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#just exile/kill them and take away all their things

raayllum · 2 days

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Rayla and Callum re: possession plot line + all foreshadowing (s1-s5, supplementary material)

“An assassin doesn’t decide right and wrong. Only life and death.” Rayla parroted the mantra Runaan had so often repeated. She did not know if she was reciting the words to convince the prince that his fate was sealed, or to convince herself to seal it.

(Book One: Sky novelization; 1x02, and 1x04)

“Wow. So they look identical, but they might kill you or they might save you,” Callum said. “Exactly. Just like me…” Rayla smiled.

One more, she thought. Just one more win. A human stepped into the pit. His armor, a weather-beaten but familiar silver-grey with a red collar, told a grim tale: an exile from Katolis. He’d likely fled deeper into Xadia after the battle at the Storm Spire. He was barely taller than Rayla herself, and couldn’t have been older than— —what would he look like now, she wondered? Nearly two years older, a few inches taller— The human’s sword flashed towards her. Rayla sprang away, and the crowd bellowed. [...] The human kicked dirt at her, and Rayla scraped at her eyes, angry—infuriated, even. Humans were frustrating. Humans were clever. Humans could do anything, they could be anything, they could take their own fates and change them— When she blinked her eyes back open, Rayla saw several things at once. In the pit, the human charged forward, sword aloft. And in the crowd behind him, a flash of red. A scarf. For a moment Rayla was somewhere else, far away and safe and warm, following that red scarf instead of turning her back on it— —and then the human’s fist struck her jaw. She shouted in pain. One blade rose instinctively to block another blow, but the human grabbed her wrist and twisted so hard she dropped it. Then he swept a leg under her, catching her by the heels, and before she could breathe again Rayla was on her back in the dirt, staring up at the wooden bones of the ceiling. “Rayla! Wake up, come on! We’re gonna be okay—!” The human stood over her and tapped his blade to her chest. Rayla craned her neck, looking around. The sound came back into the world, and the crowd’s cheering had turned from raucous support to mocking, shrieking laughter. Groaning, she let her head fall back to the dirt. “You win,” she said. [...]

“What was that?! You beat yourself!” Back in Redfeather’s little hovel, Rayla sat in the hammock, arms tight across her chest. Stella, who had been told to stay behind for her own safety, snuggled against her neck and cooed. Rayla fiddled with a little wooden token someone had shoved into her hands as a consolation prize for her victories in the pit. Her fingers traced a carving of a hermit crab on one side and the stark profile of a Tidebound elf on the other. “What happened? Why didn’t you keep fighting?” Rayla took a deep breath. Her ribs ached. “I got distracted.” Redfeather gave a disbelieving laugh. “Don’t they teach you to avoid that kind of thing when you become an assassin?” “That’s different,” she protested, even though her heart knew it wasn’t. It was the same problem every time. Hesitation, sympathy, distraction… all just weakness in a different mask.

Chasing Shadows, part 2

Rayla pulled the chest back, out of reach, and pressed the curve of one blade to his neck— —and held it there. The human froze, meeting her eyes. He looked afraid. Rayla wanted to hate him, this young Neolandian boy, she wanted to hate him like she hated Viren. She could almost see Viren’s face in his: the white streaks of his hair, the sickly pallor of his skin, the bruise-like shadows beneath his eyes. Was he not the same? But what if it was true? A plague, an illness, a wound— “Life is precious. Life is valuable. We take it, but we do not take it lightly.” [...] Rayla looked at the driftwood floor. “Because I messed up. He got away with the rest.” Redfeather sighed. “You hesitated. Like in the Bone Pit.” It stung. She was right, of course. Rayla caught a glimpse of her own reflection in a glass bottle and scowled at herself: the face glowering back at her was not the face of an assassin, and it never would be. [...] Redfeather nodded. “I like you, but you’re still trying to be the person they’ll welcome back home. You’re a Ghost. You can’t be that elf ever again. You have to decide who you are going to be instead. So—who are you?” Rayla balked at her. It was an awful question. She wasn’t an assassin, she wasn’t an elf of the Silvergrove, she wasn’t anything at all, she was just— —“Rayla.” That voice again. Rayla pushed away, trying to focus on Redfeather. “I’m—” “—selfless, strong, and caring—” He persisted, as he always did, and his voice took her far, far away.

Chasing Shadows, part 3

She has made the princes her best friends and gone on a journey to free every elf and human from such terrible fates.

Rayla's Tales of Xadia bio

#rayllum #long post #foreshadowing #multi #arc 1 #arc 2 #chasing shadows #tdp rayla #as you can see it leans towards her to a degree bc it will ultimately be her response to callum's possession #but. Yeah #s6 #i need you to kill me #if i did all the foreshadowing for the leadup to possession there'd be a lot more callum / cube #ibis harrow foreshadowing tbh

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psychologeek · 1 month

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Double Standards (light it up):

You know, in light of everything going on in Colombia U and Harvard, etc., I wonder -

They say harassing random people and murder and rape and the vandalism of (everything Jewish) is ok, bc it's "retaliation".

Continue this line of thoughts, does it mean I get Carte Blanche to burn a local mosque?

After all, my family had been oppressed for wayyy more than 75 years under the Yemeni occupation. We were exiled and had to flee for our lives. My grandma told me stories about their journey, the little she remembers. She nearly died.

(we think she had a brother who did)

Also, does it mean I'm allowed to go and beat up anyone wearing a cross?

I mean, my other grandma's cousins were murdered by Christians in Auschwitz-Birkenau (her grandad survived and came to live with them in Israel after the holocaust. But that's another story.)

*for the record - idk how your family things go, but I met most of this grandma's cousins and can name/give a detail about at least half of them. Also just last weekend we talked about her aunt that died as her refugee's ship broke halfway through the journey to Israel. I know this story and the ship name and the aunt and her kids since I was a kid. So yes, those memories are part of my life.)

And I guess people shouldn't be able to talk Spanish in public. After all, we all Know what They did in 1492.

But why going back so much?

There's exile of Jews from Iran in the 70s. But you'll never hear about it.

You'll never hear about the way we were kicked from Afghanistan and Lybia and Tunisia (where, btw, a mob burnt down an ancient synagogue this very year.)

No one's talking about how jews were kicked out of Egypt.

(this is how ppl sound. If that make you think "well, actually -"then, why isn't it never applied to us?)

#spain #retaliation #yeah right #double standards #goyim can reblog #so fucking tired of this #if i had a nickel #for every country we WEREN'T exiled from #I don't think I'd have 2 nickels #honestly #exiled #murdered #or oppressed any other way #like in the Hijaz - you can't Exile the Jews if Jews aren't allowed to live there in first place #you know #or the uk in the 1200s iirc #or USSR #can't exile jews if you don't allow judaism #ancient Egypt is sort of the counterpoint #but it's more like “oh no you can't let those slave go! they are mine!”#antisemism #antisemitism #antisemism all the way down #hi do you remember how western culture is literally based on the oppression of jews?#that were not allowed to own land and in some places were only allowed to qork with money #which means the local monarch could always point at them as “those who take the money”#and if there were financial issues #just exile/kill them and take away all their things #who cares about them greedy dirty jews anyway?#jumblr

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bamsara · 8 months

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Some side characters/cult members for The Rehabilitation of Death. This originally was just supposed to be some light sketches but now they're all fully lined up and colored oops

Info about all of them under the cut:

All followers were designed based off of the actaul follower forms in game. Characters in order:

Bremar 🦊 (He/Him): Boy that often gets peer pressured into doing dangerous or scary things by his friends/bullies. Good heart, not a lot of spine yet.

Finor 🐰 (She/They): Elderly follower. A devoted follower, but much too in the habit of behaving like an overbearing grandmother to those who aren’t even her kits. Comes from bearing so many in life before losing them to heretics in the wilds. Lambert found her already aged out in the forest after her husband and family were slaughtered, and she has been caring for others ever since her rescue. Stern and not a big fan of PDA, but good heart.

Cow Nurse 🐄 (No Name yet, She/Her): A nurse that works in the healing bay; takes care of the injured and sick while the lamb is gone. Stern and easily frustrated but it comes from a place of concern.

The Shrew and The Otter (No names yet) 🐁🦦 (Both She/Her): Lovers that often leave their work posts to be affectionate with each other in secret (even though everyone already knows). Eventually asks the Lamb to officiate their wedding.

Joon 😺 (Any/They/Them) (Otherwise known as 'the yellow cat' from that one COTL short): The best farmer the cult has, wasn't born until long after the bishop's defeats, and is a part of the generation that is blissfully unaware of Bishops prior tyranny. Bright but a little nervous at times, the Lamb asks them to watch over a certain 'new arrival' as their own hands are full, and Joon becomes the unaware caretaker for a certain God of Chaos.

Paazi 🐸 and her parents🦅🦇: (She/Her for Paazi, Unnamed: Eagle is He/Him, Bat is They/Them): Paazi is a orphan rescue from Anura found as young as a tadpole, later adopted by this older couple. She is the frog that fell from the cliffside and was later saved by Narinder, in which gains him her parent's appreciation.

Grekimar 🐷 (He/Him): A lumber worker who was exiled from his village in Anura, and taken in by the cult as 'all past sins are forgiven here'. Very critical of Narinder's presence, and is one spit away from dissension

Jayen 🐻 (He/Him): One of the two followers Narinder killed during his dramatic arrival to the cult grounds when Jayen was just trying to protect his leader, later resurrected by Narinder and Lambert in Chapter 2. Conflicted about Narinder's presence: grateful to be resurrected (Lamb told Jayen that Narinder helped) but still traumatized from the murder. Feels tingly in his hand and arm often. Sweet but nervous.

Tyren 🐶 (He/Him): One of the stone miners. Rescued from Darkwood. The very 'golden lab retriever' personality makes him one of the more friendlier types; this dog has a big crush on the Lamb that goes past prophet idolization.

#TROD Au #the rehabilitation of death #narilamb #cult of the lamb #cotl au #cotl oc #cotl narinder #cotl lamb #cotl leshy #cotl yellow cat #doodles

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shiny-jr · 3 months

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➸ damnation [ the raven retainer ]

– Summary: When you commit a crime, you receive a punishment. This is especially true in your society. No matter the crime, your punishment is the same: banishment. But to where you will be sent in exile and how miserable will it be? No one knows, because no one has ever returned.

– Warning: Yes, this is a yandere thing. Gender-neutral reader.

– Characters: Epel Felmier, Rook Hunt, Vil Schoenheit.

– Note: Hopefully everything transferred over okay from the quiz. Been holding off on this one because I know with the amount of Pomefiore and Vil admirers, posting this is like lighting up a firework by hand and having to run before it goes off.

– Pages: 42

– Not satisfied? Try looking here for the quiz to take it yourself and see where you end up banished!

The Vizier's Vassal | The Raven Retainer | ?????

A dark robe. Wrapped around your shoulders was a black cloak, like wings folded in. Speaking of feathered appendages, there was a single shiny feather tucked behind your ear. You had felt it tickling your earlobe, leading you to pluck it out of your hair to examine it. It was long and black, huge in size, making you imagine it came from a beast of a raven. Slowly you looked up, confused to find yourself at a desk surrounded by books, bottles of odd colorful liquids, and there was even a cauldron in the corner of the stone wall!

Returning your attention back to the feather, you were perplexed but quite liked it so you placed it back behind your ear where you had originally discovered it. Upon standing from the wooden chair, you noticed your change of outfit. A simple white ruffled shirt and black pants, although nearly every inch of you was covered by the black cloak on your back that reached all the way to your ankle and draped around you like a curtain. Lifting up the cloak, you could feel a short sword strapped safely and securely in a hilt on your back hidden away from sight. What was this place…? Why were you dressed like this? Why did you have a sword? What was going on? Was this your punishment?

Just then, your eyes drifted over to a book stand where a heavy leather tome sat open to prying eyes. Your prying eyes, to be exact. Curiously you stepped toward it, your fingers ghosting over the crisp pages of the aged book as you squinted incredulously at the words printed on the surface in a large font, occasionally dotted with red ink. “Poison apple…?” Beside it was the painted image of a ripe red apple, and in its shining reflective skin was the distinct shape of a skull. “One taste of the poisoned apple and the victim’s eyes will close forever in the sleeping death.”

But that… that was from a fairytale! The story of Snow White and the Beautiful Queen! A page about a poisoned apple, the tome, this basement filled with ingredients and suspicious concoctions… So it was true, criminals were often sent to dangerous tales where they would perish. And you... you were a criminal and you were here, but... what role did you play? Lifting your hand up to your ear, you suddenly felt the familiar soft sensation of the black feather accessory and realization dawned on you. Didn’t the queen have a pet raven…? Could that explain why you were here in these strange but fancy clothes? Of all things, why did you have to be the raven?

How did the story go again? The Queen was vain and wicked, she wished to be the most beautiful of all. It was said that she consulted her magic mirror every day and would inquire as to who the fairest of them all was. Should the mirror ever reply with another’s name instead of hers, she would find a way to kill her rival and would only be satisfied once the mirror answered her name. So when her step-daughter, Snow White, grows to become the fairest of them all, the Queen goes mad with jealousy and has a huntsman attempt to kill her. When that fails, the Queen takes matters into her own hands, eventually turning herself ugly as a disguise and even causing her own untimely demise by falling off a cliff and being crushed by a boulder, her remains left as feed for hungry vultures. That was the Queen, but what about the raven? Well, it’s never disclosed as to what happens to the bird, at least to your knowledge. The last the raven is seen, it was being tormented by the wicked Queen as she was creating the poisoned apple. Actually, maybe being the raven wasn’t so bad afterall… At least it didn’t perish or receive some other horrible ending.

Knowing this brought you some much needed relief. At least you didn’t end up as the raven in that other story about a sleeping princess. That raven was turned to stone! You pity any poor sucker that might’ve ended up in that position. This outcome was adequate, for now. Perhaps it was best to venture outside, to attempt to find this beautiful queen. To be honest, it was a little exciting. You had always wondered how beautiful she was, since the novels always claimed they could never do her justice. But that's besides the point. Once meeting her, you then had to decide what your next move would be.

Keeping all that in mind, you climbed the spiraling stone staircases just barely lit by candles. You winced whenever you heard the squeak of a rat or spotted a rotting corpse of a forgotten prisoner still in chains. Quickening your pace until you reached a wooden door, and stepped into the sunlight. It was warm and delightful, the sun’s rays shining on your skin. You felt free. As of now, this was far from punishment. But knowing that you were sent here to be punished or even die, was what kept you from being completely at ease. You could almost just relax here in the calm and beauty of this garden–– key word, almost. Shrieking and many voices shattered your temporary peace, even scaring away the white doves that had flocked in the open courtyard.

Grumbling, you followed the sound of the commotion. It sounded like it was coming from over the high palace walls. There was one portion of the wall that was shorter than the rest, if you climbed onto the smooth edges of the railing by the stone steps, you could successfully scale onto the top of the wall where you decided to lounge about and spectate the action. On the other side of the wall, you could see a young man getting closer and closer, nervously waving at a large group giggling and following him. It was obvious that he was a little uncomfortable, and that he was trying to lose them without hurting their feelings by how he continued to smile even as he picked up the pace.

When his eyes landed on you, he appeared surprised, and as he walked the path he was getting closer and closer. Feeling pity for the lad, you sighed and stretched your arm down, to which he hesitated a moment before finally deciding to place his hand in yours. You heaved him up and slid down to the safe side of the wall, the palace side, just before his apparent fans could catch him. Their whining and complaining was amusing.

“Thank you…! You saved me!”

Oh, right, he was still here. You glanced over at the young man peering happily up at you with the brightest smile on his lips. Your eyebrows furrowed as you slowly began to notice his features. Hair black as ebony, skin white as snow, dressed head-to-toe in rags… No way––

“Ah, I know you!” He exclaimed, delighted as he took a step closer. “You’re my elder brother’s attendant! I’ve seen you around the palace countless times. You are always working so hard that I’ve never gotten a chance to properly meet you! Of course you may already know but my name is Neige, it’s truly so wonderful to finally talk like this with you!” He performed a small but polite bow. Such manners for a prince in rags. “I never knew you were so kind! Is there any way I can repay you?”

“Ah, no, there’s no need for that…” You studied his face, attempting to make sense of it all. If this Neige was Snow White, it did make total sense. His skin was flawless, it looked like a marshmallow, so pristine but soft. He was cherubic. His beauty was more of a one of innocence and cuteness, and it seemed the townsfolk noticed his looks judging by how they focused on his physical features instead of his worn and tattered attire. You force your gaze away. This was the prince who the Queen would try to kill. But there’s a chance it may be King in this version, because you’re fairly certain that Neige had just mentioned something about having an elder brother that you apparently worked for. “It was nothing.”

“Please, don’t be so modest! Your actions were selfless and heroic. Had it not been for you, I’m afraid I would’ve been stuck outside all day with no choice other than to interact with all those that followed me. And I couldn’t have that! I promised my brother that I would do my chores.” A sad frown appeared on his face as his gaze traveled back over to the wall, “Although I do regret having just left them without so much as a goodbye…”

So he was kind… Makes sense. Most princesses, or prince in this case, were kind-hearted souls that were far too naive or trusting and had the strangest ability to communicate with woodland creatures. However that last part worked, you weren’t entirely sure.

“The doves of the courtyard gathered by the well with me this morning! And we all made a wish! I, well… It's a bit embarrassing, but I wished for something truly special. And I believe that my wish may have come true!” A pretty pink blush made his cheeks rosy as he clasped his hands together, looking so truly content as he peered up at you.

“Is that so…?” Well, magical animal talking ability, check that off the list. He really was like the princess from the fairytale. But you didn’t like where this was going. You outgrew fairytales a long time ago, but when you read something so fantastical and magical in your innocent imaginative youth, it sticks with you. Perhaps that was a good thing, because even now you could recall the small details of the story.

In the beginning of the story, Snow White is cleaning the courtyard when she meets the doves at the well where she makes a wish to meet her true love. Not too long after, the prince appears on horseback, hearing the princess’ song that leads him to climb over the palace walls to get to her. When you got older, you quickly realized how creepy that actually was. The prince crept up on her, and essentially trespassed on private palace grounds. But that’s besides the point right now. The point is, Snow White made a wish to meet her true love which happened to be the prince. Well, right now, you have yet to see another so-called dashing prince or princess. There was just the courtyard and you were alone with Neige, and he was gazing up at you through his lashes and with a pretty smile that appeared too fondly. The Queen, or King, really needed to stop cooping up Prince Neige within the palace walls. It was dulling his sense towards social cues and common sense.

“Hey! What the hell are you doin’...?!”

Surprised at the sudden presence beside you, you looked to see another stranger. This one you couldn’t automatically connect to a role. It was a short young man with a cuteness that could possibly even rival the prince. He had such wide blue eyes and odd soft lavender curls that framed his face. Unlike you and Prince Neige, his outfit was of much finer detail which consisted of a white tunic and long dark blue sleeves from the shirt he wore underneath. A red cloak was draped over the shoulders of his small frame, the ends brushing against his simple pants and boots. But despite his fine clothing and adorable appearance, he spoke with such brashness, irked for whatever reason.

“Ah, you must be Epel! My brother speaks often about you! He says he sees great potential in you!” Neige interjected, oblivious to this Epel fellow’s irritation. Epel… the name didn’t ring a bell. You could accurately deduce what Neige’s role was based on his appearance and the fact that his name meant snow in French. But you still had no idea who Epel was supposed to be. Again, Neige bowed his head in polite greeting as he exclaimed, “Today must be my lucky day! Not only have I met you now, Epel, but I’ve also met–– Um…” He paused, turning to you and inquiring softly, “I’m sorry, I’m so excited that I’ve forgotten to ask your name.”

The lavender-haired boy quickly snatched your attention away from the prince, grabbing your cloak where your arm would be as he hissed in a whisper so as to not involve Neige. “Are you crazy? Talkin’ to the prince…! Vil is gonna fly off the handle!” Not-so-discreetly gesturing to the window right above them with his eyes darting to it and back to you, but not moving his head, so as to not alert the onlooker behind the glass.

You froze, not moving your head but your eyes moved up to where Epel had been glancing at. Out of the corner of your eyes, you could just barely make out a tall and thin figure in purple standing at the large window, holding the red curtains open with both hands. They were watching, and just as you moved your head the tiniest bit to get a better look, you only caught a glimpse of a deep angered frown before the curtains were abruptly shut, barring you from seeing anymore. That could’ve only been the beautiful royal, the monarch in charge that sees Prince Neige as a rival. When you looked back at Neige, he was still smiling at you with his hands folded in front of him, patiently awaiting an answer. Poor guy doesn’t know what’s coming.

“We gotta go, or Rook is gonna drag us back himself…!” Without even waiting for you to give Neige your name, Epel took your hand and ran like a bat out of hell. Making a beeline straight for an entrance to the palace, you attempted to keep up with him. He was surprisingly strong for someone so small.

Behind you, you heard, “W-Wait, I never got your name…!”

Well, that’s a crying shame. Focusing your attention on where you were heading, you began to lose track of all the twists and turns within these palace walls. Epel led you forward, he certainly knew where he was going. But you? You hadn’t a clue. That is, until after a few minutes, you arrived at a long hall where at the very end there were double doors already opened. The few soldiers standing guard paid no mind to you and the lavender-haired fellow, probably because in their eyes, you belonged here. And yet that couldn’t be further from the truth.

You felt so incredibly out of place as you stood on the lengthy blue carpet that stretched forward toward a small yet intricately designed throne of gold and jewels formed in the shape of a magnificent peacock with its feathers fanned out. But what was more entrancing than the priceless throne, was the person sitting atop it. Oh, how the novels did not lie, they truly could not do the monarch any justice in portraying their beauty. The King, who must’ve been Vil, could’ve been a world-famous model. His face looked like those perfect sculpted marble statues, it was the type of look that would incur the envious wrath of gods and goddesses in mythology. There was not a single blemish or flaw. Not even a single hair of his golden locks fading into lavender was out of place. The long purple robes under the longer black cloak flowing down his body, complimented the color of his amethyst eyes. Those eyes looked even more shiny than the golden crown perched atop his skull. You weren’t a simp but wow.

The King appeared less than pleased, it actually made you incredibly nervous when he bore a frown and silently beckoned you closer with a single curling movement of his index finger.

Walking past Epel who stood by the door, you took a deep breath as you recounted what knowledge you had on etiquette during this time period. Once you were a few feet in front of him, you began to kneel, when he spoke it caused you to freeze.

