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fic title game: All's Fair In Love and Petty Vengeance
i immediately thought shadowpeach upon seeing this, and this does feel like the kind of thing i'd title a 2-5k oneshot of swk and macaque being assholes (/affectionate) to each other, bc it's that or actually talk about their feelings
what do you wish the fandom would interpret, analyze, and write fic or speculation on about mac, rather than what we currently get?
honestly it’s just that with every macaque fic i’ve read i’ve had at least one massive He Would Not Fucking Say That moment. which is a little funny, as i feel like i’m guilty of the same- i don’t like the parentification i see of him in the fandom, and i really like the more dickish aspects to his character, so i tend to focus on those more. i really like that even when he’s acting on lbd’s behalf, he’s more a terrified asshole who isn’t actually a bad Person so much as just selfish, but then even his selfishness is another front. he’s a complicated asshole and i love that, but i feel like fanon perception of him (at least when i check ao3) takes his “softer side” and makes it his Only side.
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Would it be weird to give my baby the same name as my sister?
I love my baby sister dearly, and I absolutely adore her name. There's no other name that I like nearly as much as hers. But I'm afraid people would think it was really weird if I gave my baby the same name as my little sister.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
In which Percy is the bearer of bad news.
“Really, milady, how can I be expected to work under these conditions?” the ornery voice of Escoll Rynderion rang through the chamber, the man himself red-faced with frustration. Cassandra De Rolo, youngest surviving member of the de Rolo line (and oh, how unexpectedly wonderful it felt to be a youngest again, and not an only), resisted the urge to bury her head in her hands.
Archie – no, no, Archibald, she was not a child any longer and formality was important when one was ruler of a city – straightened in his seat and held a placating hand out to the incensed wizard. (Honestly, what corner of Taldorei had Percival even found this strange man?) “Master Rynderion,” Archibald began, “I do apologize for the lack of, ah, informational resources within our city. As Vox Machina no doubt informed you when they first contacted you, our city was overrun with vampires for quite a number of years, and we are still recovering.”
“Yes, yes!” Rynderion responded impatiently, waving the explanation away. “I am well aware of the situation. In any case, I shall study the anomaly as best I can. That said, it will be much slower now since Allura and that dwarf zapped off without a word. I shall keep you informed.” Thus saying Rynderion left again with a small absent-minded bow.
“Any aid you are able to render,” Cassandra thanked him coolly as he dismissed himself, still muttering under his breath. Of course, the strange man had raised a question, one that had been plaguing Cassandra for days. Where had Allura gone? The woman had left with little warning, only explained white-faced that something had happened in Emon and she had to check on things. Whatever the disturbance, was her brother involved? Were they all right? Cassandra’s hand dropped to her side, where the gatestone was safely nestled in the folds of her dress. The gatestone lay dormant, only the faintest magical hum giving away its enchanted nature. A gauntleted hand clapped her shoulder.
She looked up; it was Keeper Yennen. His eyes rested briefly on the stone, then flicked back up to meet hers. “If it’s bad, they’ll send word,” he said simply. “I’m sure Lord Percival is fine.”
She smiled weakly. “Of course you’re right, Keeper. Now then, I believe we have a land dispute to settle.” With that, she pushed the questions away for another time.
The Briarwoods had gifted their henchmen with lordhood and property, but they had also redistributed large areas of farmland around the city. As soon as the council had come to power, there had been a clamoring to restore the traditional land boundaries. This, of course, came with over a dozen age-old disputes given new light, and sorting out a compromise for each had been slow and frustrating.
“That poplar is a menace!”
“That poplar has been in my family for seven generations!”
Do not put your head in your hands, she reminded herself, breathing deeply.
“According to our records, the border between your lands shall be figured at a distance of four feet from the trunk of the poplar in question. Is that correct?” Archibald asked. He excelled at not sounding bored or frustrated with whatever proceedings they were discussing.
“Yes, yes, and that’s all very well, but the roots are all under my land! I cannot possibly till my soil with all the damn roots – your pardon, milady – all your roots creeping across – “
“My father has told you people before, do not plant next to our – “
Cassandra cleared her throat. “Gentlemen,” she said firmly, and both farmers straightened, looking to her expectantly. How very odd it was sometimes – barely a month ago, Cassandra had been cowed and hopeless, held prisoner in her own home by a couple who at times treated her like a daughter, and at other times, like a slave. Now, though, she spoke and her people listened. It could still catch her off-guard. “If the root system has truly come to inhibit your land use, sir, would you be amenable to moving the border further away from the tree?”
