#but sometimes it feels like people only want me to draw their characters

[fidenciocryptidcreechur]

Note: this is me just making a wonderland post about the canonical character in twisted wonderland based on translations, vignettes and manga. everyone has differing opinions and interpretations and I'm not gonna bicker about someone's version of Trey in their writing or their au.

I feel like some folks in twst fandom are realizing that canonical Trey isn't really like early/previous fandom Trey, who was characterized as a sweet completely normal bakerman who's also the heartslabyul mom, but instead of just going "oh yeah no, Trey can be petty and mischievous sometimes. usually in situations where there are others also being petty and mischievous while still keeping on top of his duties and engaging in his hobbies" some of the fandom seems to have swung to the other side of the spectrum and are like "oh? so trey has been living a lie this entire time! He actually HATES baking and he's got a ✨secret agenda✨ and he probably is a mastermind and is part of a heartslabyul shadow government!!!!"

And while i know that there's a good chance many are just being silly and making memes and jokes, i have seen the way fandom genuinely boils down characters and strips them of all nuance. Notable with the leech twins, sebek and rook who are all canonically dorks and goobers with their passions and interests in both the games and mangas. They're all intense but most are just awkward and passionate/invested in their interests. Like Sebek being boiled down to shouty malleus fanatic and ignore his various interests and hobbies. he can and will question Malleus notable in the recent chapters and also times when Malleus acts in a way that makes Sebek confused<- mainly in manga and vignettes. Like Floyd being boiled down to unhinged and unpredictable, when most of his actions and activities happen because he got bored of something being monotonous or tiring or repetitive and goes to look for something more interesting like drama or someone with strong reactions to mess with. Guy just gets bored and goes to look for something interesting. Or Rook who gets extremely invested in whatever is his current interest/passion to the point of ignoring everything else. Jade also does this. They're all goobers tbh. Just guys, just folks.

Trey Clover is also just a guy. He is just conflict avoidant tbh. Trey just wants to keep the peace, to make sure people aren't fighting, people are following the rules and aren't making messes. Like that's something he mentions often and that many of his actions reflect from how he checks in on all the students and makes sure they're following heartslabyul rules but doesn't tell Riddle about any rule breaks so as to keep peace, to holding back in activities so he doesn't draw attention and not mentioning stuff he might know specifically so that he doesn't get asked about it (notably when Jamil wants to read ancient texts and trey only reads it upon finding out it contained an ancient tooth paste recipe). He seeks convenience, peace and calm. He's not exactly a schemer, out to get something specific or complete some goal in life like those such as Jamil, Leona or Azul. He's also not necessarily someone solely attempting to coast by and only seek stimulus/fun like with Kalim and Cater.

He's not secretly cruel and not the secret mastermind behind heartslabyul. Yes, He's mischievous and sometimes petty. Notably he gets this way when other petty and mischievous people are around him and it's usually in response to those that were acting like that (messing with ace, messing with Jade, etc). He does care and he does look out for his dormmates and peers. Honestly if he truly didn't care about Riddle or Ace and Deuce then he really wouldn't have helped them, plus he doesn't necessarily go out of his way to help every person anyways. If he truly didn't care then he could've abandoned Riddle when he was at his lowest like the rest of the dorm, or even just let Ace and Deuce carry out their punishment instead of helping them bake tarts and pies to try to help out with Riddle's anger.

As for if he likes baking? Imma be real, that guy can't not like baking. If he hated baking then he's a masochist (joking) because fucker is baking everyday with a smile and trying get everyone to eat his baking and constantly sharing all the goodies he's made (genuine). He's baking constantly in both the game and in manga. There are so many instances where he bakes experimentally, he bakes recreationally or bakes for his dorm. There're so many instances where he just carries cupcakes and scones and cookies everywhere. He bakes some to share with his Science club members, shares some type of goody with every iteration of the Yuu's (mangas and game). He goes out of his way to buy new recipe books with his own money to bake more things. In one vignette he bought an entire recipe book specifically so he can learn to bake this one (1) type of dessert he saw once because he liked the way the dessert looked so much that he wanted to make it and went and BOUGHT AN ENTIRE NEW RECIPE BOOK just to make that one dessert. That guy likes to bake. Yeah sure, he says "i don't bake with love 😏" but that doesn't mean anything in the context of NRC which is "emotionally repressed anti-feelings" central where nearly everyone can't be genuine and blunt with their feelings and emotions (even the more blunt and jovial characters have some deep sadness or deep trauma stuff that gets hinted at several times like with Cater, Kalim, Silver and Sebek). Folks in NRC are emotionally repressed and hate admitting connection with each other. Seriously, check out Yuurei20's post on how often the term "friend" is used in the original Japanese, there's very few canonical mentions of them calling each other friend EXCEPT WHEN ENGLISH TRANSLATION ADDED IT otherwise they don't normally actually acknowledge their connections and some never actually say friend at all. They'll call each other classmates or something but in JP they don't really like to acknowledge closeness.

Trey clearly likes to bake and invests a significant amount of time into it beyond just occasional cooking duty and he also shares his goods with practically everyone. Yeah sure he's from a family of bakers and I've seen some people say that "oh but he's just baking because of his family job" but it's not like they urgently need their son, who's in class and currently at the magic boarding school, to bake everyday for their baking needs and i guarantee that he doesn't need to go out of his way to get experimental with his baking and wouldn't bake that often if it's just cause of family business or practice. Plus if it's just that then why would he go out of his way to buy recipe books just cause he saw a single dessert that inspired him. He's not just baking for family business reasons. Trey likes to bake.

Honestly, I'm not surprised he says that he doesn't bake with love especially in a place like NRC. As mentioned earlier, everyone gets so weird and pressed about connection and also makes fun of each other for expressing care. Some even get anxious about another's intentions if given unasked for help (notable when Kalim helped Azul get his hat in the manga and Azul stresses about trying to repay this favor). Also baking is just a hobby, similar to crafting, drawing or writing and sometimes people just take satisfaction and joy in simply doing those things. When someone makes something, they don't always have to put in heartfelt feelings in it per se. When someone draws, sometimes it's cathartic or you just felt inspired and just wanted to draw. Sometimes it is specifically to destress or to get out feelings. Sometimes drawing is just because you can do it so you did. Similarly, baking can just be because you wanted to and you like baking. Plus it makes sense Trey wasn't like "i put all my love and feelings in my baking<3" because in the context of that line he seemed to be referencing baking for his peers and strangers. He's baking for people in his school or for events. So Honestly yeah??? Of course Trey wouldn't say he puts love in his baking. He's baking for his friends, for his club and for dorm stuff and also bakes experimental recipes. He isn't stirring that bowl of batter and going "now to put in all of my love and dedication <3" during those times because it would be kinda odd for most of those scenarios tbh. For experimental recipes, you're low-key kinda just fucking around and taking notes to see what works and i imagine trey would be doing the same and wouldn't be emotional over his bowl of batter during this time. For his club and dorm stuff, Trey isn't super close with EVERYONE in there and he's just trying to make sure there's enough so again fitting that he's not going "made with love". If he's making treats for his friends then he certainly tends to put in more effort, usually in regards to taste and diet (notable with vil and Cater as he tends to make things that they will actually like) and seems to like compliments on his cooking especially from those he's closer to. While he does put in that extra care which implies closer bonds, i do think most of the nrc boys would still be put off if trey was like "for you, made with love <3" (i think Ace would make fun of him so hard and even cater would be thrown for a loop). I will also note that in several vignettes as well as in several scenes in the manga, he gets genuinely put out if someone doesn't want to eat his cooking (notably in the manga if people were too busy to eat though this also happens in game) and in a few vignettes he even tries to adjust what he makes and what he pairs it with specifically so they will eat more of what he makes (notably with Vil and trying to make light desserts and pastries as well as pairing it with certain preferred teas) which to me shows he does put care and thoughtfulness into his baking even if he doesn't say it outright.