“Don’t.” Intense gaze glued to your form, he watched you carefully as he instructed, “Come closer.”

You slowly stepped forward, closer to him.

“Closer.”

Hesitating, you took another step so one foot was on the step in front of his throne.

“Closer.”

Pausing, you inched forward, now standing on the same elevation as the throne. Now you were just centimeters away from him, and it was putting you on edge. When he appeared seemingly satisfied, that’s when you finally kneeled in front of him. With a bowed head, a common sign of respect in customs with monarchies, you greeted simply, “Your Majesty.”

The King peered down at you, silent for a moment as you kept your head down and eyes glued to the ends of his purple robes and how his black cloak that matched yours, but his was much longer, pooled around his throne to look like a black void. After a few moments, you felt his hand at your chin, his slim fingers urging you to look up. When you did, he hummed, “Well, my lovely pet, have you had your fun with my little step-brother?” He gave a question, but it became obvious that he didn’t want an answer. At least not yet. This king must not be too fond of the prince. As his thumb stroked your chin and raised it so your head was almost at his knee, he continued slowly while gazing down at you, “You know that I loathe sharing, don’t you? So why would I share you with my step-brother, hm? Have you perhaps… begun to favor him over me?”

It struck you then that the royal must be an extremely envious person. Not only did they want to remain first in standing when it came to beauty, but he also wanted to monopolize people’s attention so that they may focus on him. Replying carefully, you spoke while keeping your eyes glued to his enchanting yet intimidating gaze, “Of course not, Your Majesty. It was merely a coincidence that I encountered him. I cannot be as easily swayed as the masses.” For a moment you hesitated, seeing that he seemed unconvinced as you proceeded, “... My loyalty to you cannot be broken by a prince in rags.”

After a few moments, the tension in the air evaporated as the king graced you with a smile that made your breath hitch. You had said the right thing. Tempted to glance at Epel for a possible clue on what to do next, you refrained and instead remained still as a statue when the king reached forward with his other hand to remove your hood. “Let me see your face, my retainer.” As soon as the hood was removed, he examined your face in the light. It took an incredible amount of calm to keep composed and not squirm in place under his intense scrutinizing gaze. Finally, he frowned and sighed, “I’ve been keeping you confined beneath the castle for far too long. You’re beginning to look ghastly, and I can’t be seen with someone beside me that’s less than appealing to look at.” Removing his hands from your face, he motioned for you to stand, which you did. “You’ve done enough. Getting rid of our guests and covering it up must’ve been challenging, especially for you to do it all on your own. This time, Rook will take over while you will be receiving enough sunlight to revitalize your complexion. Do not overdo it. Rook.”

Guests? Cover up? This wasn’t in the story. There wasn’t any time to fully process what you heard before you detected yet another voice just right beside your ear.

“Good day, petit corbeau!” You felt your soul leave your body for a single second when these words were said beside your ear by a voice, an extremely close and unfamiliar voice. When you jumped, startled, you noticed there was another young man literally only an inch behind you. When did he even get there? You didn’t even notice him until now! When you stepped to the side out of the way, you furrowed your eyebrows at his smile.

The young man was blonde, with hair styled into a ridiculous looking bob-cut but he somehow made it work as he wore a wide-brimmed brown hat with a black feather. Over his shoulders and back he wore a large hunter green cloth that wrapped around his shoulders like a scarf and extended over his back like a small cloak. Underneath, concealed by the cloth, was a dark tunic and black pants with a belt and knife at his hip. However, what unnerved you wasn’t the knife at his hip or the bow and quiver chock full of arrows on his back. It was his eyes.

His forest green eyes were glued to you, and he bore a wide and charming smile. “Ah, to see you without your hood and out of the undercroft, what a rare sight! Marvelous! I must thank you, Your Majesty, for making this possible! It is not everyday we see your dutiful, striking, mysterious little raven. It is truly a spectacle to behold! I will treasure this rare moment where I’ve not only heard you speak, but have seen your visage without being shrouded by shadows and concealed by your hood!”

You did not like this. The way he was looking at you as he spoke so dramatically made a shiver crawl up your spine. Yes, he spoke nothing but praise in such an honest tone and declaration, but there was something in his eyes. Something that placed you on edge as his smile turned slightly ominous and his eyes narrowed at you. There was a twinkle in his green eyes as he tilted his head at you inquisitively, as if sensing your unease without you even saying a word. This had to be the Rook fellow that Epel mentioned offhandedly, and now it made sense as to why he ran back so quickly just to avoid encountering him.

Much to your relief, Vil sighed and interjected without even standing from his throne. Furrowing his eyebrows, he scolded in an irked tone, “I didn’t summon you to pester my little retainer, Rook. Stress from you is not what my retainer needs right now. It causes wrinkles.”

“Apologies, Your Majesty.” Rook chuckled, obediently turning to fully face the royal as you stood stiffly beside him, keeping a safe distance between you two.

Behind you, out of the corner of your eye, you could see Epel quietly closing the doors once Vil gestured for him to do so. It seemed the king wanted privacy, he wished to say something not even the guards outside the thick wooden doors were allowed to hear. The only ones that would be witnesses to his words were you, Epel, and Rook. You had to wonder what was so secretive that he didn’t even want his soldiers stationed outside to hear, and why were you allowed to hear? Was it because you were supposedly in the role of his trusted retainer? Maybe it had something to do with that cover-up he mentioned just a short time ago.

The tension in the room was thick, it disturbed you and you can tell it bothered the short purple-haired young man too if his growing perturbed frown was anything to go by. Despite this, he took up the space beside you. The blonde with the bow, Rook, who you now were assuming to be a huntsman if his attire and weapons were any giveaway, continued to smile without much of a care. Rook was on the left, Epel was on the right, and you were in the center, and still on his throne was King Vil. With luck, you’ll be able to keep up this act. It wouldn’t do for a retainer to fail. It might cost you and be the slip-up that would put an end to this charade of survival.

“I’ve decided. Rook, the duties I normally give to my retainer will be passed onto you today. You’re much more suited for this job. It involves my little step-brother, Neige.” The way he said the prince’s name made it sound like it pained him just to utter it, like it burned his tongue just to mention him. But he continued. “It seems he’s been working hard at completing his chores, hm? He’s been begging for a day out, and he adores flowers so… Rook, you will take him far into the woods, a secluded meadow where he can pick as many wildflowers as his little heart desires.”

Once you processed his words, you froze. It dawned on you that it was happening, this was the moment in the story when the beautiful queen commanded her huntsman to murder the princess in the woods. Vil must’ve already consulted the magic mirror and was told that he was no longer the fairest in all the land. That title now officially belonged to Neige, but it wouldn’t for long if the king had anything to say about it.

The other two loyal and trusted by the king had no idea, as Epel appeared vaguely bored and disinterested while Rook seemed elated. “Of course! I’ll see to it that it is done, Your Majesty––!”

“I’m not finished.” Vil interrupted, frowning tersely as his gaze turned cold. Tapping his well-manicured nails against the armrest of his throne, his eyes narrowed and he leaned an inch forward while instructing, “There, you will kill him.”

The shock was immediately evident on the face of the two beside you. Epel, who had been quiet throughout this entire exchange, finally broke his silence with a small gasp as he moved to cover his mouth with one hand. But it was too late, everyone had already heard him and seen his stunned expression. And yet, no one seemed to really care. Everyone was far too engrossed in what was just said by the king.

Rook appeared just as confounded before disbelief took root, as if he didn’t even wish to believe his own two ears. Removing his hat, he held it to his chest and lowered his head respectfully as he placed a hesitant foot forward. “Your Majesty, our beautiful and lovely Vil, you can’t possibly mean–– our prince Neige…!”

“Silence!” Immediately standing from his seat, he scowled, the prince’s name only making his rage more bitter. And then, he said something unexpected, something off script and never in the story. Gesturing to you, he hissed, “My loyal retainer here could make six souls vanish without a trace, why can’t you do it with one mere prince? Must they do everything? Must I have to dirty my own hands? Hm?”

Lowering his head further, the huntsman replied quietly, somberly, his smile now gone. “Of course not, Your Majesty. Your delicate hands aren’t meant to be soiled…” It’s as you suspected. Rook stayed alive and was one of Vil’s closest servants because he was witty enough to think of something on the spot that was complimentary enough to appease the bitter royal. At least, that’s what it seemed like at the moment. For now, you were grateful you weren’t him. Some people who read the story of Snow White liked to theorize that the huntsman was murdered by the vicious queen for failing to assassinate the princess.

Vil was quiet, not completely calm judging by his sneer but he was composed enough not to say anything more. Standing tall, his gaze honed in on you and Epel, to which he spoke, “My loyal, diligent retainer, escort my successor out. I need to have a word with Rook, privately.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” You replied hastily with a slow bow. He didn’t need to tell you twice. Just from your few moments here, you can already tell that the king was frightening when vexed, and you did not want to stick around to see if that got worse when he spoke privately with his huntsman. And yet, as you turned tail to retreat back into the hallway past the closed doors, you knew the heir he mentioned could have only been the only other person in the room: Epel.

Epel, much like you, didn’t seem to have any desire to stick around longer than necessary. Once you and the heir were out and the doors were closed shut, simultaneously you both heaved a sigh of relief, although short and brief as the heavy weight of the king's command was still prominent. There must’ve been even more on the young heir’s mind, because his gaze flittered over to you and he began to eye you suspiciously. With a surprising amount of strength for someone of his short stature and delicate appearance, he grabbed your arm and began to drag you down the halls away from the throne room, soldiers standing guards, and anyone else. Until you were in a different setting, by one of the castle’s exits to a dark backside corner of the garden where there was just one big oak tree that provided shade underneath its huge branches. What was this about? Why did he bring you here?

Those questions were answered when he finally stopped underneath the tree and let go of your limb, only to whip his head back at you with such an angered expression that caught you off guard. The location now seemed like some place he could yell in frustration without being caught, because it was so quiet and isolated here. “That entire time, when that crazy old goon with that stupid metal crown basically kidnapped me from my home and brought me here for his little contest I wanted no part of, you knew he’d want the losers dead, didn’t you?! Hell, you helped him get rid of the bodies! I trustedyou, you big fat lying s––!”

Quickly clamping your right hand over his mouth to shut him up, you stared at him as he gazed at you wide-eyed, as if shocked you’d even try to stop him. It dawned on you then. “You don’t want to be here, do you?” Just then, you felt a sharp pain in your palm. Hissing, you immediately retracted your hand, shocked to see some broken skin and feel it sting. He just bit you––!

Epel spat onto the ground, infuriated as he yelled, “Are you daft? All that time in the undercroft made your brain rot or something?” An idea came to him. Still angry, but brightening up substantially, he lifted his head and glared at you. “Rook’s busy with Vil, and if I beat you there’d be no one to take me back to that stuffy prison of a room.” From his hip, he unsheathed a dagger and pointed it at you. “Out of my way, or I’ll make sure you join the rest of those duds you buried!”

Removing your own weapon, the short sword from your back, that you thankfully were still carrying and was larger than his own blade, you pointed it at him. “You were saying, Epel, was it?” Seeing his confident expression falter, you decided to add quickly just in case he tried to act recklessly and try attacking you with his dagger anyways. “I’ll tell you this because it seems we both want to live and I believe we might be able to help each other get what we want. So let’s get something straight, I am not the retainer you know.”

You gave him a moment to process what you said as you both lowered your weapons. In the quiet of the brief moment, you listened for any sign of prying ears but there was none. Upon seeing Epel’s confusion and suspicion with his guard still raised, you continued,

“It’s unbelievable, I know, but I’m not the same person. Where I come from, this place is a lot like a fairytale story but different. I was arrested back home and sent here as punishment. This means my punishment was to take the role of the pet or servant of the royal and face some unknown demise. Now, from what I’ve picked up, it sounds like you’re here against your will too. Both of us might end up dead if we’re not careful.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of Epel watching you closely and deciding on what to do, he lowered his dagger completely after he saw you lower yours. “That sounds like a load of crap but… the real retainer would know better than to talk to Neige of all people. You didn’t, which explains that.” Maybe he wasn’t entirely convinced by your narrative, because he proceeded to ask, “You said this was like some kid’s story you read once or somethin’? Tell me what happens to me.”

“That’s the issue. It’s an old story that doesn’t go into detail, you weren’t even a character and my role is just a raven.” Placing away your sword that you handled a bit awkwardly, since you really had no idea how to use it, but the heir didn’t seem to notice that as he placed away his own weapon. “From what I got, you were brought here against your will and there were others that are no longer here. Now, you’re the royal heir. Care to explain?”

Raising an eyebrow, Epel demanded, “If I tell you, you have to promise to tell me something. You know what’s gonna happen, don’t you?”

“I do.” Nodding at his words in confirmation, you then answered, “Of course I’ll tell you since we’re helping each other out.”

After a second, he sighed, “Fine. I’ll trust you, but only because you’re not really the retainer. Ya see, I’m from a small farming town near the borderlands. A few months ago, Vil gave a secret proclamation. He wanted the seven of the most beautiful candidates gathered at his castle, status or talent didn’t matter, as long as they were younger than him and had looks up to his high standards. Rook, you met him already, was in charge of finding these candidates and bringing them in whether they liked it or not, and you, or well… the old retainer, were in charge of taking the loser home whenever someone failed one of Vil’s challenges. At least, that’s what they told us. My guess is that the king doesn’t want his little brother to inherit the throne since he’s so jealous and all. All the candidates had a chance to become the next in line for the throne if they won all the challenges, and if they lost they got to go home. But no matter how hard I tried to lose, you kept me from losing so I guess I owe the old retainer for that because without them I’d be… probably lying face-down in a ditch somewhere.”

Slowly he shrugged, those words he uttered now being processed in his mind. It seemed to have struck him, because he became quiet.

“... I was the last one standing, even though I didn’t wanna be. Ever since then, I’ve been stuck here, forced to spend my days with strict lessons being taught by Vil. All my escape attempts were stopped by Rook, of course, that crazy loon…” Gazing up at you, he slowly regained his confidence and nodded, “But now, I’m gonna escape for sure this time and go back home! Screw the crown and these dumb silk clothes!”

“Easy, Epel, for now we just do as we’re told. I don’t want things to get too out of hand if it isn’t necessary. In the original story, the queen, king in this situation, causes his own death. As long as we avoid angering him AND avoid Neige, we should be fine. But…” You considered your next words carefully. What if something goes wrong? What if things had to change drastically in order to survive? Would you have a better chance at surviving if the protagonist, Neige, were to actually die and the antagonist, Vil, receive a good ending instead? You didn’t truly want to kill the prince, even if he was naive, he seemed like a truly good person. But if it was you or him… “I still need to see how things play out. If it comes down to it and things take a wrong turn, how far will you go to survive?”

Epel gave you a look before scoffing and taking out his dagger as a reminder, “I was about ready to stab ya just to escape and get back home. I’ll do anything to make it outta here alive, to make sure both of us live. But now since you’re helping me out, and I’m helping you out, we gotta stick together. Got it?”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

For your own safety, you deemed it better to do nothing in the meanwhile as you waited to see if the plot would progress as it did in the story. What you hadn’t taken into account was how long the wait would be. Apparently when Vil instructed Rook to escort Neige out to be discreetly killed, he didn’t mean right at that second. It was something he had planned to happen soon, but not quite yet. This gave you enough time to assess the situation.

One thing you were grateful for was the former retainer’s work ethic. The beautiful king had deemed you had done enough by assisting in his endeavors that included potion-brewing and murder, something you hadn’t actually done, at least not for him. So, your responsibilities included keeping Epel in check as a prince-in-training and staying out to receive enough sunlight as per Vil’s strict orders.

For the remainder of the first day and the following second day, you and Epel reviewed the lessons he loathed and quietly retreated to garden grooves to discuss possible plans of action including what to do afterwards when you had both gained your freedom. Additionally, you learned from the heir that you were not so different from the character you replaced. Even Epel admitted he was fooled until that one mistake you made of acknowledging Neige. So, all you would have to do was keep calm and be yourself, but also not yourself. You were technically playing the role of someone else that just happened to act like you.

Your superior had summoned you on the second night. When you arrived, you saw servants around the ballroom decorating the area with fine silk curtains and candelabras. Round tables set up in another section of the extensive room, tables set with sheets and porcelain. Vil stood at the edge of the room, noticing you out of the corner of his eyes as another attendant brought to his attention something about outfits.

As Vil began to strut towards another room, you could do nothing but follow as he commanded, “Hurry now, my retainer.”

You did as you were told, following and noting down the little details from the dark colors used in most of the decorations as well as the mention of flowers being prepared. Once in a private room with you and his entourage, he delicately removed his crown from his blonde tresses. “Epel is much more tame with you. I swear, that boy is giving me white hair.”

No, but you’re going to do that to yourself, you think as you recall the scene from the story where the beautiful queen turns herself into a ragged old hag. “He can be… a little troublesome, yes.” You stand closer to the door as the beautiful young man disappears behind an elegantly patterned dressing screen.

Judging by the servants there carefully handling various types of clothes, you could only assume he was trying on different outfits for whatever event he was preparing to host. During a review of Epel’s lessons, you were able to learn as well. Despite Vil being a person of great envy and cruelty, he was actually a fair leader that was beloved by most, so long as they didn’t incur his wrath. Reportedly, multiple nobles, knights, and other royals have vied for the beautiful king’s affection, but to no avail. All were turned down.

“Troublesome, hah, you’re being much too kind. That wouldn’t be my choice of word.” Vil scoffed as he changed behind the screen. Once he was seemingly satisfied with an outfit after throwing multiple aside, he emerged in a slightly long, dark, and exquisite dress-like garb with large sleeves. Snapping his fingers, he stood straight as his eyes lingered on you as he said simply, “Jewels.”

Picking up his meaning, you gingerly plucked the intricate golden necklace a nearby servant was carrying on a pillow and assisted him in placing it on. You steadied your breathing as you noticed that he was watching you carefully. Moving in front of him, you placed the detailed and sharp claw rings on his index finger and ring finger as he raised his hand.

“How is this?”

You took a step back and looked him over when you realized he was speaking to you, not anyone else in the room. You knew what he wanted to hear, but you couldn’t help but think that the evil king was indeed…. “Gorgeous.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he extended out his arm, the tip of the silver claw he wore on his finger at your neck as you instinctively lifted your chin at his gesture to avoid being poked. You weren’t really sure what he was thinking, and it was making you anxious. Had he seen through you as Epel had? Or perhaps he was cross? There were a million different ways to die in this story. There was a reason you were sent here and that was to meet a cruel end.

“You flatter me, my retainer. I know you don’t sugarcoat words.” Vil tilted his head, analyzing you from another angle as he smiled. Unexpectedly, his soft and pale hand was placed on your cheek. You felt your heart stop, whether from fear or something else, you couldn’t be sure. “You see, proper sunlight and sleep does work miracles. You no longer have those horrid eyebags.” Lowering his hand, his smile was gone as he seemed to recall something. “You’re the only competent and trustworthy person in this entire castle, my pet, besides myself, of course. What would I do without you? Always there for me, even before I ascended to the throne. Even when my father married that awful woman that brought the perfect lovely boy that became my brother and a stain in my life…”

After a moment of considering your response, you replied quietly, “You have always loathed Neige, haven’t you…?” The prince’s sweet words and shy smile instantly came to mind.

Upon detecting your words, you watched his expression sour as he instantly commanded everyone, who were too far and busy to hear anyways, to leave at once. All except you. Now, you remain alone with the king. It seems like you hit a nerve with your words, and you feared what he would do to you now that the two of you were alone.

Vil took a sharp breath before raising his head to meet your eyes. Under his intense gaze, you felt small but you merely swallowed your growing restlessness and kept your lips shut as he began, “I’ve always told you that I do not want you to ever utter his name. I lost the kingdom’s people to him, my friends left me for him, even my own father was beginning to favor him! I refuse to lose you too! If that boy takes one more thing away from me––”

“I’ve stayed this long.” You attempted, interjecting with words that you thought would fit this character you were playing.

“Because I demanded it.” His response caught you by surprise, but what was more unnerving was what came out of his lips next. “Father accepted my request for you to become my retainer, but the woman he married did not. And so, I concocted my very own poison, more lethal than cyanide, and slipped it into her wine. You are here because I wanted you here. Of course, I never revealed that to you until now.” You were given almost no time to process his words as he changed the subject, lifting his hand to admire his silver claw rings and painted nails. “I must admit, I was beginning to become a little concerned with you hardly leaving the undercroft in recent months. I was afraid you had become dull as I kept you to myself, and you know I don’t exactly like dull people by my side. I didn’t want to toss you aside after all we’ve been through together.”

Pursing your lips, reeling from this wave of new information, you murmured, albeit unsurely, “I don’t believe I’m dull… I like to think of myself as interesting.”

Amethyst eyes landed on you, the blonde man scrutinizing you as he gibed with a frown, “Was I asking your opinion or stating mine?”

Staring right at him, your snarky reply is already pouring out before you can even stop it. “Well, are you asking me my opinion…?” It’s silent as his cold gaze instantly lands on you. Shit. You instantly avert your eyes downward and bow your head in apology, knowing you fucked up. This was why you kept everything to yourself. This king poisoned his own step-mother for not giving him what he wanted, he ordered the former retainer to kill six innocent candidates for his competition to become heir, and he was willing to murder his very own brother who admired and loved him. What would he do to a raven with a sharp tongue? Just as possible scenarios begin flashing in your mind and you remain bowing, you clenched your fist, prepared to unsheath your hidden sword under your cloak and fight back if necessary–– when he laughed. Vil laughed.

It wasn’t a mocking one of ridicule, but rather an amused one. Lifting the back of his hand to his lips to partially cover his mouth, his laughing ceased. There was amusement, a wicked and eager look in his eyes as he hummed, “There’s that plucky side of you I missed so dearly!” Smiling, he reached forward, carefully tugging your hood down as he scolded lightly, “What have I said about wearing your hood around me? Especially indoors. Honestly, you never learn. I should strip you of that cloak you always stubbornly refuse to remove, that way you always show your face as you’re told.”

“I apologize, Your Majesty. It won’t happen again…” Unsurely you kept quiet, only offering to change the subject once the king had reached over to trail his fingers along the side of your face. “If I may ask, what’s the occasion? I wasn’t notified of these ongoing preparations.”

