#even though he was born higher rank

[crazerk]

When you find yourself among the few women chosen to become a concubine in the Imperial harem, you have a chance to carve your place in court.

The life of a concubine might seem luxurious and idyllic, but behind the silken curtains of the harem, dangerous games are played. Games where the wrong words will cost your life, betrayal, lies and secrets are commonplace and gaining the shah’s attention is paramount to your survival.

Start out as a princess, disgraced noble or captive.

Intrigue, intrigue and more intrigue.

Dramatic events on par with a soap opera

Revenge, backstabbing, forbidden love, plots and more.

Rise the ranks by outsmarting or eliminating your rivals.

Produce and raise heirs to secure your place.

Influence politics through the emperor or seize power for yourself.

Learn fire magic or join a cult of chaos.

Live a life of leisure and the pursuit of higher education or a life of hedonism.

Inspired by the Sassanid dynasty and Persian mythology.

Shah Khazunef

He is calm, perspective and far less ruthless than his father before him but they share the same cunning nature and intimidating aura. Khazunef has deep brown skin, dark hazel eyes and silky mid length black hair that frames his face perfectly.

Fang

A former slave whose fighting prowess earned him freedom. He has since become a close friend of Khazunef and they regard each other as brothers. He serves as an informal advisor and spy to the shah but shirks any formal duties. Fang is charismatic and extroverted with copper red hair, rose skin and blue eyes.

Persa

Her name means dove and fits her gentle demeanor. She was raised a princess in a land of mountains and snow that was conquered by Shah Arzad. Upon the fall of her city and murder of her family, she was brought to the capital to serve in the palace. She has honey blonde hair, dark brown eyes and alabaster skin.

Ignasia

Ignasia is a fire priestess and staunch follower of the faith. Although born a noble, she gave up all claims and titles to serve in the fire temples as a guardian of the eternal flame. Ignasia has dark hair, darker eyes and a regal, reserved bearing.

Valide Zarayan

She is the ruthless and ambitious mother of Khazunef, originally a distrusted foreigner who rose to great power in the court of Shah Arzad. She rules over the harem like her own little kingdom and holds influence over her son.

Shahbanu Yaris

The wife of Khazunef and shahbanu of the realm. Yaris wed the emperor when he was 17 and she 26 in an alliance that strengthened the empire and influences it to this day.

Vizier Rubien

The grand vizier and advisor to the Emperor who Khazunef considers a father figure. Rubien is fiercely intelligent, loyal and wise. He remains dedicated to his work and helping the Emperor rule justly.

Averus

Averus is a high priest and soothsayer of the court. His advice is sought by all and a bad word about you from his lips can sully your reputation and relationships beyond repair.

Consort Iltani

Former consort and favorite of Shah Arzad. Her name is whispered like a curse, and her influence spreads far wide even though the valide has her currently imprisoned within the palace.

This story is for mature audiences, please proceed with discretion! Story will contain violence, drugs, alcohol, death, suicide, infanticide, harm to animals, miscarriages, abuse and sexual themes.

Demo

[pricegouge]

Get Her a Dog (She'll be Happier For It)

Part Two | master list | MDNI

Soap x reader, Price x reader, eventual PriceSoap x reader

series cw: cheating. dubcon. angst. cuckholding. pet play.

chapter cw: angst, pining for another man's wife

reader is fem and fat

Mostly, he blames himself. For the late hours and the cold, empty bed; the broken promises Soap had been too preoccupied to keep. The general, dejected state of her. John knows he's a fixer, knows himself well enough to spot the pattern: pick a project, tend to it, leave it better than you found it. He's not sure where he went wrong with Soap's bird, or if it was indeed the failure itself that kept him circling like a dog with a bone under its bed, all he knew was how very, very fucked he was.

John sleeps on base most nights. An old habit he picked up when his marriage was falling apart, though it served him well enough still - kept him busy late into the night when his thoughts had a tendency to turn treacherously domestic. Home was a place to unwind for most soldiers, a reward to work towards, but John feared his wires had been crossed long ago. The day he was born, possibly. For him, home was the sense memory of damp, musty laundry he'd forgotten to change over before crawling into a cold bed despite promising he would at best, or the empty, aimless space he'd toil away at between missions at worst. On paper, he lived in a nice, secure apartment out in Leeds, though in effect he may as well have taken his captaincy for the ensuite it came with.

It's a good tactic, mostly, one that had worked for hundreds of higher ranked officers before him and would continue to work long after he's gone, MIA or otherwise. The problem unique to John in this situation, however, was his inability to look his own sergeant in the eye without being reminded of the very thoughts he was trying to run away from.

It was an absurd thing, really - the complex spectrum of reactive emotions John often fell victim to while just trying to do his damn job. After the career he'd led, John had considered himself quite prepared for the position of an officer. Had trained himself to respond to any and all obstacles with a level head and an uncompromising efficiency; an unrelenting ruthlessness honed so sharp that lesser officers often cut themselves on it. It had been useful, economic, a gnomon by which he had navigated a career even the former Mrs. Price could not fault.

His storied career, however, had failed to prepare him for Sergeant John MacTavish. Or his bloody little wife.

He’s a force of a man is the problem, equal parts hard to love and hard to hate though there are times when John desperately wishes he could do the latter. Nights he lay awake - even in the curated sterility of his rooms on base - thinking of the pretty bird that warms Soap’s empty bed, her dour countenance and the big, hopeful eyes she'd turn on him with every visit. It would be a convenience to hate Soap, but adept as John is at bending his morals to fit his own goals, blaming Soap for the shortcomings of his relationship is simply not a circle he can square.

Mostly, he blames himself. For the late hours and the cold, empty bed; the broken promises Soap had been too preoccupied to keep. The general, dejected state of her. John knows he's a fixer, knows himself well enough to spot the pattern: pick a project, tend to it, leave it better than you found it. He's not sure where he went wrong with Soap's bird, or if it was indeed the failure itself that kept him circling like a dog with a bone under its bed, all he knew was how very, very fucked he was.

The thing is, despite every moment of his past pointing to the opposite conclusion, John can take no for an answer. Really, he can. But 'I'm married' is not 'Get away from me.' And 'I don't want to hurt Johnny,' is not, 'I don't want you,' and damn him but he can't get that distinction out of his head.

