Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Philia. It is defined as love similar to friendship, or brotherhood.

 You have brothers. Two half brothers to be exact, both younger than you. You wonder if this is how they feel about each other. 

You looked different than them. Not many of your siblings looked alike anyway, though, so it had never bothered you much. None of you were full siblings, either. 

There was always something that tied you each to your father. For Niki, it was her full lips. For Eret, it was their commandeering stature and brown curls. For Ranboo, the subtle slope of his nose. For you, though, it was the horns that curled around your head. 

The only one of you who looked the spitting image of dear old dad was Tobias. Brown hair, ram horns, earth-toned eyes, and even the soft jawline. Tubbo looked as if someone had taken your father’s childhood portrait and turned it to flesh and bone.

You loved your siblings, of course. You had been in charge of them for so long though, and it had worn you down over the years. 

Although Eret was older than you by a year and fourteen days, you had always felt older. Eret was just so adventurous. Not to their discredit, either, but you could never be as at peace with moving about so freely as they did. 

Until the arrival of Alex Quackity. Your father’s newest Royal consort. He was your favourite as well. Alex was kind and funny. He also took to helping you with Tubbo and Ranboo from time to time. He wasn’t Minx, but no one was. 

All this was on your mind as you pulled on a white shirt and some black trousers, lacing up your hunting boots. A servant came in and fussed over you for a bit, but then disappeared into the halls again. Finally, you were ready to go to the hall. Your father had called all of his children to break their fasts together that morning. Two Redstone rings hung from your neck on a black cord, bouncing against your chest as you walked. It had been from Eret’s mom, Minx. Her wedding ring to your father, and his to her. The only true queen. Every other partner your father had taken was a “Royal Consort”. No power, perhaps, but they did receive attention and more money than anyone could ever need.

You reached the dining hall speedily and were glad to see at least Eret and Niki conscious and well-behaved. Tubbo was flicking his blueberries into the bowl on Ranboo’s head made by his crown. This was made easier for Tubbo since Ranboo was face down in his oatmeal. 

“Sit down, fae.” Alex offered, his white smile pierced through your annoyance at your immature baby brothers, and the nickname made you match his grin. 

You pulled a chair in between your father and Eret. Eret looked nice. A white lantern-sleeved blouse covered their chest with a long green skirt that puffed from their hips. They had that ability to make anyone jealous with a glance, even dressed simply like they were that day. 

“So, dad, Alex, was there a reason we’ve gathered to break our fasts together today?” You ask, buttering a slice of bread.

“Someone has finally offered you a proper proposal”. You heard the muttered sentence. Your father had a rough accent, and his words shocked everyone at the table except for you. Ranboo shot up from his oatmeal, Tubbo dropped the blueberries, Niki’s head shot upward off of her left hand, and Eret let out a truly undignified noise of shock. You, however, calmly continued to butter your bread. 

“Oh? Who is it, Dad?” A part of you suspected it was Clay, better known as Dream, the King of Zeamor. He wasn’t awful, not really, despite what all of your siblings thought. He was a boastful young man, perhaps, but not truly awful. He was handsome, and above your station. It was just that he was so very not like you. He did not like to read, he did not like to ride horseback, and he did not like to shoot. He liked only to conquer. You could conquer, of course, you were your father’s best general, but you had other interests. Normal interests.

“Do you remember Crown Prince Technoblade of the Antarctic Empire?” Alex asked, giving you a soft squeeze of your hand under the table told you that this was not a union approved by him. 

“Indeed. Is it him? I suppose we would make a useful union. Would we inherit their military power?” You asked, reaching to wipe Ranboo’s face of a bit of leftover oatmeal. 

“Yes, but that’s not why we’re doing this. The drought on the eastern border still hasn’t cleared up, and the famine to the west is still a problem too. The antarctic Empire is strong, and they have agreed that integrating Melaista into their Empire under an Alliance would be mutually beneficial since they need some  money or something.” Your father explained, taking a bite of some breaded jam. 

“Mhm. Alright then. So will they be coming here or should we have to travel?” You were talking, but you were also attempting to bring your siblings to a reasonable mentality about the situation.

“We’ll be travelling. You’re okay with this?” Your father was a good parent, truly he was, but he truly had no tact. Even if you weren’t okay with this, you were second-born. You were always going to have an arranged marriage. It was something you had known for as long as you had known anything at all. Eret would be king, and you would be married off, and Niki would become a royal adviser.

 You weren’t sure entirely why everyone else was so shocked. Your family was certainly unorthodox for royalty, but surely no one thought you would be a general until you were too old to fight, right?

Besides, as a second-born, you had nothing to complain about. You had always been free to pursue whatever you pleased, and you were going to marry someone of the same standing as you.

 Eret had always told you as children they wished you were born first, if only so that you could lead and they could do whatever they pleased until they were married.

“Yes, of course. Why ever wouldn’t I be?” You hummed, as your family stared at you in shock. Oh, Ender, they did think you would stay an unmarried general forever, didn’t they?

“Well, we’ll be off at the end of the month, then, I suppose.” Alex squeezed your hand again. 

“Will we be allowed to come, dad?” Tubbo finally piped, pulling his jaw off of the floor. 

“I don’t think-” Started your father, but you and Alex both knew how it would break your siblings’ hearts if they thought this meant you would never see them again. 

“Jay,” Alex said sternly. Your father went silent.

“That’d be great, Toby. You all would be such comforts.” You smiled, patting your brother on the head in between his small horns, which were still growing.

The rest of breakfast carried on as though no news had been given at all. Your father and Tubbo talked about your country home in Terraria, which they both adored, Eret and Niki joked about making a new Melaista flag, and Ranboo attempted to eat what was left of his oatmeal, only Tubbo still flicked blueberries at him. 

When you finally left breakfast, it was late morning, and you had a million things to do. Change, first. You could hardly be dressed like a Hunter all day. 

You pulled on the overcoat you had worn in battle only a year prior. It was adorned with medals, a royal blue that proved you were more than a fastidious young dignitary. You had come of age in battle and had earned the title of the War Fae. It made you sound much more frightening than you felt, but at least fae made you smile. Eret’s first word had been fairy, and he had pointed at you while saying it. After that, it had become a family nickname, and you could scarcely make it through a conversation without hearing it.

Then, of course, there was your crown. Not a smaller version of your father’s, like what Eret and Ranboo wore. Not a golden tiara, like Niki’s, and not an attachment that latched onto your horns and stretched from one to the other over your hair, like the piece Tubbo had worn since his small nubs had grown in.

You didn’t really like crowns all that much. They were heavy, uncomfortable, and didn’t fit well over your horns. 

The crown you were often forced into was a silver circlet, with minimal loops, of which could be tucked just above your ears. It was closer to a headband, truly. There was only one gem, upon your father’s request. A single Redstone gem fell on your forehead and bounced softly with every step you took. 

Then, you were off to attend to your duties, most of which were technically Eret’s. 

You wouldn’t say your older sibling was a bad heir, or that they didn’t do to their duties at all. Eret had simply been ill-equipped for all of the duties that came with being of age. 

First, you had to call for your lady in waiting. She was new and as sweet as a flower, which made her name all the more sensible. Hannah Rose wasn’t exactly overeager, but she was certainly surprised when you specifically asked for her to be your lady in waiting, and became the hardest worker you had ever met. You asked a passing servant for her, and they nodded. She was by your side not ten minutes later. 

“What do we need to do first, Hannah?” You asked, falling in step alongside the girl who was only a year your junior. 

“We have to go argue with some lords about their land, grant some farmers their extra grain due to the famine and drought, and then some early-stage wedding planning,” The fact that Hannah was aware of the proposal was a surprise and not at the same time. You knew that she had probably been told because she was your lady in waiting, but it still shocked you to know that anyone outside of the family was aware at all. 

“Oh! And Duke Samuel is home from his dignitary trip, so you might want to see him.” That stopped you in your tracks. Uncle Sam? Your godfather was often out of the kingdom on dignitary trip after dignitary trip. It was a blessing from the Goddess that he was home, especially now that you were to be married. Wait, did he know? Had your father told him or would you have to break the news? You hoped it had been your dad. You weren’t sure if you could tell him if you tried. Perhaps you should attempt to process this situation, but you hardly had time. Life moved on, whether you processed it or not. 

“Alright. And after, I should help my brothers pack. Eret and Niki will be fine, though,” You hummed, before starting back up, “Let’s go help these farmers!

-------

The meetings with the farmers were dreadful. One by one they ranted at you about crops as if you were the one who had dried up the rivers or the one who made the soil harden. 

You gave them gold from the treasury for their troubles and sent them on their way. 

Then there was the wedding planning. Oh, how dreadful. There was so much you hadn’t considered. You tried to remember Minx’s wedding to your dad, but all you could recall was white. 

Blinding white, everywhere. White flowers, white pillars, white dress, white, white, white. 

It was the opposite of your mother’s funeral. Black flowers, black pillars, black coffin, black, black, black.

But neither of those were exactly wedding planning ideas. 

It turned out that even though your wedding was a full ten months away, there was more to decide than flowers and clothing. Budgets, guest lists, venues, and caterers.

You hadn’t even known you needed more than one venue, let alone authorizing everyone in every kingdom to come, and you hadn’t even met your fiance yet! It was too much, plain and simple. But you and Hannah concluded your troubles involving the budget with the Secretary of Treasury, Ponk, who happened to be Uncle Sam’s husband. He was a smart man, certainly, if not a hothead, and arguing over thousands of gold ingots was not as pleasant as grabbing a bite to eat with him. It was an aggressive conversation, and he would argue with you down to a single iron nugget if he had to. 

And so finally, finally , you could go see your uncle. 

Duke Samuel Warden was the best person on the planet, in your opinion. He was fun and tall, and an amazing engineer. Engineers were invaluable, especially because Melaista was a country rich with Redstone, and Sam Warden was the best engineer there. Being his godchild was like a dream. You were spoiled rotten from the time you were a baby by him and were as close to a child as he ever claimed to want. Your other siblings had their godparents, but none of them were as close as you were to Sam. Sam loved to give you gifts, and he loved giving you PVP training, so you had a surplus of both. He was everything you idolized. Calm and collected, strong and protective, and intelligent in every sense of the word. 

You had always felt that you were treated more delicately than your siblings, especially Eret, but Sam had never seen you that way. If it weren’t for that, you would have never become a general. A god of War in the eyes of your people.

So imagine how you squealed with delight when he hugged you after you opened the door to his study. “Uncle Sammy!” 

“Hi, Moonbeam! How are we doing?” He smiled, pulling away and giving you a pat on the head, which you leaned into. 

“I’m well, Uncle! Mind if I sit and talk to you for a bit?” You asked, rolling on the balls of your feet and giving a cheeky grin which you reserved especially for news. 

“Oh no, What’d you do?” He asked, his face dropping comically. 

You gasped as dramatically as you could. “I didn’t do anything. If you have a problem with what I’m about to say, take it up with my dad!” 

“That’s worse, you get how that’s worse, right, kiddo?”

“Oh hush.” 

You think he’s about to continue the small talk, but you don’t let him even start when you blurt out; “I’m getting married in ten months.”  Uncle Sam pauses and gives a huff. It’s somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh, and you don’t know if it’s exasperation or concern. Perhaps both. 

“That’s certainly something, pumpkin. Who, and please don’t say King Dream or King George. Those boys have more than enough going on.” 

“No, it’s actually-” you say technoblade, but only ever so quietly. No more than a murmur. 

“Who?” 

“Tcnblde.”

“Speak up, please.”

“Tenobade.”

“Kid.” 

“Technoblade.” You finally spit. And then it hits you. I mean really hits you. Your dad had told you at 10 in the morning and it was 4 pm .

“I’m, I'm getting married.” You mutter,  stumbling back. “I’m getting married , Sam.”

‘“Yeah, you told me.”

“But I haven’t really processed it. I’m not going to be a Schlatt. I’m not going to live here anymore. Like permanently. Dad is gonna walk me down the aisle. I’m getting married. I’m going to have to have children . I’m going to rule beside him. Over an entire nation. With no big siblings with which to share the burden. I am to marry a crown prince. I have never been the heir. Sam, I’m getting married .” 

You were ashamed of how quickly the tears ran down your face. You were getting married to a crown prince in a country you had never been to before. Who would reprimand Eret when he asked an inappropriate question? Who’s going to wipe the oatmeal from Ranboo’s face when he wakes up at breakfast? Pick Niki’s outfits? Sing Tubbo to sleep ? 

You collapsed in Sam’s arms as he attempted to hold you upright. He pulled you into his arms, him in a chair and you curled up on his lap, although you were far too old to be there. He pressed his lips to your head, humming so you could hear something besides your own choked sobs and your blood rushing. “Shh. It’ll be okay, Fae. You’re growing up. That’s all. Shh. It’s alright. I’m here. Feel for my heartbeat, okay?” You did, hesitantly, curling your head against his chest. You tapped the steady thrum of his chest until you felt less nauseous and the sobs had slowed and turned to whimpers.