Long story short: Trey is not uncaring (he looks out for his dormmates and friends even baking treats specifically for their taste when he can), he likes baking (he wouldn't be so invested in trying new recipes, looking for inspiration or going out of his way to experiment with his baking if he wasn't), he's not really scheming so much as he's trying to keep the peace and avoid conflict to the point of either keeping quiet, thwarting shenanigans (notably with ace and deuce), or hiding his abilities (he's not like Azul, jamil or Leona who are aiming for top spot and in fact trey dislikes added fuss and dislikes the spotlight), and he's mischievous and petty at times though notably with those that are also mischievous or petty (he will mess with his younger dorm members though will try to stop them from actually messing up like with the oyster sauce joke for the chestnut tarts, and sometimes messes with others)

[askdaisydandfriemly]

MOD update!

I’m sorry, but the only reason the ask box is open right now is for questions related to the Wild Children storyline.

I will not be doing seasonal events until it’s finished- I’m just tired of the storyline going on for years because I put it on hold for Nightmare Night, Pony Prom, etc.

If you have questions for The Locksmith/Verdigris, Striking Plate, Echo Wind or Hidden Key, ask away!

If your ask isn’t something on my “asks wanted” list, at least directed to ANY of my OCs, related to a plot line, or can be spun to be used for the plot, I will be deleting it because the workload is stressing me out.

Sorry! 😥

[dykedvonte]

Something something perhaps the reason Curly lacks a truly undamaged ID where his face is visible is to represent how much damage Jimmy had already affected on him throughout their relationship and the way Curly obscured part of who he is and what he stood to unintentionally cater to this toxic influence in his life.

[mabaris]

no youre completely right - im a gay (trans)man and i legit wanna see so much more about the women bc There Is So Little. I wanna make a lesbian oc who gets bent in half by taash. im very normal.

i’m just tired man!!!! it feels so obvious how disproportionate it is when you’ve got. a cast of characters that we know almost equally little about. and a few of them explode in popularity and it’s like spongebob sticking his hand out the curtain. literally all a character needs to do numbers is to be a light-skinned man

[silusvesuius]

this tree from my new drawing looking goated afffffff 👑👑

[wheucto]

finally decided to start watching s2e17 of ii

[toxifoxx]

n one gets him like i do no one understands him like me no one is as insane about him as i am STARTS GNAWING AT THE THE BARS OF MY ENCLSOURE

[andersdotters]

Hi! I recently found your blogs, and can I just say how much I love your character analyses? Your portrayal of each character is always so in depth to the point where I can even picture them acting and speaking the same in game! I'm so impressed and I seriously don't know how you connect to each and every one of them so perfectly :O

If I may ask, what does your research and character profile process look like? As someone interested in writing, I hope to be as skilled as you with analysing characters (and writing plots and writing in general--) one day :) Any tips would be appreciated!

Thank you so much for all the hard work you do. I know I'll enjoy the story you come up with next!

Aww thank you so much!! Honestly sometimes I worry that my analyses won't be to everyone's tastes, so I'm very glad you think that they're good! I feel the same way about my writing because I know they're not the most romantic, so it's a relief to know you like it. ;v; <3 I have a lot to say about your questions though, so I'm going to put it under a readmore. It's an uh... infodump HAHA

When it comes to research, what it basically comes down to is reading everything. Read the character's lore, read their voice lines. Read what other characters have to say about them. Even talking to every NPC you see in the hopes that they'll talk about a character helps out a lot too HAHA. I also recommend going back to old events when doing research too. Reread them. Listen to the voice actor's portrayal of them. Read everything you can.

This is take three of trying to explain my character analysis process, but I'm going to give up and just explain to you the main logic that governs it. Basically what it boils down to is: we are not unique. Humans are not unique. What do I mean by this? People that are certain ways--for example, they have a low self-esteem, consistently overwork themselves, they want children when they get older, etc--they will typically share common characteristics. When you know the defining characteristics of each trait, you can potentially apply that trait to everyone you know that displays those characteristics.

For example, people that constantly overwork themselves typically have unhealthily high levels of perceived responsibility, typically with a self-deprecative trait that they don't deserve to be happy and rest. People that are very showy tend to care a lot about what people think of them. People that are extremely close to their families typically lose the ability to function properly without them.

If you know people that are like the examples above, you know that these observations are pretty accurate. And these examples represent pretty common types of people as well. Once you've seen one of them, you've seen them all. Nobody is unique. And because of that, you can apply these observations to characters because characters are meant to be human. Example one is Kaveh. Example two is Itto. And example 3 is Lyney. Now you've gotten a deeper dive into their psyche.

The way you become better at character analysis is by broadening your internal library of traits and their defining characteristics. This involves three steps: observation, drawing connections between observations, and fine tuning these connections by applying them to other people.

These steps are easy to understand, but let me go a bit more into step one. Observations come in two categories: physical observations and intuitive observations. Physical observations encompass things they physically do. Intuitive observations are larger statements that can't be tied to just a single physical observation. For example, physical observations may be that they don't go out much, they don't talk much in groups but do one-on-one, they wear bright colors, they're rude, etc. Intuitive observations are more: they seem to be uncomfortable around children, they act like they're scared to contact first, they're always on the move, etc.

The second step involves drawing lines between observations and trying to deduce meaning. For example, [they end their sentences using a rising intonation] + [they ask me my opinion a lot] = [this person cares about not sounding rude or unwelcoming]. Or, [they have a low self-esteem] + [they care about being seen as morally good] + [they engage in fandom] = [I probably should not tell this person I think Dottore and his penchant for human experimentation is hot].

Typically the logic goes: [physical observation] + [physical observation] = [intuitive observation]. [physical observation] + [intuitive observation] = [mid-tier intuitive observation]. [intuitive observation] + [intuitive observation] = [top tier intuitive observation].

But it does not end at step two. Step three basically tests to see if your observation from step two is valid or not. When you apply your observation from step two to a multitude of people, you're able to fine tune your observation to make it more generalized and more accurate. Maybe you realize that not everyone that ends their sentences in a rising intonation is necessarily polite, but it's more of a cultural thing. Maybe you see that having low self-esteem isn't always a symptom of having a high moral code. Test, revise, then test again. The higher the tier of your observation, the greater the chance it has of being wrong.