“A funeral.” Vil noticed how you went quiet and how your eyes widened. At your reaction, he chuckled, lowering his hand away from your face to tap his sharp finger against his chin. “Why so quiet? Don’t worry, it’s not for you. It’s merely… a preparation in advance.” Oh. You realized who it was for now. The thought of his rival dying seemed to bring the king joy as he smiled so cruelly. How morbid. Then, his attention returned back to you. It seemed he was thinking of something else now once his sights landed on some trashed envelopes in the bin, because his expression had turned to one of mild annoyance. “These suitors from afar are so bothersome. No matter how I refuse their advances, they continue with their gifts and letters filled with flattery, thinking that’ll be enough to win me over. How wrong they are. Love affairs are of no use or any interest to me…”

You gazed at the bin chock full of paper and shattered gifts. Your voice was quiet, but it carried in the silence of the room. “It must be difficult to be so admired…”

“Indeed it is.” Vil nodded, continuing to tap his chin thoughtfully. Those eyes on the trashed envelopes slowly made their way over to you, his slight frown morphing to an amused smile. “Although, perhaps I’ve changed my mind…” Extending his hand, you slowly and unsurely slid your left hand into his palm. Vil stepped closer, so close you could smell his sweet perfume and all you could see was him. You felt like a caged bird, cornered, as he leaned just a tad bit closer and continued to smile. However, now his smile was more teasing, but it felt wicked and dubious, “Once Neige is gone, all that time I spent being tormented and pestered by him, can now be dedicated to you. Lately, I’ve been watching you, and there’s something intriguing about you now. It’s as if you’re no longer so absorbed in your work, like you’re finally seeing me as something more than just your superior. You haven’t been brewing potions of passion in the undercroft, have you?”

By now your face was hot, burning at his implications, by his close proximity, by the look in his eyes that made you think he may genuinely be interested but the tiny voice of reason in the back of your head waving red flags at his notions. When he suspected you were even considering looking away from his intense gaze to avoid eye contact, he squeezed your hands in warning, his nail rings pricking your skin ever so slightly. So you were forced to meet his gaze and reply awkwardly, “Of course not… I’m not you.”

The king cackled, raising the back of his other hand to his lips again. With a tone of confidence, he did not even hesitate to respond, “Oh, you’re funny. My poor pet… I would say you’re bird-brained, but you’re not that.” He leaned his head right beside yours, until his painted lips lingered by your ear. The proximity was making you dizzy. His voice was like honey as he whispered, “I don’t need a potion to win you over––”

“Your Majesty, our wondrous Vil!”

Saved by the huntsman. You resisted the urge to heave a sigh of relief while Vil continued to grip your hands and slowly pull away, his head turned to glare at the one who dared to interrupt the moment he was so engrossed in. It seemed he wanted to say something, but he managed to control himself as he merely hissed, “Speak.”

During the pause, you were able to shift your gaze over to him. The huntsman was at the open window, one foot inside already and hands gripping the sides to heave himself up. Why didn’t he come through the door like a normal person? Wasn’t this room on the second floor?

“I have to remind you of your meeting with your precious heir apparent.” Rook smiled as he fully entered through the window, seemingly paying no heed to the scene he just stumbled upon or the vexation in the king’s tone.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Releasing his hold on your hand, he sent you one last chilling glance. When he leaned closer once again to whisper in your ear, your breath hitched as he purred, “Later.” Once he stepped away, he gave you one last mesmerizing look before exiting the room. Yes, you were thankful you didn’t have to deal with the king until next time, but now you pitied Epel for having to stand his presence for hours of lecturing and scolding.

Once the king was gone, you felt vulnerable. While he was pushing you on the edge with his advances and you knew any sign of rejection might tick him off, it was a different kind of unease now that you were alone with the huntsman who you eyed warily. By the time your eyes drifted back to him, you felt your heart rate spike as you noticed he was staring. Upon your gaze meeting his own, he merely smiled a little wider as he hummed.

There was no way you would willingly stick around to be alone with him.

As you slid your hood back on, prepared to take your leave as well, the huntsman’s sharp green eyes landed on the palm of your right hand that was lifted up to move your hood. For a moment, his narrowed gaze vanished and instead was replaced with a quizzical look and a curious smile. Stepping forward, he took your hand in his gloved grip, but he was careful as the tip of his finger traced the now fading injury caused by Epel’s bite. He gasped lightly.

“My, my, what kind of beast could have caused this damage that tarnished your skin? How dare they, for a creature as lovely as you to be wounded like this, why, it should be criminal!”

You hesitate, looking down at the mark that had partially healed on its own. It wasn’t that deep anyways. “Dog.”

Those watchful green eyes flickered up to your expression for a moment, before he chuckled and shook his head. His blonde hair swished back and forth a bit with his head movement, as he removed some gauze from his satchel. There was a hint of amusement that appeared in his smile, and while he wrapped the gauze around your hand, he spoke, “A dog? Ah, I see… But, dogs have much sharper canines that would have cut deeper into the flesh. I’ve hunted an untold amount of wildlife in my time, and encountered nearly every species in the animal kingdom. And this bite mark doesn’t match any creature that comes to mind. It’s truly odd, isn’t it? The shape of the wounds nearly looks like it was formed by something… human.”

He knows. He knows you were lying. You go completely still, allowing him to complete what he was doing. It felt like he was purposefully taking his time in wrapping the gauze securely, as if he were going slowly just to get some sort of reaction. What was his goal? Seeing his eyes on you as he finished the task was unnerving. Could he hear your rapidly increasing heart rate? Was he able to detect the growing alarm you felt?

At your silence, he merely shrugs and finally lowers your hand. That cursed gaze travels away as he says in a near-whisper, “Marks such as those aren’t meant for the hand, they’d do nicely elsewhere though.”

“What?”

“Ah, forgive me, I haven’t apologized for my sudden earlier intrusion between yourself and His Majesty.” Was he seriously going to gloss over what he said as if it were nothing? Now he was back to his positive demeanor. Although his smile was different now, it seemed more harmless, that didn’t do much to place you at ease in the slightest. “It wasn’t my intention to barge in! But I will admit, while the sight was exquisite and it was the very picture of romance, I did feel a twinge of jealousy.”

Did the huntsman like the king like that…? For a moment, your heartbeat steadied as you got a hold of your composure. Honestly, that moment with Vil is probably the first and last you’ll ever get to a romantic moment with a gorgeous person. “Oh, was it because of me?”

You were about to put out a quick and simple apology, but you didn’t get a verbal response. No. Rook only smiled with mirth, his eyes glimmering with amusement appeared to narrow again as he crossed his arms. At his lack of a reply, you feel right on the edge once again, your heart rate picking up immediately again.

“... You were jealous of the situation I was in with His Majesty, right…?”

There was no response yet again. However, the bridge of his nose crinkled slightly as his shoulders shook with the quiet laughter that came out of him. Much like before, he doesn’t answer. Instead, he continues to speak as if this were nothing but mere pleasant conversation. “I must admit, it is always a joy to see you. I must have done something favorable by lady luck, because our paths continue to cross much more frequently. Ah, I’d like to share with you something I experienced. Just a few hours ago, I happened across writing and I could not help but be reminded of your being which remains shrouded in mystery. I believe it went something like…” Rook cleared his throat as he recited somewhat dramatically, “This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing. To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core. Ah, those fiery eyes of yours are exactly what I envisioned in my mind as I read those poem’s lines…! To finally be the one who those focused eyes lay upon––” “Are you done? I’m busy.” You interject, managing to keep an even tone and stoic expression, but it was difficult considering that you just could not relax around the huntsman. You did not forget how he didn’t answer the question about jealousy, which made you nervous as you imagined the possibility that maybe he wasn’t jealous of you with Vil.

Not offended by the curt response, Rook only continued positively. Not only was his reaction, or rather lack of one, very slightly annoying, it was worrying. Most people would have been surprised and maybe even upset by the interruption, but he didn’t appear negatively affected in the slightest. You couldn’t predict his behavior, and that alone was cause for concern. “Forgive me, I’m simply thrilled to finally be holding a proper conversation with you! Normally by now you would have turned heel and walked away, which is why I currently think you are particularly bewitching these past few days. It’s as if the fog around you that you used to cloak your most private secrets and puzzling nature has passed but been replaced by a thicker cloud of fog. You’re an enigma. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

In that moment you held your breath and you felt your blood run cold. Automatically your mind drifted to the weight of the sword on your back. It was heavy, heavier than his dagger and more useful at this proximity than his bow. However, pulling out a sword against him was counterproductive when he was a vital part of the catalyst that sparked the sequence of events that would eventually lead to the story’s ending.

Considering your options, allowing the villains to live and perhaps even assisting them in the end would weigh in your favor. Afterall, you had yet to see any prince or princess for Neige, which meant things were already changing whether you liked it or not. Say a good ending was achieved where the pretty protagonist prince lived happily ever after. What would this get for you? It wouldn’t be the happy ending you knew in the fairytale if there was no royal on horseback to save Neige after he bites the poisoned apple. Should you somehow help him achieve a good ending, then what? Would he live with the seven dwarves in a cottage for the rest of his life or marry and inherit a crown? What could he offer you? On the other hand, Vil already had the crown, wealth, and power. These living conditions were quite nice when you didn’t have much to do, and if you ever felt threatened, running away with a bag stuffed with gold from the treasury would be easy.

Perhaps being the beautiful king’s raven wasn’t so bad, all things considered. This was a hell you may be able to adjust to and accept as your punishment.

“I like when people speak frankly, not in riddles.” You respond calmly, despite the racing of your heart. Responding was a risk, but ignoring his words wasn’t any safer. It made sense as to why he was a hunter, because at the moment you were cornered and he hadn’t so much as removed a single arrow from his quiver.

Rook, again, only smiled ominously. It didn’t feel like he had malicious intent, but you still felt like you were in danger, you still felt threatened. He could, metaphorically speaking, pull the trigger at any second and you would be dead. As if he saw through you and knew all your secrets. All he was doing now was baiting you for another word, another sentence, another phrase, any slightest sound or action that was a slip-up leading to more information falling into the palm of his hands. Maybe that’s why he didn’t respond. Either that, or you were thinking way too deeply and the paranoia was starting to consume your mind. You wanted to believe it was the former and you weren’t quite insane yet.

Finally, he chuckled, amused as he crossed his arms over his chest and peered at you with his forest green eyes. You could only imagine how terrifying he was when he was truly in his element, when he shed formalities and used the weapons strapped to him. “Your eyes speak a million words, and your actions paint a most curious story! Tell me, little raven, what words do you have for me?”

Were you seriously participating unwillingly in this dangerous dance with the very man that served Vil? Rook was his huntsman, he was to hide no secrets from His Majesty and carry out his will. And it felt like Rook knew everything he wasn’t supposed to know.

It could have been the adrenaline and fear you felt in this current moment underneath the composed facade that formed the words in your head. Clutching your wrapped hand to your chest, you took a breath. You really were just like a wounded animal he was seconds from ensnaring. Although you wouldn’t hesitate to lash out. Ravens were known for plucking out eyes. The answer came too fast, “You won’t be able to do it. You can’t kill the prince.”

Upon hearing your words, Rook appeared surprised, but it was only momentarily. Only a second or two of shock, before his bewilderment morphed into satisfaction. Like he had just won and caught the quarry. “Ah, how wonderful! So, you have decided to impart your knowledge upon me just as you have to Epel! I feel truly privileged!”

You froze in place. You never once mentioned anything to Rook about what you knew from the story, and you trusted that Epel would keep his mouth shut. So how did he know?

It’s like that piercing gaze of his could see directly into your mind, as if he could hear your very inner thoughts. As you remained stagnant in shock, waiting to see who would be the brave soul to make the first move, he spoke amicably, answering the question you never voiced. “Even the walls have ears. It is my duty to serve His Majesty in any way I can, so of course no whispers or rumors escape me.” Then, his smile turned sad and disappeared, that jovial tone diminished to a quiet whisper, “But, you are correct. I cannot do it.”

You raised an eyebrow at his words, processing his confession. Seeing the huntsman with his head lowered toward you, was exactly like in storybook book pages that depicted a humble huntsman bowing before a princess to beg for forgiveness. It's possible that maybe the huntsman wasn’t evil, afterall, he would be the one to spare the innocent royal. Maybe he had a heart, a good one. But you didn’t.

“Why? You can hunt animals and drag seven innocent people here to involuntarily compete for the crown. And you knew six of those seven were to die, didn’t you?” You crossed your own arms after making sure the black hood was securely over your head.

Catching a glimpse of his somber frown, you knew his answer would remain unchanging. He did not have the guts to go forth and stain his hands red with the blood of an innocent prince. “I… I did not know they would perish. I truly thought they would be set free.”

You sigh, contemplating your next actions. You truly didn’t want to harm Neige either, even if Vil despised him with all his heart, mind, and soul. However, the highest chances of you avoiding a terrible fate and achieving some sort of wonderful life, could only be accomplished if the Evil King received a good ending. That could only happen if the prince was dead, as Vil would only be deemed the fairest one of all once his rivals were vanquished. “Fine then, if you cannot do it, I’ll do it myself.”

Rook, apparently temporarily shocked, was stunned by the resolve in your own words. He searched for any wavering determination before he tried to smile once more. For now he lowered his feathered hat to his chest as he spoke and stretched out an inviting hand, “Let’s not talk such dreary things. Please, there’s a lovely view at the top of the palace where you might perhaps tell me more about this story. I’m awfully curious, and it just might help me finally understand you better.”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

It became clear after that fateful evening that Rook knew every happening that occurred in the palace and in the nearby town. There was no possible way to keep it secret, so you told him the basics such as that this was a story and he was a character within the tale, but you decided it best to tell him no more than that. It would be optimal to give him no upper hand at all. It was then promised that he wouldn’t share this information, and you made doubly sure to emphasize the fact that you would make certain that he received a bad ending if he were to betray your trust. However, the eccentric huntsman only laughed in amusement at your threat. What a weirdo.

Well, at the very least, Rook was not the only one keeping tabs on happenings within the palace. That was what you had Epel for, he was useful in giving up information when it was needed. Even if he was formerly a peasant boy, he was no idiot. He never gave anything for free, it was a trade of knowledge which you didn’t entirely mind. There were lots of useless story details and scenes you could give up, such as the existence of the dwarves and the cottage in the woods. Besides, at the rate this story was shifting, those characters nor settings would no longer be necessary.

But one day, Epel brought a very interesting account that could potentially change everything.

Within the private training room where the king’s valued heir took fencing lessons, the door was abruptly slammed open, and there stood the said heir looking particularly ruffled. Manners tossed aside by how harshly he opened the door and flung it shut behind him, he ripped his cloak off his shoulders and chucked it aside as if it weren’t a carefully tailored cloth and instead a wash rag. Etiquette forgotten from his countless hours of learning it, he spoke naturally in his odd and difficult to understand dialect. “Vil’s pitchin’ a hissy fit with a tail on it! I was nearabout ready to come back, figured you’re way better than listening to all them uppity folk––”

You stopped, lowering the new lighter and sharper sword you exchanged for the old one you carried on your back. He spoke so quickly and said so many words that went completely over your head, you had to give him a look as you interrupted his talking, “English, Felmier.”

Freezing in his tracks, he groaned and repeated in a clearer, simpler manner, “Vil is mad. There. You happy?”

“Then say so.”

“I did!” He threw his hands up in exasperation. Epel continued, but thankfully not in his natural dialect. Although it was evident that he was still peeved about something. “There was some girl that showed up, a princess or something, and she asked for an audience with Vil! I happened to overhear, everyone was raving thinkin’ that it was just another princess asking for the king’s hand, but when she was talkin’ to Vil, she asked for Neige’s hand!”

The prince. It was the prince, now princess, that was originally supposed to be the one that Prince Neige fell in love with. The arrival of the princess would certainly throw a wrench in the plan. Why had it taken her so long to show up when you had already believed that they would no longer be involved within the tale?

The lavender-haired former farmer boy, paced back and forth in this wide training space. Usually he’d take an interest in the fencing equipment, it was one of the few lessons he actually enjoyed and took part in without so much stubborn complaints or begrudging behavior. But right now, he was far too troubled to even think about fencing. “When Vil summoned Neige to meet the princess, he turned her down! Said somethin’ about having feelings already for someone within the palace. Well, whoever it was, Vil must’ve known, because he nearly went haywire right then and there!” Stopping his steps, he turned to you and went on accusingly, “You know who it is, don’t you? Spit it out!”

“It’s me…” This could not be happening–– You never were supposed to gain the affection of that pure-hearted prince! Now, Vil likely figured out who his step-brother had eyes for, and this would not bide well with his envious nature.

Those big blue eyes of his widened in shock. “What?!”

Neige had to be gone and fast. But how could one make a prince disappear? It wasn’t as if he could be done with and escape the consequences. The royal was beloved by the citizens far too much, should they learn that he was murdered, things would quickly become problematic. There could be no raising a blade against him. Unless… an accident of sorts was staged.

Suddenly, you’re reminded of the image of a delicious red apple, a tool to the original plot that becomes the princess’ demise. Perhaps you didn’t have to stray too far from the plot after all. However, someone would have to take the blame once the deed was done. “Is the princess still here?”

Confused by the inquiry but nodding in response, Epel looked even more baffled than before. “Yeah, but why do you care? What’s she got to do with this? Don’t tell me she’s somebody important.”

If staying with Vil was the quickest and easiest route where a good ending for yourself was more certain, then you’d take it. No princess or prince would get in the way, and you would use Epel to help secure the ending. Even if some persuasion was needed, since you knew he didn’t have much of an appreciation for the current king. Lowering your blade on the table, you left it behind as you approached him, close enough to place your hands on his shoulders and look him in the eye. Close enough so he could hear the whisper that came from your lips, so quiet that not even a mouse in the walls could detect what was said, only he could hear these words. “We are going to assassinate Prince Neige.”

Epel gazed at you with pure disbelief, his eyebrows furrowing and his mouth open a gape in bewilderment. “But that’s Rook’s––”

“Rook can’t be counted on.” You counter. At the moment, you were unsure if Rook could really go through and murder the prince with his own two hands. You’ve trusted him enough with your own secrets, but you certainly didn’t trust him with your fate.

The heir appeared to contemplate it. The atmosphere had turned somber, like he was seriously considering it. Not just anyone could stomach the knowledge, but he appeared to be processing it just fine. That is, until he suggested something that surprised even you. “Why not just, change the target to someone of higher power and just… you know.” He made a swift slicing motion over his neck. You knew exactly what he meant, and who he meant. “That way, we’d both be free.”

“It’s not guaranteed to work. Killing a king would be more difficult than killing a prince that the king wants dead anyways.” You point out that simple fact. There were constantly guards around the king like worker bees following their queen. However, here on palace grounds, most avoided the prince as they knew interacting with him was a quick and easy way to make the king bitter. This made Neige vulnerable.

A frown appeared on his lovely face, etched on like a pout. While his look may be an endearing one, his voice did not say the same. By his tone, he sounded unsure, maybe even a tad bit annoyed as he accused, “You forgot, I don’t give a damn about the crown! If that happened, it would mean that I’ll definitely end up taking Vil’s place one day.”

“I didn’t forget.” You reply instantly, using logic to convince him that this was the best option available. “You forget how vain his majesty is. Vil will never give up the crown willingly. The only time he’ll give it up, is when he’s old and gray and on his deathbed. By then, you’d either be long gone on to freedom, or have figured out some other way to handle the matter in whatever way you want. As for me, I don’t care who’s king, as long as I get to live and be happy.” You could visibly see the gears turning in his head as he heard your words. You add more to pressure him further and make him see reason. “Like it or not, you’re involved. In whatever way this ends, just remember, the citizens of this kingdom will likely not be so kind to you if word ever reached them that you were the chosen heir of the king, a king that abused the precious prince. Even if you didn’t participate directly, the fact still stands that you’re connected to Vil. If Neige receives his happily ever after, everything may end alright, or it may not, but I can’t guarantee your safety in that case. That’s why I suggest getting rid of him now, and placing the blame on someone else.”

“Someone else… They’ll never suspect us. This is insane, I mean, I don’t care for that guy but… me, you, us––” He slapped his hand over his mouth, moving it up towards his hair. The young man looked so stressed that he was about ready to pull out his lavender curls. And yet, there wasn’t really anger. Mild irritation maybe, but not anger, and something else was there. Something foreign to you. “I’d kill for you, you’d kill for me.”

Ah, maybe. Maybe not. It depended on the situation, but he didn’t need to know that. Although it was reassuring to hear that he was most definitely an ally that would help to achieve your goal.

His small hands remained on his scalp, tangled in his hair, gripping his own head as he raved, “Don’t tell me you’ve been learnin’ all that potions stuff from the king! It feels like I’m going crazy, havin’ these unnatural thoughts I never had before–– I’ve been imagining things. I want to get out of this dump, but I imagined runnin’ away with you, showing you my village, introducing you to my ma and everyone else back home! Then forgetting everyone else in this stupid place!”

Those big blue eyes gazed right at you, scanning your face that he’s come to actually grow fond of. Out of everyone in this hell, he actually liked your company, craved it even. There’s no one else here on palace grounds that he would willingly talk to without grumbling about it. Even if it began with the original retainer, his trust grew with you, the imposter.

“It’s all your damn fault…! But I’m not mad, I can’t be, even though I want to spit and punch you for this but at the same time I don’t wanna hurt you. Just, tell me right now, to my face. Tell me it’s stupid and I’m actin’ dumb so I quit it!”

You nod, a bit stunned by the outburst. However, you had other plans in mind. “Keep it up.”

By now maybe it was giving him false hope at an ending he dreamed of, but he was still useful to you. So for now, you ignored his look of shock and pink on his cheeks as you pried his hand off his head and he lowered his other hand to his side.

The plan was simple really, it would be far too easy if you could actually manage to pull it off. “I’m telling you this, because you will have to help me guide the princess in the right direction. Talk to her, steer the conversation to romance. If she’s smart, she’ll ask you for advice assuming you know Neige. Suggest giving a gift. Once everything is over, then we can think about your hometown.”

There was still shock on his face, as if he was still struggling a bit to process everything that was coming out of your mouth. It seemed like it was a lot, as one of his dainty hands held your hand tightly while his other hand gripped part of the cloth of his shirt, his knuckles turning white from the strength behind his grip. “I thought you were kinda cool. Not as annoying as Rook or Vil or anyone else, and I wanted to escape with you…! But this murder plan just makes it seem like you’re exactly like that old raven that you replaced, but for some stupid reason I still can’t not like you.”

