it has been almost an entire year since i put out new ws content.... but hello i'm back!
chronologically this is ryan's pov and takes place during chapter 15 but onyx and ryan haven't seen each other so the chronological stuff isn't super important here
content warnings: fucked up government mentions, captivity, refusal of wound treatment, whumper pov
masterlist | chapter 15 | chapter 13.1
Bantu knots and glasses brought Ryan his lunch, too. He spared a glance at her nametag this time, hoping beyond hope that he wouldn’t actually be staying long enough to need remember it. Still, he recognized that it was always better to be prepared.
Hi! My name is Dr. Hailey.
Huh. Was the bright red introductory sticker mandated by Dubhe, or had Dr. Hailey just… decided to wear that? And did she wear them for every patient, or just the ones that were rude to her when she wanted to treat them? Ryan couldn't quite recall if she'd been wearing the sticker the last time they'd spoken.
Ryan had less ridiculous things to focus on. Like eating a meal. And apparently, like convincing Dr. Hailey that she should leave. Again. Because after giving him the lunch, she didn't even bother walking away, just staying right where she was to stare at his arm.
“Does it hurt?”
“No,” he answered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “The stab wound in my arm feels just dandy, thanks.”
“I could help you,” she offered. Ryan rolled his eyes. “You know, you don't have to just keep suffering.”
“Really?” he asked, the corners of his mouth turning up with something akin to humor. “Do you really think that just not suffering is an option here? For fuck’s sake.”
“It is an option,” she insisted. “I could treat the wound. I could give you pain medication.”
“Do you need me to spell it out for you, idiot? I'm your prisoner. Pretty sure I've committed more crimes under Dubhe's laws than anyone ever managed to commit under mine. I don't get to stop suffering, no matter how much influence I still hold over pathetic servants like you.”
She smiled, almost guiltily, as if they were in on a secret. “That's none, you know. Do you know that? You don't have influence over me, Mr. Rao. I'm also not even a servant."
"I have plenty of influence over you," Ryan sniffed. "You've left when I've told you to. You haven't said my first name a single time. You've offered me pain medication. You're terrified of me, whether you like it or not.”
“Really?” she asked, still smiling. “Oh, that's funny, actually, that you think that. No. I'm not scared of you. You're a prisoner, yeah, and this is how we treat prisoners, regardless of the crime. You're still a person.”
“Yeah, right,” Ryan sneered. “Dubhe can preach on and on about his bullshit of becoming a better person, but that doesn't actually make it work. You wouldn't listen to him if no one ever had to face consequences for not listening to him. And everyone will still listen to me because of all the people who've had to face consequences for not doing so."
She tilted her head at him. “You really can't believe it, can you? You were so mean to people, just to get them to do what you wanted. You can't imagine a world where people listen to their king without him threatening to kill us. You can't even begin to picture it, can you?”
The look in her eyes felt almost like pity.
Ryan wondered if this was how cats felt after being declawed.
“I don't want you touching my arm," he said after a moment. "You're a coward, a liar, and an idiot, and you don't understand how the crown works. But since I know you're scared of me, and I know you're supposed to fix my arm, I do have a different request. I want to talk to the angel.”
“The… what?”
“Onyx. I'd imagine he's either a prisoner or one of Dubhe's personal guests by now. You may treat my arm in Onyx's presence.”
“If I figure out what the hell you're talking about, I can pass along the request. Don't get your hopes up.”
“I won't let you treat my arm otherwise," he repeated.
"Okay, so I'll pass along the request." She rolled her eyes. "I don't care about your arm. My job is to offer to treat it, not to barter with you. I hope you’re aware that leaving that arm alone will have a lot more negative consequences for you than it will for me.”
actually. just this once. I wrote a thing about an oc and now he has a story that I might have to actually write the whole thing. for now, have this tiny little snippet drabble thing.
cws: electric collar, food being kept from whumpee
I jumped as a shock from my collar ran through my body. It seemed earlier than I was usually woken from this, but I pulled myself off the floor and out of my room anyway, stretching my wings out as I walked down the halls to the kitchen. "Good morning," Jayden tells me, pushing a tray of food into my arms. "I'd love for you to stay and eat something, but she's in a bit of a mood this morning and you'd better hurry that food to her."