He'd told Kate about it once, drunk on thirty year old Lagavulin after a particularly memorable win. She'd listened raptly for an hour, probably - hard to tell time for the way the clock hands swam -, and then summarily told him to get his goddamn act together because MacTavish was a great sergeant, one John himself had specifically requested, and she wasn't going to be sending him away anytime soon. 

She's right, he knows. Soap is far too indispensable as sniper and demolitions both, and is marked for a captaincy of his own, besides. MacTavish didn't deserve the blight of an officer-requested transfer on his rap sheet, and John had no real want to give him one anyway. Because he didn't hate Soap. Couldn't, despite every waking thought telling him it would be easier to do so. MacTavish's affability ran too deep; primal, John suspected. Something about the rakish grin and the boisterous laugh. Brought people back to a time when the war crimes of the village brute could be summed up in a single court hearing. He'd even managed to reel Ghost in, so John couldn't really be blamed for his soft spot.

But if he had to suffer through one more illuminating conversation about how inconsiderate the man was on the home front, John was going to have to take matters into his own hands and there was nothing else for it.

Someone had to make that pretty bird happy, after all.

***

Orders come through late in the evening but John knows his men well enough he barely hesitates. Simon, nearly preternatural in his ability to know when he's needed, picks up so quickly John has to check to be sure the call registers as outgoing on his phone. Gaz, eager to prove himself, is similar, sleep clearing from his voice the second he hears his captain's rough growl on the other end.

It's John who gives the last call pause, finger hovering over Soap's contact almost regretfully. One in the morning, day before the bird's birthday. She'll be upset, even if Soap isn't. If John could do this without the man he would, but it's not up to him and he can't fight it this close to wheels up so he hits call and waits for the Scot to answer with something close to contrition settling in his stomach.

Soap picks up on the third ring, voice alert but distracted. Huffy. Strained and short of breath. Dark and burly. 

It's instinctual; hard pressed. John's been trained all his life to be observational, to seek out answers where none are freely given. It doesn't turn off just because the person on the other end of the line is his own sergeant, but that doesn't explain the way his breath catches as he listens to the background of Soap's call, how his stomach turns to lead as he leaps to assumptions; waits for confirmation, hoping he's wrong; hoping he's right just so he can hear -

A whistle sounds, the tinny noise of stadium cheer compressed through a cheap sound system. Soap groans in defeat and mutes the TV. "Evenin', cap, to what do ah owe?"

"You're… up?" John double checks the time on his phone just to be sure but there's no getting past it. Soap is watching a match of some sort at 01:00 hours. Not outside the realm of normalcy, but odd enough. 

"Time difference," Johnny grunts, already distracted again. 

"Who's even playing?"

"Looks like Germany." Not even invested in it. He should be keeping his pretty bird warm in her little nest, but what did John know? He was a divorcee himself after all, and awake himself no less.

"Well wish 'em luck. Wheels up by oh-four-hundred."

"Where to?" Eager as always. No trace of regret for the day he'd miss. 

"Madrid. Got a hit on a large scale weapons dealer. Pack light."

"Aye, sir. See ye soon."

***

John used to think the hardest part about traveling so much for his job was all the jet lag, or all the late nights spent scrambling to make a charter he'd only been given an hour's heads up on. 

Now, he knows the hardest part is the company that takes up space in the seat next to you.

Garrick's squirrely. Usually is when he's heading into a mission he doesn't know the ins and outs of too well. It's an easy job, low stakes. More intel collection than anything, though the risk of a muck up in such a heavily populated area warranted the use of a team as highly specialized as them. Still, debrief had been almost suspiciously minimal, and Gaz was subtly unsettled by it, if his chattiness was anything to go by.

It's always Soap who indulges him, the two sergeants evenly matched in their geniality. Normally, it's a blessing to have them paired up, entertaining each other. But tonight, Gaz wants only to talk about Soap's bird and her upcoming celebration. So when Gaz asks what Soap got his wife for her birthday, and the man just shrugs and says he’d been planning on taking her out to dinner that night, John’s hard pressed not to swallow his cigar in shock and shame and anger.

“You didn’t get her anything?” Gaz doubles down, good lad, and John lets the ensuing squabble wash over him while he runs mental damage control, primary target swapped from arms dealers to fixing the bird’s ruined day from afar quicker than he can even process the change. He’s distracted the rest of the ride, even more so when they go through the monotony of establishing themselves on site. John slips away the second he’s able, orders same day flowers from a hotel lobby after smiling sleazily at the receptionist to garner a quick favor, knowing better than to use his burner to give out Soap's address.

"And the message, sir?" The clerk on the other end of the line prompts once he's settled on a pretty little arrangement meant to convey regrets and observances both, apparently. She's hopeful, he thinks, like she's rooting for a love story.

"'Sorry I missed it. John.'"

He can almost hear her deflate. "Sure thing, luv. Anything else?"

"No, that's -." John stops, voice guttering out. From his vantage point by the desk, John watches as outside on the sidewalk where he'd left the lad, Soap helps an overeager child to her feet after she'd gone tumbling to the ground, helping her to brush gravel off her palms. His voice is hardly recognizable when he speaks again. "Johnny."

"Sir?"

"Sorry, that's -. The name. Johnny. Love Johnny."

"Oh. Easy enough fix. Have a good day, sir."

He doesn't bother returning the pleasantry.

Next>>

[sweetpascal]

— 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐰𝐨, 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝

pairing: knight!marcus acacius x princess!reader

pinterest board inspo

summary: an arranged marriage in the works. one on one jousting for your honor. celebratory feasts and extravagant dances. it all seemed exciting. however, as a princess with your mind on becoming a Dame, along with your father's main knight making sure you are always on your best behavior, some dreams are just meant to be crushed.

warnings: MINORS DNI, big age gap [reader is 19 and marcus is 54], slowwww burn, medieval times au, possible historical inaccuracies [maybe ??], reader has hair long enough to braid, father-daughter relationship issues, first kiss, forbidden love, non-sexual touching, flirtatious banter, allusions to sex, sword fighting, TW: major character death, TW: blood and gore, angst angst angst

wc: 21.6k (i maayyyyy have gone a bit overboard with this one)

notes: this is my submission for @almostfoxglove 's angst writing challenge (beautiful moodboard created by her). i'm not gonna lie, this is gonna be ANGSTYYYYYYY. so please, grab your tissues and hold on for dear life. sword divider by the wonderful @saradika-graphics ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

main masterlist

follow @sweetpascal-notifs for future fic updates.