“I’m so sorry for this, Uncle Sam.”  You brushed your tears from your face, still pressed against your uncle.

“Never apologize for crying, kid.” 

You thought maybe Uncle Sam was right. Everything would be okay.

Chapter Text

Ludus is defined as a love that is playful and affectionate, a love that is not entirely serious.

Except, this is a type of love most foreign to you. Every relationship in your life had an air of seriousness. Hannah was your best friend, who had seen you at the best and worst times of your life. Sam was an ever-present father figure when your dad was just spread too thin. Your brothers were practically your sons. Niki was your student. Eret was who you split all of your responsibilities with. Alex was your equal in the family dynamic, but it weighed heavily on your relationship that you were the child of his husband. You had no, playful relationships. No relationships without strings. 

This trip is going to be great, or so you hope. Your brothers have behaved since the announcement. Perhaps they didn’t want to upset you, or perhaps they were worried, but you had only caught them running through the halls with jars of bees twice throughout the month. Today was the last of the month, and you were agitated. You had to leave this morning, and would most likely be in the Antarctic Empire by tomorrow evening. Then, your schedule was packed. Not just for the next nine months, but the rest of your life. Wedding planning, and besides that, parties and balls and soirees. It was only made worse by the fact that it was spring, and thusly, the debut of many young Ladies, Lords, Duchesses, and Dukes. Everyone in Noble society was searching for their match, but yours was already made. 

Maybe Technoblade was kind. Maybe he was not. Maybe he was akin to King Dream, kind on the surface, but cruel to those he conquered. Did Prince Technoblade like to conquer? Did he ride horseback? Read? Draw? Perhaps he played an instrument? He was an enigma to you. A black hole in the shape of a man. Looking back, you believed you had met him, once, but the memory of the ten-year-old boy was so dissimilar to the tales of the Blood God you had heard, you struggled to believe it.

He was stiff. It was the first thing you noticed about the boy. He had blond hair and red eyes, and he was stiff. He stood like a piece of bark. You were sure his back hurt. You stood straight, of course, but never so stiff . It was almost distracting. After a few moments of your daddy being in the room with his new consort, you were sent to go see the new baby. Eret had one hand in his pockets, and the other was holding Niki. The blond boy’s brother wasn’t paying much attention. He had brown hair and eyes, which looked similar So of course, you and Mr. Red Eyes had to go in and see the baby by yourselves. You had spent all afternoon peering at the awkward boy over your copy of Greek Myths for Children. The baby’s mom was asleep again, which Daddy and Mr. King Phil had discussed over your head. You attempted to look over the crib bars, but you were too short. You kept jumping, but you still couldn’t see your new brother. 

The boy pulled a chair over from the corner of the room. “Stand on it. You can see him better that way.” 

“But what if I fall? Or if I get in trouble?” You asked, tilting your seven-year-old bobblehead to the side like a puppy. 

“I’ll catch you if you fall, and I’m older, so I’ll take the blame.” He shrugged like it was no big deal. But to you, a child with stars in your eyes, he might as well have given you the sun. 

“That doesn’t sound very fair for you.” You mumbled, still confused. 

“I think I would be very sad if I’m not tall enough to see Tommy when Momza has him, so I don’t think it’s fair to you that you’re too small to see inside right now.” He answered. He put his palm in yours to help you step onto the chair, and the world fell away for a moment. 

The baby boy in the crib had your undivided attention. His eyes were wired shut and his mouth was open in a yawn. He was so small. There were thin patches of scruffy brown hair on his little head, and his little hands reached up blindly. You just looked. And looked. Bending over the rails of the crib, you stared in awe at your new baby brother.

When you were sure you had forever memorized his face, you turned back to the boy, and he picked you up and placed you back down on the cold tile. “I’m Technoblade.” He introduced rolling on the balls of his feet. You told him your name in response, and he nodded so seriously you began to laugh.

“Heh? What’s so funny?” He asked, looking down at you.

“You’re very serious.” You explain scrunching up your nose. 

He stuck his tongue out at you, and then you did the same, but you still put your hand out for a handshake. He took it, and then you both grinned wildly at each other. Your father’s newest consort woke up a moment later, and you never saw the boy again. 

You stepped into the carriage with ease, the red cape you were forced into that morning swishing behind you. The outfit you wore today was radiant, but you felt out of place in it. Black leather pants, a white poet’s blouse of which was embroidered with golden flowers and more Redstone jewelry than you could handle. Strings of gold with Redstone attached to them connected your horns, and a traditional crown, not dissimilar to what your father and Ranboo wore -although it was a bit smaller to make way for the horns that curled upwards from your scalp- sat on your head.

Your brothers were practically vibrating with anticipation. Niki was pulling at her lace sleeves, and Eret was facing the floor. 

You placed a hand on her bicep, and their stark white eyes slowly raised to look at you. You dug into a pocket in your cape and produced the sunglasses that his stylists had confiscated. She gaped, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. They pulled you into their side, after putting the glasses on. “You are the best sibling ever,” Eret mumbled.  

Tubbo gasped as overdramatically as possible. “How could you?” He shouted at the top of his lungs. You cringed at the noise. “Canon Kill?” Ranboo began to stand up, although his upper back hit the ceiling. You kicked your Tubbo in the shins and Niki pulled Ranboo down by his arm. “Shut up, you little termites.” You rolled your eyes. 

“This is going to be a long ride,” Your Dad muttered. Sam shook his head with a hidden smile.

“Would you rather they be stuffy, normal royalty?” Eret asked. You, along with all of your siblings straightened your posture immediately and began making harumph noises. 

“Father, this lace is uncomfortable!” Niki complained. “Father, this carriage is far too small!” Ranboo shook his head. “Why is this ride so long, father?” Tubbo took his turn in bemoaning. 

And of course, your turn; “Father, why can’t I wear diamonds, Redstone is so incredibly last season!”

Your dad laughed, and you found a certain euphoria in hearing him happy. He was always so serious, and you missed joking with him. “Alright, ya little fucks, I hear you, now quit.” 

“Really though, Dad, are we there yet?” Tubbo said. “Alright, Tubbo, first canon kill!” Ranboo announced, pulling a tiny diamond dagger from his pocket. Niki yanked him down again, and he grumbled something about oppression. You leaned across and smacked his head. “You are a literal prince. You’re the opposite of oppressed.” You roll your eyes again. 

You drift to sleep sometime that evening whilst listening to your siblings bicker, and when you awake, the carriage is still lurching forward. It must be early morning, as no one is awake. Schlatt, Sam, and Alex must have moved carriages when they fed the horses last night, as they’re gone. The sun was beginning to peek past the mountains, shy and pure. Oranges, blues, pinks and purples paled and swirled around her as she gained confidence and rose. The countryside is not Melaista, as light snow and yellow grass paint the ground. You are slowly beginning to drift back to sleep before Niki wakes up, and you concluded that you would not sleep. 

You finally realize how this must affect Niki. Tubbo and Ranboo were naturally upset, and you could feel the worry pulsating off of Eret, but what about Niki. She was probably scared out of her mind. She had followed you everywhere since you were small, and now you were leaving . You pressed your hand to hers without explanation, and despite her confusion, she leaned into your touch. 

Tubbo rubs the sleep from his eyes and taps you on the leg. “Yeah, Tubbo?” You hummed, your hand never leaving your sister. “Can you read us something?” His chocolate puppy-dog eyes made it hard to say no. From where she was, Eret, eyes closed and head in hand, mumbled, “Needy little shit.”

“Shut up!” Tubbo shoved Eret. You sighed. “Really though, You have Brothers Karamazov

 in your satchel, don’t you?” Niki said, staring at you with her crystal blue eyes. You relented by silently pulling the book from your bag, to Niki and Tubbo’s cheers and Eret’s dismay. Ranboo grumbles awake but perks up at the sight of the book perched in your lap. “We’re reading?” He asks, eyes widening in joy. 

“Just about to start,” You hum.

Alexey Fyodorovitch Karamazov was the third son of Fyodor Pavlovitch Karamazov, a landowner well known in our district in his own day, and still remembered among us owing to his gloomy and tragic death, which happened thirteen years ago, and which I shall describe in its proper place. For the present, I will only say that this ‘landowner’ — for so we used to call him, although he hardly spent a day of his life on his own estate — was a strange type, yet one pretty frequently to be met with, a type abject and vicious and at the same time senseless. But he was one of those senseless persons who are very well capable of looking after their worldly affairs, and, apparently, after nothing else. Fyodor Pavlovitch, for instance, began with next to nothing; his estate was of the smallest; he ran to dine at other men’s tables, and fastened on them as a toady, yet at his death it appeared that he had a hundred thousand roubles in hard cash. At the same time, he was all his life one of the most senseless, fantastical fellows in the whole district.

You made it well into chapter 6 before the sunset began and the carriage stopped. You cringed. It was time. No more stalling. No more being distracted by your siblings, although the four of them had done an excellent job at it. Time to meet your husband. You readjusted the uncomfortable crown atop your head and pulled at the string of Redstone decorated gold under your chin that connected your horns. You continue to pick and pull at yourself until you finally see Callahan, a reindeer hybrid and a knight, appear to open the door. You thanked him, although he said nothing back. He had taken a vow of silence long before you had met him. You pick up the train of your cape and step, slowly, out of the carriage. You breathe a sigh of relief to know you will meet him inside. 

You take Niki’s hand, and she, in all her glory, steps out. You think she would be better for this task, as socially aware and intelligent as she is. Tubbo and Ranboo practically jump out of the carriage, and you roll your eyes. Eret adjusts your cloak, and hums, “I cannot wait for the day your eyes get stuck.” She mumbles. You give Eret a light shove. “Hush.”

You take tremulous steps forward, attempting not to shake with dread. It’ll be okay, Fae. Uncle Sam’s voice echoed in your head. You took a shaky breath and steeled yourself as the doors opened. The great palace doors creaked, and you realized how much larger the Empire palace was than your own. It was more intimidating, too, made from Quartz and blue concrete in place of the sandstone and terracotta you were used to. You wondered if the people were as cold as the country.

The throne room was decorated in blue and gold and was truly plentiful in wealth. There was a part of you that had never disappeared after the war that was disgusted. Each gold thread was enough for three arrows or six bread loaves. You still felt that disgust every time you got dressed in the morning. Every time you ate with your family. Every time you walked the halls of your home. It knawed away at you, making it hard to breathe. But the soft feeling of guilt tripled itself in this throne room, more expensive than even your own. You had only seen one other throne room like this. King Dreams. Even the thought made you sick. But the room, while gorgeous, paled in comparison to the royal family at the end of it. 

It would hard to tell which of the three tall, buff men was the king if you didn’t recognize that he was the same King Phil that came every time your father had a child and the same King Phil that lived in History Books for his peace agreement with the End Queen in his first year of ruling, although the war between the overworld and the End had lasted since before his father was born. 

When you had finally crossed the long walkway to the head of the room, you were the first to fall into a bow, your siblings following with practiced grace. They returned the favour. Except for your father and King Phil. They stared at each other with folded arms, and the tension thickened by the second. Until they bounded into a hug, and you huffed a soft breath. 

“Jay! You’ve grown old!” King Phil shook your dad by the shoulder. 

“Phil! You’re short as the devil!” Your dad shook him back.

“I’m sure you don’t recognize these little-” Your father began before you went to interrupt him, clocking the alarming number of minors in the room. “Father, maybe we could save that language for when we happen to be in a room where everyone is over the age of 18?” You hum.

He nods exaggeratedly, and that is the end of that. “Speaking of which, introduce yourself, brats.” He claps you on the back and you smile, a quick introduction passing your lips. 

Eret follows, and then Niki, Tubbo, and Ranboo, in a familiar order. Your family has always gone in this order. You, Eret, Niki, Tubbo, Ranboo, one after the other. The tallest man, with long pink hair in a braid and a domineering pig mask, kept his eyes laser-focused on you. Your oh-so-loving fiance. It was annoying. You already felt under constant observance without him and his filled-in eyes. It was disturbing. 

Your father and King Phil converse a while more, and you zone out almost entirely. It’s boring and entirely unrelated to you. It’s not Kings having a discussion, it’s two friends catching up.

 Eventually, the Queen, Kristen if you recalled, took everyone down the hall to a great dining room. If the throne room was disgusting, the food in the dining hall was nauseating. How many could this have fed on the front lines? How many farmers could this compensate? 

Still, you pulled up a chair next to Eret and sat. You pushed away from the urge to burrow the food from sight and give it to others as soon as you could. You realized that this was going to be a very hard 9 months. 

As the feast began, you realized the Antarctic royal family was not like your own. The children were down the table, several seats from the adults,  and they weren’t having any fun. It hit you how unconventional your own family was. You were always aware, but they truly didn’t banter with each other, and it was unsettling. 