I nodded through a yawn, trying to shake the sleep off before I got to her room. Evidently, I wasn't fast enough, because the collar jolted again. I wondered vaguely if she'd notice if I grabbed anything off her breakfast tray before she got it. It was a stupid idea, of course, because she would, and besides, good servants didn't take what wasn't given to them. They waited patiently for someone to give them food, and then they showed their gratitude. And I was a good servant.
I took a deep breath outside of her door. A bit of a mood, Jayden had said. Hopefully, I was a good enough servant not to make it worse.
okay I know I disappeared from tumblr as soon as college started just like I said I wouldn't BUT look at this doodle of my beautiful boy Onyx done by @palagory like a week or two ago at a con
content warnings: unhealthy ideas about food (I'll put a more detailed warning about this in the comments but I don't want to spoil stuff here), brief discussion of religion, mention of death, begging
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“Here you go, bud.”
I stared at the plate in front of me. It was ceramic. Less detailed than what we’d had at the house, but breakable all the same. I would have to be careful, then, but I knew how to do that. The crepe itself was a different story.
“Thank you, sir,” I said anyway, beginning to scissor a piece off with my fork. Crepes were meant to be eaten with hands, I remembered, but that wasn’t how a servant was supposed to act. Not in front of other people. Really, servants weren’t supposed to eat at all in front of other people if it could be helped, but exceptions could be made when food was handed right to me.
Dubhe sat down on my left, a bowl of fruit in front of him. There was mango in it. There was mango in my crepe, too, if Dubhe had really put everything he’d said he would. Prince Ryan didn’t let me eat mangos when he could help it. They made my cheeks red, my lips puffy, and my throat itch, but they weren’t so bad that I could refuse them. Not by a long shot. I’d have to eat egregious amounts before I was in any real danger, so I took a small bite of the crepe.
That was- shit, that was good. It wasn’t the strawberry jam that I was used to, but the combination of flavors more than made up for it. The mangoes that I was not supposed to eat practically melted on my tongue. Or maybe it just felt that way because of the gnawing feeling in my stomach, because of the tiny portion of dinner I’d received the night before.
“I’m assuming you don’t know much about who I am,” Dubhe said from his spot next to me, reminding me that he was there. I dragged my fork back and forth as I swallowed.
“His Highness Prince Ryan talked about you last night. When we were on our way to your room.”
“Yeah? What did he tell you, if you don’t mind me asking?”
I shrugged. “He said that he is more fit to run a country than you, sir. He is more fit to run a country than most people.”
“Because of his qualifications?”
“Because the Rao family has held the crown for sixteen generations. Sir. That is all the qualification they need.”
“I don’t think-” He hesitated. “Okay. Let’s take this in a new direction, actually. What’s the point of having royalty?”
The point? What was the fucking point? Did it matter? I was a servant. I wasn’t supposed to understand things like this. The point of having a ruler was for them to rule. And that’s what the Rao family did, which meant that they could not have been unfit for it.
“Um,” I said slowly. “The point of having royalty is to make things easier for people who aren’t royalty, right, sir? Like… they make decisions about important things that other people don’t understand. They protect their subjects.”
“Yes,” he agreed, and I sighed in relief, cutting another bite of my crepe off with the dull edge of my fork. It would take longer this way than with a knife or my teeth. It would give him a longer time to have this conversation in an environment where eye contact was not expected. I wondered if he’d noticed me staring at the tablecloth while he’d asked me questions with Blue. I would have to be less obvious next time.
“Yes,” he repeated, “they are supposed to make things easier. And if every citizen gets together and decides that the royalty is making things harder, why shouldn’t they pick new royalty?”
“Because that would make them traitors, sir.” That was an easier question. I knew the answer just fine for that. I took another bite of my crepe.
“Not if they succeed. If they manage to overthrow the previous royals, and put new ones in and adjust the laws, it’s no longer treason.”
“Treason is illegal whether or not you’re punished for it, sir,” I said, covering my mouth while I chewed. It had been a long time since I had eaten in front of anyone except Jayden, but I couldn’t let my manners slip now. “Even if you’re the only one who knows about it, you aren’t supposed to think treasonous things.”
“Hm.” I did not turn my head to look at him, but I could feel his eyes on me. These were different questions than he’d asked with Blue. Those had been about me. These were… philosophical, maybe, or a test of some kind. “I am the current king of Sathenn. DId you know that?”