Wiping the sweat from your brow, you exerted yourself once more. Swinging the heavy sword almost the same length as your body and slamming the blade repeatedly onto the side of the wooden post right by the outskirts of the woods. Blisters had begun to form on your palms from the improper protection needed, but the care you had for gloves was thrown to the back of your mind. Little grunts heavily exhaled from your throat each time you swung the sword down and around, further adding slice and slice into the mangled wood post. Feeling the burning sensation in your chest intensify, you had decided now would be a good time to rest.

You placed yourself on the nearest rock and laid the sword across your lap. Gently stroking your blistered thumb over the engraved markings of your older deceased brother's name towards the handle. He lost his life like a true knight in battle. His death was so long ago but it felt like yesterday. You remembered the morning he left. He had hoisted you up into his arms with the promise that he would return. When Marcus Acacius, your father's knight, returned back to the castle with your brother's bloodied sword in his hands, you knew. Almost a decade long feud with no success or improvement. With your brother's sword now in your possession, even though your father doesn't approve of a princess having such a manly hobby, it was your goal to finish what he started. Whether your father, the king, liked it or not, you would rather die fighting than be married off.

"Why am I not surprised that I would find you here, princess?"

Turning at the sound of the distinct voice that is of Knight Acacius, you observe the way his lips quirk into a tired grin. One of his arms lays limp at his side while the other rests on the handle of his sword attached to his hip. He wears only his chest plate with the yellow markings of your father's castle, as well as an engraved crow. It was the same as the flags that hung around the interior and exterior.

"Why am I not surprised that you would follow me out here, Marcus?" You retort, nose scrunching at the sound of his deep laughter from your sassy question.

He comes closer now, eyeing the wood post that has been abused from your sharp sword. Marcus has been your father's knight since before you were born. He had started as an esquire when he was just a teen boy. Your grandfather had been king at that point. When the title was passed down to your father, he deemed Marcus as worthy of getting a ranking higher. He earned the title, of course. Knight Acacius was a hardworking man. He did what needed to be done in a timely manner. He kept you and your father safe. He did everything to keep the king happen, and you could see that it was paying off.

"Your father sent me to get you. It's time for you to get ready for the tournament," he tells you quietly, already knowing your opinions on the matter.

When you let out a scoff at his words, Marcus nods to himself as if to say 'Yep, there it is.' There's a long beat of silence as he waits for you to gather your thoughts and express them through words. Unlike your father, Marcus has always been a patient man, which works perfectly with his title. There have been long nights after hours where you've poured your heart out to him; your unhappiness, your fears, your worries, your dreams. He always lent you an ear and shoulder to cry into you.

"Tournament," the word was bitter on your tongue. With an eye roll that made Marcus hold back a chuckle, you stood up and made your way back to the post. "You mean the sad excuse of a competition where men compare whose cock is the biggest for me to suck?"

Marcus choked on his spit at the vulgarity of your words. When you looked over your shoulder and gave him a teasing smile that expressed your youth, he took a half step back with widened eyes. He shook his head at himself and cleared his throat to make it feel less constricted. Why is his heart beating so fast? Why is he sweating? Why are his hands trembling? All of which had happened after you shot him that teasing little smile if yours. Oh, this was bad.

Wincing once again as one of the maidservants snagged your hair accidentally, you couldn't help but to grow annoyed. Not at the older woman, but at the idea that princesses are supposed to always be prim, proper, and innocent. She apologized softly with a guilty smile at you in the mirror. Like Marcus, Celeste had been in your family for a long time. You saw her almost as a mother figure. Closer to your father's age, Celeste had stepped up in helping your father raise you and your brother after the death of your mother. She had succumbed to her injuries during your birth, and you always felt like your father harbored a deep animosity towards you.

"I know you're not fond of these braids, princess," she tells you quietly, her wrinkly eyes glancing at you briefly before looking down at her fingers in your hair. "But it's just for today."

Letting out a small, soulless laugh, you tell her, "Father always has a trick or two up his sleeve, Celeste. You know that. Marcus knows that. The whole castle knows that. He may say one thing and mean another. That's just how he is, I guess." The little shrug you give her makes her tut.

"I do know," she says quietly, reaching over your shoulder to grab a few flower stems to slide them into your braids, almost creating a delicate flower crown. "And I also know that this is not the life you see for yourself."

You look at her in shock through the mirror. She gives you barely a nod and cascades the rest of your hair behind your back to comb through the wavy strands. There are a few beats of silence as you sit and wonder. Has Marcus gone behind your back and told her your secrets? Has she overheard one of the nights where you and the knight sat in seclusion? Has she read your diary? All of these questions are rushing through your mind before you could stop them. What if she tells your father? What if he isolates you permanently?

"I know what you're thinking and it's not true," she speaks up when she sees your eyes darting back and forth frantically. She feels your shoulder deflate with relief. She stops brushing your hair and rests her chin atop your head. You both look at each other in the mirror. "Your mother was a very intimidating woman. That's what drew your father in and made him fall in love with her. He sees so much of her in you, and that's why he's trying to hold onto you as tight as he can for the time being."

Feeling a tickle in your nostrils and a lump forming in your throat, your eyes shut before you could let tears spill over the bottom lid.

"I... I can't go on like this, Celeste," you whisper brokenly, finally turning in your seat to look up at her. Your breathing becomes shuddering as the emotions begin to overwhelm you. "I wasn't born to become a wife." You started to become angrier the more you spoke. "I'm not a child anymore! No man shall tell me what to do! Not my father, not Marcus, not any other king or prince! I was put on this earth to fight like William!" Uttering your brother's name from your trembling lips finally let the dam break.

Celeste was quick to bring you into her arms, hushing you softly and tenderly holding your head against her chest. Your shoulders shook with each sob that wracked through your body. You were exhausted and honestly, scared. Maybe this was really it. Maybe your dreams will always be dreams. You're going to die as a wife and not as a warrior.

"Oh, dear child," Celeste whispers and pulls your head from her chest to gently hold your cheeks, her thumbs swiping away the tear tracks so as to not ruin your light makeup. "You are going to do great things. And you are going to be a great woman. It will take time, but you will see it happen. Now, give me a smile."

Hearing her encouragement and reassurance, feeling the safety in her arms, you were finally able to calm down and steady your breathing. As she swipes a knuckle under your eye to wipe away a lonesome tear, you give her a little smile and laugh to yourself at your outburst.