Down on the children’s end, Tubbo and Ranboo seemed to be getting along with the younger prince, which made you proud. They both were in desperate need of more friends. They were also, thank the goddess, being kind to the small boy of whom you couldn’t place. He couldn’t have been older than five, and his hair was a rusty orange. An oversized black hat with tiny gold shapes on it covered the base of two, barely visible, fox ears. He had a missing front tooth as if he wasn’t endearing enough. 

But it was far less cheerful up at the front. You ate in silence. Eret finally offered up a conversation starter. “So, this palace is certainly grand.” They all stared at her, which set off alarms in your head, so you decided to save your older sibling. 

“Oh, certainly,” You crooned, perhaps overdramatically. “The architecture is such a different style to our home, I thought perhaps we had come upon a city!” The wording was exaggerated and formal, but it succeeded in making your family a bit more comfortable in the cold walls. 

Niki gave a small hum in agreement, and you felt your heart swell. Niki was ever the diplomat. “Must be bigger than the inner city of the capital back home! I love the colours. And the food is divine, you must send our compliments to the chefs, your Majesties.” 

Queen Kristen, apparently better versed in the art of a civilized conversation than her family, gave a warm smile. “We most certainly will, your highness. The chef is a new one, so I am pleased to hear your enjoyment.”

“Do you perhaps know his name? I knew a great many chefs from this area when-” You started, before being cut off.

“Alright,” Declared Technoblade, in a tone that told you that he was not going to engage in empty small talk like a good royal. “Are you going to do this forever, or can we address the elephant in the room.” He practically spits the words out, and you felt an extreme rage spark up in you. How dare he speak to you that way? 

“I see no need to address the coming wedding, given we’re all adults who know what’s going to happen.” You calmly mutter, the fact that it’s not the wedding, but your wedding tugging at your stomach. 

The man with brown hair and soft eyes, taller than you and the scrawniest of his family, gave a warning smile to his brother. “They’re right, it may be best for us to behave .” 

“I apologize for him, please do go on?” he offered, a charming smirk gracing his lips. 

“When I was in the army, I recall having eaten a meal quite similar to this, of course, not of such great quality. Maybe I know him.” You state as simply as possible, but not bringing up a new topic as you had before. The air is stagnant for a moment, before Tubbo, of all people, went about saving you by jumping up from his seat and running to your side, while the young Antarctic prince went about screeching involving rules and where one was to eat. “Whatever is the matter, Toby?” You ask, your voice going from an ice dagger to a warm hearth in mere seconds. 

“I want a pet bee, but Ranboo said that probably wasn’t possible, and now I’m upset!” your brother whimpered. The familial reaction was immediate. Eret stood, without a word, to explain to Ranboo why that probably wasn’t the best thing to say to his bee-obsessed brother. Alex produced a small chapter book, and you switched seats so that he could eat with you all. Eret soon returned, an apologetic Ranboo in tow. The other family was in a state of shock as they watched you all drop the royal facade. 

Once everyone was settled again, none of your family cared to divulge in mindless chatter, so they simply pretended it was not a feast at all. 

Ranboo fell asleep, as he often did at mealtimes. Thankfully, he didn’t plop face-first into his dinner, his head laying on Niki’s shoulder. Tubbo was going on a tangent to a bored Eret about Redstone mechanics, as he was wont to do. You, however, decided to be advantageous and attempt to fold the new in with the familiar. Queen Kristen and Alex were having a conversation about something or other, and your father was laughing with King Phil. Taking a bold step, you looked over at the boy with brown hair and eyes. “D’ya wanna invite those poor souls down there to join us? Can’t be very fun for them down there.” It was a nudge, at least. Enough to tell him that your family was soon to be theirs. The man smiled and retrieved them. 

Technoblade was content to sit with a book. A part of you noted that it was Art of War, and perhaps that loosened your rage a tad. It was the type of book that could make someone a bit snappy. 

Dinner ends when all of the children are dozing off and the table, and before you can look for Hannah to take you to your room, you are pulled aside by the prince with the brown hair. 

“I just wanted to thank you. For not blowing up at my brother and for having everyone eat together. It was nice. New.” 

Unsure of what to do, you muttered a soft, “You’re welcome,” in a state of utter shock. 

The antarctic Empire was clearly not as bad as you had spent the day thinking if even one of the Princes was so genuine, and it was nice to have a friend.

Chapter Text

Mania love is a type of love that leads a partner into a type of madness and obsessiveness. You have felt the exact opposite for Technoblade. He is the worst possible husband. He is aggressive, tactless, and hardheaded. 

But, he isn’t like Dream. He likes to read, and paint. He likes to take care of his family. He has feelings, which is a damn surprise. He’s honestly quite similar to you, even if you would rather perish than ever admit such a thing. 

On the bright side, you’ve made good friends with his younger twin, Prince Wilbur. Will actually reminds you of your father, in a few ways. Crude in jest, but still charming. Extremely political, but with graceful tact. A flirt with a heart of gold. He was a walking contradiction and it was glorious to watch. 

The arguing has made both your father and his extremely tense. A part of you wanted to ask if you could end the engagement altogether. However, you were not only extremely worried about the political effects of such a decision, (Wars had been waged over less), you had also put in nearly three months worth of effort into a gorgeous wedding, and you were too stubborn to give up now. But Technoblade certainly made that a hard goal. 

He was making it particularly hard today. You were tucked away in your corner of the library, happily humming and reading the Odyssey. You were slouched into a plush, velvety red chair that was warm and comfortable. Books were stacked around you, casting soft shadows against your skin. The Odyssey was a book of which was most familiar to you. It was your own copy, the one you had received from Sam on your thirteenth birthday. It’s pages were yellowed and torn, it’s book jacket long misplaced, and yet it still greeted you like an old friend. There were many books of which you could start, but the love Odysseus and Penelope shared drove you back every time. 

When you were a child, it was Odysseus that impressed you. Ten years of which he had sailed, spurred on by the love of his wife. Now, in the cold halls of the Antarctic Empire, it was Penelope who impressed you. To wait ten years was the true feat. To raise her son alone. To lead a country alone, purely because she believed her love would return. You wished you could care for someone with such fervor. 

Of course, the peace that you were granted by the thirty square feet of books was disrupted by the sound of footsteps. They were Technoblades, you were certain. He, with little decorum, picked a book up off the top of the precariously placed stacks surrounding you, although you were still entirely hidden by the ridiculous amount of literature. He moved to pass you when your eyes met again. He was on the receiving end of a truly deadly glare from you, and although he returned it, you couldn’t help but notice something else in his eyes. A sort of softness. Then, his nose scrunched up ever so slightly and he made his way to the complete opposing side of the library. 

You cannot, for the life of you, focus on Odysseus’ narrow escape from Circe’s island, because you’re looking at him. You’re glaring, but you're also observing. His hair has started to grow again, and you can see the beginning of blond roots. He has nothing to do today, you suppose, if he has time to bother sitting in the library and reading. He’s so focused, and it’s addicting to watch his eyes flit across the page at lightning speed. His eyes are red, but they have twinges of oranges and brown and gold, dancing like a flame as he absorbs the words. It is a wonder to see his eyes without the mask he wore most of the time. He licks his lips over and over again, as if the dryness is bothering him, but not enough for him to put on some salve as a long term solution.  There is no crown on his head, and you wonder what that might be like. You missed the feeling of there being absolutely nothing weighing down your neck. You had been adorned in all your finery since you had arrived, and it was truly despicable. But still, him. 

You weren’t glaring anymore, you realized. Your face must have softened at some point. Maybe when you had stopped thinking so negatively of him. But then, he must have felt your stare, because his own eyes shoot upward to meet you. He goes red, and you feel your body warm, starting at your neck and crawling up your skin like ants. Your eyes immediately stopped scanning him and looked back to the Odyssey, though of course you couldn’t focus. He was still looking at you, eyes like fire heating your skin. Perhaps it was really fire, and not embarrassment that burned your cheeks.  He was certainly hot enough. Alright, where had that come from? You knew he was attractive, but such thoughts were truly abhorrent.

 He finally looked away, and you had practically sunk into your chair in relief. I will address whatever that was later. You decide with a soft hum. His eyes shoot back up at the noise, and now you are truly bothered. You can hardly spend all day looking at each other like some bashful, lovey-dovey fiances! Although, what were the two of you if not fiances. You were not acquaintances, nor friends, nor lovers. You were engaged. And so you slammed your book into your lap, and he jumped ever so slightly in fear. “Are we going to do this all day? Because we are hardly schoolchildren.” You say it a bit too loudly, and too awkward to sound like you truly care if he’s looking at you or not. He rolls his eyes, the ones like fire, and you realize why their beauty isn’t always obvious. Because you are too busy finding him annoying to appreciate them. 

“You’re the one who was staring at me like some sort of pursuing noble.” And we were back. Moment over. 

“I am hardly a pursuing noble! And even if I were, what makes you think I would ever pursue you ?” You scoff. Perhaps you’re pushing, but it’s entirely his fault for looking so excruciatingly striking. 

“Oh please,” He rebukes, and you know he is going to say something upsetting. “At least my father isn’t a temperamental ruler.” And there it is.

He’s right, of course. Melaista wasn’t in a famine for no reason, and you certainly hadn’t fought a four-year war in your imagination. Melaista had fallen on hard times because despite his giving nature as a parent, your father was at his best when he took things as a ruler. All of your siblings had responded to it differently. You fought wars, Eret went to far-off places, and Niki argued with your father directly. With luck, Tubbo and Ranboo would be unaware of the reason for the state of Melaista for a few more years, but you already knew how Tubbo would lash out and Ranboo would go silent, as they always did with upsetting information. It was why Technoblade’s comment was so extremely upsetting, because damn it, you knew . 

“At least my family is close enough that it doesn’t really matter.” You bite back. 

And although it is slightly immature, it feels good to aim low. Because it wasn’t wrong either. Until you had arrived, they ate dinner in silence, with large gaps in between the children and the adults. The kids were tucked in by a governess or a nursery maid without a lullaby in sight. No one sat to eat breakfast or lunch together. Your family had quickly remedied this. Of course, there was the first dinner, but Eret tucked Tommy and Fundy in with her smooth, deep voice and comforting presence the same way they did for Tubbo and Ranboo. Breakfast and lunch were as fast remedied as asking the workers in the palace to bring them all to the dining hall. 

“Stuck-up.” He muttered into his book, raising it again to read. 

“Stick in the mud.” You bit back. 

After leaving the library that afternoon, you decided to release some tension the best way you knew how. Training. 

It was a slow build as you practiced your mixed martial arts against the dummy. High kick, Uppercut, low kick, right hook. It wasn’t simple for you, in fact you were sweating in seconds, but it felt like home. 

Until, of course, he had the same idea to relax. 

“Are you,” You paused for breath, a pant breaking through your lips, “Are you fucking following me?” You offer the words as your dismissal of the prick prince, but he clearly does not take the hint.

“Why would I follow you ?” He asks, arms crossed. 

“I think I should be allowed exercise in my own castle,” you can feel his judgement from his place behind you, so you turn, and thank the dragon you do, because he is a sight . No cape, no crown, and no waistband to hold him back. Your fiance makes his way through the world. His long hair is pulled up into a bun, and his over-embroidered shirt has been replaced with a black shirt that cuts off before his shoulders and bares his collarbone. It’s hardly indecent, but it certainly reminds you that in a competition of pure strength, he could probably crush your head between his arms like a grapefruit. 

Something about that sparks something in you, because you say, “Fight me.” 

He quirks his eyebrows before shooting a punch at you, but you are already gone, moving like wind past his fist.

 You find yourself behind him. High kick.  

He turns, and you are suddenly dodging a barrage of punches, but then he reels back for one more. Uppercut. 

He stumbles. Low kick.  

You both fall, yourself on top of him.

Right hook. Your better judgement urges, but you can’t complete the combo.

Why can’t you complete the combo? 

Because you are holding yourself up with your hands on either side of his head, with your faces mere inches from each other. 

Because you can feel his warm breath. 

Because you two are panting in unison. 

Because he goes to sit up and you follow, until you are just sitting in his lap. Breathing and feeling and existing and most certainly not arguing. 

In a silent question of which is extremely soft of the man you have been arguing with for the past two months, he presses his forehead to yours. You respond, and you must be there for a good five minutes, simply catching your breath until the absurdity of the situation hits you and you laugh. Clear and loud and unapologetically laugh . 

Because you just had a spat with this man due to the fact you were looking over books at each other and why the fuck didn’t the two of you get along anyways?

He just stares at you, and the softness from earlier is no longer hidden. He is simply in awe at the sound of you laughing. 

You make eye contact, and there is a silent agreement to not speak of this particular training session, but maybe you don’t hate him after all.

Chapter Text

Agape is defined as a love that is universal. The type of love that can come through blood or be forged through battle. 