I stared at the table. I was supposed to behave. Prince Ryan had told me to behave. But Dubhe was wrong.
“Do you have an objection to that?” he asked.
I stared intently at the crepe. “... No, sir.”
“Right. You’re supposed to listen to people. I keep forgetting, sorry. If a… a well-meaning subject who was loyal to the crown had an objection… what would that objection sound like?”
“Um. Well. Sir. The royal family has the divine right to their power.”
“Divine right?” he repeated, and he almost sounded like he was holding in a laugh.
“It’s, um, a theory from hundreds of years ago, sir. Monarchies are passed through families because their bloodlines are superior.”
“I’m familiar with the concept. The most recently I’d heard, the Raos aren’t religious, though, so I’m surprised that they taught it to you. The word divine in that phrase implies that their right to rule was given to them by some sort of god.”
I frowned. I supposed that technically, Dubhe was right. I hadn’t thought about that before—or rather, I hadn’t been told. I wasn’t supposed to think through it the way he was doing, I was just supposed to listen to what I was told.
“It’s not about a god, sir,” I said eventually. “Divinity is not just from religion. The first Rao royal brought back the stars. They are the reason any of the kingdoms are able to exist at all.”
“Brought back the stars, yes, because they were one of the most brilliant scientists we’ve ever seen. But there are plenty of brilliant scientists we haven’t seen.” He took another bite of his fruit, giving me a few moments to wonder what the hell he meant before he continued.
“I used to know a person who was accepted to college at the age of fourteen, but xe died before xe could graduate because Lucia had xem killed. Xe could have been brilliant, too, if xe’d been given a chance to become that. Instead of giving xem that chance, Lucia nipped it in the bud. The first Rao may have brought back the stars, but fast forward a couple centuries, and Lucia was pulling shit like making it illegal for angels to fly at playgrounds without something attaching them to the ground. When the royalty does not serve the subjects, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with starting over.”
I swallowed another bite. My tongue was starting to feel awkward in my mouth. That was fine. It would swell a bit and probably get itchy, but it would not put me in actual danger, so it was fine. It wasn’t lethal. It didn’t even affect my breathing. It was fine.
I did not see the issue with what Dubhe had clearly listed as a failing of the queen. She knew better than I did what was safe at a playground. She knew better than any subjects what was safe at a playground. That was the problem with subjects deciding that their country was in need of new royalty. If the Raos truly had been unfit to rule, that was up to the Raos to decide. Not the subjects.
“It’s not technically illegal to be loyal to them,” Dubhe said when I didn’t respond. “Legally, you are free to have that opinion, as long as you don't try harassing people who don’t or something. But it’s ignorant at best to pretend that they did not hurt people while they ruled.”
“Their job isn’t to help people or hurt people, sir. It’s to rule, and to make decisions that no one else does. That’s what they did.”
“I guess.” He shrugged, taking a bite of his fruit. “They could’ve ruled much better than they did, though.”
I did not look at him as I mumbled, “Yes, sir.” He started staring at my face anyway.
“Is your… mouth swelling, Onyx?”
“Yes, sir. As is the usual result of me eating mangos.”
He grabbed my hand on its way to lift my fork to my mouth. “Please tell me you’re not allergic to mangos.”
I blinked like a deer caught in headlights, glancing between my crepe and Dubhe's face. “I’m… not… allergic? Sir?”
“Please tell me the honest truth about whether or not you’re allergic to mangos,” he amended, and I nodded. His mouth set in a tight line. “I asked you if you had dietary restrictions. Why didn’t you say anything?”
How was I supposed to know this is what he’d meant? “My apologies, sir. I thought… um, my mango allergy is included in the list of foods that the royal family did not allow me to have. I was under the impression that you did not care to know what they did not give me.”
“Well, yeah, but-” He released my hand, running his own hands through his braids and tugging on the ends. “I mean, I asked if there were foods you couldn’t eat. You said you could eat whatever I saw fit.”
“And if you saw fit to give me food I was allergic to, sir, I could eat it. I am grateful for any food I receive.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he hissed.
My eyes traced the grain in the table to avoid looking at him. “My apologies, sir. I did not mean to misinterpret your command.” Would Dubhe punish me? Was he allowed to, out in public, in the middle of the day? Prince Ryan wouldn’t have tolerated it. Prince Ryan was in jail at Dubhe's order.