“It will technically not be murder. In a way… It’s complicated.”

There were apple trees at the very corner of the royal grounds. A basket of fruit would be a sweet and kind gesture with unsuspecting maliciousness intertwined. All that was needed was to take the apple that would be picked, poison it as the beautiful queen did in the original tale, and place it back in the basket that the princess would offer to the prince. Poisoning it as it was done in the fairytale, wouldn’t truly kill Niege. It would merely place him under a death like sleep, with the chance that he may one day wake up several years in the future long after we are gone. Because really, Neige didn’t truly deserve death. However, even if he was to never wake up, at least he would be in a dream and avoid a brutal end by his jealous step-brother.

“But there’s only one person who can make the poison we need for this to succeed…”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The plan had to be enacted before Rook could take Neige to pick flowers. Luckily, or unluckily for you, a request for an audience with the king was not even needed. Before you could even search for him as you were rereading pages of the heavy tome in the undercroft, there was the creaking of the wooden door that signaled someone entering the dungeon beneath the palace.

Hardly anyone else ventured down here, and by the clicking of heels against the stone floors, it became obvious of who it was. Your theories were only confirmed true when you felt a presence behind you, peering over your shoulder as the delightfully familiar voice that filled you with unease greeted kindly, “My dear retainer.”

Instantly you felt your body stiff and rigid, feeling uncertain under his gaze. You were many things, but often fearful wasn’t one of them. This story was just filled with characters that made you tense, the king being the one that troubled you the most. Despite all this, you managed to remain polite, only turning your head to nod at him with respect. “Your Majesty. It’s a surprise to see you down here.”

“I could say the same. Didn’t I specifically instruct you to stay aboveground for the time being?” It sounded like a scolding, but it was nowhere near as harsh as one. In fact, it sounded more like gentle chastising. Not at all like the harsh criticism and stern reprimanding he gave to anyone else. Not another word came about that before his amethyst eyes landed on the pages you were reading. “Poison apple. You weren’t by chance planning to assassinate me with that, were you? That’s not nearly enough poison to eliminate me. Haven’t you heard of mithridatism?”

Mithridatism? Did he practice that? It’s a good thing that you ultimately did not choose the path of killing him, as he likely would have proven much more difficult than any other target. If you had attempted to take his life and it failed, you could only imagine how frightful the king would become in his rage at your betrayal. The mere thought made you shudder.

It wasn’t easy to focus when he was directly behind you, his chest practically against your back as he continued reading over your shoulder. “Not you… I was considering this for the prince. I believe that I’m the only one that can stomach handling this, not the huntsman.”

“Interesting… and why did you choose the poison apple?” To think that the beautiful man that currently had his chin on your shoulder, would probably be an wretched old peddler with wrinkled skin and hair white as snow, if the story had stayed on course. It was plausible that the beautiful queen turning herself ugly just to kill her rival was an analogy of sorts for the hideousness of her personality. And yet, when the king who was based on that very character was in your presence, yes he was vile and cruel but he was rather fair to you. Especially when he expressed a sort of tenderness in his smile and looked down at you through his long lashes.

“It’s a special sort of death.” Upon reading through most of the pages of the thick leather tome, you discovered that a huge majority of the deadly spells had antidotes and ways to be reversed. Many were easy to reverse, some were harder, but the most difficult antidote to receive was for those that ate the poisoned apple. It was no wonder the evil queen originally chose it, as it was only by chance that the prince awoke the princess with true love’s first kiss. “Not easy to find an antidote for.”

“Hm…” His head continued to linger on your shoulder, his lips and part of his nose buried by the cloth on your shoulder as his watchful gaze remained stuck on you through his half-lidded eyes. At such a close proximity with his face literally inches from yours, you didn’t dare turn your head, but in your peripheral vision you could make out the black mascara and smokey light eyeshadow that accentuated his fine features. Even without the use of makeup, he was sure to be stunning. “As expected, you dally away precious time. However, there’s a princess…”

“So I’ve heard.” Your response was careful, as this conversation was quickly approaching dangerous territory. From what was told to you by Epel, after the princess arrived, Vil summoned Neige to speak about it when the young oblivious prince admitted he loved someone within the palace. Vil knew who, you knew. As this conversation progressed, you would have to choose your words carefully. It would be like walking in a minefield.

It started, you realized, as his fond gaze slowly shifted to something a little more cold. While you couldn’t see his mouth due to the position he was in, you guessed he wasn’t smiling lightly in content and intrigue like before. “Then I assume you know of the prince’s… let’s call it, an insignificant crush.”

“Yes…” A crush may not be the term Neige would have preferred. The prince would have likely used flowery language akin to the type seen in romantic novels read in the middle ages. But you weren’t going to fret over the small details. Stoically you replied, “If you desire it done, I can be rid of both the prince and princess. An apple for the prince, and a jail cell for the princess.”

Vil raised a carefully plucked blonde eyebrow, his careful vigilance turning to astonished curiousness as he connected the dots with the clues given by your words. He seemed to understand, and take delight in your response as he nodded against your shoulder. “This is why you’re my favorite.”

Averting your gaze down to the parchment paper in the tome, you placed your palm against the surface and read off ingredients that were needed. None of which you understood. Not that you would even attempt making something so potent. In the middle of your reading, you felt arms snake around your waist, rendering you motionless as if being paralyzed by some other poison he could’ve used.

By your ear you felt his warm breath, and his arms were surprisingly strong as he held you tightly, preventing you from going anywhere. The words he spoke in his feathery voice felt like they tickled the side of your neck and caused a shiver to go down your spine. Was it fear or was it pleasure? “… You could finally use those funeral preparations you made in advance.”

“True… This type of poison could be made with ease by me, it merely requires patience as the brew seeps through the simmering apple. It will take some hours. There are many different poisons, but one of this caliber that requires magic is most lethal. And yet, it looks so delicious. Entrancing and deadly, my favorite combination.” One of his hands roamed up to your neck, his well-manicured nails and soft fingers casually resting on your throat. There was this creeping feeling that he wasn’t talking about the poisoned apple anymore. Externally you remained cool and level-headed, but internally you felt your breath still in that moment as your heart picked up speed. And it was like he saw all these signs on you, reading you like an open book. “The breath will still, the heart will beat rapidly in those final moments…”

You know he didn’t poison you, but it felt as if you were sick with something that was worse than poison. You shifted in place, keeping your breathing even. Never once have you prepared for a situation like this. Removing your hands from the tome, you lowered them over his knuckle, one of his own hands still around your waist like a belt. The intention was to attempt to pry off his hands, at least, that’s what you think you were trying to accomplish, but Vil took it as an invitation to continue.

A hum like a purr came from him as he moved his head closer, so his lips were practically at the exposed flesh of your neck. And yet, he didn’t move. You remained as still as a statue, while he murmured in a quiet and confident tone that slowly morphed into something pleading and desperate. “Nevermore will you, my previous retainer, have to stray from me again. Once he is gone, everything will be made right. There will be none left worthy of your companionship, except for me. I will be your sole companion. So do not leave…”

You felt a tremor throughout your body as he placed a lingering kiss against your neck, his soft lips by your jaw before he pulled away. Not even far enough so you could see his face, he only moved his head away an inch, as if even the thought of being physically apart right now was too much to bear.

His arms around your torso tightened, and your back was pressed flush against his chest. His voice was low and intoxicating, this was dangerous. “For now, you’ll assist me in making the poisoned apple. While we wait a few hours for it to simmer and absorb the toxic qualities in the cauldron, we’ll be spending some… quality time together, my pet.”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The next morning, you awoke slowly, feeling groggy and tired, until everything came rushing back and you sat upright in alarm. You were in the familiar bedroom that once belonged to the retainer you replaced. However, there was a slight warmth on the other half of the mattress, as if someone had just been laying beside you and left not too long ago.

On the wall as you sat up, you could see your reflection in the mirror, the messy bedhead and tired looking eyes, but also the slightest traces of red lipstick stains on your neck and across parts of your face.

You had zero time to process what had happened before you spotted the shiny red apple on the counter with a small note beside it. The note simply read, For your mission. Wash your face once you wake up.

It took almost no time at all to get dressed and prepared, and wash your face. By now, Epel should already be speaking to the princess, advising her to attempt to appeal to the prince by picking fruit from the garden and gifting it to the royal she loved. Your task now was to simply add the poisoned apple when no one was looking.

As you opened the door, you noticed a shadow and quickly hid the apple in a pocket of your long black cloak, just as familiar blonde locks and forest green eyes came into view. You closed the door behind you, as you were greeted by a welcoming smiling and that accented voice that bid good morning.

“Ah, petit corbeau! What a fine day, isn’t it?” Immediately your gaze went to his expression and his hands, your ears keenly listening to his tone of voice. It didn’t appear as if he were hiding anything. There was no somberness to his voice, no frown on his face, and no red staining his hands. Although, the good killers always washed their hands clean of the evidence.

For now, you don’t bother asking why he was outside of your room. Knowing Rook, he’d probably say some flattering words with an unsettling meaning hidden within his ornate speech. Right now, you would much rather not have to dwell on that for too long when a royal was to die soon. For now, all you do is remind him of your previous words towards him, “You couldn’t do it. So, knowing you somehow overheard what’s to happen today, is this your attempt to stop me?” You were quiet, making sure not to be overheard, only so he could hear your warning and see your cold gaze. “Know that if you try to stop me, that will be a form of treason against His Majesty.”

That smile turned into a more bleak one, as he struggled to keep up the corners of his lips. He knew what was to happen, of course he did. It was as he said, he knew everything that transpired within the palace grounds. “Ah, I would love to see the raven ruffled up.” He joked lightly before adding in a more serious tone, “Ravens are most commonly associated with bringing the unfortunate news of a passing. As much as I dream of seeing you in your element, I just wish it wasn’t… him. I’d much rather it be me than him, even if being the victim was the only way to catch a glimpse into your true nature and to have your attention solely focused on me.”

You leered at him, deciding not to take out your blade. Rook was a weirdo, but he most certainly wasn’t a killer. You couldn’t imagine him outright attacking you, even now as he knew that the beloved prince would die either way. “I’ll cut you down too if you get in my way.”

Unexpectedly, Rook removed his hat and held it to his chest. He gazed at you like how an artist would admire the treasured painting of the beautiful Mona Lisa, as he bowed his head to you, exposing the back of his neck as his blonde hair shifted with his movement. “From you? I would consider it the greatest honor bestowed on me.”

You merely moved around him, your cloak brushing past him. Even after Neige was dead, Rook would be cause for concern. But you would worry about him then, right now you had an apple in your cloak, a princess to frame, and a prince to assassinate.

As it turned out, planting the ripe red apple at the top of the basket was the easiest part. It was simple, when the princess had left the basket of freshly picked fruits unattended. Perhaps the worst part was waiting. Waiting to hear when it would happen, when the prince would take that bite that would seal his fate. Part of you wondered if he might dream of you. Afterall, he seemed to have this idealized version of you in his head. So it was possible, but it’s not like you would ever know.

For now, you appeared as you were told when you were later summoned by the king to the gardens where you emerged after exiting the undercroft on your first day here. Now, you were currently strolling through the private gardens of the palace grounds together, as if you hadn’t both planned murder. Any moment now, you expected a servant to come rushing, the palace would be overrun with commotion once the poisoned apple was consumed. If there were any remnants of the fruit left, you had instructed Epel to dispose of it in the midst of the chaos when no one would notice.

But right now, it was quiet. A peaceful tranquil quiet, where you could look up at the sky and sun and feel its warmth. One where you were free. Even if you could never return home, perhaps living in this world was better. Should you ever need to, you could always escape the beautiful king. But this was a plan you would keep to yourself.

Vil remained beside you, looking as elegant as ever with his robes and crown perched atop his skull. Like a peacock promenading in the yards of a private estate. There was one thing that confused you in this story. As angelic as Neige was, and as rotten as the king’s personality might have been, the mirror must’ve been blind if it insisted that Vil was not the fairest of them all.

The King looked over at you, a pretty smile adorning his face when he saw your eyes on him, just as he liked it. Keeping his hands folded in front of him, the pair stopped beside the well. Since he had dismissed his guards to be alone with you, there was no one else to hear or see what went on between you and him. Those amethyst eyes were no longer so chilling but still more than enough to put you on the edge. “Tell me, my dear, how long were you planning to keep me in the dark?”

You remained still, confused at his words. What was this about? He seemed content, but what did he mean by this? There was a sneaking suspicion and fear in the back of your mind, but you played it cool as you leaned on the well with your arms on the smooth rocky edge. “I’m not sure what you mean, Your Majesty.”

A brief chuckle came from him as he reached over, his thumb rubbing against your cheek and his fingers grazing along your jaw. “You’re amusing.” Abruptly, faster than you can anticipate it, you felt a sharp edge against your throat, not piercing flesh but close enough that you had to tilt your head upwards to avoid being cut. It was a knife.

Your breath hitched. You made no sudden movements, no reaching for your own blade or trying to grab his wrist, because in a single instance he could end you now and that would be the end to your story. Everything you did to get here and set up a decent life, would be utterly useless if you were dead. Taking a deep breath, you purse your lips before holding up your hands to show you had nothing to strike back. “What are you doing, Your Majesty? After everything I did to assist you?”

The knife was small, compact, decorated with small jewels as shiny as it was sharp. It was small enough to easily be hidden in his robes, but honed enough to easily end you here just as the judges intended for you to go out. “You were useful, but… when it’s just me and my retainer, my trusted retainer refers to me as Vil not Your Majesty.”

You felt your blood run cold. He knew, this entire time? From the moment you encountered him, did he realize by your use of formalities, or did he figure it out sometime afterward? You’d been played.

A knowing smile graced his lips once he took in your shock, one of the first clear expressions on your face in so long. Normally you were so composed, it felt like an accomplishment to break that poised demeanor, to see the horror dawn on your face as you were reminded of the judgment that had been cast, of the hell you were in that was veiled by gorgeous folk and the chance at a free life.

Just as you squeezed your eyes shut and winced, anticipating the feeling of the blade running through your throat, there was a shriek. A shrill shriek from a woman, the sound sent a chill running down your spine and raised goosebumps on your skin. You anticipated the red spilling from your own neck, but there wasn’t a drop.

The knife was removed from your skin as Vil hummed, not really paying attention to the distant sound of servants scrambling to check on the source of the sound that must’ve come up from one of the upper floors of the palace. “It appears like it’s finally happened.”

There was no need for further explanation to understand what he meant. The scream must’ve come from the princess who witnessed Prince Neige collapse after taking a bite of the apple. In seconds, guards of the palace will arrive at the crime scene, they’ll see the beloved prince trapped in a sleeping death on the ground and the princess beside him will be the only culprit. It’s done… And yet now, you now had to grapple with Vil knowing you were not who you pretended to be this entire time.

“I didn’t know you were close.” The raven should’ve been apprehensive of the evil queen that tormented them. Were you wrong? Was their shared history different from the tale?

“I lied. Please, I’m no imbecile. I think it’s a bit rude that you never properly introduced yourself, but I forgive you considering the unique circumstances.” Expertly he twirled the dagger between his long fingers, while he didn’t even have to focus on his hand to do so. The entire time he stared at you, a smile on his curved lips. “Did you think me a fool that I could be so easily tricked? I had known them for several years, but I must admit, I like you better.” His left arm was crossed over his torso, propping up the right arm that held the knife and casually pointed it at you. “All they did in recent years was hole themself up in the undercroft, but you, you’re plucky, brave, funny too.”

You felt partially numb. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go–– Everything was going so perfect! Why did he have to know? Was it too late to escape? Could you try and run now that things were turning south, or was it worth staying? Judging by the look in the king’s eyes, staying was likely not the best idea. A caged raven was not a happy one.

“If you’re honest to me, I’m honest to you. I only tricked you, because you foolishly believed yourself to be playing me this entire time, hm? Don’t mistake my intentions though, because I am fond of you. All those sweet words, whispered promises, and love I gave you was all real.” The tip of the dagger was against your chin, and the beautiful blonde king peered down at you through his lashes. Raising the fingers of his freehand, he lightly traced his sharp nails over the side of your face. The next words came in a quiet voice, stern and serious, vaguely threatening but also with the promise of sweetness.

“However, I don’t appreciate the idea of you flying away. Fret not. You’ll be well taken care of, and loved more than any little prince with a crush could love you… You wanted him dead, isn’t that so? Well, we killed him. There is nothing more for you to be afraid of. So now, I want you to tell me about where you come from, why you wanted him dead, and what you wish for. No matter what you desire, I will see to it that you have it so long as you remain by my side permanently. Reintroduce yourself, from the top, my Darling Retainer.”

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fragileheartbeats · 10 days

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⌗ 𝘈𝘝𝘌𝘕𝘛𝘜𝘙𝘐𝘕𝘌 𝘏𝘊 ⁝ 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘐 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘺𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦 ( ♱ )

˚꒰♡꒱‧ Hi there! Before you read this, you should know that English is not my first language Hope you enjoy!

Many describe Aventurine as a yandere who would hurt or kidnap his darling, but I can't see it. To me, he would be one of the softest yanderes imaginable. He’s painfully aware of his feelings, knowing they’re unhealthy and twisted. He tries to control them, but it’s never enough. His love for you is too overwhelming, too consuming.

And it hurts. It hurts like a thousand knives piercing his heart, because it's killing him. It hurts because he doesn’t want to harm you, but it also hurts because he can’t bear to be without you. Each day, the struggle between his desire to be near you and his need to protect you from himself tears him apart.

He would do anything to protect you, becoming your shadow, guarding you from every danger—even himself. So, he makes the hardest choice: he avoids you. He stops talking to you, stops smiling at you, stops watching you from afar. It’s a self-imposed exile that tortures him more than any physical pain ever could.

You’re left confused and hurt. Why is he avoiding you? Just weeks ago, he was so sweet, so attentive. You thought maybe—just maybe—he had fallen for someone like you. How foolish. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Your heart aches with the sting of rejection and the bitterness of unfulfilled dreams.

If only you knew... If only you knew how deeply he loves you. He loves you so much that he’s willing to destroy himself rather than see you cry. He loves you so much that he would tear his own heart apart rather than see your smile fade. He knows himself. He knows you. He knows that if he stayed close, he would hurt you. His feelings are a storm, a dangerous maelstrom that could sweep you away.

He knows you’re too precious. He could be a monster. He would be a monster. A monster who feeds on your love and tears. A monster hungry for your body and pain. He knows it. He knows it all. And that knowledge shatters him.

Because he doesn’t want to be a monster. He doesn’t want to hurt you. He wants to be your shining knight, always protecting you, even if you never know it. He dreams of a world where he can hold you without fear, where his love doesn’t come with the risk of destruction.

He would do anything to see your smile, even if it means sacrificing his own. Each time he sees you from a distance, his heart breaks a little more. He whispers your name in the dead of night, a prayer, a lament, a vow to keep you safe. Even if he has to carve out his own heart, he will do it, because your happiness means more to him than his own life.

In the silent agony of his solitude, he watches you move on, believing you’ll find someone better, someone worthy of your love. His heart bleeds with every step you take away from him, but he endures it. He endures it because he loves you too much to let his darkness touch you. And as he fades into the background, he finds a twisted solace in the knowledge that he’s done the right thing, even if it destroys him.

Aventurine's love is a tragic symphony, a beautiful yet sorrowful melody that will never reach your ears. It’s a love that lives in shadows, hidden from the light, forever unseen, forever aching. And as he stands alone, watching over you from afar, he whispers one last promise to the wind:

“I will always love you, even if it means I must disappear. For your happiness, for your safety, I will sacrifice everything. Even myself.”

@ 𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒔 . 𝐷𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑒, 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡, 𝑜𝑟 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘𝑠 𝑜𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑠.

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nebulaafterdark · 7 months

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Exile (Part 2)

Summary: Y/N Undersee thought the games were over after becoming a victor. Unfortunately, life outside the arena has become just as dangerous. Prequel to Moves & Countermoves

Trigger warning: forced prostitution, explicit sexual content, alcohol abuse and other mentions of trauma. 18+ ONLY

Part 1

Haymitch doesn’t sleep, but he does wait until a reasonable hour to climb out of bed to drink. And glare at Y/N from the dining table of their suite.

Their wedding attire, as well as the sheets they’d consummated said marriage upon, had been prompted collected. Nothing is ever really theirs. Not their clothing or their houses, nor their bodies. Everything belongs to the Capitol, everything belongs to Snow.

It is a foolish endeavor, trying to keep Y/N safe. Haymitch knew it from the moment her name was plucked from the reaping bowl. Surely she would die in the arena, but somehow she didn’t. Surely Snow would kill her after, but for some reason he didn’t.

For a moment, Haymitch almost believed that he could do it. That he could save her. Spare her from this. But Snow wanted her; everyone wanted her. Haymitch’s stomach turns at the rather extensive list of patrons who are chomping at the bit for just one night with her.

If he’s being honest, he doesn’t know if it was pride or stupidity which caused him to blurt out that he would do anything, in exchange for Y/N’s safety.

Clearly Snow intends to take full advantage of anything. The victors of district twelve can still prove themselves useful and lucrative. A new means to entertain and distract people from what is really going on.

Haymitch isn’t sure how many of the Capitol’s higher ups will have seen their wedding night by now. Not that it matters, most of them have already seen him anyway. But they hadn’t seen her.

Some part of him understands that it is stupid to become attached to her. She’ll be another person for the president to hold over his head. She is just a stupid girl, who makes him do stupid things.

Y/N begins to stir against the mattress.

Haymitch knocks back the remainder of his drink. He has the full lineup waiting for her. Uppers, downers, sleeping pills, painkillers, something to calm her nerves. All color coded and laid out on the table, next to a glass of water.

Sure, there are other ways a person might comfort another. But Haymitch isn’t familiar with them. However, he’s on a first name basis with pills. Booze.

Y/N’s lips part and she lets out a sleepy sigh.

God those lips…her mouth. The noises she made.

Haymitch slaps a hand against the table. He could not and would not think about it. She didn’t want him, she was forced. They both were. He has to figure out how to live with that.

Eventually Y/N wakes, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Her eyes find him, at the table, watching her, intently. She excuses herself to the washroom and returns a few moments later. Haymitch is still staring. “Good morning,” she says, in a weak attempt to break the awkward silence.