When I analyze characters, I go through my mental library and see which traits and characteristics I've catalogued before. And for things that don't have an exact match, I try to find ones that shares at least a few things in common that may follow the same logic. For example, I don't know anyone like Zhongli. However, I do have a friend that's very outgoing, but you can have a full on conversation with them and leave not knowing anything about them. Can I apply the logic of my friend to someone like Zhongli?

I will say this and I will say this again. People are not unique. Everyone is a copy of someone else in some way. When you treat the characters as if you were analysing any other normal human being, you can quite easily draw conclusions from what they have in common with people you know and have seen.

Anyway, this is so long I am so sorry. Hopefully I didn't completely bowl you over with information. OTL

[atalana]

having one of those nights where i'm just. extremely frustrated about fatphobia's existence and the fact that whatever i do to try and change it will be a drop in the ocean and there'll always be people who think i'm just saying this because i'm lazy

[bitchesgate3]

mizora fans are the only safe side of the fandom for me

[duskerot]

i just put together my year in review art summary for the year and its interesting because compared to last year i think my technical skills improved but it feels a little bittersweet overall because as soon as i got my job all of that ambition just vanished LOL

[snekdood]

bitches prolly out here psychoanalyzing my old art on behalf of my abuser to cushion their belief that im a Horrible Person but then dont see the irony when I point out the shitty things my abuser has drawn and how I see it as clear evidence of their mindset and beliefs (of what's okay to do and how to treat people) descending and pairing that along with everything else they've done and it paints a clear picture of how this person got to the point of thinking it was okay to abuse me the way they did and then the people looking for reasons to hate me through my art will act like "they're just drawings !!!" about their art. which one is it. does someones art say something about them or not? or does it only say something about them if you hate them?

[realjem]

pre-artfight preparing always makes me feel so. nostalgic? a bit bittersweet? god it always makes me feel so rambly

[sweet1delusi0ns]

Class 1A boys random headcanons ──☆*:・ﾟ

MHA

Summary: random thing they do or say as your boyfriend*.•

Characters: Izuku, katsuki, Shoto, Tenya, Eijirou, Denki, Sero, Tokoyami, Aoyama, Ojiro, Sato, Shoji, Koji!

IZUKU~

He tries making you food just to be nice, but he doesn’t really know how so he just brings you something easy like instant noodles and say “it’s the thought that counts!”

He use to be insecure of his freckles and the only reason he isn’t now is because you kiss them all the time!

he draws you all the time, he hangs them all up in his room so when you hang out with him you tease him about being so obsessed with you which he blushes too

He lets you put his fluffy hair in pigtails sometimes!

He does a stupid dance everytime he beats you in something, a game, a training exercise or something like that. You say it’s cute which makes him flustered~

KATSUKI~

Claims he doesn’t cry at all but in reality he cries in front of you all the time, and ONLY you

He has some hearing loss from his quirk so sometimes he doesn’t hear you walking up to him so you have to kiss him to get his attention

He kisses the back of your hand, not to be a ‘gentleman’ or anything he is just too timid to kiss your face sometimes

His face is always so stern but when you two are alone his face soften SO MUCH. It relaxes into a small smile when he is alone with you

He lights candles for you with tiny explosions, sometimes it doesn’t work and he gets embarrassed for failing so he will just melt it instead! (You don’t really care but if you did he would get you a new one)

SHOTO~

he also lights candles for you, and it actually works. So he gets a bunch of candles for you just so he can light them all for you. He threw away your lighter so you have to ask him

He heats up his hands ever so slightly when he touches you to warm you up. You call him your heating pad LOL. He also gives you massages after training with warm hands as to not hurt you

He normally doesn’t want to even mention his scar but with you he literally asks to kiss it when he feels down about it~ which you always do!

He lets you paint his nails, he also does not care what colors. He just likes spending the time it takes to paint them with you, he normally gossips with you while you paint them~

TENYA~

whenever he is talking to you he sometimes gets so comfortable to the point he will speak incredibly fast! You have to put your hands on his cheeks and tell him to slow down

He reads to you, even if you say no he does it anyways. He says it’s for learning purposes but in reality he just wants to spend time with you

He tries showing off his intelligence with you. “Give me any equation and I am confident I will know how to solve it!”

He sometimes forgets he wears glasses, he falls asleep with them on sometimes so you have to take them off for him. Sometimes he puts his head in your neck but his glasses get in the way which makes him whine and tear them off so he could actually cuddle into you~

He’s so proud of you sometimes he brags about you at random times. “Have you seen y/n? Yeah we are DATING!”

EIJIROU~

He wants to give you love bites sometimes but he knows his teeth are sharp so he’s scared too

His quirk sometimes makes his hands and arms dry from overuse so he asks you what to do about it and you told him to just try moisturizer. he made you put it on him because he likes your warm touch! (Not in a weird way!?)

He lets you draw on him, it doesn’t matter if your bad at drawing or not he likes being your ‘canvas’ he says. As long as you let him draw on you too. It’s normally just dumb faces like ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ or something like that LOL

He is SO WHINY, like extremely whiny! Even in front of his friends, if he wants something from you he’s gunna whine till he gets it. “Y/NNNNNNNNNNN GIVE ME A KITHHHHH” “dude lower your voice people are gunna thing your weird *kiss*”

Whenever he is yapping to you about god knows what he sometimes stutters unintentionally which makes him stop talking for like 5 minutes due to embarrassment. “So t..th.Then…..” “Uhm you ok?” “…” “Your not gunna talk anymore huh?” “*Shakes head*”

DENKI~

he pulls the dumbest faces and then asks you if you still think he’s cute- like “hey y/n am I still cute?(o_O)” “no you look dumb stop it” “fine…”

He shocks you but not on purpose, in general he has so much static electricity coming off of him that he can’t control so sometimes if you reach to play with his hair you’ll get shocked. He apologizes over and over and ‘kisses it better’

He lets you put make up on him, you don’t even have to wear make up yourself and he’s down. You make him look like a princess and he loves it- “I’m beautiful!!!”

He’s very needy which is obvious. He gets so needy for attention that sometimes he will just follow you around school waiting for you to atleast hug him~

SERO~

He loves arts and crafts (LOL) he likes making home made cards for you instead of buying them from a store. He also likes building things with you like bird houses n such. He’s a great tape dispenser so he’s good at it☺️

He’s really good at puzzles so if your doing something like a rubix cube or just a normal puzzle and you get stuck he always helps you!

He leaves love notes for you everywhere, in your bag, on your desk, in your locker or even in your books. He isn’t the best with words but it’s still cute that he tries

TOKOYAMI~

He gets jealous of dark shadow, he always makes you laugh. So in return he banishes dark shadows for a while so he can have alone time with you (aka to cuddle)

He drags his beak through your hair instead of playing with it with his hands, he basically preens you but refuses to admit that’s what he’s doing-

He’s insecure, it is kinda weird that he has a bird head but you don’t let that get in the way. You cover his beak with kisses hoping it’ll make him feel better

He made you a necklace out of one of his feathers, now you wear it everywhere and people either think it’s adorable or cringy

I’ve said it before he is really fluffy so whenever you cuddle you start playing with his feather. He says he doesn’t care but if you don’t he begs you to. “Can you? You know?” “What” “You always play with my feathers?” “Aww you want me to play with your feathers!?” “Yeah.”