“How allergic are you? Are you risking your breathing ability when you eat mangos? Are- are you risking your life?”
“No, sir. I’m only mildly allergic. Previously, it hasn’t resulted in any more than mild swelling and itching.”
“I don’t have angel medicine,” he said through gritted teeth.
I was frustrating him, I knew, but I didn’t know how to respond to his questions. I knew how to respond to things Prince Cardan said, or Prince Ryan, or Her Majesty, but I did not know Dubhe. I did not know what he wanted from me.
“My apologies, sir,” I said again. He shook his head sharply.
“It’s fine! It’s fine. I’m glad that your allergy isn’t worse than it is.”
His shoulders were tense, and when I glanced at him, he was glaring at the table too. It was not fine. I had messed up, and I hadn’t even said all the things I was supposed to say. “My sincerest apologies for not informing you of the allergy when you wanted me to, sir. It won’t happen again, and I would be grateful if you would punish me to help me remember.”
Dubhe turned his glare toward me. I flinched back. How had I forgotten already how disapproving he had been when hearing about my punishments? Of course this was not what he wanted me to say. What was I supposed to say? I could fix this. I could still fix this, couldn’t I?
He started talking before I could, reaching out and taking my plate.
“I am,” he said, and his voice broke, so he cleared his throat and started over. “I’m going to take this back to the kitchen. Stay here until I return, please.”
I stared at him in horror as he stood up with the crepe. The royal family did not permit me to beg, didn’t permit me to want things enough to beg, but this was not the royal family. And it wasn’t want that I felt as he took my plate—it was plain old hunger. I had slept for maybe four hours the night before. I had been tired and hungry before, but the royal family was careful. Prince Ryan paid attention to my body’s limits. If I continued to be deprived of both sleep and food, I would collapse soon, and then I wouldn’t be useful to anyone at all.
“Please,” I blurted out when Dubhe began to walk away. “Please, I- my apologies, sir, but I didn’t mean to seem ungrateful. I can eat it.”
“Onyx, I’m not going to force you to eat something you’re allergic to.”
“But you could, sir,” I insisted. My heart was racing, and I knew my words were too fast, not making sense, but I needed the crepe back. “You wouldn’t even have to force me. I appreciate you going out of your way to have breakfast made for me, and the mango really isn’t that bad, and-”
“Onyx.”
“Please, sir,” I repeated, trying not to cry. Her Majesty hated when I did that, when I tried to make other people feel guilty about my own body’s failings, but I couldn’t quite get rid of the pinch behind my eyes. It worsened and twisted until it turned into a familiar wetness building up behind my eyes. I couldn’t cry now, not if I wanted to convince him I deserved the crepe. “Please. I didn’t even eat half of it. I’m so hungry.”
Dubhe stared at me for a long moment, eventually bringing his free hand to rest on my shoulder. I held as still as I could. It was okay if he punished me. I had broken so many rules in the past few hours, he had every right to correct me, but all he did was gently squeeze my shoulder.
“You’re going to eat breakfast,” he told me softly. “I am taking your crepe back to the kitchen, and I’m having them make a different one without mango for you. Okay? I’m sorry that I wasn’t clear about that. I’m not going to punish you, and I’m not going to starve you. I know I seem frustrated right now. I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.”
A different one, he said. Without mango. For me.
He’d just apologized to me while he explained that he was making me a personalized breakfast. People weren’t supposed to apologize to me. People weren’t supposed to give things to me.
I stared up at him. I remembered what he had said about how royalty is supposed to help subjects, about how he was the king.
“Thank you, sir,” I whispered.
He nodded, and then he turned around and briskly walked back toward the kitchen.
content warnings: mention of getting stabbed, there's not a lot of detail but there is some and there's definitely an off-screen near death situation
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Similarly to breakfast, dinner was a meal far less eventful than anything leading up to it. It was not enchiladas, like Dubhe had mentioned that it might have been. It was baked potatoes. Another meal that included a variety of toppings from which to choose, another question about my preferences, another sigh when I said I would eat whatever Dubhe liked me to.