Haymitch grunts in response, observing as she opens her travel bag in the corner and produces a tablet. The same one she taps away at day and night. Frankly, he’s surprised it hadn’t ended up in bed with them. “What are you doing?” He asks, as she presses a button and the screen comes to life.

“I was just…” about to pour my heart out in a word document, then seal up the file. “Going to play a game.”

“You should take something,” Haymitch nods to the pills, “then you should eat something.”

“Which ones do you take?”

“None.”

“Did you eat?”

“No.”

“Then we should call for breakfast.” Y/N turns her gaze back to the tablet screen. “What do you like?”

“Are you taking notes?” Haymitch huffs a laugh.

Y/N arches a brow, “yeah.” Knowledge is power. Anything from how a person takes their eggs, to their favorite color.

Haymitch purses his lips, “I like bacon, crispy, toast with strawberry marmalade, and eggs over easy. What about you?”

“Oh,” Y/N jots it down, waving a dismissive hand. “I like french toast, with fruit. Hash browns, with hot sauce and coffee. I love coffee.”

“They’ll have it sent for you, back home in twelve. They’ll send you anything you ask for…they’re not supposed to give us money, but things, they are allowed to give us things.” The people who get to watch. The people who pay to watch.

“Do you think we’ll have to do it often?”

“I think last night will keep them entertained for a while.” Haymitch says, “how are you?”

Y/N feels her cheeks heat up. The ask is too intimate. “I’m fine.”

Haymitch sighs, “white one’s for pain, pink peps you up, blue helps you sleep, yellow is for nerves.”

Y/N clears her throat, “my mom…has a pretty nasty addiction to morphling.”

He can respect that. “You should only take what you need then.” Nothing less, nothing more.

“I don’t really need anything.” Y/N lifts a shoulder.

“But you will take one if you need to?”

“Yes, Haymitch.” She assures him.

“Does this bother you, then?” He lifts his bottle between them.

“No.” Y/N shakes her head. “You said you wanted to keep your liquor, that was one of your terms.”

“But does it bother you?”

“No, Haymitch. It doesn’t bother me. We all have our vices. I take notes, you take shots. We are who we are.”

————————————————————————

They take the first train out of the Capitol, after they’re dismissed by President Snow. It takes about a day and a half, straight from the Capitol to twelve.

Haymitch keeps mostly to himself. His own room or the bar car.

Y/N realizes that he values space more than anything. She keeps that in mind when they return to victor’s village. Going their separate ways.

Y/N slides the key into the lock, turning it open and flicking on the light. Home sweet home. After a while she takes the stairs up to her bedroom on the second floor. She turns the knob…and then she screams.

Cameras, like the ones in the honeymoon suite. Folded away neatly against the far wall. No envelope. No threat. Just a promise, that they’ll have to use them one day.

She stumbles back into the hallway, colliding with something firm. “AHHH!” Y/N turns, ready to fight off her intruder.

“Hey, hey, shh. It’s me.” Haymitch hushes her.

“Haymitch?” She breathes.

“What happened?”

“They’re in there,” Y/N tells him, burying her face against the crook of his neck. “They’re in my room.”

“Who?” He’ll kill them.

“The cameras.”

Fuck. Haymitch tightens his hold. “Then you’ll stay with me.“ Snow must’ve had them placed strategically, to set her off. He wanted the cameras to be the first thing she saw, the second she felt an ounce of comfort, returning to her own home. “Stay right here, with me.”

“But my-”

“I have spare rooms, we can clean one out for you. Until then, you can stay with me. We’ll make it nice for you. Whatever you want.”

“You wanted to keep your house.” He asks for so little. “I know you need space.”

Haymitch draws back slightly, cupping her face in his hands. “It’s big enough for two, we can figure it out.”

Y/N nods, as he thumbs tears from her cheeks. “Thank you.”

She can’t go home, back to the house in town, she grew up in. This was made clear the day she became a victor, but she can come here. To him. And Haymitch would welcome her with open arms.

————————————————————————

Haymitch is used to sleeping with a knife under his pillow. But with Y/N landing in his bed night after night, he is forced to retire the blade for her safety.

He still has nightmares. Just like Y/N. Twisting in the sheets restlessly, waking her as he does.

“Haymitch,” Y/N whispers. Shaking him, lightly. “Haymitch, it’s Y/N. I’m here with you, in district twelve. You’re safe now.”

Haymitch startles awake, to soft fingers carding his hair. “Angel?”

“You’re safe.” She says, a second time.

————————————————————————

President Snow is quite pleased with the results of his latest stunt, the cameras in Y/N’s room. The closer his problem victors become, the less likely they will be to cause a fuss.

Haymitch has proved, time and time again, that he will go to great lengths to protect his former tribute.

Coriolanus remembers that feeling well. The way a woman like Lucy Gray or Y/N Undersee could make a person feel. Especially a mentor. The need to save a dying bird is strong, until they inevitably bite the hand that feeds.

Y/N will bite Haymitch eventually, deep; to the bone. Snow is sure of it. Because that is what pretty little birds do.

Part 3

Taglist: @spideysimpossiblegirl

#haymitch abernathy x y/n #moves & countermoves #exile #haymitch x y/n #haymitch abernathy x you #haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch abernathy smut #haymitch smut #haymitch x reader #thg haymitch #haymitch abernathy #the hunger games

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shadowqueenjude · 2 months

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I have no conflict with Tamciens, but when I see some of them saying "Lucien deserves a break" and "Lucien shouldn't rule a court!" I wonder if we read different books. Lucien doesn't want a break. He's proactive. He always wants to do something. He was the discarded son of Autumn, who wasn't forced to rule over some random territory like his brothers were. So did he just sit on his ass? NO! He furthered his education, and when he was finished with that, he went AND LEARNED ABOUT HIS OWN PEOPLE AND OTHER COURTS' PEOPLES!!!! When he was exiled from his own court, he came to Spring and INSTANTLY made himself useful as an emissary. When he ran away to Night, he INSTANTLY made himself useful helping set up the High Lord meeting. The perfect sum of Lucien's character is this one line: “Let me do something. About Elain." A man of ACTION. This is a STARK contrast to Tamlin, who never wanted any of this. He admitted that killing is the only thing he's good at and Lucien bailed him out because he could perform a lot of the High Lord duties that he could not. Tamlin heavily implied that he wanted to be a fiddle player but he couldn't because it's not proper for a man of his stature to become a traveling musician. And real talk here: do you really think Tamlin wants to be ruling over a court post-ACOSF when he barely wants to take care of himself???? Meanwhile, Lucien is doing everything. He is keeping Prythian from escalating into another war. BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT HE DOES. HE IS A MAN OF ACTION. HE IS THE PERFECT RULER. He was such a threat that his brothers tried to kill him. NOT because of his magic prowess, though he has that in spades. BECAUSE THEY RECOGNIZED HE HAD ALL THE TRAITS OF A TRUE HIGH LORD!!! Even more real talk: You really think the guy who dominated Cassian with one word is not fit to rule? Riiiight...

Tamlin just wants to chill. He canonically WANTS a break. The whole connection between Feyre and Tamlin was them being thrust into a position of primary provider when neither wanted it. THAT'S WHY FEYRE FELL FOR TAMLIN. BECAUSE HE TOOK CARE OF HER. BECAUSE FOR ONCE, SHE FELT SAFE. I'm not saying Tamlin isn't capable. He has learned and adapted. But acting like he's a better option than Lucien is kind of ridiculous.

#lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #tamlin #high lord lucien

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teaableu · 4 months

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WHAT IS YOUR EXILE AU LIKE....

I HAVE BEEN WAITING AGES FOR SOMEONE TO ASK ME THIS

Okay SO a LOT is up in the air right now because I'm doing Research as best I can between classes BUT here's what i got so far:

Lord Kogane is from a very powerful family that wants to take full control over Neo Edo. They think he's doing a poor job because the yokai are running free again and he's overall a pretty useless ruler. They step in and force him to enforce some pretty Messed Up Stuff that put all the people in danger (something to do with the Makkine tech probably). Usagi and his friends have a front row seat as to what he's up to and Usagi decides he won't let them get away with it. I haven't worked out the details but the Koganes' plans threaten the people and the yokai. BUT Usagi's not strong enough to take out the Koganes on his own.

My Usagi has a mystic power of sorts, which makes him very sensitive to spirits. All of the visions he gets through the Ki stone in the show, plus his ability to speak with Miyamoto stem from this ability. A simple way of seeing it would be like, he can see the threads of their lives. So he can read souls and connect with them, and sees ghosts when others cannot. I think the Ki stone sort of unlocked and amplified it when he connected with her. I'm still working on the details of his power but basically he can see and talk to ghosts with a little extra stuff sprinkled in

So the Ki stone encourages Usagi to seek help. Turns out the Koganes have a rich history of killing entire villages and armies that oppose them, dating (maybe) all the way back to Miyamoto's time. So he finds a couple of restless ghosts that are still waiting for vengeance and asks for their help. He strikes a deal that was supposed to help him fight Kogane while allowing the ghosts to avenge themselves their loved ones and their clans. I think he would amplify their power while they help him fight. But he doesn't realize who exactly he's making this deal with and ends up tethering his soul to very powerful VERY ANGRY ghosts that are WAY stronger than he is (I've been researching onryo and yurei for reference). They can take possession of his body, amplify his emotions to be in tune with their own, manipulate his power, and generally cause a lot of destruction. Basically, he becomes their puppet. I'm thinking it's a Venom or Little Shop of Horrors type dynamic between them. Also think of any poltergeist type film

He makes the deal and the ghosts possess him. When Usagi wakes up, he's killed Kogane (who really wasn't even the Big Bad behind the whole thing) and has to flee the city before he's caught and put to death for treason and murder. His friends are all imprisoned but he can't risk returning because he has lost control of his power and is unable to control the ghosts that are bound to his soul. The ghosts are starving for power and burning with hundreds of years of fury and anguish, and feed off of destruction (maybe the living?) It's sort of a pandora's box situation. The ghosts are just a whirlwind of chaos and use Usagi as a means to exact their wrath

I called it exile because Usagi can't return to the city without being arrested and killed for his crimes. The gang was the only one standing up to Kogane, and with his friends in prison, he's sort of stuck. He blames himself for everything that went wrong because he ran off without his friends and jumped headfirst into a situation he did not understand. He was reckless and cocky and now everyone is paying for it.

That's where EMD comes in, but the story continues after EMD season 2 as well.

Some extra notes:

- The timeline for srtuc would probably be a bit different so I can have more flexibility with the season one and season two events, since I wasn't sure when it would take place and I want there to be a pretty big time gap between Usagi leaving and returning. I also might use the Makkine invasion in the story

- I’m still working out Usagi’s backstory/past, but have pretty much decided that he has some history with the Kogane family

- I'm planning for Miyamoto to have a pretty big part in the story as well, acting as a guide for Usagi when he goes into hiding. I'm really interested in their relationship so I really want to take the chance to explore it.

- I'm thinking of adding someone as a nod to Tomoe Ame as well (descendant of her apprentice perhaps), since we got a representation of Chizu, Kitsune, and Gen in the tv show but not Tomoe (sad)

I wrote out the sparksnotes version of this here

In addition to the artwork there I have some other concept art

Blood warning under the cut

#samurai rabbit the usagi chronicles #srtuc #yuichi usagi #sr exile au #srtuc exile au #tw blood #tw death mention #this was kinda just me rambling all my thoughts

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 1 year

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The Arcana HCs: How the M6 hurt you

~ I hope you're ready for some angst >:3 Even the healthiest relationships have painful moments when one hurting, flawed person hurts another hurting, flawed person. Moments like these are not signs of closeness. They are alarms that signal a need for growth, and a healthy relationship will take those signals seriously - brainrot ~

Here's the sequel!

How you hurt the M6

TW for yelling, references to canon death events, descriptions of panic attacks, abandonment, losing one's home, accidental gaslighting, burns, PTSD, violent outbursts (not character on character) and general trauma

Julian

It happened after a series of busy weeks. Julian had been pulling long hours at work, always gone before sunrise and back just in time for bed. You haven't been able to catch up with him in days

You're rather fed up too. Mazelinka and Portia had both stopped by multiple evenings to catch up, increasingly irritated with his absence while you hosted them and apologized on his behalf

And now he's home early, for the first time in what feels like a month, and you can see the toll he's taken on his body, and he's asking you to - spend the night working at the clinic with him?

"Julian, why do you want me to do this? I'm not a doctor."

"I know, I'm sorry, but there's a nasty cold spreading around. Right now the only treatment is to let the fever run its course, but with your help, I'm sure we'll able to find something!"

"Is the fever dangerous?"

"Well - it's not killed anyone, no - but what if it does? We need to be prepared. Just come with me for tonight, please?"

He's already shrugging his cape on at the door, holding your own coat out to you impatiently. You look at the exhaustion in his eyes and take his hand instead.

"Julian, you're tired. I'm tired. Why don't you rest for tonight? We haven't had a moment alone together in weeks, and people are worried about you."

Something about those words sets him off and he yanks away

"Worried about me? I'm not the one to worry about, people are sick, dammit!" His voice is rising in volume, a gloved hand waving around in angry desperation.

"They're asking for help and I'm the only one still trying! What was even the point of sticking around if you won't let me do anything useful with my life?!"

You would respond, but your throat's closing up in your effort to hold back tears and you don't want to look at him right now. You can feel his angry words sitting heavy in the silence, until he swears under his breath and slams the door

Moments later there's two de-gloved hands hovering by your face, a wavering voice full of regret trying to get your attention

"MC. MC I'm so sorry, I - I didn't mean it, please forgive me. You mean everything to me, and - and you're right, I shouldn't have yelled, and you're crying I - I'm so sorry, can you ever forgive me?"

He's shaken, shocked at his own words and full of shame at causing you pain, but refusing to leave until he knows you'll be okay. You're too tired and hurt to unpack everything right now so you grab a bit of his sleeve instead and make your request:

"We can talk in the morning, but can we sleep? Please?"

He'll nod and help you up the stairs and into bed, offering to exile himself to the couch if the space would help

You'll both fall asleep fairly quickly, but he's going to keep waking up through the night plagued with guilt and fighting the urge to leave so you can save yourself and move on

He'll let you know in the morning that he's really sorry and wants to talk about it too, and will take the next few days off of work to focus on resolving things and finding a way back to normal

Asra

You know for a fact that they're loyal to a fault and that they would never abandon you, but you two have been together for over a year now and they still forget to communicate with you ahead of time

He'd been unusually all over the place for the last month - disappearing with little notice for several days at a time, coming home to spend the night loving you, and gone the next morning

Every time they come back they're so happy to see you that you don't get the chance to ask how and where they've been, and every morning there's only the breakfast they made for you as evidence that they were even there in the first place

You've started to forget what it feels like to see him in daylight, so you decide to try bridging the gap. The next time you have him lying next to you, you ask for him to stay before dozing off:

"Have dinner with me tomorrow. I've missed you."

The next morning there's Faust and a note by your pillow, saying they'll be back at sunset and they'll bring food so you won't have to cook

Dinner is fun. He fixes you with that adoring gaze and gets you to tell him all about what you've been up to, even apologizing for not asking sooner. You get up to clear the table and brew some tea, and when you turn around he's at the door with his back to you

"Asra?" You can see the excitement in their motions as they shrug on their coat, eager to be off. They barely spare a glance over their shoulder as they heft their bag - still packed - onto their arm

"It's a moonless night, my love. The perfect time to start an adventure. I know you've been busy recently, so I won't push you to join me. We'll go together next time. Faust?"

The snake somehow notices your stricken face better than your beloved does. You barely get the chance to grasp what's happening as he bustles across the room to press a quick farewell to your frozen lips, heading out the door with an "I'll miss you!"

It's the sound of the door closing and the resulting, all-too-familiar silence that undoes you. You numbly put the half-filled teapot down and quietly curl up in Asra's chair, no longer fighting your tears as their lingering warmth begins to fade

"Haha! I forgot my hat. Why is the door still unlocked, M - MC? You're crying. What's wrong, what happened? Are you hurt?"

You can hear him rushing across the shop to get to you, sinking to his knees in front of the chair to get a better look at your lowered face. He's got a warm hand on your cheek, brushing your tears away while the other runs through his hair in concern

You can't move away before a hand comes to rest over your heart and you watch the face in front of you twist in pain and concern "MC - what's hurting you like this?"

You're not sure how it's not obvious to them, but you try to explain the best you can anyways: "You said you'd never go where I can't follow again, so - so why do you keep leaving? At least tell me when it's going to happen so I know what to expect."

It's clicking together in his mind now, and he's dropping his bag to clutch you to his chest and murmur apologies between kisses

They'll hold you as close as you let them that night, and stay home for the next few months to reestablish their missed connection with you. You'll be able to tell them eventually that you love their wanderlust - you just wish they'd do better at communicating

Nadia

One of the things that hurt the most when you first met her was how deeply her faith in herself had been broken. Always second guessing herself, doubting her intuition, and hesitating to act

She's the opposite of that now - a Countess more than worthy of leading Vesuvia out of its shambles - but sometimes you wish she would stop to think twice about things. Sometimes you wish she would stop to think twice about you, instead of just assuming

Like hearing her casually mention over lunch that she had received an offer for your shop and would need you to sign the paperwork tomorrow afternoon to confirm the handover

"Come again? Hand over my shop?"

She's still so deep in decision-making work mode that she forgets to read your tone, only pausing to sip from her cup and nod

"Nadia, why would I sell my shop?"

She smiles at you indulgently and calmly explains her reasoning, clearly under the impression that she's doing you a favor:

"You don't have any more need for it. You no longer use it for employment, as you are my lovely magician, you no longer use it for housing, as you are my partner, and you no longer use it for income, as I am committed to providing all your heart's desires. What's mine is yours and what's yours is mine, my darling."

You're beginning to feel panic well up in your chest. The way she speaks is so certain, the deal she mentions has already been struck, and you are about to lose the last piece of your life leftover from before the plague, and -

"MC, whatever's the matter? Are the dishes not to your taste?"

"No, I - Nadia, what's mine is still mine."

"Of course it is, dearest, now what's troubling you?"

You don't know how to explain this. It's as if you're slowly going crazy, panicking at the thought of losing something that is apparently so worthless to the rest of the world, and you're running out of calm ways to explain: "I don't want to sell my shop, Nadia."

Her eyebrows raise in concern. "Are you not adequately provided for?" You shake your head. She sighs in newfound understanding and takes your hand. "I understand that leaving an old house can be disquieting. I assure you, the freedom is entirely worthwhile."

"Nadia," you croak, "Nadia, it's not just an old house." You're rapidly losing the ability to see your plate clearly, but you need to speak before your voice fails. "It's all I have left from my family. It's all I have from before the plague. It's all I have -" your breaths are getting shaky, but you need her to understand, you need her to understand what she's doing - "It's all I have. It's my home."

You can tell the truth's caught up to her when you hear her knife clatter to the table. "MC, I'm so -" she chokes and stands. "I'll resolve this at once. I hope ... I hope you can forgive me."

That night, the relief on her face when you join her for dinner is plain as day. She brings it up as soon as you're alone together, determined to talk things through and reach an understanding so she can properly resolve things with you and do better

Muriel

Certain times of the year are particularly difficult for Muriel. Dr Nazali explained it to you once, how ex-soldiers will have worsened symptoms of combat fatigue on the anniversaries of major battles

For Muriel, it's the dates for all of the new festivals that the ex-Count introduced. City wide celebrations meant thousands more in the Coliseum stands, which in turn required more than double the opponents and cruel spectacles he had to participate in

Whenever the old festival dates roll around, you watch him revert to who he was when you first met him - a shell of a man handling his own haunting in the privacy of the woods

It's been especially rough this week. He rarely speaks and barely eats. He doesn't have the energy to pull his hair back anymore, and he's taken to sleeping on the ground so Inanna can have the bed again. Even the chickens seem concerned

So you try to pick up the slack. You keep the hut clean, offer to comb and braid his hair for him, bring him meals that are easy to keep down, and decline any activities that would force him to socialize

His response is to take the safety as his cue to mentally hibernate through the worst of it. It's afternoon now, and you haven't seen him move since he used the bathroom and ate this morning

"Muriel?" You see his shoulder twitch, but his chin stays sunk to his chest, eyes hidden by the curtain of his hair. "Muriel, can you eat?"

You walk over, purposefully slow so he can see you coming, and crouch next to him with a steaming bowl of broth. "Muriel, you need to eat something. You don't have to get up, just ... please try to drink at least a little of this?"

He turns to you with a sullen glare, completely unlike the gentle green you're used to getting lost in, and Inanna whines from her corner. His voice is gravelly from misuse when he speaks:

"Leave me alone."

"Muriel -" you make the mistake of touching his shoulder, and he flinches violently away from the touch. His flying elbow upsets the bowl in your hand and he turns to you with his arms hiding his face

"Leave. Me. Alone, MC. I don't want you here."

You'd normally try to be understanding, but the bowl he accidentally knocked over landed on your feet and the boiling liquid has splashed up your legs, soaking into your trousers, first burning and then steaming the stretch of skin beneath

It's the way that you're clenching your jaw to hold in a scream that snaps him out of it. He knows that look - he's seen it a hundred times before, but it's the first time he's seen it on you

"MC?" His eyes drop to the upended bowl, to the steam rising from your legs, and his face goes slack in horror

Acting purely on instinct, he swats the bowl aside and tears away the clothing burning into your skin. He has you in his arms and submerged in the cold spring outside in seconds

He's a lot more intentional about staying open to you during his bouts of PTSD now, but he doesn't drink broth any more

Portia

Ambassador trips get draining very easily, much more for Portia than for you. Nothing makes her happier than making everyone else happy, and diplomatic negotiations aren't necessarily the best place to be a people pleaser

It's been three straight days of back-and-forth. During Nadia's coma, a nearby city-state had been slowly encroaching on and taxing Vesuvian territory. If the injustice wasn't enough to get her blood boiling, it didn't help that one of the courtiers had it out for her Aunt Tasya

You, on the other hand, have been busy since you landed helping out the neighborhood around the dock. Magic users seem to be in short supply here, and your days have been tiring but fulfilling

You're sitting in the cabin now, struggling to keep your eyes open, when Portia thunders into the room and begins changing for bed while aggressively ranting

"Those bastards! The farmers have been working on less than two meals a day for the last year and half! And did you hear what they said about Aunt Tasya? Why, I oughtta -"

You're listening to and watching her, concern tugging at your heartstrings, but when she turns to look at your face she doesn't seem to see the reaction she was hoping for

"MC - are you even listening?"