"There she is," she smiles as well, her wrinkles much more prominent. She fixes your makeup and turns you back around to face the mirror. Your hair falls over your shoulders on either side, the ends curled elegantly. You really do look like a true princess. In another world, you would've been happy. But you didn't look, nor did you feel like yourself. However, the proud look on Celeste's face silenced those thoughts. "You look just like your mother when she was your age."

There was a gentle rapt at the door. Celeste called out for them to enter, and it was Marcus. He gives the older woman a nod before he sets his eyes on you. When you make eye contact with him through the mirror, it feels like time has slowed down. It feels like all the air had gotten knocked out of him, and he has half a mind to grab his chest as his heart nearly beats out of the flesh. Your cheeks warmed at his obvious attention to you. It was rare for him to see you looking like this. You never wore makeup, your hair was almost never done prettily, you loathed dresses. But sitting here right now looking like a princess, having his eyes on you made you feel beautiful for once. He didn't leer. Matter of fact, he never leered at you as though you were a piece of meat. Some of the feasts that your father has thrown in the past made you uncomfortable with the amount of unwanted attention you would get from men that were desperate to court you.

But it never felt like that with Marcus. He respected you. He respected how you perceived yourself, he understood your ambitions and what you can see yourself doing down the line. You were an inspiration to him. Princesses at your age are already married and having their second child by now. Never would a princess touch a sword. But you handle one like an expert on the battlegrounds. Marcus would never admit it aloud, but he would love to see you fight. With your years of training, he knows for a fact that you would put up one hell of a fight. He only wishes your father was more accepting of that matter.

When you stand from your seat in front of the mirror, Marcus swallows down his gasp of awe. You wore a soft pink, floor length gown with white gold trimming that accentuated your curves. The neckline was low and tasteful, but nothing too extreme that would be considered inappropriate as a princess. The candlelight makes you glow like an angel. The flowers in your hair as well as the soft makeup adds to the delicacy. Celeste stands behind you to clip on a pearl necklace and some dangly earrings that match.

"Please, don't make fun of me," you give Marcus a small, embarrassed laugh as he still hasn't said anything upon seeing you. "You can make all the jokes you want after the feast, yes?"

Celeste tuts and lightly swats at your arm. The knight hasn't looked away from you. Even as you cross the other side of the room to grab your soft pink slippers with sewn beads that match the colors of your gown. You preferred your calf-high leather boots.

"Do you need a glass of water, Marcus? You look like you've seen a ghost," Celeste says behind your back as you bend down to slide on the surprisingly comfortable slippers.

He clears his throat when you look at him once again with a bashful smile. He takes a step forward to you. Without even realizing it, his hand reaches up to your hair to fix a flower stem that was out of place. It was until Celeste obnoxiously cleared her throat that he realized what he was doing. You both broke eye contact, both feeling like you were caught doing unspeakable acts. She stares at you with squinted eyes, then at Marcus. He shifts uncomfortably under her scrutinizing gaze. He clears his throat again.

"The king, uh, requests your presence, my princess," he briefly stutters when you make eye contact again, but he looks away before it could reach two seconds.

My princess. He always called you 'princess,' or occasionally your name. But he never included 'my.' It caught you off guard, and you feel like Celeste noticed because she nods at Marcus and shoos him away. He gives her a brief nod and leaves the room. Now, it was just you and the older maidservant. As she gives you one last touch up, she looks at the door and then at you.

"Whatever you're thinking, don't."

And with that, she ushers you out the door.

Your cheeks were hurting from the number of fake smiles you were giving all the guests. Your arm was aching from shaking all the hands of other kings, queens, princes, princesses, and all the like. In the corner of the dining hall was a small band playing music. They each looked at peace playing their music. They looked in their element, doing what they enjoy. Envy clawed at your chest. Looking away with a scowl, you focused on your chalice filled with the finest wine brought specially from one of the kingdoms visiting for the feast. You can hear your father's boisterous laughter across the hall as he sits with one of the king's. His face was flushed, and you knew he's had more than a few cups of wine.

You sit on your designated throne and observe the party before you. One of the jester's stops in front of you. He does a little dance, the bells on his shoes and hat jingling. It brings a smile to your lips, and then you start laughing. Jesters were one of your favorite people to witness during these times. They offered a temporary distraction and left you feeling lighthearted. Upon hearing your laughter, the jester stops dancing goofily and reaches a hand up to you. Your hand enters his and he gently kisses the top before dancing away to entertain the other guests.

"Looks like you have an admirer," you hear from above your seated position.

You look up and see Marcus leaning against the top of your throne, his arm stretched across it with his thumb tapping at the carvings. He rests his other hand on the handle of his sword. You've noticed that it was a habit of his, even when there was no danger around. Grinning up at him, you shake your head.

"Well, it's better than having a spineless prince as an admirer," you tell him half-jokingly, taking a small sip of your wine and looking back to the crowd.

Marcus also observes the crowd silently. The king was talking to one of the queen's and her son, the older man motioning behind him in your direction. When the prince looks at you, Marcus can see you recoil. There was an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Having been in the family for decades, he's grown fond of you. Being able to witness you grow into the beautiful young woman you are today was a blessing. Your personality shines even brighter. Your quick wit and sharp tongue often deemed him speechless. It was a breath of fresh air compared to the other princesses he has met in his lifetime. You weren't like the others.

"Well," he clears his throat to capture your attention once more. "At least you get to see these spineless princes joust for your honor and courtship. The one in the blue tunic looks like a starved lamb."

The insult causes you to choke on your wine, some of it spitting out and landing on your dress as you break into a bubbly fit of laughter. Marcus muffles his own laughter by biting down on his bottom lip. Your father claps his hands loudly and makes a motion for the band to ease their music completely.

"Attention, guests! As you all know, my dear daughter, the princess, is up for courtship. It is my duty as her father, the king, to ensure that she has a safe and fulfilling marriage. Which is why we are holding this tournament!" There was a round of applause, and you find it so hard to not roll your eyes. "For the one prince to earn the honor of courting my daughter, you must fight valiantly, live honorably, and go forth courageously!" There was another round of applause, some even whistling. "Now, please make your way out to the field and get comfortable while the princes get ready to joust!"