He told me that he'd let the kitchen know about my mango allergy ahead of time so that they could be careful to avoid "cross-contamination." I did not think that the allergy was as dangerous as Dubhe was making it out to be, because that was not something we had ever worried about during the last five years of my life. The worst it had ever gotten was the first time the allergy had been discovered, during which I developed a rash. It was unpleasant, but not dangerous.
Whatever. If Dubhe wanted to employ fifty people so that he could tell them to avoid mango cross-contamination, he could. It wasn't like it was my place to judge.
He ate his dinner with me, sitting on the floor by the window and occasionally pointing at the stars to tell me about each.
"Usually I eat dinner much earlier than this," he told me. "I haven't seen so much of Auriga in a while. Ursa Major, though—my favorite—she's circumpolar. Uh. Close enough to the North Celestial Pole that most of her stars don't really rise or set, they're always in the visible night sky."
I nodded as if I had any idea what he was talking about.
He took my plate when I had finished eating. He asked if I wanted more, and I stumbled my way through telling him again that I would do whatever he wanted. He gave me that look again where we both knew he was upset with me, even if he refused to admit it. And he told me to get some rest, and he left.
~
I stared at the ceiling. My wings folded in enough places that they weren't too uncomfortable to be laying on, but if I fell asleep with them all folded up they'd be sore in the morning.
I just- I had to think. I wasn't supposed to waste time staring at the ceiling and thinking, but I was pretty sure that none of this was ever supposed to have happened. If it was, had the royal family truly cared so little about where I ended up? They were in the dungeons, and that couldn't be right, so none of this was right.
What was I supposed to do about it? I had been told to rest. No one had ever taught me to do anything other than what I was told. If I was expected to change the royals' circumstances, I did not know why and I did not know how. Even if Dubhe was wrong about everything, even if I had the nerve to think that I knew better than him, I would never have the nerve to say it.
Would I be able to disobey Dubhe at the command of a Rao?
The thought scared me. The answer should have been a yes, without hesitation. Commands from royalty always took precedence. But if one of the princes looked me in the eyes and gave me an order to break the rules, then- then how could I do it? How could I, when they had only ever told me that every rule applied to me? When they had only ever taught me that my worth lied in my ability to follow rules? How could I break them?
And Dubhe seemed to think that I was better off without the royals. It was a ridiculous sentiment, because no one was better off without them. He was concerned about my punishments. He was concerned about me being in pain. He'd said they were dangerous.
It wasn't my place to say. As with most things.
But technically, I wasn't in danger because of the royals. I was only ever in danger because of my own mistakes. Punishments only ever happened because of my own mistakes, which certainly weren't royalty's fault. They weren't dangerous to me. I hadn't even ever come that close to dying.
One time, maybe, but I hadn't died. That was the important part, right? I hadn't died. I didn't get to die without permission anyway.
And it hadn't even been a punishment. Not really. Prince Ryan had said that over and over again, that Prince Cardan had no right to do what he did. No right to pull me out of my room after I’d gone to bed, no right to point a knife at my throat and drive it into my torso. Prince Cardan had every right to do what he wished with me, but punishments had to be approved and carried out with Prince Ryan. So it didn’t count as a punishment.
I had slept in Prince Ryan's bed for a few days after that, by his request. He'd said he could keep an eye on me better. Keep me out of trouble better. Out of trouble and out of danger. Danger of the variety that came from Prince Cardan and the things he did to me without permission from his brother.
Were they dangerous?
I hadn't died. Prince Ryan had narrowed his eyes and hissed, "Don't you fucking dare pass out on me," and "You don't get to die unless I say you can," and I hadn't died.
I wasn't in danger of dying. Really, I wasn't even in danger of being hurt at all as long as I obeyed the rules. Unless Prince Cardan hurt me when Prince Ryan said that he wasn't supposed to, which had happened a few times.
But it was fine. Not dangerous. Right? Not worth all this fuss about it.
I rolled over to lay on my stomach instead, letting my wings relax above me. The left ached a bit, something that I could get rid of if I stood up and stretched it. But I was tired. It could wait until the morning. Surely. Probably.
Dubhe seemed certain nothing bad would come from my wings. I had just spent five years learning all the bad things that could come straight from them.
Did it matter? It was a new place to stay, a new king to answer to, new rules, new expectations. I was always bad at new things, but I could at least try to do what I was told. That, at least, I knew.
It wasn't like I had many other options.
~
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