AOYAMA~

Behind closed doors he ditches the whole self centered thing and is fixed onto you. While you guys cuddle in privet you could hear him saying “you are so very dazzling! Just as much as me~” or “you are like a shining star! So pretty…” (out of character again but IDC I headcanon him to be a sweetheart!)

Whenever he gets a stomach ache from overusing his power he MAKES you give him a tummy rub, he will force your hand above his stomach and wait for you to sooth him

He wears make up so he lets you do looks on him. If you do good enough he will wear it for the day but most of the time it doesn’t meet his standards LOL

Similar with nails, he lets you paint them whatever color you want and he will keep them on. He doesn’t care as much abt his nails then he does his face-

He loves when you play with his hair, like really loves it. Whenever you play with his hair or give him a scalp massage he just sits there like ^0^. Seriously his mouth will hang open without him realizing. You have to close his mouth manually with your finger

OJIRO~

He lets you play with his tail, you just pet it whenever you want but you have to be careful because his tail is a little ticklish. He will swat you away if it starts to tickle

He Carries your bags for you, he’s a gentleman like that! he does it just to be nice but if you insist on carrying them yourself he won’t stop you!

He sometimes jumps into your arms, as a ‘joke’ which is a lie. Sometimes he just wants to be in your arms! He also finds it hot that you are strong enough to hold him~

He likes when you guys match! Clothes or shoes n such! He thinks it’s cute and we wants everyone to know that y’all r dating!

SATO~

He finds it hot when you call him ‘big boy’ he understands that you don’t do it to shame him but it’s more to flatter him. Like you’ll be having a light breakfast and after he finished he was still hungry so you tease “oh we gotta get more food in you big boy~ wait here I’ll get more!” He blushes so hard over it

He crams his head under your shirt when cuddling, he just likes laying on your stomach ok!

He is a little insecure about his looks, and he is very honest with insecurity so he will just confront you like “y/n I don’t think I look that good today…help?” And you’ll do everything you can to help

Whenever he is injured he milks it so harddd, he will ask you to get him a blanket, or help him eat. “Y/n could you feed this to me? I’m too hurt…” “your arms are fine?” “I know”

He’s the kinda guy to peak over your shoulder while your doing something because he really wants to be apart of it but he’s to scared to ask😭

SHOJI~

The first time you saw his face he was soooo insecure it was really sad, everytime you asked he when like “I don’t think you want to see…this” or “well y/n it’s obvious it isn’t going to look good, it’s probably gunna freak you out”. When he finally did show you he was shocked when you pulled him closer claiming you wanted to “admire his beauty” closer~

Cuddling with him is the best!! He makes a little cocoon around you with his arms! Unless you want to hold him which he also loves!

He insists on holding things for you, everytime you say “I wish I had more hands” he goes “luckily I do!” And takes everything out of your hands

He gets cold easily so sometimes when y’all cuddle he gets freakishly cold and you have to bundle him up like a burrito. You cry over how cute his looks with his mask off in a burrito blanket <3

KOJI~

He talks to you on a regular basis but he almost always leans into your ear, cup it with his hands and whisper instead since he is still very shy, unless you guys are completely alone. Even for the simplest thing; “y/n…do you want water?” “Speak up babe-” “*squealing noise*”

Compliments kill him, like actually last time you called him cute he fainted

He asks you to deal with spiders in his dorm or anywhere. You capture them and release them tho because he feels bad if you just kill them

He leaves you flower petals in random places, you could be looking through your books and notice a flower petal in between two pages~

He back hugs you to cuddle, he’s to scared to be face to face and he’s scared he’s gunna hurt you somehow? You assured him he will never hurt you which makes him feel a little better

Wsg yall!!!! Anywayyyys Next post prob gunna be class 1B cuz again they need more attention 😔

Not proof readdddd!!

[belethlegwen]

Previous tags To add to this in a way I think matters:

I understand people saying that they want the clout, that it IS important to see engagement, etc. and I don't doubt that. You're right, it's good to watch the numbers go up.

But for real if that was the only thing that you actually cared about, a lot more of you would be postin' feet pics and other naughty things.

You want clout? There's so many easy ways to get it.

Yes, it is good when the numbers go up. You want to feel seen, you want to feel appreciated, you want to feel liked. Don't let that stop you from making something unrecognizable to people other than yourself. Do it as a treat! Do it for yourself! Do it for those FIVE PEOPLE WHO LIKE IT.

For the love of God please do not sit there with an idea in your head and a wish to draw or paint or create something and have it be stopped because a little voice in your head says "Yeah but if you instead draw Vash eating a donut you'll get 5x as many likes".

“I wanna make art, but idk what people want to see from me—“ *GRABS YOU*

Do whatever you want. You have an idea? You plagued by visions? You got a special interest? You got daydreams about a oneshot you wanna write? Do it. “But how will I know what gets attention?” YOU WONT. THAT’S THE DEVIL TALKING. Say ‘fuck it’ and make whatever. I make art cuz ideas fill my brain & if I don’t see ‘em with my eyes I’ll DIE.

Make stuff cuz YOU wanna see it. If other people’s eyes see it that’s cool too.

[spider-stark]

THE BRIDGE

Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!Reader

Summary - Your wardship with House Blackwood was meant to bridge the chasm between your families. Years later, you return to Stone Hedge as the whispers of war spread—only for Lord Tully to call for a hunt.

Warnings - fem!reader, complicated sibling relationship, fighting, (probably excessive) mentions of blood, talks about hunting/killing wild animals, !angst!, adult language, reader def suffering from identity crisis, probably deviates from canon some, kieran burton fan cast for benji, all characters 18+

Word Count - 5.6k

!MINORS DNI!

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When Grover Tully, the Lord Paramount of the Trident, sent word for each of his bannermen to send forth a handful of their finest House members to a most desolate area of the Whispering Woods, no one thought it wise to object. 

“Lord Grover is an ornery old crow,” your father, Humfrey Bracken huffed as you readied the horses. “But you would do well to earn his respect.” He clamped a hand on your brother’s shoulder, pride gleaming in his eyes as he said, “Whatever he’s planning, I want you to show him that House Bracken stands strong. Understood?” 

Keeping his chin held high, Amos hesitantly mutters, “If you wish to impress Lord Tully, you might think twice about sending her.” 

Even with your back turned, you could feel the weight of your brother’s stare, his eyes boring a hole into the back of your head. 

Your father shrugged, a disinterested gesture. “Grover said to send our best,” he said, “and when it comes to a bow and arrow, no one's a better shot than her.” 

For the next day-and-a-half, you rode at a distance from the group your father selected—your brother, Amos, and two of your male cousins. And while they laughed and jeered and yapped, you remained stuck in your own thoughts, playing your father’s words on a loop. 

It’s the only compliment he’s ever paid you. The closest he’s ever come to acknowledging you as Bracken. 

You hate him sometimes, you think. For agreeing to peace all those years ago—for sending his only daughter to ward with his rival of all people. He must have known it was futile. Must have known that one girl could never bridge such an ancient chasm. 