In other news, Sapnap is coming. Sapnap is coming. You could scream. Sapnap was as close to you as you thought a person besides Hannah could be. His real name was Nick, but every soldier got a nickname from their comrades. He was Sapnap. Yours was Crown, for obvious reasons, but you thought the origin of Sapnap was a funny one. He was a sap when he talked about his darling parents and best friends who awaited him back home, so for at least a year, he was just sap. Then, he fell asleep in the middle of a battle, and rather than give him a new nickname, he was dubbed Sapnap. 

Over the past four months, you and Techno had come to something of a truce, with Wilbur and Eret’s “help”. Otherwise known as shoving the two of you into rooms together. You weren’t in love, certainly, and you weren’t really friends, but you cared about him now. He cared about you now. It was a dynamic that would work in your marriage, in theory. Enough kindness and trust to rule a country together, but he was no Odysseus, and you were certainly no Penelope. There was care, but certainly not love. Although, that didn’t mean you didn’t want to be in love. Just the opposite, you wanted so desperately to love him and feel that love in return, and it was frustrating as all hell that you couldn’t verbalize that to him. Because how exactly would you explain to him that even though he didn’t love you and you didn’t love him, you wanted that to be the case? Nothing would change because he didn’t love you.

This is why it is such a shock to see him react to Sapnap’s coming visit with such jealousy. 

“Technoblade, I have an old companion coming to visit, so please don’t be too much of a bother.” That was another thing you could do now. Tease each other without fighting. 

“Companion? Who is she?” He was doing some form of paperwork, which he did not even look up from to respond to you. You move a bit farther into his study. 

It is a nice room, you suppose. A tall, leather chair sits behind a mahogany desk, although the wood is hardly visible from the papers stacked upon it. There are books on every shelf, and the room is, despite its small size, quite comfortable. There is a bell on a small side table of which you assumed was for prayer, and something hung on the wall which catches your eye. It is a long, gorgeous axe. It is a warm grey-black, underneath the shining blues, greens, and purples of its enchantments. A shining label underneath says Axe of Peace. You wonder where he got the thing. It’s gorgeous, to be sure. Where did he have it enchanted? You didn’t know of any mages from here, and even your magic was shaky and unpracticed. 

You returned his question with an overdramatic gasp. “Do you really think I only keep female companions?”

“Well you have Hannah,” He explained, still not facing you. 

“What in the devil are you doing?” You place both hands on his desk and lean down. 

He looks up, “Nothing,” He says, although you know it’s something . “So, this companion?” It’s a silent question. He wants more information. 

“His name is Sir Nicholas, Nick, he’s an old war buddy. Low-born, and he’s a knight now. He’s from Clay’s kingdom.”

“You two are,” He pauses, searching for the right word, “Close?” It’s an odd thing for him to say. You suppose you are close with Nick, but why should it matter? 

“I mean, I guess.” You mutter though you don’t know why you’re bashful. Nick is like your brother, and Technoblade doesn’t care for you in that way. “He’s sort of like an extra baby brother.” You say it a little too fast, and he definitely notices from how he scrunches his nose. 

“Alright,” He responds. And this is what you hate. The unresolved, thick tension poisoning the oxygen. 

“Well, I guess that’s all. He’s going to be at dinner, so, that’s basically it.” You are still mumbling and stuttering over your words, and it’s frustrating. You want to speak clearly. 

You trip out of the room and stand outside the castle waiting for Nick to arrive. You must be there for twenty or so minutes before you see a silky black horse and a head of black hair of which you would know if you were blind. Nick.

He jumps off the horse while it’s still trotting and runs up to you. “Crownie!” He all but screams. By the time you even think to move, his arms are tight around you. “Sap!” You press a tight kiss to his scarred cheek. 

“I missed you!” You all but scream into his ear as he swoops you up practically into the air. He’s always been exceptionally buff. Far too buff, in your opinion, but strong enough to pick you up, which was certainly a feat in and of itself, given that your father hadn’t been strong enough to pick you up since you were all of ten years old.

“God, I can’t believe you’re getting married!” He huffs as he pulls away! His face flushes a yellowish-orange from excitement. 

“Don’t overheat, Blaze-boy!” You bap him on the cheek playfully. 

For a blissful few moments, all is right with the world.

Dinner was, as expected, a chaotic pleasure. Or at least, it was at first. 

Being seated beside Technoblade had become a commonality for you over the time you had spent in the Empire. He was awkward and brash, but at least you knew your way around him now. The food flowed as freely as the conversation, but something was off. 

A sort of pain started in your head, steadily thrumming. It started up in your stomach, and you took a swig of ale to try and ease it.

Techno took note of your sour expression after a moment.

“Are you alright?” he mumbled gruffly. Due to your lightheadedness, you entertained the idea that maybe he was worried because he loved you. 

“Just feeling a bit off, Techno. I might try to eat some bread and have a sip of water,” You smile. 

It is then that the spots begin to dance in your vision as you blink hard. Those at the table turn to you as your fork clatters to your plate

“Oh.” you hum. That is all you can say before your head hits the table.

One and a half months before the wedding.

The first thing you become aware of is cold. Freezing, bitter cold, which can’t be right, as it’s still the beginning of fall. You feel your toes first, and then your fingers, until your entire body is prickling and alive. You slowly sit up. “Ender, I must have been out for at least a full 24 hours!” You mumble to yourself. 

Then, you stand to look at the window, and you see it. Snow. Piles of it cover the ground, and tiny flakes fall from the sky, which is made entirely out of clouds. You had to be seeing things. You had to be. The first snow wasn’t due for another two months . Wasn’t it? You began to rush about the tiny room, the shirt and shorts hardly cutting through the cold. You found, on an empty chair, a heavy, velvety red cloak with animal fur trim that could cover your entire body. You wrapped it tightly around your body and clasped it, hiding any visible skin save your hands and face. You pushed open the room, which you assumed was in the sick wing. It could not have been two months since you fell asleep at dinner.

Techno’s room. Where was it from here? You took lefts and rights and confusing turns until you reached his door, which had about a million intricate carvings. 

You knocked frantically at his door, shaking still. You cannot tell if you are shaking from fear or the cold.

Techno’s door swings open and you give a small gasp at his appearance. He is no less handsome, just dishevelled . He wore no overcoat and his shirt was unbuttoned at the top. It was unlike him to not be pristine. He looked attractive in the way he did when the two of you had sparred all those months ago. He stared at you for a moment, as if he was having trouble believing you were real. 

“Techno? What’s going on, I’m so confused. I mean one moment I’m at dinner and I’m feeling a bit woozy and the next it’s snowing out and I’m cold! How long has it been since dinner?” You grab his forearms in a desperate attempt to both stay steady and keep his attention.

He looks at you and as if seeing you jolted him out of a trance, he straightens and pulls you against his chest. 

You suddenly just, break. You didn’t know what was happening, and you were frightened, but even though he felt the same, he still held you. 

And like a broken dam, your tears burst from your eyes. You were just scared. So, so scared.

He rubbed your back like he wasn’t hurting himself. It was so genuinely good of him. You had known he cared about you, but not enough for how he gripped you tightly. Not for how concerned he was. How much did he care for you really ?

You softly detached and looked back up at him. “It’s alright, Techno. I’m okay. Are you ?” 

He shook his head and you felt your heart shatter at how truly miserable he looked. “Sleep. Sleep, alright? I’m okay and I’ll be here for you in the morning.” 

“No.” He disagreed. It was the first thing he had said to you since he opened the door. “I need to make sure you’re okay and make sure everyone knows you’re okay. You’ve been in a coma for two and a half months. The people don’t even know if you’re alive.”

You cringed at the words, though you knew he didn’t mean it harshly. You’re people thought you were dead . This pained every royal instinct you had. You had to call a conference. You had to issue a speech. They had to know you were okay. 

Techno tightened his grip on your shoulders. “Breathe.” He whispered. You’d been hyperventilating? You slowly began to match his breaths, in, out, in, out. Like the steady thrum of the ocean.

“I-” you rasped, but Techno stopped you as kindly as possible. “Can I kiss you?” 

You nodded, truly baffled by the entire night. His lips pressed to yours and moulded them together. He tasted like saltwater and chocolate, and it was heaven.  His lips were chapped ever so slightly, but they were as soft as cake.

Many compare their first kiss to fireworks or floating, but to you, it felt more steady and right . Like the soft lullabies Minx had taught you and Eret. It wasn’t fireworks, it was a promise . You weren’t sure what he was promising, but you certainly wouldn’t fight it.

Chapter Text

One week before the wedding. 

Storge describes a love of one’s family, most specifically, the love one feels for a parent and vice versa. It had been on your mind, as you desperately missed every parental figure in your life who you would not see after your wedding.

The past few weeks had been amazing and awful at the same time. There were addresses to the public that broke your heart, and conversations with your siblings, who had been clearly traumatized by the incident. All the while, your wedding day drew nearer without your consent. 

Techno hadn’t spoken to you nearly at all after he kissed you. He had stood by your side as much as possible in the public eye, but everything important about the two of you was gone. He had withdrawn, and you weren’t sure why. You knew you missed him. There was no fun banter, no casual concern. You were worried he had perhaps realized that he felt nothing for you after he had kissed you, which felt worse than the poison of which had sent you into a coma. 

You were humming an old tune Minx had taught you. She had always been fond of lullabies, especially in her native tongue. It often pained you to think of her in the months before she left. Then, you had assumed nothing about your dear adoptive mother, but in hindsight, you could see how jittery she was. She was so quiet in those months, not voicing her opinions with the same vigour King Jack of her native kingdom often did. You smiled in memory of the man who had probably known Minx better than anybody, save perhaps your father. 

Minx liked to sing loudly and off-beat in the day and softly, most similar to an angel, when putting you, Eret, and Niki to bed in the evening. 

“My sun, my moon and my stars,” You mumbled as you fiddled with her and Schlatt’s rings.

“My angels sent from above,” You continued, forgetting the paperwork you were meant to be doing.

“I care only for what’s in your heart,” You allowed your voice to project against the walls of your room.

“I care only for how you love,” You continued, however, you turned at the sweet, accented voice that mixed with yours in the winter air. You gasped, choking back a sob.

“Mom?”

Her solid white eyes blinked back at you, and oh what a sight they were. Eret had only started wearing his sunglasses after she left, so the glowing white purity that came from their faces had become synonymous with your youth. Synonymous with a time where you were “Fae” instead of “Your Highness”.

She told you she had to leave. She told you she couldn’t have stayed, although she wanted to. She promised that she had been trying to come back for years. She begged you to catch her up on your life. On yourself, and Eret, and Niki. On the adults you three had become. On the royalty you three had become.

And you wanted to, you did, but you were far too preoccupied weeping. She was alive. She was here . 

Eventually, you realized what to say to her. “I’m getting married next week.”

She blinked at you in shock. “What the fuck? Is this some of Jonathan’s bullshite?” She gained volume.

Well, originally, I guess, but now I think I’m in love with him, but I don’t know if he loves me, and I was also poisoned a few months ago.” You vomited up the words upon a shocked Minx Schlatt. Wait, Minx Schlatt . 

“Mom, you know about Alex, don’t you?” You asked, shifting topics at lightning speed.

“I do, lets circle back to the poison-” She pushed, her eyes as wide as saucers.

You hesitated to continue, “You know he’s dad’s consort, right?” 

“Of course, I set the dumbasses up, now about that poison?” You were shocked. She had set them up? But she and your dad loved each other. They did, right?

“But you and dad loved each other, didn’t you?” You asked, and as soon as the words fell from your lips, you felt extremely childish. 

“Of course, but I had to go.”

“Why?” You asked, caring less and less about how childish you sounded. 

“Do you remember your Aunt Puffy? Bit short, sheep, had a little boy about yours or Eret’s age?” 

“Yeah, we called him Foolish, cause he always asked super easy questions. Auntie Puff brought us lots of gifts that one solstice when I was four too.” You nodded along, still reeling from the fact that your adoptive mother was there at all.

“Well, your Aunt happened to need my help, dear, she did. See, your cousin is a god of rebirth, and your aunt was losing her memories. We had to go find the cure.” 

“You couldn’t have told us that? Dad could have sent soldiers, physicians, mages ! You didn’t have to leave us?” Years of resentment bubbled up from your throat, eyes wide from shock. The problem was so solvable .

“He couldn’t, My Fae. Melaista has been poor much longer than we ever led onto you as children. “

Fae. Wasn’t that something? It had been such a long time since you had heard the nickname that you had nearly forgotten it. You hadn’t heard it since practically the day you had left your home. If only that was still your life. Agonizing over the kindness of a man you didn’t know rather than being treated as invisible by a man you thought you loved after awakening from a coma of all things. 

But, Melaista wasn’t that poor, was it? You had always been dressed to the nines in riches at great events. Granted, that wasn’t your everyday wardrobe, and you had always been adorned in Redstone, which was Melaista’s main export. 