The crowd cheered one last time before some of your father's knights led them out to the roped-off enclosure outside of the castle. Marcus held a hand to you, gently grasping and pulling you up from your seat. The distance between your bodies was short. He can smell your sweet perfume and see the shimmering of your eyeshadow. He prays to the gods above that you couldn't hear how fast his heart was beating. If only he knew that you were feeling the same way. From how close he stood in front of you, the gray in his beard was much more prominent and his thick hair looked curlier than usual. He smelled like a mix of leather, musk, and a woodsy, scented oil he must've purchased from one the markets along the outskirts of the castle. It was overwhelming, having him so close to you. Your lips parted, and you caught the way his eyes darted down to look at them.

"My daughter," you hear your father's footsteps coming closer, and you step away from Marcus who quickly broke eye contact to greet your father. "You have stained your gown!"

You looked down and noticed the dark wine droplets. Giving your father a sheepish smile, you offer him a kiss on the cheek as an apology. He claps a hand on Marcus' shoulder, both men now falling into a conversation about the tournament for your hand in marriage. Celeste ushers you down from your throne, her left hand holding your right as her right arm is around your back.

"Don't think I haven't noticed the way you look at Knight Acacius," she tells you in a hushed voice. You look at her in shock, your lips parted to disagree. But when you see her pointed look, you decide to keep your mouth shut. Sighing quietly as you both round the corner of the stone halls, you speak up.

"It's not like that, Celeste," you tell her. "Marcus just... He knows how I feel about... all of this. It's all so overwhelming. There's nothing I can do to change my father's mind, so I might as well play the part as the obedient princess."

When you both reach outside, you can hear the faintness of Marcus' voice a few feet away from you with your father's voice in tow. You and Celeste stand beside each other in silence as you scan the crowd sitting in their seats around the dirt pit specifically for when the knights are training.

"You know," Celeste began. "Your mother never wanted this life for you either." You look at her with interest. She nods at the curiosity in your eyes.

Giving you her typical wink, she motions for you to climb the steps to sit in your throne. You were high up now, the pit directly in the middle of your view with the crowd on either side. Your father sits beside you with a huffed groan and affectionately pats your knee.

"We have quite the rally, don't we?" He sloppily drinks from his jeweled chalice. You cringe and look away. Marcus stands to your father's left with his arms crossed in position, his back straight and broad with authority. He feels eyes on him, and he turns to face you, dropping his right eye in a wink before looking straight ahead again. You look out into the crowd with warm cheeks as you bite down on your bottom lip to keep your smile from spreading.

Two of the esquires blew the fellow buisines to start the tournament. The crowd silenced as well as your father. Two princes on two horses came out of the small tunnel and stood on either side of a horizontal wooden post, both on opposite sides of each other, facing one another. Both men were dressed head to toe in armor with the feathered colors of their kingdom on top of their helmets. In their hands were wooden lances. There was a tense silence in the air as the princes readied themselves. When the buisines blew once more, both men charged at each other on their horses with the lances pointing at once another chest level.

There was a booming clang of wood against metal as the lance from the prince on the right slammed into the chest of the prince on the left. Some of the wood splintered and nearly exploded from the force. The crowd gasped and proclaimed with shock. The left prince fell off his horse and landed hard on the ground. The crowd clapped for him as the right prince galloped around the pit in a celebratory manner. His arrogant gloating was a turn-off. It worsened when he lifted his helmet and looked at you up above, blowing a kiss in your direction with his hand. You let out a scoff of disgust. Marcus hides his laugh by coughing into his fist.

There was another hour of this jousting. Then, there were the top two princes – the Prince of Ehnkhart and the Prince of Ivanard. Both princes were unappealing to look at and had the personalities of a wet rag. You'd rather marry one of the jesters.

When the Prince of Ivanard was deemed the winner, you almost had to fight back a gag as the bile grew at the back of your throat. You certainly were not going to marry that yellow-toothed, spineless bastard. Your father bellowed in his seat happily as the crowd roared with delight when the prince threw his fist into the air and pointed at you. Glancing at Marcus with an expression he could only describe as horror, his face morphed into something grim. He bit his tongue to stay silent. He couldn't say anything, even if he wanted to. That was not his duty as a knight. And one of the main priorities was to never go against the king under any circumstances.

"My dearest daughter," your father lets out a full bellied laugh as he takes both of your hands in his. "You are now going to be an Ivanard!"

When the buisines blew in a celebratory manner, the crowd cheered louder as your father clapped. Everything was booming and overwhelming. You can feel it all closing in on you. Your ears began ringing and your breathing became shallow and unsteady. Sweat dotted along your hairline. Your eyes frantically scanned the crowd for Celeste, needing her kind eyes to lay upon your frightful ones and her motherly touch. The vibrations of the crowd stomping their feet could be felt underneath your own.

"My daughter, come and meet your husband! He is most excited to see you!" Your father yanked you up roughly before you had time to register what was happening.

"Your daughter is even more beautiful up close, your majesty," the Prince of Ivanard tells your father as he snatches your hand and kisses your knuckles with his dry lips. The feel of his thick ginger beard had you snatching your hand away. He looks at you with surprise and offense.

Your father laughs awkwardly and roughly pats your shoulder. "She's just a bit shy. Aren't you, my dear?"

The prince laughs awkwardly as well, shifting on his feet and accidentally bumping into Marcus. The knight stares down at him sternly with hidden disdain. The prince grips your shoulder and tries to lead you away as he says, "Well, princess, why don't we get to know each other one on one before we further our courtship, yes?"

Upon hearing that, you've had enough. You yanked your shoulder away from his grimy grip and backed away from the men crowding in on you. Your father's white eyebrows furrow and you can practically feel his temper rising. Marcus steps a foot closer to him in case he would need to intervene.

"No," you spoke through clenched teeth. Your fists tightened at your sides as your breathing grew heavy and fast with each passing second.

Your father looks at you, then at the prince, then at Marcus, then back at you. "No?" He mocks your answer. As he takes a step towards you, you take another step back.

"You heard me, father," you shakily spoke as your voice wavered and grew weaker. "You will not marry me off to a swine." You spit the word at the prince who scoffs in offense. "You will not force your values onto me as though I am a lesser woman to you. I will not live an unhappy life and ignore my capabilities."

The crowd's cheering gets quieter and quieter until they stop completely upon noticing the tense atmosphere around you and your father. Marcus feels pride and fear bubbling in his chest. He knew just how much you were holding in when it came to your father. He never expected now would be the time for it to spill out all at once. You harbored a different kind of courage that he admired. Any other princess would have kept their mouths shut and gone through an unhappy marriage. Ever since you were a child, you were always independent and following your eldest brother's footsteps, wanting to be just like him when you reached adulthood. Being a woman in this life wasn't easy, that's for sure.