He must have known—and yet he sent you anyway, only to call you back years later, tearing you away from the only home you had ever known and leaving you to feel like a stranger in your House. 

Grover said to send our best. 

Are you a Bracken, then? Is blood all that determines a House? 

No one’s a better shot than her. 

But your skill is that of a Blackwood, born under their tutelage. 

Deep within the Woods, a steady mist of rain falls from the sky, leaving your skin uncomfortably damp. In the distance, a low hum of chattering voices signal that the four of you are drawing close to Lord Grover’s camp—and that the other House’s have already arrived. 

Your thoughts shift, wondering who Lord Samwell sent to represent House Blackwood—fearing that you might already know the answer. 

A strange tightness floods your chest, coiling around your lungs. 

It’s been months since you last saw the heir to Raventree Hall. Many, many months—and you can’t help but think any reunion might end in bloodshed with Amos by your side. 

As if he heard his name ring through your mind, your brother slows his horse to gentle trot beside yours, cocking a neatly groomed brow at you. “Tell me, sister—were you always this dour?” He asks, feigning intrigue. “Or did half-a-decade with the Blackwoods simply drain the joy from you?” 

You don’t pry your eyes from the path ahead, refusing to look him in the eye as he continues without waiting for an answer. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised—a mere day with those insipid cravens would have me wishing to swallow my own blade.” Removing a hand from the reins, he pantomimed the act—gripping an invisible hilt and shoving it towards his lips, letting a dramatic choke rip from his throat. 

Riding a bit ahead, your cousins chortle at his jest, shooting amused glances over their shoulders. 

“No need,” you answer without thinking, your tone impassive. “Aly would have an arrow in your eye before the day was up.” 

Your cousins fall silent. 

Amos stiffens, jaw clenched tight. “She could try.” 

You know Black Aly would try if given half the chance—and you have no doubt that she would succeed, too. She was the one who taught you how to string a bow and sharpen arrows, how to aim and never miss. 

When you don’t respond, Amos pulls his horse in closer—as close as he can get without spookings yours. “Look,” he utters, low enough that your cousins can’t overhear, “I don’t know how things were done at Raventree—but you’re home now, and you would do well to remember where your true loyalties lie.” 

Again, you don’t speak. Don’t think, either. 

Amos sighs. “Your blood runs gold, sister. You’re a Bracken, through-and-through. Take pride in that—and don’t bring shame upon our name. Understood?” 

Strange. 

You had seen your own blood before—more times than you can count, actually. Scars mottle your skin like stars in the sky, a reminder of the years spent training and the memories of nights spent with friends who were supposed to be enemies. 

Never once had it looked gold to you.

Only red. 

“I understand–” a pause, a breath, a heartbeat– “brother.” 

Nausea twists your stomach. The familial title curdles on your tongue even as Amos grins at you. There’s nothing affectionate about the gesture—how could there be? He doesn’t know you. Not really. 

Blood or no, you’re little more than strangers to each other—and yet, even so, you can see he’s trying. Trying to know you. 

Ahead, the camp comes into view. Banners hang above tents: white for the Mootons, blue for the Pipers, purple for the Mallisters. 

And red—for House Blackwood. 

Amos gives you one last glance, a pall mimicry of what you believe is meant to be love in his eyes. “You’re home now,” he reminds you again, as if you need to hear it,“be glad for it.” 

With the Tully’s guards now in earshot, Amos doesn’t bother with waiting for a response. He snaps the reins, urging his gelding back to the head of your group, already bellowing his greetings. You watch him go, transfixed on the yellow-gold of his tunic—identical to yours. 

Approaching the guards, you tell yourself that your brother is what home is supposed to look like. That if you were to slice your veins, gold would pour from your wrists. 

Not red. 

After checking in with the guards and tying your mare up in the makeshift paddock, there was no time left to freshen up before you were expected to join Amos and your cousins. With all the Houses now gathered, Lord Grover wasted no time in calling you all to the heart of the camp. 

Still, you try to make yourself presentable—using your fingers to comb through tangled, windswept hair and smoothing the wrinkles from your gold tunic, careful not to disturb the ornate brooch pinned above your heart. 

According to the guards, everyone was given one upon arrival. “All Houses are required to wear them,” they explained when Amos pressed them on it, “Lord Tully’s orders.” 

They were all different, it seemed. Yours was a delicate thing, fashioned from silver and pearls in the image of a blooming dahlia, while Amos’s was clunky and shaped like the sun. He’s still fumbling with it when you finally push through the small crowd, taking your place at his side. 

To your left, separated only by a group of five Frey men, you feel the wary glances being cast your way. You almost turn your head—almost glance back at them, if only to see what they might do. What he would do. 

Would he even acknowledge you? Or simply look away? 

The answer, thankfully, is one you don’t have time to learn. A servant garners attention, dragging a simple, plush chair to the group’s center. Following suit, another two servants assist the aged Lord Paramount from his tent, guiding him into his seat. On his right stands his eldest grandson—and your favorite Tully. Tall and dark-haired, Elmo looks more fearsome than he actually is, sparing you a quick, discreet wink when he spots you. 

“You may all be wondering,” Lord Grover wheezes, his lungs fighting for breath, “why I have called upon you all today—the many great Houses of our land.” 

As he speaks, old, gnarled hands punctuate his words, gesturing out to the many men gathered ‘round. His fingers shake with effort, his shoulders bowed beneath the weight of his many, many years. But his chin remains high, and his tone commanding—if a touch quavery. 

“I hear rumblings,” he continues, “from the South-East.” 

Lord Grover’s eyes, milky with cataracts, shift in the direction, staring blindly into the towering trees of the Whispering Woods. Beyond them, even. 

“Whispers of a great danger brewing in the Crownlands—within the King’s own court, if rumors are to be trusted.” 

Your spine turns to steel. 

Those rumors, you know, are as true as they come. Over the past several months, they had moved through the realm like a venomous serpent. Slithering from mouth to ear, hissing tales of the two factions that now divide King Viserys’s council. 

The Blacks and the Greens. 

The rightful heir and the first-born son. 

And the very reason your father had called you home. 

“War is coming,” a deep, foreboding warning, “and should it reach the Riverlands, I wish to know that we might stand united in its wrath. That we will not allow petty rivalries–” a pointed glance at your brother, and then to your left where, without looking, you know the Blackwood heir stands–“to tear us apart from within.” 

A heartbeat passes. Then another. 

The forest holds its breath. Cradles the Lord Paramount’s words in the air, weaving them around the many great Houses of the Riverlands. 

You wonder if this is what strength looks like. What it sounds like. 

You fear you already know which side of the war Lord Grover’s strength might fall—and you pray that you’re wrong. 

Placing a firm hand upon his grandfather’s shoulder, Elmo takes a step forward. “In an effort to promote civility between our Houses,” he announces in a tone that demands respect, “we have arranged for a hunt.” 

Your brow furrows. A hunt? 