Was Melaista that lacking for money? Was this why you had spent four years fighting a war that you didn’t know the purpose of? Why you watched men and women die without so much as an explanation? Spent six months hiding in a trench eating rations smaller than your fist? Because you didn’t have enough fucking money ? Sleepless nights in pain over how much more you had than your subjects. Night terrors every time you closed your eyes since you returned from battle. Lost Minx and your biological mom to things King Phil would never let happen to Queen Kristen. All because your daddy bet a little too much on the damn pony. 

You balled your fists so hard you began to feel blood rush to where your nails dug into the skin of your palm. This was bullshit . You tried to fight off the light-headedness that had come with waking up from your coma. 

Minx put a soft hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry if this is a bit much, Fae.”

“Did you come to me first?” You say, barely above a whisper. Your voice trembles as you realize how much of your life has been recontextualized. Why your father hardly ever laughed, despite having a golden sense of humour, and why Ponk was always so serious about any money that Melaista had. Every Iron Nugget he had agonized over. You owed him a serious apology for any brattiness he had endured when you were a little kid. 

“What?” She asked, genuine confusion seeping through her voice. 

“Did you come to see me first? Tubbo and Ranboo don’t know you, but Niki and Eret deserve answers.” The words are clipped as they slip from your tongue. You think you finally get why Niki has such an awful relationship with your father. Why she goes to protests and rallies and argues with him about taxes. He was a bad king . You had always assumed he was a good king since he was such a good father, but he wasn’t. He dug Melaista into a hole with his gambling addiction and you thought it would take a lot of good luck for Melaista to even begin to pay back the debt.

“Yeah, but I’m also technically an intruder, so is Sally.” She says it so casually you almost don’t take notice. 

“Who the fuck is Sally?” Your eyes bulge from their sockets.

“Y’know the little fox girl the middle prince has got? Six or some odd years old?” Minx asks, but you shake your head. 

“Fundy is a boy.” You say, and you leave no room for discussion. The little thing already went through more than enough regarding his gender. He reminded you painfully of Eret as a child. So excitable and adventurous, but so often judged by their gender and status.

“Oh. Well, Sally’s his mum.”

Wait, Sally as in the Water Spirit Wil fucked and got left with a baby boy? She’s with Fundy? Without Wil knowing?” You could already feel Wilbur’s panic at seeing her in Fundy’s room. He had barely allowed you near him at first, but Fundy’s mother? Wilbur would lose his shit. 

You immediately grabbed Minx’s hand and began pulling. Out of your room, away from the guest wing, and down the hall to Wilbur’s bedroom, which doubled as his study. 

It was a messy area, not at all similar to Techno’s study. This made perfect sense, as Wilbur could separate personal and professional about as well as you could bite your tongue. That is to say, he could not. Papers were strewn everywhere. From his desk to his nightstand, his vanity to the floors, there was little area not covered in parchment. Broken quills decorated certain spots, and there were candles burnt to the bottom at both ends on every free surface. Notes were tacked to his worn yellow walls, attached by blue and red strings. Empty dinner plates from nights without rest laid overtop of legal documents that were probably meant to grant a falsely accused criminal immunity, or settle a petty dispute between two farmers. Sometimes you forgot that Wilbur oversaw more to this empire than its brothels and bars. He was a lawmaker. A member of the court you would someday run. He deserved your respect. Wilbur himself, however, made that a bit hard. You walked into the room, and despite it being no later than two pm, Wilbur was asleep, head in his hands and drools slipping onto his papers at his desk. A bottle of foul-smelling alcohol sat at his desk. 

“Is that whiskey or rubbing alcohol?” You think as you shake your soon-to-be brother-in-law awake. “Wake the fuck up, you sorry excuse for a quarter-life crisis! Your ex is with your son!” You shout in his ear. He shoots upward. 

“I was doing my variance report, I swear!” The unneeded excuse tumbles from his mouth. 

“Good to know you didn’t do your variance report,” You start, his eyes dilating in offence, “Your ex is with your nearly six-year-old son if that’s much cause for concern.” You say, enunciating each word with a grinding annoyance. 

“Fundy?” He is immediately alert, and any annoyance you feel is replaced with warmth from his love of the little boy. It’s clear to anyone that the child is all that belongs to Wil alone and even clearer that he wants to keep it that way.

“Apparently Sally has made her return,” Comes a deep voice you know all too well. Your fiance, who is holding his nephew tightly to his chest. The little boy was trembling and his tiny face was wet with tears. 

“Da!” He reached his arms out to Wilbur, and the faked comfort and enthusiasm reminded you of how your own father reacted to seeing you when you were in your youth.

“Who’s this?” Techno asked gruffly, gesturing to Minx, who you were still holding onto like a toddler. 

“My mom.” You explain shortly. He was ignoring you, and you still didn’t know why so why should he get an explanation?

He raised a slitted brown brow.

 You raised one back. 

He crossed his arms. 

You gave in.

“Not biologically, obviously. My biological mom is dead. She’s Eret’s, technically, but she raised Niki and I as well.” You defended, slightly rambling. This was reminiscent of the competition in the library. So subtle that no one else could possibly tell it was a competition at all. 

 Fundy was still babbling sadly in his father’s arms. Wilbur gave you a helpless look but you shrugged. You were no good with kids, despite how much you adored the baby shifter.

“I have to bring my mom to Eret. He’s back, right?” Apparently, Eret, Sam, Alex and Ponk had to return while you were comatose. It made sense. Melaista could hardly be run by inexperienced Court members for a full 8 months. They were meant to return this week, for your wedding. 

Although you were facing a preoccupied Wilbur, Technoblade gave you your response. “They should be in the wing they stayed in last.” You didn’t dignify him with an answer, gesturing for Minx to follow you. She did. You realized how much you had adjusted to the castle in the months you had spent there, travelling its halls like it was all you had ever known. 

Eret was sewing in her room, giving Niki soft advice, his embroidery far beyond the messy stitching you had attempted. They looked up at you and a bleary-eyed beside Minx and froze. It was dead silent as your mother crossed the threshold of the room, and suddenly you were following. Suddenly, you were all hugging and crying, and you were with your family once again. You felt like a six-year-old, having awoken from the nightmare that was the years that had passed since your mother disappeared, stealing your childhood away with her. The lightheadedness followed this emotion, but you didn’t care.

You were a tangle of limbs and hair and Storge. 

Five days before the wedding. 

He was still fucking avoiding you. As the wedding was in the next five days, you had little left to do except complain to Hannah, who certainly had better things to do, and Sapnap, who could do little more than pat you on the back apologetically. Speaking of, Sapnap had been leading the charge of figuring out who in Prime’s name had poisoned you. He was beside himself with some horrid mix of worry and rage. He kept arguing that it was his fault, and would never allow you to retaliate with anything else. He got this pained look in his eye whenever you felt lightheaded, or when you couldn’t spar for as long as you used to.

Having Minx back the past two days had been odd. Things had changed, and she hadn’t changed with them. She hadn’t been ready to return only for Eret to be jumping from place to place, and for Niki to be a social activist. For you to be getting married and be a war general. For there to be two new additions to the family. 

Puffy, however, slid back into place like she had always been there. She spent her days laughing and recalling memories with not only your dad but with Sam and King Phil too. Remembering a man called only “Bad” of whom they had spent their childhoods with. The name made you recall something. Something to do with Sapnap’s youth. 

There you sat, overlooking papers in your own study, of which you hadn’t even been aware you had until this week. There was, apparently, more to do as the spouse of a crown heir than there was to do as the Royal Spare. Especially with an empire as big as the Antarctic. You felt apologetic for Minx, Kristin, and Alex. You had court meetings to attend, children to bless, criminals to pardon, countries to prepare treaties for, your least was the favourite battles to plan. 

The Zeamor-Dacroyla alliance grew stronger with every acre they acquired, and unless you could appease King George, which was unlikely, King Dream would only grow more agitated. You had no interest in fighting another war. Zeamor’s treaty with Melaista was continuously threatened by the militaristic man who hid behind a mask and a sword. 

You were less than frightened. No matter what he said, King Dream was once a lowborn boy by the name of Clay, and everybody knew it. He was declared heir by a dying king who was half out of his wits because he had won a petty sword-fighting competition in a village the king favoured, and his appetite was that of power to eat and blood to drink because of it. 

You pushed a scroll to the side in search of a paper meant to pardon a boy from Melaista for a foreign assault charge. It wasn’t just any boy, but Hannah’s adopted brother, Grayson. He was only fourteen, but he was just as aggressive in spirit as his older sister. It wasn’t a surprise. They both specialized in PvP. Hannah thought you weren’t aware of their amazing skills as anonymous gladiators, but you always cheered extra loud whenever “The Thorn” or “Purpled”  took down an opponent. You signed the paper to pardon the boy who had gotten into a fight with a local teen a bit older than him. Grayson had done nothing wrong and you knew it. Your hand went automatically to rub your temple. 

You had placed the paper onto a stack when he burst down your door. Technoblade.

“Whatever happened to hello?” You mutter, just loud enough that you know he can hear you. 

“I’m sorry I kissed you.” He says, and he officially has your attention. You shoot up from your chair and shut the door behind him. 

“First, rude. Second, close the door, servants are the messengers of the noble lifestyle more often than a letter is. Third, rude.” You reprimand. 

“No! Not like that. It’s just that I-” He stops short. 

 You tilt your head, awaiting something of which will end your frustration. “Yes?”

“I’m better with actions than words.” 

With that, he practically rushes to kiss you again, both of his hands on your cheeks. If your last kiss felt like floating, this felt like the ground. It was steady, it felt like he wouldn’t run from you after this. He tasted of bitter coffee and you thought you might ban him from drinking anything else because of it. 

The Wedding.

How daunting, a wedding is. You try to reflect on the day you found out about the wedding, but you can’t conjure much, as it was ten months prior. You remember the shock, and weeping in Sam’s arms but not much else. 

Then, you try to recall the day you knew you were in love with him. You could not find that either. You had found that instead of falling in love, you had more slid into it. Arguing over glances in the library. Sparring, and the tender moments after. Odysseus. Penelope. A coma. A kiss. Another. 

It didn’t feel like a cohesive love story. It felt like a greek one. No beginning, middle, and end. Just events strung together of you and him that formed a rope and hung your heart like a noose. Dead by your own design, but free in death. Perhaps that was what “Till death do us part.” meant. 

The way every room was decorated was magnificent. The dining hall was in whites and reds, with splashes of gold. The ballroom was pulled together magnificently with deep red carnations and roses, dotted with sunflowers. The altar was not solid gold, as many had suggested, but rather simple smooth quartz with emeralds and Redstone hanging from the top.

It was more work for a single celebration than you felt was necessary, so any finery used in the decor was promised to be used to compensate the poor citizens of both countries, but Melaista in particular. 

You were pacing in your dressing room, a white cape swishing behind you with every anxious step, trailing behind you. Hannah was chasing you around, trying to place a golden circlet crown on your head. It was a nice choice, and you had to remember to thank Eret for making the decision. It had several short spikes in the front, mimicking a tiara, but the spikes continued past the main spool of gold onto your forehead, making it clear it was no tiara. 

Hannah chasing you made you stop short. “Hannah, you’ll still be my personal handmaiden after I get married, right?” You asked with your thumb between your teeth in stress. Your head felt airy and you were developing a headache that you hoped was from anxiety and not residual poison.

“Of course, stop stressing, sunflower! The Ceremony and the reception will both be perfect, Prince Hairdye is clearly in love with you, and Grayson and I bought an apartment about a mile out from the palace, plus we’ll be staying in the servant’s quarters most of the time. Chill out. Now let me put this gods-forsaken crown on your rich little head, or else I will quit.” 

You huffed, letting her place the circlet on your head. “I’m sorry, rose. You know how easily I get anxious.” 

She gave you a nod. “It’s alright. Just breathe. At least it’s not cold feet. Now that would be disastrous.” She chuckled. You gave a slight smile. Cold feet was definitely not the problem. 

There was a knock at the door of your dressing room. Your heart stopped in your chest, until Hannah gave your hand a tight squeeze. “Come in!” She called for you. On the other side was your father, who opened the door so slowly you felt like you were still a little kid. “Hey, Fairy. You ready?” 

“Not much of a choice, we can’t reschedule.” You mumbled, smiling softly. 

Hannah mumbled something about Bridesmaid duties and slipped out of the room with a smirk. 

“Listen, Fae.” Your father began, “I know this is scary, and that you didn’t want to do this, no matter what type of brave face you put up. I wish you didn’t have to-” 

“Dad, I think I’m in love with him. That’s scarier.” You interrupt. It’s the first time you’ve said it out loud. That you love him. It’s been a thought since he kissed you, but saying it out loud means more. Has more weight. You love him. Holy shit, you fucking love Crown Prince Technoblade Minecraft of the Antarctic Empire. “I love him.” You mutter, quieter than when you had declared it to your father a moment prior. 

You look up at your dad and see that, of all things, he’s smiling. It’s not a happy smile. It reminds you of the smile he gave you when you returned home your first solstice after battle, when you had barely spoken or ate in shock of the horrors you had witnessed. There was love, and nostalgia, and regret in that smile. He grasped both of your hands, bending down a bit to look you in the eyes. Your own eyes met his golden ones. 