"Capabilities," your father scoffed and waved you off with a hand as though you were a fly. He half turned away and glared at you. "And what capabilities might you speak of, my dear daughter?" The way he speaks to you was demeaning and you've never felt so belittled in your entire life.

When you glanced at Marcus over your father's shoulder, he subtly shook his head disapprovingly. That was his way of silently telling you to not poke the bear and make the situation worse by adding more coal to the fire. To be honest, he was terrified of the outcome. Your father was not a violent man, but he was a scary man when he was rage filled. Looking back at your father, he raised his eyebrows at you.

"I want to be a fighter," you tell him quietly, like a little mouse. "I want to continue William's legacy and ride into battle with his sword and finish what was started."

There was light, gossiping chatter that was faintly heard between the guests who observed everything. You had almost forgotten that you stopped the courtship celebration. Your father stood frozen in his place. His jaw ticked and his hands trembled. Marcus stepped closer and placed a hand on his shoulder, about to speak into his ear but your father held a hand up, further silencing his knight.

"You listen to me, girl," your father spoke lowly as he stepped closer to your frozen frame. "You will never be like my son." Hearing those words had you choking on a heartbroken gasp. "You will never have the strength of a man to become a powerful fighter like my son." He steps closer and closer. "You will never be nothing more than a dutiful wife that will bear children to continue your husband's legacy."

Smelling the wine on his breath had you recoiling. Each cruel word spewing from his lips adds a crack to your heart. These were the words you were afraid to hear. Having them told to your face in front of the public added to the crushing embarrassment. You couldn't break down. Not now, especially not in front of your father and Marcus, who stands behind with a somber look on his face.

Staring into your father's wild eyes, you brokenly whispered, "He may have been your son, but he was my brother and my greatest friend, and I will continue his legacy whether you like it or not."

He swallowed thickly and realized you weren't going to back down obediently like he thought.

"Marcus!" He barked, causing the shoulders of his knight to jump. "Take her to her chambers and lock the door. She will stay there until I believe that she is ready to come out."

"Absolutely not!" You shouted in his face, the fire in the pit of your stomach growing heavier as you hear those words. "You will not imprison me!"

"And you will not disrespect me in front of our guests, child!" He all but bellowed in your face, some spittle landing on your cheeks and nose. You flinched your head away but didn't move a step back as he got into your space. "You will follow your orders as a princess and do as I say!"

Marcus finally creates space between you and your father. Celeste had run up the wooden steps of the viewing post to step in front of your father to place her hands on his chest. The Prince of Ivanard stood silently as he didn't want to get in between a family feud, especially since the angry king was his soon-to-be father-in-law.

"Let's go, princess," Marcus speaks softly in your ear, his large hand tenderly holding your arm to usher you away from drama.

As he finally, and successfully, pulled you away, you passed by your father and shouted over your shoulder to let your final words hurt him. "God damn you!"

There was a collective gasp amongst the crowd, and you were finally ushered away in the hands of Marcus.

It had been almost three weeks since the argument between you and your father. He had followed through with his promise of locking you in your chambers. You thought it was to scare you, but once you heard the lock click and you attempted to open your door, you stepped away in shock. Marcus tried to get your father to change his mind, to change his ways, but it was no use. Your father was a stubborn, stubborn man. Celeste even tried to talk your father out of this harsh treatment, but she too was waved off. The only time you were allowed out was for dinners in the dining hall which only consisted of you and your father sitting at opposite ends of the long table. Dinners were awkward and tense. Neither of you opted to speak to one another. Stubbornness runs in the family.

When it reached day twenty-six of isolation, you were growing more frantic over the prospect of never feeling freedom. All you had were your books and your diary. Celeste and Marcus were both instructed to not interact with you. If they were to go against the king's wishes, there would be severe consequences. You knew it was all talk considering the maidservant and the knight were the only two people your father cared about deeply. You thought he cared about you too, but you were wrong.

Tonight wasn't any different than the others. Sitting on the balcony that overlooks the garden, you had a quill in one hand with your diary resting on the smooth stone parapet of the balcony. It was Celeste that had taught you how to write in elegant cursive. She was your teacher for, essentially, everything.

Looking up at the stars and all the beautiful constellations, you couldn't help but to think of what life would be like if you weren't a princess; what life would be like if your mother was still alive, if William was still alive. You had a feeling that your brother would've secretly trained you after hours whilst your father slept. The thought pulled a smile on your lips, and you made sure to write it in your diary.

"Princess," you heard a hushed voice from down below. Your hand froze and you strained your ears, assuming you were only hearing things from being isolated for so long. But then you heard it again. "Psst! Princess! Down here!" You leaned over the edge of the parapet and glanced down, your eyes widening when you see Marcus standing atop one of the stone benches.

"Marcus!" You hissed quietly before you scanned the perimeter. There was a full moon tonight, which meant that everyone in the castle was dead asleep, aside from you and Marcus, obviously. "What on earth are you doing down there?"

He holds a finger to his lips. Suddenly, he throws a bundle of rope up to you and it plops down beside your feet. Completely and utterly confused, you leaned over the edge again.

"Tie the end around one of the pillars! I'm going to hoist myself up to you!"

The idea was absurd. The more you stood up there staring down at him, the more antsy he became.

"Princess, please!"

Without saying another word, you did as he asked. Tying one end of the rope around one of the pillars into a double looped knot, you tossed down the rest of the rope. You watched curiously as Marcus grabbed the rope with both hands and began hoisting himself up. He lets out a hoarse grunt with each pull up, no doubt struggling under his body weight. His arms were exposed from the tunic he wore, his biceps bulging from exertion. When he finally reached the top, he panted heavily and swung his long legs over the edge and hopped down onto the balcony. He was now face to face with you.

"Why couldn't you unlock my door instead?" You asked him with arms crossed and a tilted head that made his heart flutter.

Marcus shrugged. "I didn't want to possibly disturb your father's slumber by the obnoxious creaking of your door."

Squinting at him for not providing any further explanation, you offered him the other empty chair on the other side of the balcony. As he takes a seat, you take the time to really observe him in the moonlight coupled with the candles lit around your room. The tunic he wore showcased his broadness. Without his armor or casual chest plate and arm wear, as well as his sword always attached to his hip, seeing him in all his normalcy was definitely a change. A good change, if that. He looked comfortable and relaxed. No longer was he standing as straight as a rod. When you caught him curiously peering at the open pages of your diary, you were quick to push his head away with your pointer finger before shutting the book.