"Yes, you were saying about your Aunt Tasya?"

She huffs and you see her upper lip curl into a sneer. "Oh, I see how it is. I'm just supposed to stand back and let you handle everything, right? Am I just some side character to you? Is that what you think of me?"

She's angrily shoving her hair out of her face, trembling with rage, and all you can feel is shock. Is that what she thinks of you?

"What is it, MC? Cat got your tongue? Are you too important to talk to me now?"

You rear back, head spinning from the hurt in her tone. "No! I don't think that about you at all!"

She slams her fists down on the table, the clatter of the plates on it chiming in with a broken sob. "What, so I come from nothing? I'm nothing but a - a shipwrecked orphan whose older brother couldn't even stick around?"

You're rooted in your chair, heart twisting at her words. Is that what they've been saying to her? "Portia, you're not nothing. You're out here making such a big difference in people's lives -"

"Oh, you mean like you? Like how everyone in town can't take their eyes off of you while I do the grunt work? Like how I save the world with you and you're all people can see? I may as well be invisible next to you!"

You're both frozen, staring wide-eyed at each other. You've known Portia could get jealous. You haven't seen this before. Your hands begin to shake under the table as her eyes go from shock to grief

"MC - MC I'm sorry, I'm so sorry ... I didn't mean it, I swear I would never mean it, it's those bastards who keep looking down on me and I thought ... maybe you were ... I'm sorry -"

It's a long night of whispered sorry's before you're in the space to hear her explanation. She's better at being open with you about her insecurities now, but any time her volume changes she walks away to cool off before continuing

Lucio

Lucio has a level of resilience that will never fail to surprise you

Of course, most of that comes from his tendency to live in the present. It makes confronting the past rather difficult, but once it's been dealt with, he sees no reason to dwell on it and can drop it faster than a hot potato

The only issue is that sometimes he's so quick to drop the past and stay in his present comfort zone that he's blinded to people who still need to spend time thinking about it

Even when it's you. Especially when you walk through a town that's been ravaged by a plague locals refer to as the "Yellow Death"

While Lucio seems antsy to pass through, you find your feet dragging slower and slower as you look at the carnage. Houses marked with a white circle are burnt-out shells in an effort to be rid of the plagued bodies within them and entire blocks are rubble

It's when you stray too close to one of them that your foot knocks against a charred child's toy, painted a strangely familiar pattern

You may not remember, but deep down you know that you knew someone who had one of these. Maybe it was you, maybe it was a friend, maybe it was a cousin?

"MC! Hurry up, we're walking here!" You can barely hear Lucio's voice over the dull roar in your ears, but you know he's nearby when two wet noses nudge themselves into your palms and an impatient hand nudges at your shoulder

"Come on, MC, you don't wanna stay somewhere this depressing."

A hand tugs on your elbow and you're finally able to shake your gaze loose from the eerily familiar blackened doorframe. Your eyes travel down to your palm where the toy still sits

Lucio follows your line of sight and flinches, a bead of sweat trailing down his temple as his smile gets tight

"MC? Let me take that, you don't want it. It's worthless anyway, whoever had it's been gone a long time." His grip is considerably rougher than yours, and you watch in horror as the little toy splinters between his fingers

"Ha! Look at that, gone like smoke. Let's go already, there's nothing worth looking at here. The town's empty, nobody's around to care about whoever died here. MC? MC you're shaking -"

You haven't felt this angry at him in a long time, and you know he's speaking from his stress and not from his mind, but you can't take another invalidating comment from him -

"Nobody cares about whoever died here? Gone like smoke?"

You see the blood leave his face and the fear take over as he realizes what he's said. "MC -"

"I was a person, Lucio. I had a life. Is that smoke to you too?"

"I'm sorry!" He's got your wrists in his hands, tugging you away from ruins that could too easily be your childhood home. "I'm sorry, but we need to get out of here first!"

You follow numbly, unsure of how to proceed while he drags you away from the ghost town. You're barely able to accept his touch as he holds you through the first panic attack of many

Lucio doesn't like dwelling on the past, but he's learning the hard way not to trample on others for needing to

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana angst #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson

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separatist-apologist · 3 months

Text

Take Me Back To The Night We Met

Summary: Gwyneth Berdara wants nothing more than to return home and exact revenge on the courtiers who hurt her and killed her sister. Exiled to a distant temple, Gwyn finds herself at the mercy of a mysterious stranger offering to escort her home on orders from her eldest brother and king of the realm.

Unraveling the secrets of the strange soldier will prove more deadly than Gwyn could ever have imagined, setting into motion events that began nearly five hundred years before.

Happy @gwynrielweeksofficial!

TW for mentions of past sexual assault

Read on Ao3

Five hundred years before:

“No more,” Azriel breathed, spiked boot pressed to the neck of his would-be adversary. “It’s over.”

Heavy chains curled from the loamy ground made of thick roots. It took no effort to bind him given he was dying, bleeding from the sword still protruding in his stomach. Somewhere in the distance he could hear the mighty roar of Rhys and knew he and Cassain were likely suffering similar fates. They’d tried to take the world, to leave the underplane they ruled, to overthrow the high god Koschei.

Where was Lucien, he wondered? Was he dead too? Was this failed cosmic coup over so easily? Azriel wanted to struggle but his body was pinned in place, sinking slowly toward an earthy grave.

“You give up easier than expected,” Koschei murmured, sharpened teeth dripping with some dripping, black substance. “Like a coward.”

Azriel snarled furiously, pulling at the bindings dragging him further down. Could Koschei see the promise of retribution in his gaze? Did he not realize no prison could hold him forever? Azriel would find his way out eventually. He had nothing but eternity to plot and creatures like Koschei grew complacent in the end.

Crouching so he could speak better with Azriel, Koschei flashed another foul smile. “I hear your thoughts, little god. You think you can usurp me with time. Consider your undoing.” With a snap of his fingers, a body fell from the sky, falling with a sickening crunch inches from Azriel. He recognized the red hair, splayed out over a too pale, lifeless face. Knew the body of the woman now crumpled in a heap, the sword broken off in her midriff—he’d given it to her.

A once white ribbon, now stained rust red, was still tied around her forehead. Azriel wanted to reach for it, to blow life into the lifeless body of the only woman he’d ever truly loved.

It had been a mistake to bring humans into this mess. To think he could raise her into godhood—that she wouldn’t get hurt in the end. Azriel had sworn he’d keep her safe.

His Gwyn.

“Pretty little thing,” Koschei murmured, running clawed hands through Gwyn’s tangled hair. “Didn’t you warn her to stay away from monsters?”

“I’ll kill you,” Azriel swore, thrashing again. It only made him sink faster.

“Oh, you’ll try. And every time you raise yourself against me, your little human will find herself reborn and thrust back in your path. You can try and save her, of course—but you have to give up your designs on godhood, shadowsinger. Or you can kill me and watch her die all over again. Something to think about.”

Azriel shouted, but dirt filled his mouth before darkening his vision. With his eyes closed, all he could see was Gwyn’s helpless body left to rot while he was buried beneath her. Azriel forced himself to calm down, just enough to keep his mind clear.

Koschei thought he had him.

But he didn’t know Azriel at all. And the ancient god had only given Azriel time think.

Time to plot.

- -

Gwyneth Berdara woke just before dawn, like she always did. Some internal clock inside her mind refused to let her sleep in—to sleep well—especially now that she’d come to the temple in Sangravagh. She wasn’t supposed to be here. She should have been in the palace with her brothers, should have been mourning her sister's death with the rest of them.

She’d had one minor outburst. One room had exploded into flame before her brother—the king—had extinguished it. Nothing of consequence had been harmed and yet she’d seen that steely look in Eris’s eyes.

“It’s been a year, Gwyneth,” he’d said without humor. “How much longer am I expected to tolerate this?”

“How long would it take you to mourn the death of your other half?” she’d snapped back. That had been a mistake. His patience was already thin—there was conflict at the border, the first in five centuries, and swirling rumors the dark princes were rising from the slumber.

Eris, who lived in the shadow of Lucien Spell-Cleaver—a god, truly, more legend than he’d ever been a living man—was uneasy. Devoid of smiles, same as their late father. As if Beron Vanserra could have any relation to the great Sun King.

So Gwyn was here with the priestesses to learn humility, and to vent her rage somewhere none of the courtiers could see. She wondered what he’d told the court. What had he told Nesta Archeron, Gwyn’s dearest friend? Did he admit the truth? That she was an embarrassment he couldn’t stand any longer? That Eris didn’t want to deal with the messiness of loss, that Catrin’s death didn’t bother him as much because he’d never been close to either of them? They were the youngest by nine years, an accident their father hadn’t wanted and their mother was too exhausted to deal with.

Eris had five brothers, but Gwyn had only Catrin. They’d had governesses, of course, and the usual training given to princesses, but they were merely more players on their father’s board, turning the Vanserra siblings from five to seven in the blink of an eye. They’d run wild, managed more by Eris than their parents, who’d done a better job keeping Catrin’s moods in check.

She was gone now.

And so was Beron.

That left Gwyn to pick up her sister's mantle and give Eris hell when it suited her, and left Eris to exile her until she was ready to stop being a pain in his ass. Or to find her a suitable husband, some minor lord with money and men that Eris could exploit while cleanly wiping his hands of her.

Gwyn resented him for it.

There were secrets, too—things she couldn’t tell Eris, that he’d never guessed. Things she’d confessed only to Catrin, curled up in a bed they’d never been meant to share as she sobbed softly. Of men at court who took far too many liberties and her brothers who were too busy with their own lives to notice their sisters.

Catrin had nearly convinced Gwyn to tell Eris the truth.

And now she was dead.

Unlike the other priestesses, Gwyn was given her own room at the top of one of the dark spires in the temple. It wasn’t nice, nor was it spacious, but it was private and that was all that mattered. She didn’t have her own bathing chamber which annoyed her given Gwyn had to trek down circling stairs and make her way through the drafty temple for the one bathing room they all shared.

She didn’t like the way they stared at her, how their laughter and conversations died when she stepped into the room. Maybe that was why she’d begun getting up early. Better to bathe alone than to endure their quiet judgment. They didn’t want her here, either. They loathed having to teach her to work in the garden (a task Gwyn hated), and embroider, (Gwyn stuck her finger almost as often as her cloth), and work the stables (the horses were nice, but their stalls were foul). Gwyn didn’t mind midwifery so much, though the first time she’d watched a woman bleed out while the other priestess called it Lady Death’s will, Gwyn had found she liked it a little less. Everything was left in the hands of the gods and no one had to take any responsibility for their actions. The gods ordained every act of cruelty and mortals were helpless to resist. Gwyn loathed that more than anything.

The only place that felt like solace was the library. It was a special privilege to work there, earned after years of dedication and Gwyn knew the other priestesses resented seeing her working for Merril. The books kept the score, besides—villains always got what they deserved, the heroes always came out triumphant. Even outside of the novels she loved, history was written in the blood of victors and lacked the meddling hands of the gods. Gwyn was allowed to help transcribe these histories which was clearly her brother's influence. Everyone knew it.

They didn’t know the alternative was her constant attempts at escaping. They didn’t understand that Clotho had watched as Gwyn was dragged back, at first kicking and screaming, before she’d become compliant, though still defiant. She would rather die than sit in the temple, complacent and meek, awaiting Eris’s decision on what to do with her. So she ran, and she was caught, and she ran again. Over and over and over until Clotho finally had enough.

Signing silently, Clotho had said, If you stay, you can work among the books.

It was a bribe more than anything. Gwyn imagined Clotho loathed having to write her brother all those letters about how difficult she was. And Gwyn was certain Eris had demanded they find a way to make her complacent, along with a hefty sum of gold.

And hated even more that it had worked.

She’d loved the library at home, and she loved it here in Sangravagh even more. Here they had books that went back to the reign of Lucien Spell-Cleaver. That told the story of the epic battle between him and the legendary Dark Lord—The Shadowsinger. Defeated at the very last moment, when all hope was lost, by the Sun King’s unassuming, beautiful wife. Her mother had told her and Catrin that story more often than any other. It was said his body had been cut into five pieces, scattered to the four corners of the globe while his head was buried beneath the floors of the Forest House. It was said that Lucien himself had buried him that way to ensure he never returned.

Catrin used to sympathize with the Shadowsinger—likely the only person in the world who could. Gwyn had been mesmerized, proud to be part of that legacy. Curious, too, as she’d become older. How much of it was actually true, and how much was merely legend. Gwyn suspected Lucien Spell-Cleaver had been mythologized, melded with other, older legends until he became a god-like figure.

And the Shadowsinger much the same.

In the library, Gwyn found records from the time, recording births and deaths, and endless expenses for building palaces and roads and walls. She found records of ship inventories carrying the goods from Velaris and Illryia to Avalon, which meant the legends of the Lord of Bloodshed and his equally terrifying brother known only as Death Incarnate, couldn’t be real, either. They were said to rule Velaris and Illyria proper, and the Shadowsinger oversaw what was now Avalon.

Likely they had just been regular men, too, whose regimes were toppled and they, too, were made more fearsome by legend trying to immortalize an Empire, and terrifying those that would defy it. Bedtime stories for children, real lives made into parables to teach lessons.

She couldn’t stop herself from translating the books, though. From painstakingly working by candle, until it had burned to nothing and she was half asleep against the hardwood surface. Merrill allowed her to do so, likely because it kept her busy and out of everyone's way.

Gwyn rushed through her morning bath, well aware that the stipulations to being in the library required her to spend three mornings a week shoveling horse shit from the stables.

Gwyn always chose the first three days to get it out of the way. Begrudgingly, she could admit to herself that the hard labor did calm her mind a little. She’d never say that out loud, but Gwyn liked the horses, too.

She dressed quickly, slipping on the standard blue of her robes that all priestesses wore. She had some old gowns from court but Eris had ordered she be treated no different than anyone else. What good was chiffon and lace in a place like this? Once, Gwyn had cherished those things. She and her sister had giggled over new gowns made of silk, had spent hours at the dressmakers ordering everything that caught their eye and then some. Catrin, especially, had more dresses than anyone could ever have worn and had taken such care with her appearance. She’d been so beautiful, so lively—the living embodiment of the flame that wound its way through their family bloodline.

Gwyn couldn’t prove she’d been murdered to keep silence but rumor had been spreading that something had happened. Catrin couldn’t hide her rage, had snapped at the men responsible, had messed around in their policies and in one particularly cut-throat move, interfered in an impending marriage that would have enriched one of the families beyond their wildest dreams.

It’s my quiet revenge until you’re ready to get loud, Catrin had told her.

Gwyn had always been afraid to be angry, to take up space.

Not anymore.

The air was cooler than usual, salty without the tang of fish that it usually had. Gwyn could hear the ocean churning in the distance and knew if she continued walking toward the cliffside she’d find the brutal gray waves rising and falling against the rock, battering away. She wasn’t allowed to go that far—everyone thought she might fling herself off the edge.

Some days it was tempting.

Some days her anger burned so hot Gwyn thought she might explode from it. Today was one of those days. It itched beneath her skin, expanding until she felt like she couldn’t contain her feelings. Her sister wasn’t just dead. She’d been murdered. Eris swore he was looking for the killer, had promised Gwyn there would be justice but there wasn’t, and there hadn’t been. Did her brother suspect the truth? That nobles in his own court were responsible and condemning them to death was likely to cause an exodus and, even worse, an attempted coup? Or was he too busy with things he deemed more important to see what felt so obvious to Gwyn. Maybe she could have pieced Catrin’s final night alive together—all she had were her suspicions.

Now she had nothing at all.

Gwyn looked up at the moody sky wishing she had the Spell-Cleaver’s affinity for magic. All she had was flame, and it was fairly pathetic in comparison to her brothers. Perhaps that was for the best—Gwyn might have raised the whole world in her grief and anger.

Instead she put on mucking shoes and made her way to the horse stalls. The first stall was easy enough. Pancakes was a sweet, older gelding who didn’t mind getting out of Gwyn’s way so she could take a pitchfork to the manure and replace the soiled hay with something fresh. Gwyn replaced the water in the bucket and fed her before she was rewarded with a sweet nudge from a soft, gray nose.

The next stall was more of the same, and by the time Gwyn reached the third, she was coated in sweat and already thinking about her books. She wouldn’t be done before lunch and already regretted not having breakfast. Still, the quiet company of the animals soothed some of her rage and the work kept her mind mostly quiet.

Pulling open the wooden stall, Gwyn paused. Buttercream was waiting for breakfast with impatient eyes, nearly trampling the limp body in his stall. Gwyn blinked, certain she was seeing it wrong—but that was a man lying there.

Dried blood stuck to his midnight black hair, to the golden brown of his cheeks, to the white of his torn shirt. Gwyn took a step forward, thinking this wasn’t the first dead body she’d seen. Buttercream stepped out of the stall entirely which was going to get Gwyn in trouble. She considered going back for the horse before deciding that Clotho would understand.

Hopefully.

Gwyn knelt beside the body, roughly turning him to this back. More dried blood caked over his neck and his bare chest, though she couldn’t tell where he’d been wounded. An old scar screamed white against his neck, like someone had tried to cut it and failed. Gwyn swallowed hard, fingers trembling as she pressed them against the pulsepoint.

He gasped, eyes flying open to look at her. His bloodless lips parted, hazel eyes dilating with fear. Gwyn tried to skitter back but he grabbed both her arms with a surprisingly strong grip, sitting up just enough to put them at eye level.

His were the most intoxicating mix of brown and green, dotted gold around his iris. “You,” he breathed before releasing her arms to hold her face in callused hands. “You—get help.”

She might have done exactly as he demanded had he not crushed his mouth against hers. Gwyn yelped, held in place by this stranger who, despite the blood coating his skin, tasted like warm smoke curling against icy snow. Gwyn kept her eyes open and so did he before those thick, dark lashes fluttered and he felt back with a loud thud.

Gwyn exhaled, fingers flying to her lips. It should have enraged her, this kiss from a stranger who hadn’t even asked if he could touch her. Yet another man taking what he wanted without bothering to ask, to consider if she wanted what he was offering. And yet…Gwyn’s fingers found her lips, eyes still on his unconscious body pillowed by straw. It hadn’t felt like conquest the way it had before. This felt like desperation—like he needed help and could think of no other way to convince her.

It was her first, proper kiss. She’d imagined something different. Someone different.

Not a vagrant half dead in a barn.

Gwyn rose to her feet, hating how her knees were wobbling. “CLOTHO!” she screamed, stepping back out into the cool world.

Overhead, thunder clapped a warning.

And the skies began pouring rain.

- -

Gwyn was in the library, hidden far in the back when she heard the voices of other priestesses. “He can’t stay,” someone whispered. “I told Merrill as much.” “Where did he even come from?” asked another. Gwyn paused from her scroll, grateful for an excuse to rest her aching hand.

“This isn’t the first time a man has tried to infiltrate.”

“I heard his throat was cut—”

“He was stabbed, supposedly. I told Clotho we ought to leave him to die—”

“That’s terrible.”

The priestesses had been forbidden from visiting the stranger, but Gwyn wasn’t a priestess. And she was curious given he’d kissed her right before passing out. Surely she deserved to see how he was progressing before he was kicked out of the temple? That man was the first interesting thing that had happened since she’d arrived six months before.

She waited until the voices floated away before putting her things away and blowing out her candle. No one paid her any mind as she walked the familiar stone halls, guided only by the silvery moonlight overhead.

Gwyn knew exactly where he’d be, assuming he was still alive. He’d be closer to her tower where they kept people who’d committed egregious offenses. Gwyn had never seen that happen but she’d heard of a priestess who’d been stealing coins for a lover in a nearby village. The punishment was typically just long enough to cool whatever ardor existed between the lovers—men were fickle things. A week of no contact and they slunk off, moving on with a new, warmer body while the woman was left to pine. Gwyn pitied them both. Was that all love was? Close proximity ignited with physical touch?

She wasn’t interested.

Gwyn turned down the sharp corridor, ignoring the door that would take her up to her tower for the one at the far end of the hall. Pushing it open, she saw him lying on a cot, his shirt cut from his body and his chest wrapped in pristine white bandages. The blood had been washed from his body, leaving him utterly bare from the waist up. Gwyn thought there was something odd about him—something missing, though she couldn’t explain what, exactly.

She was distracted by a trail of dark hair starting just beneath his navel, vanishing in the band of his pants. Cocking her head, she examined the hard muscle of him, made softer in sleep but still visible through his skin. Who was he, she wondered?

She didn’t realize he was awake until she glanced back at his face, meaning to leave. “You again,” he murmured in a midnight dark voice. “I thought I imagined you.”

Gwyn’s heart began thudding in her chest. “You passed out in the stables,” she told him.

“Seemed like a safe option at the time,” he replied, groaning a little as he tried to sit up.

“What happened to you?”

He glanced down at the bandage wrapped around his body. “A knife.”

“Did you rob someone?”

A smile tugged at his lips and Gwyn was struck by how beautiful he was. She was used to beautiful men—all her brothers had the good Vanserra genes, after all, passed down from the Sun King himself. And the lords at court were often quite handsome with the annoying quality of knowing it. This man, though, was different. Otherworldly in his beauty and radiating strength—strong jaw, high cheekbones, an aquiline nose and a full mouth. Those dark lashes didn’t hurt him, either, nor did how nicely his body was arranged.

“I’m a soldier, not a thief.”

“You’re a long way from the border,” Gwyn said, arms crossed over her chest. The man watched her for a moment, his amusement plain.

“What do you know about conflict in Avalon?”

Not much, admittedly. She’d never cared to, and it wasn’t like Eris shared with her. She was his obnoxious baby sister and not a trusted advisor. “What are you doing so far up north?”

“I’m looking for a princess,” he admitted, head cocked as he took her in. “The king sent me to retrieve her.”

Of fucking course he did. Gwyn blew out a breath. “He’s too good to come himself?”

He snorted a small laugh. “I suppose he’s quite busy with his soon-to-be-wife.”

“Wife?” she spluttered. “What woman in her right mind would marry Eris?”

The soldier laughed then, head tipping back as the throaty sound filled the small chamber. “I won’t tell him you said so,” he replied, wincing a little as he tried to draw a breath. “Princess.”

Gwyn only frowned. So Eris was getting married, and she was freed temporarily from exile. How very like him to send a messenger rather than fetch her himself. Gwyn swallowed the hurt, not wanting this man to see her anger.