“Love is scary, Fae. That’s alright.” 

You looked at the clock. It was time for you to seal a lifelong commitment with a man you thought disliked you until five days ago. 

Your arm was in your fathers as you faced the world, a practiced royal smile on your face. 

The walk down the aisle was painfully slow. Every eye on you as an organ played music so loud that a ringing developed in your sensitive ears. Curse your ram genes. You felt so scared you might cry, until you saw him. He had his long pink hair tied into a braid. You wondered if Wilbur had braided it. His crown must’ve added another inch to his already intimidating height, which made you want to laugh. Who did he think he was going to intimidate?

Technosuit. You heard in the back of your mind. Who was whispering? Certainly not the guests. 

Husband Man Pog. You heard another. You forced your smile not to twitch as it went.

marriage arc

E

new blood deity pog?

nah, this is a War Spirit

Who the fuck were these voices? The closer you grew to your fiancé, the more voices compiled in your mind. Then, you were at the altar. Your father released you and Techno took your hands in his own. 

“It’s okay.” He mouthed to you. “They’ll get quieter.”

How did he know you were hearing things?

BLADE IS ONTO US

SCATTER

okay but he kinda fine up close 

how soon can we adopt a child so he can be a Dilf??

Definitely not how that works, Chat

NO KIDS

“Chat?” You mouthed back. The priestess had begun her spiel on how the great gods bless your union, but you couldn’t care less. 

He nodded, just slightly so no one else saw. Okay, so the brand-new voices in your head were also in his? Maybe you should’ve had cold feet. 

You thanked Prime that you didn’t have to give vows. 

“-And by the old gods and new, may your kiss repent your sins.” the priestess smiled, and any fear was melted by his lips. The plush of his mouth was quickly becoming a familiar feeling, and you were completely okay with that fact. 

The rest of the day was a blur. A tiring blur, but a blur nonetheless. To your surprise, King George and King Dream had arrived, Sapnap trailing behind them. Nick was still a Zeamorian Knight, despite how you disliked King Dream personally. 

All this to say, your wedding day was nearly done, as all the guests retired for the night. You were just glad to finally be alone with your husband, and maybe talk about the voices you had heard. You hadn’t even been beside him, the two of you pulled apart by guests and picked at about your future. The voices you were hearing were clearly not happy about this.

Technolost??

Where is he???

B R U H

Is he talking to Callahan or am I seeing shit?

LOOK HE'S HOLDING RANBOOS HAND THAT'S ADORABLE 

He’s gonna be such a good dad

NO KIDS 

It was a little much. Now, however, it was you and him, both in uncomfortable clothes, sitting next to each other on his bed. Well, the bed was yours too now, you supposed. 

“Techno, why am I hearing voices? They called themselves chat, Techno they’re so loud . Ender, I’m scared . I pride myself on hardly ever being scared. I’ve been scared more times today than any other time in my life! What is going on?”

“The voices. Chat, I mean. They won’t do you any physical harm, at least. They sometimes get blood-thirsty, but there are ways to keep that at bay. I’ve been hearing them since I was eleven or twelve. I figured that they were somehow from the gods? I don’t entirely understand why you’re hearing them, but I’ll be here for you, okay?” he capped off his speech. Maybe you should’ve let him give vows. 

He held your hand in his, and brushed his lips against your knuckles. Your heart, honest to god, fluttered . 

And a thought occurred to you in that moment of vulnerability. That, despite voices, your new role in society, and your mother and aunt reappearing out of thin air, everything would be okay, because Techno thought so.

Chapter Text

Pragma is defined as longstanding love. Love that can withstand the test of time and all its challenges. It’s the love you swore to nearly two months ago. 

Your family had returned to Melaista, and Tommy was doing nothing but moping. He had grown attached to your two younger brothers and their hyper personalities and was sad to see them go. He spent most of his afternoons doing his schoolwork in your study. He had found his new source of comfort in your presence. He was in your study again today, head in hand as he tried to understand a piece of parchment he was working on. 

You were attempting to understand where your chat had come from, though of course, Tommy was not privy to this information. Technoblade had, much to your distress, told no one about his chat, attempting to both find the source and deal with them by yourself. This distressed you so as Techno had no magical education. The Antarctic Empire was not built to raise mages. 

Melaistan royal education had gifted you with some rudimentary skill in magicks. This education had been cut short by the war, but you were fluent in Ender, -a skill which came in handy more than once with Ranboo- and you still recalled the written symbols that made up the language of the gods. It was more than your husband had, to be sure. You had a pocketbook of potions and enchantments, as well as a few spells that were certainly illegal. Spells that, perhaps, had turned the tide of the war. But no one could ever know that fact. 

That phrase still made you giddy. Your husband . You had lamented no longer being a Schlatt, but you had never considered that you would instead be a Minecraft. 

You were attempting to focus enough to read the Ender text on voices from the Godsrealm, but your pounding headache refused to subside. It had been written in the back of a book detailing the old gods and their myths. You took a sip of lukewarm, oversweetened coffee in an attempt to make it stop when Tommy raised his head to you. “Hey, Your Highness, this is actually pretty fucking embarrassing, but can you help me with my homework?” The use of the title both broke your heart and gave you an extra layer of respect for the boy. 

You gave a soft smile. “Of course, what’s the question, Tommy?” 

It was a simple math question, and it didn’t take much brainpower for you to answer. It was his last question, so he stood and picked up his things. He was about to open the door when you called back to him. 

“Oh, and Tommy? You can call me Fae, it’s a family nickname.” He gives a smile that is wide and pure enough to make you cry tears of joy.

You are in peace for a few minutes before you attend a meeting on the royal family’s public reputation. Every day you and Techno don’t visit an orphanage to find an heir, the public grows more dissatisfied. The reactions the people give when you travel the streets say otherwise, but you smile and nod with promises to consider.

It is later that day that you finally are able to translate the Ender passage into some semblance of a proper paragraph in Common. It finally strikes you, looking at the words which make no sense. The disillusion spell. How likely was it that it had been illusioned so that others couldn’t see it? There were few spells without a counter, and it only took a bit of knowledge and a bit of magma cream to disillusion words. You thanked Prime you kept a small jar on your desk. Nick had given it to you, seeing as he could simply ask for blaze rods rather than killing for them like anyone else.

The souls of which a deity takes when living through their past vessels will not pass through the End into the Void, and will instead serve as advisors for the deity’s current vessel and their next. The souls will build upon themselves infinitely, most especially for the great and most ominous god Ibin of Blood and that god’s most significant partner which is the great god Ridon, whose domain is that of War and the Void, the life we live after this one. The souls of which they reap should be capable of learning from each other and speaking to each other, creating a vocal chatter. 

Chatter? The voices had been called your chat, had they not? This had to mean something. Could you ask them? The voices had caused a ringing in your ears by constantly saying only ‘E’ or ‘catJAM’, along with the occasional ‘Faesoft’ when you had helped Tommy with his homework. This was only adding to the near-constant pain behind your eyes that had persisted since you had arisen from your coma nearly four months before. 

“Hey, chat?” You spoke into the silence of your study. “Uh, do you know anything about all this Ridon, Ibin, Souls business?”

Ridon!!!

WAR SPIRIT

Guys chill 

E

SOULS FOR THE VOID

B R U H

Chat, they need answers

 catJAM

war pog?

Chat exploded with words, too loud for you to even begin to understand. “ Prime Above and Below! ” You exclaimed, covering your ears to no avail, as the sound came from within your head. 

“Simpler question, you guys called me a war spirit, so am I Ridon, or Ridon’s vessel, or whatever?” You figured a yes/no question would be slightly more productive.

YES

REALIZATION POG

e 

RIDON

FAEDON

catJAM

smart streamer!!!!

RIDON POGGERS

go tell techno we’ve been shouting at him for years

Holy shit. Holy shit. If you were this “Ridon” and your translations were correct, you were the vessel of a war god. 

“Is,” you hesitate to ask, but you are certain it is true, “Is Techno Ibin?” 

The voices have nothing unique to say to that except a resounding yes as chills run up your spine. It is only a burn in your chest that reminds you to breathe as you sit in a broken shock.

 You jump up from your seat and out of your study to tell Techno. It’s late enough into the afternoon that he is most likely out of his meetings and is taking his frustrations out on a punching bag. You peek into the training room, and there he is, more handsome than he is at any event. He is so clearly in his element, each swing seems to rejuvenate him. Blood God. Chat chants in your eardrums, and if that truly was who him, it needed no more evidence than this. 

“Techno?” You called into the room. He paused and looked at you, sweat dripping from his skin and his hair almost entirely out of the low bun he often put it in to train. Gods, you were lucky to have him. You take note of the split knuckles from his personal quarrel with the bag of sand. You walked to him, grabbing a roll of bandages and some rubbing alcohol off the med table, and you realize how convenient the table is. “First off, sit. Second off, I think I found something, Tech. Something big .” You begin.

He obeys, and you pour some alcohol on his knuckles, sitting opposite him. He winces softly. “Sorry.” Your face softens. Dressing wounds was never your strong suit, but Techno was worse, so you had little choice. 

“It’s fine, darlin’,” The nickname makes your face heat slightly, but he continues. “So, this something big?” 

“Right!” You perk up. “So, do you remember that I was looking for some more information on chat, right? Since they started talking at the wedding. And you mentioned that you thought they were from the gods. So I started searching some of the older, less often consulted texts, and I stumbled upon this piece in the back of this book written in Ender, and there is a slight chance we are the vessels of two gods, and chat was very adamant that this was correct, so you may or may not be the vessel a god of bloodshed called Ibin.” You rambled nervously, wrapping his hands as he spoke. You cut the bandaging and refuse to look at him, finding your lap infinitely more interesting all of a sudden.

He does his little “heh?” noise, and a part of you wants to laugh because you will never find that to be any less than comedic gold. However, being a god is a bit much to take in. Is he upset with you? Why would he be? For figuring out something he had spent nearly his whole life trying to understand? For sealing his fate as a god of bloodshed?

“So, like, the blood god title is for real.” He says instead, and you gawk at him in shock. 

“That’s what you got out of that?” You ask, bewildered.

He huffs in fond exasperation. “We can’t exactly do anything about being the vessels of gods and it would ruin my flow if I was actually the flower god or the sheep god or something.” He explains, shrugging.

“I will never understand your thought process.” You mutter. 

You only last out another two weeks before Public Reputations practically forces you two into a carriage on it’s way to an orphanage.

The orphanage reminds you of your boarding school. It’s an odd comparison, you know, but it is as close as you can relate. The cold cobblestone building reminds you of sitting in corners and reading old greek myths where no one could bother you.

Techno looks visibly uncomfortable being in an orphanage. You’re sure there is a reason why, but you don’t know it and given your husband’s track record, you don’t want to.

The first child you see is a little boy named Jackie. He has some clearly sweet traits, and he likes to talk, but then he mentions how he dissected a living chicken in the backyard and hid its body in the dirt. 

Then there is are twins who speak as little as possible, and when they do, they do so in sync. It’s scary.

The child you know you must take home is a four-year-old by the name of Robin. You sign the papers as soon as he completes his first sentence while Techno looks on in shock. He has this mix of poise and bubbly that draws you to him. The caretaker explains that he is the heir to a small estate, as his parents had perished in a war the year before. 

The caregiver then explains that if you two would be unopposed, there is another boy they would like you to see. “He’s not a very normal boy. His mind moves slower, his voice was corroded by smoke from a house fire, and he can’t see. It wouldn’t exactly be in your best interest to take him in, but we do have to let you meet him for legal reasons.” You nod because you hardly care if the boy happens to be disabled. 

Corvus is a young boy of about ten, from your immediate observation when he is brought down to meet you. He’s not a very obvious boy, with black curls and brown eyes. He has two black, fluffy, feline ears not much larger than his palm and a small, swishing black tail behind him that betrays his status as an ocelot hybrid, a species of which was extremely uncommon. He was quiet too, his small voice muffled by a purple mask that covered his mouth and nose. Even when he spoke, it was so soft you could barely hear. “I’m Corvus, people call me Cat.” He nodded. He reminded you of something. Quiet, standoffish, and stiff. Stiff. That was it. When you had met Techno briefly as a child, with his hands glued to his sides and his mouth in a tight line, he had been so uncomfortable, and you watched it reflected in this boy. You had to take him too.

If you were not the Crown Heir and his spouse, there would be more to sign. More requirements to pass. However, the crowns that sat on your head meant you signed a single sheet of paper per child and were on your merry way with two boys in tow.

Corvus was quiet in the carriage, so dead silent you worried perhaps he hadn’t wanted to be adopted. Finally, he spoke his mind. “Do I have to wear overcoats now?” He asked. Techno laughed out loud, which was a surprising reaction from your husband. “Only sometimes.” He pats Cat on the shoulder, and something in you flickers. Perhaps this can truly be your family. Granted, it’s smaller than the one you grew up with, but it’s still yours. 