"That is for my eyes and my eyes only, Knight Acacius," you tell him in a teasing tone, a gentle smile on your lips that had him smiling as well.

"I'm no longer Marcus to you, huh?"

"Well, that depends on if you're going to be on my good side tonight. I really don't want to add you to the list."

He scratches at his scruffy jaw and chuckles quietly at your sassy answer. You briefly retreat inside your room to safely tuck your diary under your pillow. When you go back outside onto the balcony, Marcus sees the small wooden bowl of green and purple grapes in your hands that Celeste had left outside your door. He nods at you in thanks when you motion the bowl over to him. He plucks a few grapes from the stem and watches as you lean back in your seat with the bowl on your lap. The nightgown covering your body made him feel like you looked like a goddess under the moonlight. The delicate skin of your shoulders, collarbones, and arms were exposed. He noticed a distinct scar just above your left breast.

"How did you get that scar?"

You looked shocked at his question. Of course, you forgot just how exposed you were to the older knight. But you didn't feel uncomfortable under his inquisitive gaze. Looking down at the scar as best as you could, you touched the tip of your fingers onto the mark.

"Uh, it's a funny story," you let out a small laugh and looked at Marcus with crinkled eyes that caused a dimple to form on your cheek. "I was only a small child when it happened. I believe I was nine years old, and William was nineteen. He was outside in the pit practicing. I was curious as to what he was doing, you know? I stepped too close just as swung his sword back and the tip of the blade sliced right through my dress." Bursting into a fit of giggles, you remembered the horrified expression on your brother's face and the number of apologies spewing from his lips. "If I was just a few inches shorter, he would've gotten my throat."

Marcus shuts his eyes and shakes his head at the thought. When he opens them, he notices the melancholy, faraway look in your eyes at the mention of William. He quietly cleared his throat, causing your eyes to shoot up at his own. There was a moment of silence. He licked his lips and tried to form the correct words without ruining the mood.

"He would've been a good king," he tells you softly. He rolls a grape between his fingers. "He would tell me all of the ideas he had for the kingdom." Marcus laughed at a particular incident where he had stumped the young man. "He also would've been a good jester."

That was what made you cackle. You slapped your mouth with both hands and Marcus covered his own with his fist to keep from laughing. The two of you shook your heads and eased the laughter until a comfortable lull washed over. As he looked down at the grape in his hands, he mulled over the 'what if' questions that continuously ran through his head. Suddenly, he felt a thump on his forehead. A purple grape landed on his lap. As he went to lift his head to look at you, another grape hit him on the head and bounced off, landing a few feet away on the ground. You giggled behind your palm at his perplexed face.

"You are a child," he tells you in a joking manner.

"If I'm old enough to be married off to a prince, then I'm old enough to play games with my favorite knight," you tell him with that teasing smile again, the same one that always gets his heart beating fast.

"I'm your favorite knight, huh?" He throws a grape in your direction, the small fruit bouncing off your chest and landing between his feet.

"Not anymore if you keep antagonizing me," you joke as you go to throw another grape at him, but Marcus was quick enough to react and moved his head back to catch it in his mouth.

You throw him a thumbs up and he winks. The action was so charming. It was weird that it came from him. Again, not a bad weird. It was a good type of weird. It made you feel warm and fuzzy, and tingly. Although Marcus was much older and much more experienced, you can't ignore the undeniable attraction you have towards the man. A delusional part of you hoped that the feeling was mutual.

As the silence grew longer, Marcus took it upon himself to break it. "Well, since you gave me a confession that I am indeed your favorite knight, then I guess you deserve my confession that you are my favorite princess." His tone held something you couldn't add up. It was a mix of adoration and something possibly stronger. It had your cheeks and neck warming. The butterflies in your stomach went wild at his boyish grin.

"I'm your favorite princess?" You asked him quietly, too shy to look at him as you fiddled with the bowl of grapes. You couldn't embarrass yourself, not now, not like this. Maybe it was the loneliness and the possibility of never falling in love with the right man. But all fingers keep pointing to Knight Marcus Acacius.

"You are my favorite princess," he repeated more slowly and gently, bending his head to try and catch your eye. "And it's only ever going to be you, my princess."

It had been a full two months since the falling out between you and your father. Your dinners have now been delivered to your door rather than your father having Celeste escort you down to the dining hall. There was no complaint though. If anything, you preferred it that way. You've grown comfortable with being alone. Well, not entirely alone. After midnight, you and Marcus had fallen into a routine of him sneaking up onto the balcony and the two of you sharing stories of your past lives. Sometimes, he would bring a gift or two to surprise you.

A few days ago, you had mentioned that you wished you had red ink to go with your quills. That same night, Marcus had instructed you to hold out your hand and to shut your eyes. You were skeptical at first, assuming that he was going to play a joke on you.

"Do you trust me, my princess?" He had asked you softly, tipping your head up with his forefinger curled under your chin. You meet his eyes and almost feel hypnotized by the emotions swirling in them.

You nodded. "I trust you... with my life, Marcus Acacius."

Then, he laid a small item in the palm of your hand. You looked down and read the label, looking back up at him with a wide smile that made your eyes crinkle that your eyes disappeared. He was stunned when your body collided against his in a hug that felt like home. He hesitantly wrapped his arms around your body, one hand cupping the back of your neck to keep you pressed against him.

"Oh, Marcus," you had sighed softly and sniffled the tears away from the overwhelming feeling of finally being seen.

Tonight was a different adventure. Rather than Marcus climbing up, he instructed you to climb down. The idea was absurd, and you verbally expressed that when you stared down at his awaiting arms. It was at least a fifteen-foot drop without the rope. You couldn't risk breaking a bone because how else would you explain it to your father?

"Do you trust me, dove?" He hushed, staring up at you with those deep brown eyes of his that make it hard to say no.

You sighed to yourself and looked over your shoulder at the locked door of your bedroom. When you looked back down at him from over the balcony, you couldn't help but to smile at his eagerness.

"I trust you with my life, Marcus Acacius," you tell him earnestly. He smiles at that, his dimple deepening the wider his smile gets.