The man blinked up at her, mildly outraged. “What, and give him more land?”
Cassandra sighed, looking down again at the map in front of her. She traced her finger along the border, then drew a line further north. “The farm to the north of you,” she began.
“Aye, ole Willy’s farm. What of it?”
“Actually, that is a large part of why we called you here today. I’m afraid I have news regarding your friend. I’m sorry to tell you, the whole family was killed by the Briarwoods. We’ve been searching for a surviving member and could find no one.”
The farmers’ shoulders sagged in unison. Cassandra suppressed a sigh. The situation was unhappily familiar. Nevertheless… “Until there is a family willing to buy the property and take over the farm again, the land is not in use. If you would be willing, any land you lose by moving this border,” she pointed again to the poplar marked on the map, “we can grant you back at your northern border.”
The farmer placed a reverent hand on the northern farm. “Willie was always proud of his potato patch,” he said with a weak smile. “I… yes. I accept.”
Cassandra breathed a small sigh of relief. Yennen gently ushered the men out of the room, promising to refine the details at a later time. Archie turned, giving her a small smile as they left. “That was very well done, Cassandra,” he said warmly.
“Thank you, Archie,” she said. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you and the Keeper.”
“You’re learning quickly. I’ve no doubt you would have figured it out on your own.”
She laughed lightly. “I prefer having your guidance, if it’s all the same to you.”
“And I am happy to give it,” he responded with a kind smile.
“Milady,” a guard came forward hesitantly, looking nervous. “Lady Cassandra, there is… there has been a disturbance at the Sun Tree.”
“Disturbance?” she repeated, frowning. “What sort of disturbance?”
“I, ah… I’m not sure, Milady, but… people are pouring out of it.”
Cassandra stood excitedly, eyes wide. “Is my brother among them?” she asked.
“I – I didn’t see – “ Cassandra swept past him, rushing to the castle entrance with as much propriety and decorum as she could bring herself muster.
Percival was in the entrance hall, heading a few dozen people. His expression brightened when he saw her, though his shoulders seemed heavy with some invisible load. Nevertheless, she swept over to the group and embraced him, smiling widely. “Percival, you’re returned!”
“Cassandra,” he greeted her, uncomfortably shrugging away from the hug. Some things never changed, and her brother’s dislike of hugs seemed to be one of them. “I’m afraid things aren’t going well,” he said, his face grim. Her eyes drifted questioningly to the group behind him. Now that she was studying them, none of the faces of his companions seemed to be present. The people in this group were dirtied, some with torn clothing or bandages. Parents clutched at their children tightly, and they all held the familiar air of loss.
Cassandra’s brow furrowed, looked back at Percival, and yes, he looked shaken as well. “What’s happened?” she asked.
“What have you heard of – of events in Emon?”
“I’ve heard nothing. We’ve been rather focused on our own city’s recovery.”
He sighed, looking away. “There’s been an attack. Chromatic dragons took the city. They’ve been… sweeping across the country. We don’t know how many towns they’ve destroyed.” He spoke slowly, haltingly, as though trying to find a way to break the news to her carefully. Finally he sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “There’s no simple way to put it. Our civilization is under siege. We were afraid Whitestone had been hit as well, but you seem…” he trailed off, reaching out to grasp his sister’s hand. “It seems Whitestone has been overlooked, for now.”
For now. Cassandra gaped at her brother, holding his hand tightly. It all seemed too much to be real.
“We were hoping,” he pushed on, still struggling to put words to their desperate plight, “we could move some of the survivors of Emon here to Whitestone for the time being. There won’t be many, less than a hundred I’m sure.”
His words were supposed to be comforting, an assurance that the refugees wouldn’t be a large disturbance to her city, but Cassandra felt a cold rush of horror at the number. How large was Emon? It had been the capital, a major port city with thousands of residents. And her brother had less than a hundred refugees for her to house? “Of course they can stay here,” she assured him. “For better or for worse, there are a number of vacant buildings in the city right now, thanks to recent events.” She gestured to the nearby guards, ordered them to lead the refugees and find housing. The group trailed away, leaving Percy and Cassandra alone.