“I’ll tell him myself when we arrive. She must be out of options.”

“I hear she’s incredibly beautiful,” he countered, those eyes practically glowing feline in the dark. “And that he’s in love with her.”

“You must not know him well.” Eris wasn’t capable of love save for, perhaps, their mother. A wife, though? No, that was something political, an alliance that benefitted Eris so greatly he’d tie himself to the terms legally. Gwyn imagined she was likely beautiful and meek, the sort of woman that would stay out of his way. A woman he could discard without concern only to pick back up when she became necessary.

“Better than you think, princess,” the soldier countered. But Gwyn very much doubted that. This didn’t look like one of Eris’s personal guards, one of his most trusted. This looked like someone who could get stabbed on the side of the road without Eris caring too terribly much. Maybe he was hoping so he could snub Gwyn only to inform her he had sent someone, and how tragic that they’d never made it. Gwyn had enough of the entire thing.

“You should rest, then. It’s a long journey back to the palace.”

“Clotho was very kind, offering me this room. I offered to sleep in the stables.”

Gwyn didn’t care. She turned her back to him, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she went. She was too busy seething at Eris to fall on niceties. This was merely more proof that her family only ever saw her as a burden. It was only when she reached the door and heard the man groan again, settling back against that threadbare cot, that she wondered who he was.

“What’s your name, soldier?” she asked.

There was a beat, and then— “Azriel,” he told her. Something in the air hummed for a moment before the world stilled again, some magic Gwyn didn’t recognize. Only the royals and the gods commanded magic—no simple soldier could have evoked such a response. It was merely a manifestation of her own anger or some desire to be more important than she was. The gods had long turned their gazes from her—had abandoned her entirely.

“Sleep well, then, Az—” Gwyn choked on the name, unsure why she couldn’t say it.

And maybe he knew it, because his mouth quirked to the side, even as he settled back to the bed, one hand on his bare stomach. Something about him seemed off—he didn’t look like Eris’s usual type. Though, to be fair, what did she really know about Eris anymore? Ever since their father died and he’d taken over, Eris was different.

Maybe his soldiers were, too.

#gwynriel #my humble submission

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bonefall · 23 days

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For the cat who takes out Juniperclaw, maybe if any of Leafstar's kits are still alive besides Harrybrook (or just him idk how you characterize any of the three), perhaps one of them would go with it? Leafstar might not have liked "an eye for an eye" and she'd probably teach them it's wrong to seek revenge, but I do think one of them can be talked into it, in the name of SkyClan and Leafstar. Make it more personal when Juniperclaw is told who they are in relation to the cat he killed, making it click in his head what is about to happen.

Oooo, great idea, I GOTTA do that... hmmm. Much as I wish I could cash in another chip for Firefern, since I adore her name, it's gotta be Harrybrook.

In-canon, his character is consistently harsh and distrusting and he's got it even worse in BB. It could be like his mother is the only thing actually holding him back. If anyone is going to end up being Waspstar's "Cleaner," it absolutely has to be him.

Harrybrook: We had a good thing, you stupid son of a foxheart! We had Leafstar, we had a camp, we had everything we needed and it all ran like woodwork! You could have shut your mouth, hunted, and caught as much prey as you ever needed. It was perfect! But no! You just had to blow it up! You, and your pride and your ego! You just had to be the man! If you’d known your place, we’d all be fine right now!

A little recap of BB!Harrybrook, since it's been a while since I've mentioned him or any of his fragments;

Harrybrook is the son of Leafstar, Echosong, and Billystorm.

SkyClan does not have the Cleric's Vow.

This is because SkyClan was exiled at the beginning of the Ripple Era; before Larkstripe's Strike which resulted in the unofficial vow being codified.

it is actually a positive in their culture if their Cleric previously raised kittens. Echosong probably did have other litters in her long life.

Echosong is also alive to the current arc; Frecklewing joined with The Kin. Fidgetflake is still around, but he's probably still the "junior" Cleric of sorts.

Important point being that Harrybrook has personal stake in SkyClan's unique customs. His only surviving parent is a Cleric.

I wouldn't be surprised if this is what makes him such an effective killer. He has a knowledge of poisons and anatomy.

All cats know where the carotid artery is, they find it all the time when they put the killing bite in the wrong spot. Habr knows where else a single blow can bleed you out.

As a little kitten, he was named after Harry, who helped to save his mother.

What no one knew at the time was that Harry was being courted by an ancient monster. Sol, the God of Autumn, Change, and Tricks, wanted to play a game.

The rules were simple; Sacrifice three kits.

Sol wanted to see how far Harry, once baring the name Cinders, would go in pursuit of the power it could offer him. Sol HATES a boring vessel.

Harry JUMPED at the chance, offering two of his own kits as the last one got away. He just needed one more.

SkyClan almost tempted him into tucking his ambition away. Here, he was safe and accepted for the first time... but his desire for power won out in the end.

Sol offers immortality, the ability to mould reality like clay, the whole world could be Harry's toy.

(WIP SECTION)

In some way, Sol was able to manipulate Billystorm. I'm still working out how severe this manipulation was.

He likely got to Leafstar too. Possibly intentionally driving a wedge between them-- convincing Billystorm that SkyClan was unsafe and he'd raised the kits more than either his mate or his mate's girlfriend. He had a right to keep them safe, even if that meant taking them from everything they'd ever known.

And to Leafstar, he told her Billystorm was plotting against her. That she needed to be as firm with him as she is with the cantankerous Sharpclaw. If she's not, he might take those kittens back to his humans, and who knows what they'd do?

In any case, a fight between them causes Billystorm to leave. I'm not sure if I'm keeping Leafstar exiling him.

(Note: I don't really like how either character acts in the canon story. Or the framing. Or... anything about it really. It's bad Todd.)

In the past, I'd made it so Billy ended up trying to take the kids to his human, and then the human was the one who decided to get rid of the kits. INSTEAD it works a LOT better if Billystorm went back to his humans, and Harry then used this as a lure to get the kittens out of camp.

"Let's go visit your Ba, kittens. I know where he is. Just follow me."

While living in the town, Billystorm meets up with the child of Harry who got away, and learns that they've all been set up.

Billystorm deserves to go run save his kids and punch a God in the face I think.

DAYLIGHT WARRIOR MORE LIKE LIGHTS OUT WARRIOR! KAPOW!!

(Much as I will miss the gutpunch brutality of Billystorm realizing that his human can't be trusted. I'll just use the idea someplace else.)

(WIP SECTION END)

Stormkit was unable to be saved. There was only Firefern and Harrybrook.

Harry has been terrified of water since then. It represents everything awful that's ever happened to him.

He doesn't even like when it rains. Storms always seem to bring terrible things.

Firefern ended up dying on the journey to the Lake. I'm leaning towards changing it to infection, during the time that Echosong is missing (taking Frecklewing's arc).

Her other mother wasn't there to help her, and she died of something preventable. Something Harry knows she could have healed.

Harrybrook hates his name. I think he was too quiet about it, though, to the point where his family wasn't aware of it.

They probably figured it was overwriting Harry's memory. It's Harrybrook's name now, instead. Harry just feels like it's a reminder of being tricked.

I think at one point he should get an honor title, but I'm still working it out. He might just be keeping Harrybrook as a grim reminder.

If it's him who kills Juniperclaw, I know for a fact he'd take Waspstar's orders very seriously; "Please be discreet and professional." It's only mostly personal, you see. More importantly, this is for SkyClan.

Leafstar wouldn't have approved. But she's not here now.

He'd quietly intercept Juniperclaw as he approaches the camp, standing in his way, looking him up and down without a twinge of emotion on his face. Juniperclaw's hackles are raised immediately. He lived with SkyClan before Heartstar reformed ShadowClan-- everyone knows who Harveybrook is.

"I've- I've come to pay my respects," He says proudly, standing tall and noble. Even after that he did, he has the boldness to hold himself as a brave warrior. What he knows he did, and to who he's talking to. Harrybrook shouldn't fault him for not knowing how arrogant he comes across-- but does anyway.

"Yes, we've been expecting you," He flicks his tail and dips his head respectfully, "Right this way."

The trail doesn't lead to camp.

When Juniperclaw begins to realize that they're taking a strange path, he just waves it away as an odd feeling. It's been a while since he's been here, after all. But the tickle doesn't go away. It gets stronger and stronger, until he recognizes the northern border of what used to be ShadowClan's full range.

And that's when he halts, "Where exactly are you taking me?"

"Not any further if you don't want to," Though Harrybrook's eyes are wide like he's about to pounce on prey and his massive body is buckled low, prowling, sizing up the distance between them, his tone is soft. Like he's gently explaining something to a fellow warrior. "This would be far enough."

The ex-deputy swallows on a dry throat, frozen in place. Harrybrook relaxes his stance. Juniperclaw seems to be very good at taking orders, just like he is. He knows exactly what to do to keep this discreet and professional.

"If you'd like, we can finish the long walk. It's a place my mother used to like. It has flowers, butterflies, it's a lovely haven," He relaxes his stance, meeting Juniperclaw's terrified eyes with a calm, dutiful look.

The panic distills into a resolve. Like something clicked in his mind, and he was coming to one of those unspoken conclusions that these Forest Four cats all seem to have figured out between them. "All right. I... I think I know the haven you're talking about. We can have our fight there. There's no need to make a scene."

Harrybrook's ear flicks, but Juniperclaw doesn't see it as he brushes past him. It seems he misunderstood what this is. He thinks this is an invocation of the Right to Challenge. That this is going to be a fair fight between warriors.

It's the last mistake he ever made. But he doesn't feel a thing. Back turned to his killer, he hears the snap before he learns in StarClan that it was the sound of his own neck.

#better bones au #BB!Juniperclaw #BB!Harrybrook #Sol's Game #Squirrelflight's Horror #This is the kind of standalone scene I'd have some problems with placing in one of my reworked books #SO I'll have to think of where it goes #Honestly I'm grateful for the SkyClan stuff that seems to be coming out lately #It'll make it easier to show off all the big changes I made in BB!SkyClan

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dreamsclock · 1 year

Text

“So let me get this straight,” Techno deadpans, face perfectly straight, “you’re layin’ eggs.”

( HAPPY VERY BELATED CHRISTMAS @kenjo-arts !!! you wanted emeraldduo and dream interactions or one of your aus so i combined both ^_^ i Hope You like it AND THANK YOU FOR BEING SO PATIENT. I LOVE U <333)

(THANK YOU @the-final-sif FOR RUNNING YHIS :])

Dream scowls. Under the glare and the shadow of his mask, his face is flushed. “Look,” he says, “I’m not— I didn’t even want to tell you. But–”

“But you did,” Philza jumps in, bemused, “I don’t really get why, though.”

If looks could kill, both members of the Syndicate would be dead thrice over. Instead, they remain unaffected as Dream’s cheeks turn warm enough to fry an egg – bad choice of words, Techno thinks, all things considered. He sure hopes Dream doesn’t actually fry his eggs: he really doesn’t want to get into the logistics of egg-infanticide with his dubious ally-turned-bestie.

Said bestie, however, is pulling out a clutch of eggs he holds protectively to his chest as if he expects Techno and Philza to snatch them away and begin jumping on them in malicious glee. When Philza moves closer in curiosity, Dream has a sword out before either of them can blink, unwavering and firm.

Philza raises his hands in surrender and lets out a little clucking noise. Techno thinks it’s supposed to be soothing. It sort of just sounds like a chicken. “Easy, mate,” he reassures, “I’m just looking. They’re pretty.”

“Obviously,” Dream says, half-preening, “they're mine.”

And they are pretty, Techno supposes, not that he cares much about eggs. They’re pale green and freckled with darker shades, five of them huddled in Dream’s arms. It’s impossible to tell what will hatch from them, though he sure isn’t thinking too hard about it. He’ll find out in due time, probably: one of them already has feather-light cracks speckling its side, while the others are pristine, unmoving.

…He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Dream so proud and protective over something of his before. He can’t decide if this is positive character development or not.

“I… wanted you guys to… like, hold onto them for me. For now.” Dream looks uncertain, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. In the pale light of the snow, his face is pale and drawn. “I will… come and get them. After tomorrow is over.”

“You mean the shit you’re pulling with Tommy.” Philza surmises, his expression flattening and tightening just slightly. He’s not forgotten the state Tommy had come to them in after exile: neither has Techno, who notices the way Dream’s shoulders straighten and his face grows deliberately impassive, when Philza’s anger makes itself known in the shape of one ruffling wing. “That’s tomorrow, isn’t it?”

“...Yeah, it is.” Dream allows, and says nothing more about his plans or his thoughts on the matter. Instead, he very gently and very carefully wraps the eggs in a blanket, swaddling the five of them so that only the tips of them are visible, before handing them over to Techno. His expression tightens into one of wistful yearning for a fraction of a second, before it disappears entirely behind that white porcelain mask. “I can’t take them with me, and… I don’t have any other allies. So. You know. We’re not exactly friends, but… I can pay you for it.”

Techno wants, for a wild moment, to pry the mask from his face and unearth Dream’s feelings about the eggs. His kids, he supposes.

He doesn’t do anything so lame or uncharacteristic. Rather than that, he accepts the bundle of eggs, handling them carefully, and– oh god, he cringes when one of them wiggles inquisitively. They’re warmer than he’d thought, thrumming with a quiet energy he faintly recognizes from the deepest, most inner parts of the server: which makes sense, considering they’re eggs from the admin of the SMP. Expecting anything less than slightly magical is dumb.

The aforementioned admin of the SMP shifts from foot to foot. He looks like he might grab the eggs back and make a run for it.

Taking pity on him, Techno clasps the bundle a little more securely, and offers his ally a firm nod and shrug. “Ehh, don’t worry about paying,” he says easily, “I just re-retired. I could do with somethin’ occupying my time. Even if it is five eggs.”

Philza squawks a laugh. “Never took you for a babysitter,” he teases, even as Dream relaxes fractionally, “what a career change. Never would’ve expected it.”

Techno shoots his friend a mock-glare. “I’ll have you know I have the credentials,” he says, haughtily, “you should’ve seen me before the Empire, Phil. You should’ve seen me. I was the pinnacle of babysitting, man. The pinnacle.”

“I bet.”

Dream whispers to you: so you’ll look after them for me??

When he turns to Dream, the man isn’t looking at him. He’s toying with the edge of his cloak, gloved fingers thin and shallow, and that’s when Techno realizes with a terrible clarity that Dream doesn’t plan on coming back for a long, long time.

His grip on the eggs tighten.

He’s hardly paternal, but he is loyal, to a fault.

You whisper to Dream: you have my word

And when Dream pearls away, leaving Techno with five eggs and a wonkily hand-stitched blanket, he knows it’s the last time they’ll see each other like this.

***

“Do you still have them?” Dream croaks in prison, throat slick with blood and voice hoarse from screaming. Techno wonders how long it’ll last before it gives out completely. Wonders if Dream’s voice might disappear entirely overnight. He barely uses it anymore.

“The eggs?” Techno asks, and his lips press when Dream nods. “I mean, not— not with me, Dream. Listen, I’m no Dad Of The Year, but I know not to bring five hatching eggs into a prison, alright. Jeez.”

Dream misses the rest of his ramble. His eyes light up for the first time when Techno speaks. “Hatching?” He repeats, as if he hardly believes his own words. “Like— You mean hatching hatching. Actually hatching.”

“No, no, the fake hatching.” Techno can’t keep the amused grin off his face despite his sarcasm. “I mean, they were pretty cracked when I left for here. They’re not about to start dancin’ around, but there’s not long now. Probably.”

The expression on Dream’s face is one he’s never seen before. It’s strange, wild. Hopeful.

“Okay,” his ally-turned-friend says, “okay. My eggs are hatching. So we’ve gotta get out of here.”

The firm tone is a switch from the hollow desperation he’d yelled at him before. (You were my only way out of here!) There’s determination, now, there’s reason to escape: reason, Techno knows now, for Dream to fight.

So he pushes an empty book across the scorch-marked obsidian to Dream, and offers a nod and an instruction. “Write down everything you can about this prison, Dream. I’m gonna need it if we’re breakin’ out of here.”

Dream flashes him an almost-grin, and it’s thin and exhausted and bright, and Techno watches him pick up the pen, and start to write.

***

“So.”

Dream doesn’t even look up from his dead-eyed staring contest with the wall. He just flips his middle finger in Techno’s vague direction, a silent shut up, before letting his arm fall limply at his side again.

“Soooo.”

Dream’s eye twitches. “So what?”

“I feel like we should discuss naming rights.”

“We— what?”

“Well,” Techno reasons, “it’s kind of joint custody of the eggs at this point. Sure, you birthed them—”

“That’s not how—”

“You birthed them, but I stopped Steve from eatin’ them. And believe me, that was a hard task, Dream. Almost impossible. Steve put up a valiant fight. He almost had them.”

That gets Dream’s attention. Eyes narrowing, mouth thinning into an annoyed scowl, he shuffles closer to Techno. Techno gets the impression he’s supposed to feel intimidated by Dream’s pout. “You let my eggs near a polar bear?” He demands, horror in his voice. “Techno. Seriously.”

“You remembered,” Techno beams, “you remembered Steve. Listen, you say we’re not friends, but this feels pretty friendly. I dunno. I’m just saying.”

“This— That’s not the point!”

“But no, I didn’t.Like I said, I won the battle. Steve fought hard, but I won. Good thing I’d been trainin’ so much recently. Any less and I think the eggs would’ve been breakfast.”

Dream’s eye twitches. “I don’t know why I even trusted you with them,” he mutters, antsy, “anything could happen to them.”

Techno scoffs, and offers Dream a trustworthy, reassuring look. “Dream, do I look like the kind of guy to let anything bad happen to your children?”

Dream stares dubiously back. “Yeah,” he says, “you do.”

…That doesn’t hurt his feelings, nope, not at all. He shoots his friend a pensive look. “When I get home, I’m gonna give your eggs to Philza,” he threatens, “he’ll put them in his nest. Don’t push me.”

“…You wouldn’t.”

“I would. Pass me another potato, nerd.”

The potato Dream throws at him bounces against his arm and clatters on the floor next to a splatter of blood. Techno wrinkles his nose. “Dude,” he says, “prison is lame.”

“Keep the eggs far away from Philza’s nests,” Dream warns, “or prison will get worse for you.”

***

You whisper to Philza: btw where are the eggs right now

Philza whispers to you: Why

You whisper to Philza: just answer the question phil

You whisper to Philza: where are the eggs right now

Philza whispers to you: They’re not in my fucking nest

You whisper to Philza: phil

Philza whispers to you: I’m taking them out of my nest and putting them back

Techno breathes a sigh of relief, and glances over at a fitfully sleeping Dream. “Crisis averted,” he mutters out loud, and then, “Chat, don’t be snitches. What Dream doesn’t know, won’t hurt him.”

***

And Techno’s not hurt when the eggs are the first thing Dream checks when he gets to the Syndicate. Pft, why would he be? It’s not like he’s the one that helped free him or anything, nah, course not.

“All I’m saying,” he grumbles to a cackling Philza, “is that the eggs didn’t sit in prison for three months with him. I’m not jealous, Phil. I’m not jealous. That would be crazy. They’re eggs. Not even that cool. But—”

“For fuck’s sake,” his friend laughs at him, “go inside and show him where his eggs are. He’ll be tearing the house apart looking for them.”

And Philza’s right. Dream is already pulling the chests apart searching for his eggs, as if Techno hadn’t stored them somewhere safer the very moment he’d escaped Pandora’s Vault the first time.

“Where are they?” Dream demands.

Techno nods to the wall. “I’ve been callin’ it the Baby Backrooms.” He says, proudly. “Though it’s kind of more of a Baby Hideout. Doesn’t sound as cool, though.”

A couple of swift strokes with his pickaxes tears open the wall, and reveals four large eggs, cracked but safe, huddled together in the corner of a light blue room. Dream’s gaze softens when he sees them, and steps inside, narrowly missing the bedtime story Techno’s been reading them most nights. Sun Tzu isn’t light reading, but hey, Techno’s determined to make incredible battle strategists of them yet. One of the eggs likes it the most: it wriggles whenever he pulls the book out, and he hates playing favourites, but he has to say, he’s got the most faith in that one.

“I’m back,” Dream breaks the silence to say to his eggs, kneeling down beside them and gently tracing the thick fractures along the curve of the darkest green one, “hey, hi, hi! Did you miss me?”

Techno doesn’t point out that eggs can’t talk for two reasons. The first is that he thinks Dream might actually murder someone if his moment with the eggs is disturbed. The second, slightly more alarming reason is that one of the eggs are missing.

When he’d left the room before, there had been five eggs in that room. The four now aren’t exactly inspiring him with confidence. Dream is really going to kill him if he’s lost a whole egg in the space of, like, four hours.

Dream scoops up the eggs, and turns to face Techno. There’s a look of relief on his face that’s so raw and unfiltered that it takes Techno a moment to recognise what he’s seeing. It’s like a part of Dream that had been missing during prison has been returned to him: Techno realizes with a pang that that’s exactly the case.

“I have a question,” Niki chimes in from behind them, “I have lots of questions.”

When Techno turns, she’s holding a tiny miniature version of… Dream himself.

“Mama,” it squeaks, reaching out to Dream, “Mama.”

Dream melts, right there and then.

***

“So… you laid this.”

Even someone blessed with the patience of a saint would have snapped by now. Dream, who is neither blessed nor patient, seems to be on the verge of murder someone: specifically, Tommy, who hasn’t stopped asking questions since he’d appeared at Techno’s door with questions. Four months had been enough time to solve the conflict between the server (…mostly), but it seems like Tommy’s boundaries don’t include tiny little green blobs like Dream’s newly hatched eggs running about the SMP.

“I already told you,” Dream says, “I didn’t lay them. They just appeared as eggs.”

“So you… make eggs,” Tommy says, “and then you like, you black out, and then you like wake up and find the eggs. Egg amnesia. Egg-nesia.”

Dream very visibly counts to ten in his head. Techno can’t stop himself from smirking and joining in.

“Yeah, Dream, I’m not gettin’ the science behind this whole thing,” he drawls, “can you explain it again?”

“You—” Dream splutters. A tiny version of himself with a green cloak travels by on one of the dogs, and throws himself into Dream’s arms. Dream cradles him absentmindedly. “We live in a world with a revive book and a randomly implemented three life system, and you’re confused about eggs?”