“You will be divided into two person teams, working with an individual outside of your own House.” His gaze shifts to you, dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “Teams have already been decided. Upon your arrival, each of you was given a pin—your partner will bear a matching one. And while there will be no winners or losers, you should know that once you leave camp, you will not be permitted to return without a trophy of some kind.” 

Discontent spreads. Low murmurs fill the air. 

Amos voices his frustration louder than the rest.  “And when is this hunt to take place?” 

Elmo grins. “Now.” 

Instantly, murmurs grow to shouts. 

“You cannot be serious, my Lord!” 

“It is already sunset!” 

“Is this a jest?” 

Elmo’s grin never wavers, unphased by the protests—and Lord Grover appears content to let his grandson contend with everyone's bickering, exhausted from what little talking he had already done. 

“Might I suggest you move quickly,” Elmo speaks over the crowd. Glancing upwards, he squints at the black clouds rolling overhead, an amused lilt to his voice as he adds, “Lest you wish to be caught in the coming storm.” 

With no more than a curt nod to the crowd, Elmo turns on his heel, already veering off in the direction of his own tent as servants begin to help Lord Grover rise. 

“This is absurd,” your brother grumbles. 

You ignore him. Storming right past him, you make a beeline for the fleeing Lord. 

“A hunt?!” 

Fond as Elmo is of you, you know better than to shout at the future Lord Paramount of the Trident. Your voice remains no more than a harsh whisper, even as you shoot daggers into the back of his head. 

“At night, no less! In the middle of a gods-damned storm! Have you lost your mind?” 

“What? You think it’s a bad idea?” He chuckles, keeping a steady pace. “Of all people, I thought that you might appreciate the challenge of it all.” 

You stay on his heels. “Who is he?” 

“Who is who?” 

Further from the crowd now, you grow bold. You reach out and snag his arm, forcing him to stop and face you. “Ignorance isn’t a good look on you, Elm.” You grind out, “Swear that you didn’t pick him to be my partner.” 

A wrinkle forms between thick brows, feigning innocence. “What makes you think that I chose your partner?” 

“Because I know you. You’re always scheming—jutting your big nose into places it very well does not belong!” 

Elmo opens his mouth—hesitates—and then frowns. “Am I truly that transparent?” 

“You may as well be made of glass, Elm.” 

His pout deepens, still dancing around your question. “Well, let's say that I did choose your partner—theoretically, of course!” Your eyes roll. “I think you would find my choice to be quite suitable. If anything, you might even thank me-” 

“This isn’t a game, Elmo!” Desperate now, you can’t stop your voice from rising. “If you paired me with him, then Amos will–” 

“Kill him?” Elmo ventures. 

“Yes!’ 

Pursing his lips, Elmo’s gaze falls somewhere over your head. “Well,” he sucks in a breath, “it seems we may be past the point of stopping that from happening.” 

Your mind goes blank, your thoughts scattering like shards of glass. 

You spin on your heel, head whirling around in search of Amos in the throng. Less than a second and you spot him—not because your gaze was drawn to the familiar gold color of your own House, but because of the wall of stark scarlet standing before him. 

Blackwoods. Two of them on either side of the Raventree heir. 

And Benji—his hands pressed to your brother's chest, roughly shoving him back into one of your cousins. 

“Do me a favor,” Elmo's sigh cuts through your panicked haze. “Keep the two of them from plunging a sword in the others’ belly, would you?” 

Any other time and you might have told Elmo off, cursed him for putting you in this position—future Lord Paramount be damned. 

But not now. Not when centuries of rivalry serve as proof that nothing is more dangerous, more unpredictable than this—

A Blackwood and a Bracken—your brother and Benji—standing toe-to-toe. 

Mindless adrenaline is all that thrusts you into motion. Mud splatters up the legs of your trousers as you practically run in their direction, demanding as soon as you’re in ear shot, “What is this?!” 

Amos doesn’t acknowledge you. Neither does Benji. 

Chests-puffed, they remain locked in their foolish staring match, neither of them willing to be the first to back down. 

Finally, one of your cousins sneers, “Seems that Benji-boy here thinks we’re gonna let him take you out into the woods.” 

A sharp, nasty laugh rips from Amos’s throat. “As if I’d let that happen!” 

“We’re partnered for the hunt, you imbecile.” Benji’s tone is that of lethal calm, even as he glares down his nose at your brother. You look to his chest—spotting the silver dahlia pinned at his breast. “If you have a problem with it, take it up with Tully.” 

“You think I’m stupid, Blackwood?!” 

Benji’s brow lifts a fraction of an inch, as if silently proclaiming—I just said so, did I not? 

Scowling, Amos juts his finger against Benji’s chest. “I refuse to give a Blackwood an opportunity to defile my sister!” 

Benji’s answering grin is something wicked as he purrs, “Oh, if I wanted to defile your sister, Bracken, I could’ve done so a long time ago.” 

Your pulse pounds—caught somewhere between offense and desire as Benji’s words echo in your head. 

Both feelings fade to fear when Amos reaches for the hilt of his sword, wrenching it from the sheath at his hip. In a blink, more weapons are drawn—your cousins holding swords, the Blackwoods holding daggers. 

Not Benji, though. 

Benji doesn’t flinch, even with your brother's sword poised at his throat, ready to kill. Something flickers in his eyes—a shift that you know all too well, sending ice skittering across your bones. 

“I won’t have this,” Amos seethes. “You will find another partner—or I swear on my House that blood will be shed!” 

Benji leans closer. Let the tip of the blade dig into his flesh, a rivulet of blood rolling down his throat. 

Red. 

“Is that a threat, Bracken?” 

You can hear your brother swallow—feel his panic as if it were your own, as if it was his fear coursing through your veins. Still, his voice remains steady. “Consider it a promise, Blackwood.” 

A blink and steel was glinting before your eyes. A single breath and Amos was out-maneuvered and out-matched—the clash erupting and subsiding in one seamless heartbeat, ending with your brother's sword in Benji’s hand. 

A shuddering breath slips from your brother's lips as Benji presses the steel to his throat, a perfect mirror of the position they were in just moments ago. 

“What’s the matter, Bracken?” Benji croons sarcastically, head hilting. “Do I frighten you?” 

There’s a lull to his voice—an eerie stillness that sends a chill scuttering down your spine. 

Amos was ignorant—to pick a fight with Benji, to think he might actually win it. But he’s your brother, too—and you know that if he were to be slain right now—right here—an even larger chasm will take the place of the one you were once meant to bridge. 

“Stop.” 

The demand is no more than a breath. A soft, terrified sound. 

Yet still, it makes Benji’s focus waver. 

“Leave him.” You force yourself to speak louder. Stronger. “Now.” 

You take a step closer—a hand outstretched, reaching towards Benji. His attention shifts, settling on you. He blinks—his stormy eyes, dark with rage, finally starting to clear. 

Benji’s movements languid as he steps away from your brother. Your cousins rush to Amos’s side as he stumbles back, frantically checking the heir of Stone Hedge for any sign of injury. 

They found none. Not even a scratch upon his throat, where his own sword had just hovered. 

Benji passes you the sword—a silent conversation passing between the two of you. 

You could have killed him, you glare. 

I could have—Benji agrees with a small, self-satisfied smile—but I didn’t. 