The boys haven’t been with you long, only three months, but you are quickly learning that parenting is hard . 

Robin’s clingy and Corvus is distant and you were not ready for this. 

This thought crosses your mind as you hold a kicking, screaming four-year-old away from your chest so he doesn’t hit you. “I don’t want to go to bed!” He screeched, pulling at everything he could reach. Corvus, from his side of the room, groaned. He was already comfortable and sleep-deprived from his first ball the day before. 

“Make him shut up, oh my prime!” Corvus groaned. 

“Robin, you have to sleep.” You tried to reason. He snatched a ring off your horn in defiance. Should’ve let them be cared for by a nanny. but no . You and Techno had to experience parenting the normal way. 

Techno is watching you attempt to put the boy down with an amusement that did little more than annoy you. Techno, in surprising contrast to you, was great at this stuff. You supposed you were a bit rusty, since the last time you had cared for a toddler had been when Ranboo and Tubbo were the age Robin is now, and you had been only eleven or so then, with little assistance except the staff. 

Robin reminds you of Tubbo, a lot of the time. He’s bright in both intelligence and disposition, and always wanting to do the right thing. That’s it! Tubbo had always been fond of the bee plush you had bought him at a farmer’s market when he was a baby, maybe you could give Robin a stuffed animal? You looked around, and your eyes landed on a mooshroom plushie. Good enough, you thought as you travelled across the room, bouncing Robin in one arm and grabbing the toy with the other. “Want this, Rob?” You put the mooshroom in his tiny hands and Robin goes silent, staring at the toy with childlike fascination. “He’s very tired, Robin, you should go to sleep with him.” You whisper into a now silent Robin’s ear. He nods dazedly and you lay him into his small bed. Mooshrooms, who would’ve thought. You click off all the lights.

“Are you coming?” Techno asks, still in the doorway. 

“No, I think I might read a bit.” You explain, sitting in a rocking chair with a new, unblemished cover of The Illiad. 

He nods, turning around to go to your shared room. 

You rock in the chair slightly, in the far corner of the room, a small candle flickering. It was only early eve when you put the boys to sleep, but a glance at your pocket watch tells you that it is now nearly midnight when you hear a slight creak. 

You assume one of the boys has simply shifted in their sleep, but then there was another creak. Then another.

Suddenly, the window flies open, and you don’t even have time to scream as the three men jump through and place a rag in your mouth. You can see one of them grab ahold of your boys before the sleeping potion the rag was drenched in takes effect, and the only thing you feel is helplessness. 

Chapter Text

You awake in a dark room, made entirely of stone, and with only one torch, too high up to realistically grab. At the very least, you are not bound. The boys are still passed out in the small cot your captors had afforded you. You shook Corvus awake, and he jolted. “I- what happened? Where are we?”

“Well, it would appear we have been abducted. Unfortunately, you boys don’t have captivity training, so just promise me you won’t do anything or let Robin do anything, okay?” It isn’t your first time being abducted, but it is your first time being abducted as a parent. The boys were untrained, and Corvus had a scared glint in his eye that made you sit on the bed with him pulling him against your chest. “It’s going to be alright. Your dad will come for us.” You barely noticed that it was the first time you had referred to Techno as the boys’ dad, as you were holding out hope that you weren’t lying. 

The hours after were excruciating. Waiting, staring at the door, huddled on the cot with your boys. Until there was a noise. You pressed Robin into your chest, hoping he would fail to make any noise. Corvus squeezed the hand he was holding, nuzzling his face into the cloth of your sweater.

“Well, hello there, Your Royal Highnesses.” The voice was of a slightly similar pitch to your father’s, save the accent, and it sounded familiar. Then you saw a hint of green cloth. Oh .

“Free us, Clay. My father will not be pleased with this stunt, nor will my husband.” You just barely keep your voice from trembling, doing your best to sound regal and domineering, even in your frightened state. 

“So? I have a blood claim to your family, consider this ‘ cousin bonding ’.” Although his mask hid any emotion, you could practically smell the smugness in his tone. 

“Excuse me? I have only one cousin, and he is a god of which lives in the sea.” You reject his ludicrous statement. 

“You have one legitimate cousin. Do you truly think I was made heir to Zeamor because of some fucking gladiatorial win?” Robin whimpers at his swear, and it seems he remembers your children, as he pulls his hood down and his mask onto the top of his hair, which, you note, is blond and has fluffy curls. Curls slightly similar to your aunts. 

“It’s alright, little nephews, I won’t hurt you.” He coos, taking a few steps closer. Corvus shifts behind you, his brown eyes glaring and his mask making him look much older than he was. Robin squeezes his mooshroom toy, and you are surprised that your captors let him keep it. 

“Your aunt -my mother- had me the same year you were born, on the sea. I was left in a small town in Zeamor to fend for myself and nobody cared .” He addresses you again, eyes still looking at Corvus in some sort of intrigue. 

“You were hard to get ahold of, cousin, I will grant you that.  You somehow slept off a potion of decay, which can kill the average hybrid in a little over a day, and you didn’t even notice my assassin trying to tempt you out by hurting your handmaiden’s little brother. It’s impressive, if not a bit vexing.” He hummed, smiling through the freckles that peppered his face. 

“As soon as I get your husband, you won’t have to rule. Wouldn’t that be nice? No work, no meetings, just your little family! We can be happy! I can be a fun uncle, doesn’t that sound great?” He asks, grinning as widely as the mask resting on his golden curls. 

“It sounds fucking insane, Clay.” You let his real name fall from your lips, and you feel renewed at the power it gives you. “If you wanted to be a family, why wouldn’t you just tell me we were related at the wedding?” You ask. “I would have invited you to stay! Meet my siblings! Your mom was there! Don’t you think she would’ve wanted to know?” You ask, voice cracking. How many birthdays had he spent alone, whereas you had spent yours in the company of your family? How many times had he had nightmares without Eret or Minx to sing him to sleep? 

“My mother abandoned me in a foreign kingdom when I was four, and before that, I lived isolated on a boat while my brother got to have a life! I should be a god just as he is, with his power and wealth! But you have never wronged me. We would’ve been close if we had met, I swear it! Let us right my mother’s wrongs and be as close as we should already be! I can be your brother, better yet, your twin!”

"Why now?" Your voice cracks despite the way your fear is quickly transforming to rage.

He smiles, and the way his eyes crinkle remind you of your aunt, although their emerald colour reflects Foolish much better. "Because it's a game , baby sister. I couldn't lay all my cards out until now, anyways. I needed to slip the poison into Nick's bag in place of the ale, I needed Punz in order to take you, and it wouldn't be as fun if these little tykes weren't involved." He ruffles Robin's hair as he says this, and it feels like it should be right, which is why it's so unsettling.

“Your vendetta has nothing to do with me. Let us free, prime damn you, or I will show you what I am truly capable of.” It's an empty threat, since you have no weapon to fight him with and you are greatly overpowered, but you still growl as you spit on his face, and he wipes it away with slow disgust. “Have it your way then. You can rot in this cell until you understand that I am right.” He pulls his mask down, and his cape flows behind him as he leaves, shutting the cell door.

 You hear a soft click, and you know that he will not let you out willingly. Even worse, you finally notice that chat has gone radio silent. You cannot hear the tirade of voices that normally advise you, and that scares you to your core. How can you escape without them? You cannot even use them to communicate with Technoblade, as you learned that some of the voices go back and forth depending.

Robin begins to cry at some point after Dream leaves. It’s been a long time, though you don’t know how long, and you’re sure he’s hungry, but you have nothing with which to feed him. He must have been sobbing a while when you hear the sound of shifting armour. You frantically rush to shush him, but you are too late as the door opens. There are two figures in the doorway. One is a feminine one, not a soldier based on her lack of armour. The other is- you stop short as the masculine figure rushes in. Sapnap. 

He hugs you, tight, tears streaming down his face. “Crown I’m so sorry, I didn't know he was going to bring you here and I should've been paying closer attention and this is practically my fault and-" You silence him with your hand. "It's not your fault, Sap. You couldn't have known. My," You swallow uncomfortably, "cousin is a ruthless man. It is not fair to blame his mental shortcomings on you." 

The woman places a soft hand on Nick's shoulder and looks over to you. "I'm Alyssa. My father was the previous king of Zeamor. I assumed you and your children would be hungry." She passes you a large basket, and you can smell the fresh bread inside. "Thank you, Lady Alyssa, for your kindness." You whisper. 

"It's Alyssa. Just Alyssa." She sounds spiteful, making you wonder if her title had been revoked.

"Still, thank you." She nods.

"We have to get you out of here." Sapnap's face hardens as he wipes the tears from his soft cheeks.

"Where?" You chuckle hopelessly. 

"Nick, how will we get them all out of the city when we're in the fucking center of the capital. It's impossible, we need a different time. For now, your majesty, all we can do is stall." Alyssa agrees with your point. 

"Thank you for the food, but you two should likely get going. I wouldn't want you captured." You hummed, giving Sapnap one last comforting squeeze. 

They leave, shutting the metal door behind them. It's some sort of rusted iron, and it must be about seven inches thick, leaving no room for you to attempt to try and bust through the locks.

You return to the cot, where Corvus looks at you with curious eyes, holding a still crying Robin against his chest. "An old friend." You explain away his concern, opening the basket. 

It is far more than just freshly baked bread. It holds not only a loaf of that, but a block of cheese, three apples, a potato just cooked enough to be edible, a vine of grapes, and three bottles of milk, with a small thing of something white. You pick the container up and examine it. Holy shit. It's salt! Even you hadn't eaten food with salt barring events in some years, based on the state of Melaista. You hum in joy and begin dividing up your food. The boys each get one and a half bottles of milk, -you insist you aren't thirsty, despite thirst pricking at your throat-  a third of bread and cheese, an apple, and you split the grapes in half for the boys. You salt the potato and split that into thirds as well, and the three of you feast. 

It is back at the Antarctic Palace that things are awry in your absence. Most agreed that you and the boys were abducted, but it is most unclear who had abducted you.

Technoblade had been losing his mind over the situation. He spent hours pacing, snapping at anyone who tried to speak to him. This was a little too similar to having thought you would die a few months before your wedding. You were separated and he couldn't help but be terrified. He was even more scared now, with him being a father and your relationship is much more clear than it had been then. He couldn't help but think of the worst-case scenarios, and there was little his family could do to calm him, not that they were very calm themselves. Tommy had gone all but mute in the loss, refusing to speak or leave his room, whereas Wilbur had taken it upon himself to go with the national guard, searching from house to house and scouring every private-owned property in the country. 

However, it was his mother and father who were acting out of character. His mother stayed in her study, making items for Technoblade's two boys, instead of leading the charge as she always had, proving her name as the Goddess of Death. He supposed now, that he should have known that you belonged in his family when you had a name specifically born of war. His father was surprisingly unworried, claiming to have a theory that he didn't want to get Techno's hopes up.

Or, he had said that, until now. Hannah was the one to alert him, first. A piece of mail from Zeamor, of all the cursed corners of the world. "I think it's from King Dream, the bastard. I never liked him in the past when he visited Melaista. Take care, Hades." It was a cutesy nickname that Hannah had come up with when talking with you about the Odyssey. "You too, Demeter." He mumbles, patting her on the shoulder to dismiss the flowery servant. 

He opens the letter, cream with a green wax stamp, to find a disturbingly message. 

Your Majesty, Prince Technoblade of The Antarctic Empire,

It is in your best interest that I invite you to a private dinner at my estate. I believe I have something of yours, which I acquired when I last visited your home. You may want to retrieve it. Otherwise, it may lose its worth and longevity. 

Please come entirely on your lonesome. 

The game is afoot, my new brother-in-law.

With only the best intentions,

King Dream of The Unified Colonies of Zeamor

Techno rushes to his father's study, feeling childish as he runs through the walls that raised him. It feels like he's a small boy, tattling on someone for being mean to him. He knocks frantically at his father's door, and it swings open. He wordlessly hands his father the letter, and his father's face darkens as the older man reads.

"Go. Take a carriage. He's more than right. The game is afoot."

You were humming the lullaby Minx had loved most in the ears of your two boys, Robin fast asleep and Corvus drawing shapes on your arm, his tail flicking about and soft purs falling from his lips when you gave a weak prayer. 

Ridon, if you are truly within me, give me a way to protect my boys. 

A voice hums in your ear, all of a sudden. Not chat, with a voice impossible to pin because of their speed and variety. Instead, it is a low, clear voice, that drags out every syllable and makes you shiver. “Hello, young vessel. Are you ready to allow me control?” It purrs. The voice was warm. Familiar. Like you had always known it. It tugged at your soul like a fire. No, like a void.

It was Ridon.

“I promise you that your kits will see nothing.” Xe hummed. You felt you should believe xem, as xe would never hurt them because xe was you, and you loved your boys. 