“I get it,” Tubbo says wisely, “sometimes every man reaches an age where he must lay an egg.”

“…That’s… actually not true,” Dream says, “most people don’t produce eggs randomly from thin air.”

“Who did you produce them with?” Tommy asks. “Was it George Not Found? Oh, that’s so weird. You’ve made it weird, Dream.”

“How have I made it weird? I—” Cutting himself off, Dream’s head perks up. “Hang on,” he says, “Philza’s trying to take one of my new eggs.”

Tommy’s face drops into total stupefaction. “It happened again?!” He demands. “When will the horror end?”

“What is wrong with you?” Dream groans, pushing himself to his feet and very carefully handing over his baby to Techno. “Look after Ray for me. I swear to God, if Philza is building a nest around my eggs again…”

He doesn’t finish his threat. Nevertheless, his warnings of violence are clear. Techno silently wishes Philza luck, and shifts his hold so that he’s juggling both the baby and the book in his other hand.

“I still think we should think about naming one of your eggs after me,” he says, “I was such a great babysitter. That’s why they turned out so great.”

Dream, halfway out the room, turns slowly, and gives him a very incredulous look.

“You think you were a good babysitter? So you think letting my babies play with Steve was a good idea?”

“They didn’t die,” Techno protests. “They were fine.”

“There comes a time where every man must fight a polar bear.” Tubbo says solemnly

“Tubs,” Tommy tells him, “that’s just not true. Wilbur just told you that because I wanted to see you be mauled horrifically by a bear.”

“Oh.”

“You could call one baby Blade,” Techno calls over Tubbo and Tommy. Dream laughs. “It’s not very creative, and a little hurtful, but hey, it sounds pretty cool, alright, it sounds pretty awesome. Or— Tech. I’d be fine with Tech.”

“I’m not naming a baby after you.”

Dream rolls his eyes as he walks out, but there’s a grin on his face.

You whisper to Dream: can i at least be godfather

Dream whispers to you: only if you gaslight tommy into thinking he was an egg once

You whisper to Dream: you drive a hard bargain

You whisper to Dream: it’s a deal

“Hey Tommy,” Techno calls out, “you remember being an egg? I still have pictures of you somewhere from before you were hatched.“

The look of absolute horror on Tommy’s face is priceless, and the knowledge of the title godfather makes him grin all the brighter.

#dreblr #c!dream eggs monday

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quotidianish · 10 months

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TF2 x ATLA AU :3

Lore, close ups, and doodles underneath !

Scout, Pauling, and Ludwig are the main three- scout, who’s an (admittedly shitty) airbender but not the avatar, who ran away after his father left. Once spotted by fire nation soldiers, he is presumed to be the avatar- and scout basks in the glory of his false identity. Pauling- a studious, too serious for her own good, non-bender, who’s Medic’s student. She’s of the southern water tribe, treating medic like her paternal figure after the disappearance of her aunt. Medic is (unbeknownst to pauling and scout) a blood bender who was exiled for his practices. He doesn’t seem to care for anyone or anything, also being very jovial and cheery.

All Pauling and Scout know is that Ludwig was exiled from the northern water tribe then fled to the south for an undisclosed reason. Pauling never bothered to pry and the Scout was too intimidated to. Here the avatar cycle has indeed been broken. It’s up to a group of nine ragtag men and one mousy girl to defeat Gray Mann.

And the main three villains are soldier, demo, and sniper who're all fire nation folk. Sort of the team rocket; never truly competent enough to cause real damage, that or their hearts truly aren’t in it.

Soldier's a fire bender who specializes in jet propulsion and was kicked out of the army. He thinks if he steals back the avatar, they'll let him back in. A weapon since childhood, once a bully, always a bully, or so he’s heard.Character arc being the realization the fire nation army isn't worth fighting for. Surprisingly, he is very good with spirits, opposite to his best friend, Tavish, who despises them.

Demo’s just trying to impress his mum and be a good friend to the Soldier. People pleasing tendencies, that's his character arc. He's supposedly a non bender who's mighty good with swords; but underneath his inconspicuous-ish eye patch holds a combustion bending tattoo. Only Jane knows this. Well-versed in calligraphy.

Sniper is a 26 year old yuyan archer who was discharged for failing a mission while he was young. He joined the other two with the same goal as the Soldier. His yuyan archer tattoo still remains. He's a non bender with excellent aim, who grew up on the rural outskirts of the fire nation. His character arc is something about not adhering to expectations and learning who he's fighting for; a combination of the demoman and the soldier’s lessons.

Spy's a crusty airbender constantly sporting a mask to hide his tattoos, and knife. Nobody has a clue where he's from and he takes orders from whoever pays him best. His airbending tricks are so subtle, the public believes him to be a crafty nonbender. Usually said tricks are only invisibility and voice alteration. While not assassinating political figures he traverses the spirit world looking for his wife, a fellow air nomad, avoiding physical aging in brief sprints of time. He returns on a well paid mission to kill the “avatar,” which was presumably the scout. Little does he know, that weird whiteboy is just some lame airbender. Who’s also his son. His bad.

Engineers the metalbender; an art perfected by his ancestors and passed down in whispers to him. I haven't developed him much. He teaches the Scout what he knows while obscuring information on how he got that metal arm. Him and the Pyro have a shared love of blacksmithing. From an explosion, he thinks..

Pyro's a spirit probably. Nobody knows what he is. Where he’s from? Pyro. What’s his gender? Pyro. Guy who sets things on fire. Presumably human judging by his questionable use of what looks to be fire bending. And also the Spy's companion! They met in the spirit world. He and the Soldier form a close bond quite quickly thanks to their good graces with spirits (to Tavish’s immense dismay).

Heavy's an earth bender who continues to win in underground fights. Residing in ba sing se with his three sisters and elderly mother, scout pauling and medic meet him in an earth bender championship. Despite what his appearance suggests, his patience is unmatched, which is his greatest strength. He has near -perfect seismic sense. He and the Medic get on quite well, and after the fire lord has been struck down, form a duo in the ring, earning even more won championships.

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zuko-always-lies · 2 months

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List of Azula AU/fic ideas

Better parenting Ursa

Azula raises Katara AU (and continued) and more

Azula and Katara get friendly postwar and talk about their brothers.

Mai is significantly older than Azula and Ty Lee AU (Older "sister" Mai)

Jin works at Iroh's teashop but finds out about his past

Zuko tells Azula about the Spirit Water

Ursa and Ozai get along better, and it's not a good thing AU

Imperialist Lu Ten survives the war and tries to regain his throne afterwards

Zuko finds out more about his nation AU

Revolutionary Azula takes over Ba Sing Se AU

Three different AU ideas in one

Favoritism in the royal family is a little different

What if Zuko had a nonbending twin sister (who he doesn't get along with).

Zuko's daughter changes how he sees Azula

Zuko and Ursa try to isolate Azula ("for her own good")

Ozai gets exiled and the Gaang stupidly ally with him

Earth Kingdom ends up with custody of Azula postwar and support her bid for the Fire Nation throne when Zuko starts another war with them.

The Gaang tries to figure out why Zuko joined them.

Dangerous Ladies find Ursa in Book 2

Azula and Toph fake dating

Zuko/"world leaders" try to force Aang to take away Azula's bending and he's very much not OK with it.

Azula is thrown away to the NWT postwar as a trinket and Chief Arnook adopts her.

Comics! Ursa's letter about Zuko being a bastard gets out.

Zuko and Katara lie about what happened during the Agni Kai

An exiled Azula finds Fire Imperialist! Ursa postwar

Aang has to save Azula from being executed by Zuko

Zuko's defection during DoBS goes very badly for Mai

Zuko joins the Gaang at Ba Sing Se, but it ends poorly

Zuko killed Azula during the Agni Kai, and now he has to deal with the consequences.

AU idea where Zuko keeps Azula permanently imprisoned in bad and torturous conditions postwar, and Izumi finds out about when she’s relatively young, and draws exactly the sort of conclusions about her parents that you would expect. Not to mention being terrified that she might be treated the same way if she missteps…

Ozai never declares Zuko and Iroh traitors

Iroh-Azula roleswap au

Zuko asks Azula for help with his firebending

Zuko wants Azula to like him but doesn't get why she doesn't like him (postwar)

Katara has an arranged marriage with Zuko and Azula tries to get into the good graces of her sister in law

"Katara is supposed to have an arranged marriage with Zuko, but she falls in love with Azula instead."

Another take on Zvtara (arranged marriage) and Maizula.

Azula-Katara AU idea (or: Katara runs into an Azula who has changed a lot in some ways and not very much in others)

Zuko is actually Ikem's son

Firelord Azula ends her brother's exile

Azula raises Izumi (it's complicated)

"AU idea: Azula commits suicide out of despair, and just about everyone is convinced that Zuko had her murdered or at the very least “encouraged” her to do it."

Dangerous Ladies get banished/declared traitors and Azula basically gives up. Mai has to step up her place

I have to say, “Zuko has to deal with finding out that Ursa very much isn’t who he believed she was” remains excellent fanfic fodder.

"AU idea: Ursa is more aware of Ozai’s abuse and potential for abuse than in canon, so, right after her exile, she seeks out Iroh and charges him with protecting both of her children."

Firelord Iroh treats Azula in a really screwed up way.

"AU where Azula dies during the latter stages of the war or right after it, and Mai is the only person who ever morns her as a person, not as a politically convenient symbol (Ty Lee runs away from her complex feelings on Azula as much as she can)."

Dark idea

"Since so much of the fandom is convinced that Azula is Zuko’s older sister, I need an AU where this is true and Zuko is just as throne-obsessed as canon and spends all his time trying to usurp his older sister."

"AU where Ozai has a heart attack and dies right after the fire siblings return to the Fire Nation, and Zuko and Azula have to pick up the pieces. Meanwhile, the Gaang are plotting to overthrow them and bring the war to a close once and for all..."

King Kuai adopts Azula as his heir

Things get complicated, darkly (Azula exiled postwar AU)

What if Zuko tried to be a good brother

"I really need an AU where Lu Ten returns and is pissed over Ozai’s usurpation, so he kills Ozai, seizes the throne, and continues the war. Of course, Iroh ends up supporting his actual son in all of this, and the conflict in the Fire Nation ends up boiling down to Zuko and Azula vs. Lu Ten and Iroh as the situation spirals toward civil war, at the same time the 100 years war continues."

"Maizula AU where Mai married Zuko, but he died not long after Izumi was born, and Azula and Mai are secretly carrying out a relationship while raising Izumi and ruling the Fire Nation as her regents."

Azula joins the Gaang with a twist...

"The chaos which would result if Lu Ten showed up alive again in Book 1 and launched a rebellion against Ozai in pursuit of “his” throne."

Ursa opposes Firelord Zuko

Iroh tries to kill Azula during "The Chase"

Mai and Ty Lee on trial for "war crimes"" and Azula has to save them

This is very long list, and people are welcome to steal any ideas they want from it for their own use.

#Azula #Au Idea #Au idea #Azula au ideas #Zuko #Ursa #Mai #Ty Lee #Katara #Ozai #Iroh #Not very friendly to Iroh #Various au ideas #fic idea #crack fic idea

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dr3amofagame · 4 months

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been thinking about post-prison c!dream again and i feel like ... characterizations of him after pandora smtimes can lean vindictive. and it's not like there's no proof for this being the case, lol, this man has quite a few angry speeches post-prison about getting his Revenge! and such, and obviously has Feelings about the whole being left to rot and be tortured thing. that being said, i think it's worth pointing out how what a character thinks they believe and what their actions show can have some...pretty apparent discrepancies, and i think that c!dream's stated desires to take his revenge as well as a "us against them, you're either with me or against me" viewpoint of the server as a whole don't necessarily match up with his behavior post-prison

for one, i think it's worth pointing out how often c!dream's anger in these cases is obviously emotional to the point of incoherence--it's often been stated that his speech in the logstedshire chase scene screams of projection in the midst of a panic attack, which, i mean? yeah? he's making assumptions about what c!tommy thinks and basically repeating what c!quackity said in that cell almost word for word and making the kill-and-revive-you-over-and-over-and-over threat that he definitely wasn't going to go through with (though, is kind of interesting retrospectively considering we know that he literally did that to himself). then there's his rant to c!sam in daedalus one which literally includes his threatening c!sam with c!quackity, a claim so absurd that c!sam himself points it out as making no sense. and then there's his speech with c!quackity where he says he's going to torture...las nevadas? as in, the country? dream that's. dream it's a country. it can't feel pain. dream.

in this, a clear pattern is established where a lot of these angry threats are...bluffs. hot air. even if c!dream is genuine when he makes these threats, they're really not plausible (like, uh, please tell me how youre gonna convince quackity to torture sam for you king.) and it's not like c!dream doesn't have a pattern of being A Whole Lotta Bark when you have him in a position where he feels cornered, either. but with this, there's a precedent that's established where c!dream's threats, particularly threats where he's literally just listing shit out like that, should be taken with a grain of salt. less evidence of true plans and more an attempt to bare his teeth at you until you back the fuck away.

of course, this in itself isn't enough to claim that all of his claims of more vindictive actions should be dismissed. that being said, across the board, when you look at c!dream's actual actions post-prison...well, the amount of actual revenge this guy gets is. very small. very small. in fact, contrary to what one might think due to his paranoia and the huge breach of trust that had happened as a result of the prison, c!dream actually seems quite willing to establish connections with other people--friendly interactions, even alliances to a certain degree. looking at the following list of interactions w/ people post-prison:

He immediately gives the axe of peace to c!Techno in Snowchester after they part ways at the Arctic Commune--though the lack of favors between them indicates that there's no real explicit reason to call on each other in the immediate future, he does show very clearly that their parting hasn't made himself unwilling to cooperate with c!Techno at all.

Punz is self-evident--he speaks with his ally and reaffirms that the plan is still on track (a plan made before the negative effects that prison had on his. uh .everything)

The aforementioned conflict with c!Tommy, where he makes a lot of threats in ways that seem like a pretty damn deliberate mirror of c!Quackity and makes no effort to follow through on, particularly in tems of the killing-and-reviving shit and keeping tommy in exile and whatever else he was saying there

The interaction with Sapnap, where he is clearly gauging c!Sapnap's reaction and flees shortly after things appear to grow in hostility, once again making overtures at a threat that he will never follow up on (even considering he could very easily follow Sapnap to find Kinoko and could as such attack it quite simply even with just, a couple flint & steels tbh)

An interaction with Eryn where he makes no effort to be hostile at any point, hiding behind his shield and then exchanging items when Eryn offers them. The entire time, c!Dream's actions are defensive and purposefully nonthreatening and at no point does he attempt to engage a fight--even when not asked for payment, he gives a valuable item in exchange. Clearly more an attempt to be friendly than any outright hostility, though he is also obviously wary.

Daedalus also quite self-explanatory--again, it should be emphasized that letting Sam go in any capacity with any lives is explicitly an act of mercy. Left alone, Sam would have died in the prison for good; he set his spawn in the prison, a fact Dream would've known when he escorted him out. He makes a lot of threats, including some that are quite incoherent, and at the end he kills Sam once and then escorts him out of the prison grounds alive. Interestingly enough, conversations in Daedalus also seem pretty explicitly from a perspective of trying to get c!Sam to understand him in some respects--like, c!Dream isn't seeking division here. Even in consideration of the fact that he needed to get the keycards, c!Dream's continued emphasis on trying to get c!Sam to see him is...interesting, in view of how much of what went wrong being explicitly because of c!Sam's betrayal.

He warns Bad and Skeppy away from the prison shortly after beginning to reside there on a permanent basis. He gives them quite a sum of gifts (iirc, a block of netherite and a totem of undying) despite firing arrows at them; even though he has a reason to be aggressive towards c!Bad as one of the prison guards (something both c!Bad and c!Skeppy point out) he makes no effort to kill them and outright gives them valuable items while warning them to stay away from the prison

scrapped lore, whenever it was meant to happen, was an obvious "revenge" attempt against quackity...which goes, badly. a clue into the State that he was in in terms of his revenge quests. also, whatever interaction he has with c!wilbur later, obviously c!Wilbur doesn't end up worse for wear physically from it.

In inconsolable differences, c!Dream is more preoccupied with keeping a "feeling" of power over c!Wilbur over taking outright control over the room and therefore complies with c!Wilbur's orders. He does attack, but despite having more than the necessary means to kill both c!Wilbur and c!Tommy while he's there, does not do so. Neither does he manage to keep them trapped in the prison, something that he absolutely could've done if he so chose. Instead, he values a (imaginary) symbol of his continued alliance with c!Wilbur over any kind of hostile action, imprisonment, or killing of either person (and explicitly values c!Wilbur's life over just about everything, there.)

In his interaction with c!Foolish, he's outright trying to get c!Foolish to consider him beyond what other people have said about him. He's trying to establish some form of an alliance and offers...well, quite a lot in order to have one (in order to have a five minute warning of c!Quackity's location. like, he's putting himself in c!Foolish's service quite explicitly here, offering to become his hitman or bodyguard). He's obviously wary, but also obviously trying to be friendly and largely interacts with c!Foolish by trying to establish a rapport, not by trying to threaten him into something or attack him in any way. Even with c!Sam, the amount of outright threatening behavior from c!Dream isn't all that large--mostly, he's being petty? You could make an argument about c!Dream's vague threat to c!Sam's island, but clearly Sam loses no lives from Dream in any interaction they might have after they leave the summer home.

I consider the whole interaction with c!Aimsey canon bc literally everyone was playing as their characters there--c!Dream outright goes out of his way to try and protect a total stranger here with no obvious personal benefit. He literally inserts himself into the conflict to try and prevent c!Aimsey's death, which is kinda wild for someone to do as someone who allegedly wants people to die on the server. He attacks (and even kills c!George) c!snf here, but it's all in a scene where they get distracted from their whole "blowing shit up" moment because they want to chase c!Dream, and c!Dream specifically uses very little melee combat here--a lot of ranged stuff, which is far from his specific specialty. Further, there's a scene in this fight where c!Dream is acting entirely defensively, backed up against a wall with his shield in front of him as c!snf attack, and at the end he just runs away--all behavior that doesn't seem to be about killing anyone or profiting from anyone's deaths in any way.

LN5, threats similarly nonsensical, and he dips as soon as things start going south. For all of his seeming confidence, he's not the one that continues the chase in an attempt to kill c!Quackity, and the fight evidently freaks him out considering how he ends up not realizing he's being stalked by c!Tommy and then hides in the prison for a solid while (while still being stalked by c!Tommy)

Despite apparently wanting them to decide who to die in the saw trap (which had a premise that is frankly, quite hard to believe), c!clingy are given the exact items that could've facilitated their escape. He certainly could've killed both or one at any point in time, even if he wanted a message to be spread to the server (something easily done with one guy)--instead, he monologues at them, then conveniently leaves so that they can get away (and they could've with the literal items he gave them if tommy didn't burn their food.) When c!Tommy returns the following day, c!Dream makes it clear he expected both of them to have gotten out

Despite being clearly unable to stand c!Tommy, blaming him for most if not all of his problems on the server, and outright saying to c!Tommy that c!Tommy would never agree to help him (after they had a shouting match literally one day ago), gives quite the sales pitch to get c!Tommy on the same page as them.

I'm probably missing stuff, but you get my point--even when presented golden opportunities to kill off a player post-prison, c!Dream doesn't take it. He outright spares c!Sam when he could've easily died from the Revengers' tactic. When meeting with strangers, he prioritizes establishing a friendly rapport with them through things like gifts over, in his distrust, treating them badly so that they're scared of him and therefore don't fuck with him yadayada. His behavior, instead of exuding an aura of anger and vengeance and vying for destruction, tends to send a message of trying to be outright unthreatening, please-don't-attack-me. He's not going everywhere holding his big fuck off axe, he's seeing a new person and ducking behind his shield.

Oftentimes, I feel like this quote is pulled or paraphrased from No Way Home to show how c!Dream has become distrusting of people, vindictive, post-prison

And if that means we have to kill everybody— and ev— everybody that doesn't wanna go along with what me and Punz have to say? Everyone that doesn't want to figure it out? Then, fine! You can be simple-minded and you can die simple-minded. But! If you wanna actually know what's going on in this world, and you wanna fix it, and make it the best that we can be, and live forever? Then they can join us.

And while I'm not saying we should dismiss the whole quote as just being disingenous bluffing, I think when taken into the context of post-prison c!Dream's actions (or, well, c!Dream's actions as a whole) as well as his actions in the finale itself (such as his appealing to c!Tommy in the next stream), rather than putting the emphasis on the idea of "everyone who disagrees with me should die," c!Dream seems far more preoccupied with the idea of trying to find people who are willing to work with him to "fix" everything. People who will help him make it so that they can "live forever"--a desire he expresses in the fourth finale stream as well.

like, it's not to say that c!dream isn't vengeful. he is. i mean, i'd say moreso than vengeful, he's angry--just like how a lot of his overtures at friendliness are so deeply rooted in fear. the prison made him angry and the prison made him scared, and the anger has to be repurposed into revenge because revenge is power that he certainly didn't have when he was on his knees begging for mercy. but far from being closed off and unwilling to work with other people post-prison due to his experiences in Pandora (which. would make sense. i mean. like, he was left in there, and tortured, and betrayed. anger and revenge and a general distrust towards everyone and a desire to destroy a world that condemned him would be very easy to understand in this scenario), i'd say c!dream's interactions with people post-prison scream of a general lack of a desire to actually go through with killing people. hell, he even revives c!tommy--c!tommy! who just killed him! who c!dream outright blames for like, basically ruining his life! when revivals are literally apparently destabilizing the universe!--shortly after killing him. generally, he meets people who are dealing with him aggressively with a desire to flee moreso than with murderous intent (in genuine finale 2, for example, this guy was sure more focused on running the fuck away than he was on killing either of c!clingy), and even moreso deals with other people on the server by acting defensively and even in a manner that seems deliberately designed to get them to be more willing to work with him, or at least deal with him in a friendly way. despite his paranoia and how deeply pandora cut as a betrayal and his obvious wariness towards all people as a result (there's hardly a single interaction on the list above, after all, that doesn't have c!dream's obvious fear of people leaking all over the damn carpet), he seems to be much more focused on the idea of finding possible allies than he is on the idea of killing everyone possible.

which, i mean, makes sense. as he himself states:

#c!dreamisms #dreblr #c!dream #long post #my guy ...#c!dream. C!DREAM.#sorryi have so many damn opinions

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