One of your cousins, bold and stupid, steps forward. “Is that all it takes to keep you at heel, Blackwood?” He glances between the two of you, his lip curling into a sneer. “A dog and his bitch,” he taunts, “how sweet–” 

A cry rips from his throat, cutting his insult short. You expect it to be Benji, having noticed the way his fists had clenched from the moment your cousin so much as looked at you. And perhaps it would’ve been—if your brother hadn’t grabbed the fool by the scruff of his neck, yanking him backwards and shoving him to the muddy ground. 

“Say what you want of him,” Amos tells your cousin, his voice gruff, “but you will mind how you speak of her.” 

You don’t know what to make of that. Of Amos defending you. Of knowing that if he hadn’t, Benji would have. Or that, even after that, Amos doesn’t quite know how to look you in the eyes, looking to the grass and the sky and anything that isn’t you. 

You’re a Bracken, through-and-through. Take pride in that. 

But did he take pride in you? 

If you wish to impress Lord Tully, you might think twice about sending her. 

“What’s done is done.” With a pointed look towards Lord Grover’s tent off in the distance, you say, “Now is not the time nor the place. If you wish so badly to fight, save it for when the war begins.” 

On one side of you, Benji remains silent, watching you with a curious glint in his eye. On the other, Amos hesitates. 

“I don’t trust him,” he says. 

You wonder if he doesn’t know how to say: I’m worried about you. 

“You heard our father,” you tell him, chin high, “when it comes to a bow and arrow, no one’s a better shot.” 

Perhaps there are things you don’t know how to say, too. Like: But I do. I trust him with my life. Maybe even with yours, too. 

Begrudgingly, Benji meets your brother's gaze, fighting the urge to scowl at him. “For years, no harm befell your sister under my watch—and you have my word that none shall befall her now,” he vows. “I swear it upon the Old Gods.” 

“And the New?” 

You consider stomping on Amos’s foot. 

Ignorant. To continue pushing— 

“Fine.” Benji’s brusque answer takes you by surprise. “Upon your false Gods as well, then.” 

Amos, to his credit, argues no further, only echoing the Raventree heir. “Fine.” 

For a fleeting moment longer, they stand there, eyes locked. Amos is the first to turn—the roaring tension dissipating into a hushed hiss as him and your cousins storm off. Benji stays, even as his own men begin to back off, as if listening to a silent command to go find their own partners. 

You look at him. And he smiles—a shy, awkward thing. 

“I’ll wait for you,” he says, a barely perceptible pause in his speech. “At the edge of camp—you can find me whenever you’ve gathered your things.” 

You open your mouth to speak, to say something—but the words take root in your chest, leaving vines to crawl up your throat. If you speak, you worry about what might come out. Worry it won’t be as delicate as the dahlia pinned above your heart—above his, too. 

So you close your mouth. Say nothing. Nod—and turn, trying to keep your legs from shaking as you walk back to the makeshift paddock to get what you would need for the hunt. 

True to his word, you find the heir of Raventree at the edge of camp, leaning against a towering oak and using the tip of his dagger to idly pick dirt from his nails. 

You brought only what was necessary—your bow, strapped between your shoulders, and a dark-leather quiver slung over your shoulder, stocked with already-sharpened arrows. 

Light rain mists over your face, the sky groaning with a low rumble of thunder. The forest floor squelches beneath your feet as you trudge towards him. Forever on-guard, Benji wastes no time in pushing himself off the tree, adjusting the dagger in his palm so that it can be easily plunged into another's belly if necessary. 

But then he sees you, dressed in Bracken gold with damp hair sticking to your cheeks, and looses a breath. Relaxing at the sight of you—his rival, according to centuries of precedent. Your rival, too, you suppose. 

Benji doesn’t look like your rival, though. 

Sheathing his dagger at his hip, you see no trace of the lethal Lord who, mere moments ago, was willing to go head-to-head with the heir to Stone Hedge. This boy—stuffing his hands in his pockets, a light flush crawling up his throat—is not Benjicot Blackwood, the heir of Raventree Hall. 

He’s just Benji. 

“Ready to go?” He asks when you’re closer, his voice a familiar caress so unlike the eerie lull it held earlier. 

It takes everything in you to erect an icy wall around your heart, colder even than Northern winds. You shove past him, your shoulder knocking into his as you go and earning a perplexed stare. “Let’s get this over with,” you snap, plunging into the depths of the Woods and leaving him to follow behind. 

Ten minutes pass. Twenty. 

Dusk crept swiftly through the Riverlands, casting a pall shadow over the Whispering Woods. Overhead, dark clouds seem to grow thicker, obscuring what little light the moon has to offer. 

A fool’s errand. An impossible task. 

That is what Elmo Tully had arranged—not a hunt. 

With the sun hidden beyond the horizon and a near-constant rumble of thunder, any animal in these Woods would either be asleep or hiding by now, trying to escape the incoming storm. To find a trophy to bring back to camp—even something as simple as a hare—was unlikely. 

Still, knowing the guards won’t let you back in without one, you keep walking. Keep plunging further into the Woods, praying to the Gods that you might find something to take back to camp. 

Twigs snap a few paces behind you, wet foliage squelching beneath purposefully heavy steps. A low, careless whistle tests your patience. 

With your bow hanging from your hand, you grumble, “You’re being too loud.” 

Benji feigns innocence. “Am I?” 

“Yes,” you hiss through gritted teeth, never slowing your pace. “Be quiet—unless you wish to scare off any game and spend the night sleeping on wet soil.” 

He chuckles—loudly. “Have you looked up lately?” Benji asks. “The sky looks as if it’ll crack open any minute now! Any animal with sense is hiding right now, anyway.” 

True. 

“Then we find one without sense, then.” 

Benji snorts. “The only thing without sense in this forest is Amos Bracken.” 

Without warning, you stop dead in your tracks—leaving Benji to nearly stumble into you. You cast a glare over your shoulder, cold enough that a chill seeps right into his bones. “You’d do well to keep quiet, Benjicot.” 

His lip curls, revealing a flash of slightly crooked teeth. “And since when do you call me Benjicot?” He asks, a ribbon of disbelief lacing his own name. 

Your jaw tenses, a muscle feathering there. 

I don’t know, you think, a pang of uncertainty cracking the ice wall around your heart. 

You reinforce ice with steel—turning fully now so that you’re face-to-face, dropping your bow to the ground by your feet. “I won’t let you speak of him that way,” you say, ignoring his question. “My brother is the heir to Stone Hedge–” 

A bemused laugh cuts through your words. “Oh, he’s your brother now, is he?” 

You speak over him, voice rising. “To insult him is to insult the whole of House Bracken–” 

“Fuck House Bracken,” Benji growls. 

He takes a half-step closer, towering over you with no more than a foot between you. You don’t falter—don’t look away. 

“I am a Bracken."

His head tilts. “Are you? Last I checked, you were practically raised on Blackwood soil.” 

“Perhaps,” you admit. “But my wardship is over–” 

Benji cuts you off. “Tell me, where was your brother all these years, then? Your father?” He doesn’t let you answer. “No more than a brisk-fucking-walk separating you and yet neither one of them cared to visit with the forgotten daughter of Stone Hedge!” 

