recently arrived King Ravus. But Ardyn has no eyes for them, only has eyes from Prompto, brave, convalescent and soulful.
He should have vetoed the idea from the get go. No matter how Prompto believed in the good of King Regis, Ardyn should have known better than to trust the descendants from the brother who had betrayed and usurped him. He should have known Lucis’ acceptance of Nilfheim treaty was a trap. That this man would not hand over Bahamut even if it meant the return of all the Lucian territories occupied by the empire.
This was his fault, and how dearly it had costed.
“Because I thought if you lived,” Prompto continues, still sweet even if his hand shakes while caressing his cheek, leaving blood prints on their wake. His arm is mangled worse than his leg and yet the touch is sweet and fleeting. Ardyn doesn’t let the hand fall, and instead presses it to his face, to his lips, tries to kiss the pulse back into Prompto. “There would be a time where I would be born again and meet you. Over and Over and Over.”
Ardyn laughs quietly, brokenly. His chest warm even when his heart, when his soul, beat in terror of losing the only one who ever mattered. Time stops between them and the world, and Ardyn swears to himself, to his tattered soul, upon the only thing worth swearing on, that if he was to fail, he will never forget this moment, this soul, those violet eyes that loved him so fully and tenderly.
Once upon a time he would have begged God to not take him away.
Now he knew they could bleed.
“That won’t happen, my Emperor. We will die together, or you won’t die at all.” Ardyn declares, rage simmering to something cold and cutting. Healing Magic flows through him, clear and potent for the first time in two millennia.
The work is swift, for even if he’d scorned his erstwhile only boon that allowed him to aid his people, he had never forgotten his trade. The knowledge and use ingrained in his bones deep beneath the scourge ailing him.
He’s lived long enough to see the same eyes on different people. He’s already tasted the forbidden fruit of salvation and sincere tenderness. He will not stand for another eternity of gavillating on Eos, desirous and starving for the only eyes that won’t be the same as the rest of humanity.
Time resumes, and Prompto breaths, coughs and looks at him awed. There are tears there and Ardyn shakes his head, and pushes him behind. The blonde needs cover to create a new bullet from his blood.
Prompto still takes his hands, squeezes them, those eyes still astonished and humbled. It suits him, and so Ardyn takes his payment in the form of a quick kiss, in front of everyone, imperial and divine. He’s selfish like that.
“Witness me my dear heart,” he rallies taking a step forward, magic surging and blooming in a rose of one hundred blades around him. For the first time in two millennia, it doesn’t burn his veins, when calling upon his birthright “For you are not the only one who would fight against heavens!”