“Recent events,” Percy repeated slowly. “Anything I should know about or – “
“The rebellion,” she answered shortly. “We lost many in the battle against the Briarwoods.”
“Right. Erm. I think it would be wise to… There should be a plan in place, in case the dragons come here.”
Cassandra nodded thoughtfully. “Worst comes to worst, we have a very large chamber underneath the castle now,” she said darkly. “One that would cancel any magical attack we might face.”
“And, of course, any research – I’m sorry, I know your resources are stretched thin, but any energy that can be put toward researching a way to kill these beasts…”
“Most of our researchers are still studying the orb. Oh! That reminds me.” She turned the topic to the researchers, to the strange old man who had burst into her audience chamber complaining about the magic orb earlier today. As they spoke, Cassandra studied her brother.
He was frazzled and shaken by the dragon attack, that much was clear. As genuinely pleased as he was to see her, his focused was clearly a thousand miles away, still thinking, planning, already a dozen steps ahead of everyone else. In true Percival fashion, he had thrown himself into the work – the questions of logistics, of concrete problems with practiceable solutions – in lieu of dealing with the distress and terror of the attack itself. She remembered the pattern from their childhood, but couldn’t think what her mother had done when he’d shut himself in his workshop for days at a time. Most often, she had had the dismissive and uncharitable impression that Percy was bothered by some boring, silly problem he’d made up in his head and gone back to chasing Ludwig through the gardens.
Without a definitive plan to help, Cassandra decided to give Percy what he needed: a solid problem to address. She led him down to the master arcanist’s study. He stepped hesitantly into the dimly lit room, which had only grown more pungent as the arcanist settled in. That done, she sent a guard with a message to Yennen and Archibald. There were many preparations to make. They certainly hadn't expected Whitestone's population to grow quite so quickly, and restoration of the empty residential districts had not been a high priority. Now, of course, that would have to change.
After several minutes, Percy left the Realm Seeker’s study with an odd expression on his face. “Was he helpful?” she asked hopefully.
“Yes. Well, no,” Percy answered distractedly. “I mean to say… he wasn’t helpful, but it was helpful in the way he wasn’t helpful.” He scowled at his own sentence.
“He’s a strange one,” she said slowly, still studying her brother’s expression.
“Yes,” Percy hummed. He looked up and seemed to fully see her for the first time. “It’s going to be all right,” he said seriously, smiling reassuringly at her. And yes, there was her Percy again, the gentle big brother who took her hand when she was afraid of the thunderstorms. Before tragedy and betrayal had made them strangers – both to themselves, and to each other. She smiled hesitantly back, reflecting how strange it was to feel so young again.
But they weren’t young, she thought as the warmth faded. Not anymore. Not for a long time. And they weren’t facing a harmless bit of thunder, but the end of the world. “Percy,” she said gravely before he could turn to leave. “Is there a worry that the dragons may come here?”
Percy’s shoulders slumped. “Yes,” he replied simply. She was grateful for the honesty, but the magnitude of the situation hit her all over again.
“What are we to do?”
Percy was silent for a long time, and this was her brother too: her obnoxious know-it-all who wouldn’t – or perhaps couldn’t – admit that he didn’t have any answers. “I have a plan,” he said at last. “Or at least, the start of one. For now… if you see it coming, you hide.”
She nodded wordlessly, her throat tight. He took her hand again. “I have to go back,” he said gently. With a small sniffle, she pulled the crystal from its pocket. “I will return, I promise.”
“I know,” she said simply.
“And Cassandra… I’m proud of you. You’re doing very well here.” He smiled fondly, and abruptly she couldn’t look at him. For this was not her brother, but the kind, proud smile of their father.
“We have a long way to go,” she said, her face beet-red and her eyes burning.
“We’ll get there,” he assured her warmly. With one last bashful grin, he turned his eyes to the crystal. The low hum that had served as a comfort before now grew louder, more intense. Percival’s form slowly faded and with a final crack, he was gone.
On her own in the long hallway at the edge of the castle, with no gently admonishing Archie to remind her of her station and need for propriety, Cassandra de Rolo buried her head in her hands and wept for the people of Emon.