You’re a Bracken—

“You don’t know them,” you protest weakly, your resolve crumbling. 

—through-and-through. 

“And you do?” He challenges. Another step, his chest inches from yours. Warmth radiates from his body, seeping into yours and melting melting melting. “Why did your father call you home?” 

His words are no more than a breath fanning across your cheek. 

Vulnerability permeates your gaze, bearing an unspoken truth. Because war is coming, you convey with no more than a flicker of your lashes, and fate has already decided my role in it. 

Benji’s lips tighten to a thin line—and you would’ve thought him ashamed of you, if not for the pain glimmering in his stormy-eyes, lined with silver. “Your father,” he utters, “he will declare for Aegon Targaryen—won’t he?” 

You’re a Bracken—

You debate the merits of telling him the truth. Of betraying the plans of your house. 

—Take pride in that. 

“Aegon Targaryen is the King’s true-born son.” You speak, though you know the words are not your own. “To sit the Iron Throne is his birthright.” 

The birthright of a drunken craven. 

The betrayal of a beloved princess. 

Benji blinks. Shakes his head, his tongue darting along his lips. “He called you home to fight. Humfrey Bracken’s forgotten daughter—useful at long last.” 

Rage coils in his tone. Instinct makes your muscles tense. 

Nothing is more dangerous than this, your thoughts whisper, a Blackwood and a Bracken, toe-to-toe. 

There’s nothing dangerous about the way Benji’s looking at you, though. His gaze soft and tender, calloused hands clenched at his sides—holding himself back, you realize. Not from fighting, but from reaching out to touch something he’s not certain is his. 

“Will you do it?” Benji asks, hesitant. “Will you fight for the pretender?” 

I don’t want to, you think. 

It’s your brother's words that slip past your lips. “I have no choice. My blood runs gold, Benji—a Bracken, through-and-through.” 

His brow furrows. Then a hand shifts to the sheath at his hip, sliding his dagger free. “Give me your hand,” he orders, nodding to where they hang at your sides. 

You remember his vow to your brother—that he would let no harm befall you. Even without it, you would’ve trusted him. Wholly. Unconditionally. 

You lift your hand and, without hesitation, he grips it on his own, pinning the steel tip of his dagger against your palm. 

You hiss—hand stinging as the blade drags along your flesh, leaving a thin, shallow cut. 

“You’ve always had one foot on either side of the boundary,” Benji starts, his words rushed. Carelessly tossing the dagger to the ground, he grabs your wrist tightly, lifting your palm up towards your own face. “But your blood,” he tells you, his eyes desperate, “has always run red.” 

It drips down your wrist—a rivulet of crimson, spilling between his knuckles as he refuses to let go. Red as the color of his tunic—as the specks of blood dried on his own throat, drawn by your brother's sword. 

Gold on your back. Red in your veins. 

A Bracken by name, but… 

“It’s not too late,” Benji says, his words slow and cautious, still cradling your hand in his. “You can come back to Raventree.” Thunder rumbles. Storm-cloud eyes fall to your lips. “You can come home.” 

You think of Amos. Of your brother. You’re home now, he had said, a shadow of love in his eyes, Be glad for it. 

But home was ancient stone, crawling with moss. Home was the deep, muddy moat that you always threatened to push Benji into when he was getting on your nerves. Home was Black Aly’s voice, scolding you whenever your arms were still too weak to string a bow. 

Home was a dead weirwood tree and a boy with stormy eyes. 

But duty… 

That was something else entirely. 

Closing your hand around Benji’s, your chest fills with water as the last of the ice melts. Hard steel turns impossibly soft, your feet shuffling until your body is flush against his—still-entwined hands pinned between your chest, trapped between fabrics of gold and red. 

Benji leans down, his forehead pressing against yours. There’s nothing dangerous about him. Nothing unpredictable. 

You know him—from the crook in his nose to the scar above his lip. From the lull of his voice to the weight of his steps. His quick temper and his shy smiles. 

High above, the sky cries out. Thunder booms, lightning cracks. Misty rain turns to a violent downpour. 

And he leans in, oh-so carefully. A trembling breath against slick skin, chapped lips hovering over yours. 

“You can come home,” Benji whispers, repeating himself. You can’t think—can’t breathe, as he utters against your mouth, “Let me take you home.” 

And he kisses you. A tender, desperate kiss—the kind that drives your lips apart with the sheer force of it. He tugs his hand from yours, slips it out from between your bodies and brings it to rest on the back of your neck, tangling his fingers in damp, rain-soaked hair. 

Restraint is no more than a breath in the wind. Desire curls in your stomach. Your pulse pounds in your veins, rich with red red red. 

But then there’s your brother’s voice in your head: I don’t trust him. 

And you know what he meant was: You’re my sister—my blood, red or gold—and I’m worried about you. 

You pull away, breathless and broken, one half of your heart lying on either side of the boundary stones resting miles and miles from here. 

Lips still close enough to brush against yours, Benji pants. “Say yes.” The love in his eyes isn’t a shadow. It’s a bright, blinding light. A proud declaration and a howling plea. “Say you’ll come home.” 

You look down—to the sigil embroidered on your tunic, to the still-drying blood on your palm 

An estranged brother and a forbidden lover. 

And you. 

The bridge to a great chasm. 

The futile remedy to centuries of enmity. 

You take a step back—reaching inside of yourself, pulling shriveled vines up your throat, knowing that the words hammering in your chest will be anything but delicate. That they’ll taste of rot in your mouth. 

“I’m not sure I have a home, Benjicot.” Pain echoes across his face, each syllable a rusted dagger in his heart. Another step back, grabbing your bow from where it laid in the mud, abandoned what feels like a millennia ago. “Not anymore.” 

When you turn to leave, thunder crashing overhead and a sob caught in your throat, you go alone.

The heir to Raventree Hall doesn’t dare to follow. 

You walk in silence, your bow hanging at your side. Behind you, there are no snapping twigs and no low, careless whistling. There’s only rain and—

A branch creaks overhead, halting your steps. Your bow is drawn in a single breath, the cut on your palm stinging as you  slide an arrow from the quiver slung over your shoulder, readying to shoot. You look up, drops of rain splattering against your cheeks as you scan the trees. 

There. 

Perched on a wet, mossy limb was a pair of beady eyes staring down at you. A raven, letting out a low, curious croak. 

A single shot and you could go back to camp. 

A single shot, you tell yourself, and your blood might finally run gold. 

A breath—and then the bow string goes slack. 

You slip the arrow back into the quiver.

a/n - does any of this even make sense? idk, you tell me lmao. overall, just wanted to play around with capturing the confusion that might ensue for a reader who has no clue where their loyalties lie anymore, lost in who they are and who they think they're meant to be--anyways, hopefully the ending makes sense to you because it makes sense in my brain

anyways

benji tag list (so sorry if I missed you!) - @jacaerysgf @lenasvoid @valdezthg @xzydra11 @snixx2088 @lianna75 @kennafild @ghostinvenus @heystaystray @but-i-write-so-i-must-count @a-song-for-ages