“As long as they’re safe, do what you have to do.”

Chapter Text

Ridon fills your body with warmth, and you feel yourself be lightly placed into the passenger seat of your own body. You look in awe at the body that had always belonged to you from this third-person perspective. You are more attractive than you realized, especially with your eyes filled in white from the glow of Ridon's power. Your eyes are so similar to the one's Minx and Eret share this way, glowing purely the colour of freshly fallen snow. Ridon, though in your body, gives a heartbreaking sob. Xe cries out, and before you can ask what the matter is, you hear your own voice choke out several unintelligible sounds. "Ibin." Ridon croaks finally. You wonder how long it has been since xe had seen Ibin. A single lifetime or a million, you could feel your heart clench at the thought of being separated from Techno for that long. How could xe bear it? To live through that while you could barely even fathom it. Could xe feel your love for Techno? Someone so inescapably tied to your soul?

"Ae's here. In this heathen's den." Xe whispers. Here? In the palace? you thought. A part of you remembered Clay's speech. He had wanted both of you, hadn't he? To play house with? 

Technoblade hadn't taken a carriage. He had asked a soldier who happened to be an ender hybrid to teleport him, safety be damned. 

He allowed Dream to welcome him with a hug, and, quite uncomfortably, sat in the chair beside the King. 

While Dream was behind his own chair, pulling it back so he could sit, Techno felt himself peering into the goblet in front of him and pulled Dream's closer to him, making the two cups painfully hard to tell apart. 

"So, Your Highness, whatever is it that you have? Something that belongs to me, you mentioned." Techno grimaced. These pleasantries over food were something he remembered you doing the night you first arrived, and you had tried your best but Techno was never good at it. 

Dream, apparently, was as good as you were, as despite his simplistic and intimidating mask, he seemed bright and unsuspicious as you. "Technoblade, won't you relax for a moment? That can be addressed later, I assure you that our family is entirely unharmed. I thought I should make this offer to you, and see your opinion on the matter." 

"Our?" Technoblade didn't like this even a little. He didn't like how open this so-called King was being with his plans. Didn't like how comfortable this man felt with referring to you like family. 

"Yes, you do happen to be married to my cousin, after all. Though I think we can just say that we're siblings and leave it at that. Anyway, my proposition. How would you, and of course your delightful family, like to stay here instead of returning to that Ice Kingdom you're set to rule." Dream hummed. 

"Are you that arrogant or are you just a fucking idiot. Why in the three realms would we wish to live here?" Techno thinks he should be a bit offended. Does he really look that dependant? That stupid? 

"Technoblade, I have seen your record. It is painfully clear you don't really wish to be king. Besides, you have two younger brothers who seem quite pleasant." Dream felt the way Techno swayed at his words, and his emerald eyes glowed dimly in approval. But then Techno steeled, and the glow disappeared like a thin mist.

"Wilbur is my twin, not my younger brother. I would never wish my burden on him, his son, or Tommy." Techno bit.

Dream had prepared for that answer. "But you would wish it on Corvus?"

Technoblade cringed. "No, but it is a burden he must bear. I will not crumble under your self-perceived strength. I have seen men stronger than you. I have killed men stronger than you."

“You must understand that there are two types of people. The ants, who follow orders and are easily crushed, and the god, who is the boot.” Dream twirled the goblet, taking a long, smug sip. Exactly what Technoblade had been waiting for.

“Indeed, everyone is ordered around by someone. But you make a mistake in implying that you are the boot and I the ant when you have followed your old king's ambition all the way to ruin, and I follow none and answer to none. I switched the goblets twenty minutes ago, and I snagged the antidote when you patted me on the back, so. Where is my family?”

Now, no man wishes to die. Most especially men like your cousin, who was a self-important child with the power of a King. He felt the poison begin to take effect quickly. A poison of his own making. The shavings of a wither skull, a pinch of soul sand, and some crimson fungus mixed with wine were all it took to kill someone within an hour, and even Dream knew he didn't have long. 

The first symptom, meant to take effect in the first two minutes, was the dryness of the throat. Dream knew he wasn't being played when he felt that symptom begin to kick in. "Dungeon." He choked, the dryness already clawing at him, making his voice rasp. He makes it to the dungeon before he feels his head grow light, but he notices something odd. 

You, as well as Robin and Corvus, are not there. There is evidence of you all being there. Corvus' mask discarded, the cot's sheets ruffled about, and an empty basket. The rusted mammoth of an iron door is entirely blown away, and he hears a single step. 

He and Techno turn to look behind, and there is Ridon, not hovering but simply standing. Although your eyes are stark white, there is an eery ink-like aura radiating off of you, darker than any black that either man had ever seen. It was so dark it almost didn't seem black. You seem like some mix of a devil and an angel, the darkness reflecting onto the Ram horns appearing nearly like a halo. Xe looks ethereal but hardly benevolent as xe hovers, a fearsome grin spitting across your face.

Ridon is not defenceless now, a sword seemingly forged of End-Stone -which was an illegal material- and Netherite lay plainly in xer hands. 

Xe began to move but stopped jerkily. Let me do this. Please. You beg Ridon. Ridon relents, slowly, and you feel yourself return. Everything feels different now. Like you had come up for air after being in the water. The tips of your fingers twitched against your sword. Your eyes flashed a million colours in a second before they returned to their natural state. The grin falls, and so does the grim aura, but you are no less terrifying.

Clay, though weak, draws his sword and pulls his shield from his back.

"Technoblade. The boys in the back of the dungeon. They're asleep, but we can't move them." You say evenly. He looks hesitant, but his movements don't reflect this as he darts down the stairs into the dark. 

Clay steps backwards, into the dungeon where he had kept you three for what Nick told you was over three days.

Clay took up a defensive stance, but you slashed your sword mercilessly. “You see,” You start, twirling your sword with practiced ease in an almost teasing circle. “My husband spills blood for his blood god, which is fine.” Clay attempts to slash back, but such an attempt is made futile when you jump back in a graceful arc. 

“Most of the time, every soul I reap is for the End Goddess, as I was raised to do.” You continue your assault, breaking Clay’s shield with your sword. 

“But you, Your Highness,” The title is mocking as you flick Clay’s blade out of his hand. “I am the god I reap for. Your soul, no, your screams are for me, this time. and I shall revel in every drop of blood, every whimper, that comes from you. Not because you hurt me, but because you were stupid,” You push the blade a little deeper against Clay’s throat. “enough to hurt Technoblade, and I love Technoblade.” You break Clay’s mask.

 “Not Philia,” You think of Ranboo, whose birthday is so soon. Too soon. He’s so similar to the man who holds your heart, it's frightening.

“Not Ludus,” Wilbur, a new friend in a new world, one who was always there if you wanted to have fun. If you needed to truly escape life as a royal.

 “Not Agape,” Sapnap, a friend, no, a knight of whom would sacrifice all personal attachments, even to his king, even to his best friend, for the good of his country.

 “Not Storge,” Hannah, the sweet handmaiden whom you would give earth, sea and sky if she would accept it. Who had always been your shoulder to cry on. 

“not Mania,” You scrunch your nose at the memory of Minx, who loved your father so much she had to leave him.

“Not Pragma.” Your voice cracks. The love you felt for Sam. A father figure when your own was too distant.

“Not even Eros.” You flush, despite the situation, at the memory of the first time Techno had kissed you. 

“The way I love him is Philautia. Because I have never loved myself more than when I am with him. Because I could give myself no greater gift than being married to him. Because he makes me a better person. Because I know no word powerful enough to describe how I love him in this language or any other. He is my Hamartia, yes, but he is also my Arete.”

 You finally do it. You let the sword pierce his neck, and once it breaks skin you don’t stop. You push until your blade goes through the back of his neck. His head rolls. You don’t care. You stab the headless body, and you cry. Gods and Goddesses above and below, you cry. 

Techno pulls himself up, and he pulls you into his arms. Your sword clatters against the ground, and your silk shirt is dripping in Clay’s blood, but you aren’t satisfied. You’re just empty. You don’t know why. You killed the bad guy. You ended the reign of a merciless king. It wasn’t even the first time you killed someone. Perhaps it was because you were so exhausted. Or perhaps it was because you knew that Clay wasn’t a truly bad person. 

He was Sapnap and George’s friend. He was your cousin. He was a ruler and not a bad one by how his subjects reacted to him.

 It strikes you that he had adopted a young girl from here as his ward. Drista if you recall. If your memory serves you right, she is only twelve and god, who would take care of her? You hear Ridon whisper something in your ear, quieter than ever. You. She is powerful. She will need your help.

 Your aunt would be heartbroken, as would his twin and younger brother. He wasn’t even truly old enough to be a King. Neither was Technoblade. How long ago had you been a child? How long ago had he? Why was this the fate the gods had cursed you with? 

Perhaps you could beg Foolish to break the old laws of the gods and revive him. But were you not a War spirit who had fallen for a blood god? Was this not what fate intended? 

As you sob in your husband's arms, you make a silent vow. You will bring your cousin back and redeem him of his awful qualities. After all, a Schlatt never gives up, and no matter if that was no longer your name, it was your blood. 

War is truly a force to be reckoned with, and what were you but the embodiment of War itself?

You know there is no coming back from this. No matter whether he had kidnapped you or not, you had just murdered a foreign monarch in cold blood. How would you return to your home and title in the tundra after this? 

You wouldn't. 

"Techno, how do you feel about the Badlands?"

Chapter Text

Basis? Arranged Marriage royal au

So basically Fae is the heir to the throne in a really fun family where Schlatt has a billion kids and they’re like a general. 

So they have to marry Techno and that’s cool in theory but then they meet and Fae is like,”oh, so fuck this guy” and Techno is like “this dumb bitch has the audacity to exist” and they hate each other, right?

But they can’t let the alliance fall through because Schlattfam needs food for their subjects and SBIFam needs money and Jschlatt and Philza are old friends and they cannot be the reason that a good business proposition based on an old friendship falls through. 

So they’re stuck. Until they aren’t bc techno is all “okay so they’re stupid rule-abiding but they’re really attractive when they bite their lip while writing” and fae is all “Damn so techno sucks but he keeps opening doors for me even when other people arent around”. 

So they develop a working partnership which develops into a friendship.

Wedding day comes and fae is surprised to find that its actually really fucking hard to not talk to techno until the ceremony. They became friends so fast its kind of scary. 

After the wedding, 

So they’re married, done deal. fae is now the Crown Whatever (gender neutral term for prince/princess??) of the Antarctic Empire.

Fae can hear the voices though, very pog. Reason? God Vessel. So is Techno. 

Pr team is like; go get a baby! So Fae and Techno adopt a baby! (Could be Genevieve, Jackie, Robin, or Catboy, idk)

Fae and the bb then suddenly disappear. they’ve been gone a week, with techno turning the palace upside-down to find them, when King Dream sends a suspicious invitation to visit, implying that Fae will be there.

Techno comes, of course. The goblets are poisoned, but techno switches them and snags the antidote off of Dream when they hug in greeting.

With his life on the line, Dream tells techno where fae is. Techno and fae reunite, and Zeamor is declared an expansion of Melaista after fae kills Dream really dramatically, very much adequate.

Chapter Text

I have, at the despair of my grades, written the first chapter of the one-shot book taking place in the Illiadverse (That's what I'm calling this series now, deal with it.)

Hope you bitches are excited because I can finally write fluffy scenes that don't impact canon!

The book is called Episteme, which is an ancient Greek word meaning knowledge or understanding (I love that title so fucking much you guys)

A question! If you could choose, which would you want to be released first?

1. Foolish book in the Illiadverse

2. Wilbur book in the Illiadverse

3. Eret book in the Illiadverse

4. Found Family that is disconnected from the Illiadverse

Chapter Text

Hello my beloved readers!!!

After spending most of my summer either without the internet or in a real funky writer's block, I have finished writing the long-awaited sequel!!!

It is called, drumroll please,,,,, 

BLOOM!!!

It focuses on a reader (Not the one from elysian sorry! their story must wait!!) who runs a small flower shop in a kingdom called Mathador. When Prince Wilbur of the Antarctic Empire stumbles in, he finds himself enchanted with both the reader and the plants they grow, but will his puppy love be enough to save Mathador and its people from the tyrannical rule of their unknown Emperor?

I'm posting it later tonight, so be on the lookout!! Also, you know, obligatory teaser. 

You shied away from Wilbur's touch, guilt eating at you from head to toe. You loved him, of course, you did. More than you loved flowers or gardening. More than you loved your old acacia home in the capital of Mathador, or your new one here in the servants' quarters of the palace. But you couldn't go on letting him love you when your secret was so terrible and painful. When you knew it would make him repulsed to even look at you, let alone ever hold you again. He would call you a monster. A liar. He would know that you didn't deserve to be here. It was going to break your heart when he inevitably called for the guards to seize you, but you didn't want to let him love a person who knowingly was a fraud.