As you swing yourself over the edge, you make sure to fix your sleeping gown so as to not give him a sneak peek. Marcus never tried any advances on you. Although you wished he would at least touch your thigh or something, he always kept his hands to himself and was a respectful gentleman. The both of you would share intimate hugs and held hands on occasion, but that was it. There was an unspoken tension between the two of you. Whether the fear was your reputation as a princess, the arranged marriage, or the age gap between you and the knight. You were unsure of how to go about this. Whatever it was, you didn't want to ruin it. As of this moment, this routine, it was just two people spending time together and forming an intimate bond.

"There we go, darling girl," he tells you softly, his arms stretched up high to catch you if you fall. "Now, hold onto the rope with both hands and slowly lower yourself down." When you let out a small whimper, Marcus hushes you softly by saying, "I got you, darling. I got you."

Lowering yourself down to the ground was surprisingly easy work. It was harder for Marcus, most likely because he was twice your weight. Either way, you didn't embarrass yourself by falling on your backside and making a complete fool out of yourself in front of the man you have questionable feelings for. The two of you greet each other quietly and share a long hug. He had been unable to visit you for a few days, so this was your reunion back in each other's arms.

"I have a surprise for you, princess," he speaks quietly in your ear, the both of you swaying gently in each other's arms. "Are you up for adventure with your favorite knight?"

Pulling away from his chest, you rest your hands on his broad shoulders and look up at him. He spots the skepticism in your eyes, and he rolls his own jokingly.

"It's nothing extreme, I promise," he makes an X across his heart. "If it's something you are not interested in, then you say the word and I shall bring you back to your chambers safe and sound."

Marcus sounds sincere, and almost nervous. Curiosity got the best of you as you were eager to see what he had planned. When you give him a nod, he gives you one of his boyish grins and takes a hold of your hand and holds onto the lantern he had set aside to pull you into his arms. You follow him silently through the gardens, casting your balcony one last look before it disappears from view. It was another few minutes of walking until you realized what direction you two were heading in.

"Are we... going out to the lake?" You finally asked him, looking at the back of his head before peering around his shoulder. When the lake comes into view, you see a blanket laid out on the ground with another lantern resting atop it.

As you got closer, Marcus ushers you in front of him so you can get a better look of the layout. On the blanket was a plate of dried meats, cheeses, pieces of bread, and fruit; two chalices and a bottle of wine; and a single flower. You opened your mouth to speak, but no words were able to come out. Marcus had deemed you speechless, for the first time ever. It was usually always the other way around.

"Now," he gently pushed you closer with a hand on your hip. "I know how imprisoned you've felt in your chambers. And I know things have been hard for you for the past few months. I figured, maybe, you'd want a relaxing time away from your chambers. Now, this is, uh, not something of courtship, I promise you that." The sentence had you laughing quietly. "Think of this as, um, a friend helping out another... friend?" He sounded unsure, mentally kicking at himself for using those choice of words.

"Well... friend," you purposely drew out the word in a teasing manner to make him squirm. "This was definitely a surprise, and it's a beautiful surprise. Thank you, Marcus." He can hear your voice waver with emotion. "I cannot believe you went out of your way to do this for me."

"It's the least I can do for a princess like you," he spoke in a hushed tone, watching you closely as you bend down to lift the stem of the flower and sniff the petals.

Sliding off your slippers, you wiggled your feet in the plush grass, giggling to yourself at the texture between your toes. It had been so long since you felt grass under your bare feet. It was slightly moist from the fog that very slowly made its way across the hills and just barely kissed the lake. Standing at the edge of the lake, there was a moment of spontaneity that washed over you. Maybe it was a bold move or an act of rebellion. The more you stared out into the lake, the more desperate you were to feel the water on your naked skin. As you slid the straps of your nightgown down your shoulders, Marcus was quick to stop you from undressing any further.

"What... uh... What are you, um, doing?"

Why couldn't he form a coherent question? He sees the princess' bare shoulders and he suddenly feels like a virgin boy again. He forces himself to turn away with his hands on his hips when he hears the faint splash of you swimming further into the lake. When he hears your contented sighs, he finds himself turning without realizing. His arms dropped to his sides and his shoulders sagged from the forceful breath he exhaled due to the sight before him. You stood in the lake with the water just below your collarbones. Your hair was wet and slicked back when you dipped underneath to get used to the cold. With the droplets on your skin and the two lanterns creating more than enough light, Marcus would be convinced if you told him you were actually a nymph. Whatever it is that you would tell him, he would hang on to every word as though it would be the last time he would hear them.

"Come on, Knight Acacius!" You swim deeper into the lake, dipping back underneath and popping back up, blinking away the water and swiping a hand down your face to look at him with a sweet smile. "Don't leave me swimming all alone."

He knows it's a bad idea. This was definitely crossing an unspoken boundary of your whatever-your-relationship-was. Once that line was crossed, there was no going back. Marcus knew that. You knew that. Maybe you wanted for him to get in the water as an invitation. He didn't know. The two of you danced around the obvious for three months. Touches got longer and lingered the more time spent together. Goodbyes got harder after spending hours whispering secrets to one another in your bed – nothing ever got past innocent cuddling. But looking at you now, swimming about in your carefree spirit that he feels he lost so long ago, he can no longer ignore his attraction to you. Glancing off to the side in the direction you two came from, Marcus looked at you again and he can see the reassuring smile on your face, silently telling him that it's okay, it's just the two of you.

You watch as he reaches a hand behind his neck to pull off his tunic. Seeing his bare chest for the first time made you look away with a gasp. The lanterns made his skin look so golden and warm to the touch. There was more movement in your peripheral. Your brain screamed at you to not look, but your heart screamed even louder at you to take a little peek. So, you did. Lips parted on their own accord as Marcus slid off his bloomers. From the position with the way he bent over, you weren't able to see his lower half. But as he pulled his bloomers free from his legs and stood back up, you turned just in time to avoid seeing his exposed, private area. You wanted to give him the same respect he had given you when you had undressed in front of him. Whether he took a peek or not, you knew he was respectful about it.

With your back facing the field, you stared further down at the lake. With the moonlight bouncing off the gentle ripples of the water, it really did look like it was sparkling. It had you smiling in awe as your hands gently carded through the water. There was a distant splash from behind you, and then silence. You almost held your breath when you felt Marcus' presence getting closer and closer. It was nerve-wracking, and also almost exciting and taboo. Then, you felt it.

Two large hands gently grip your hips from behind. Your stomach muscles tightened at the feeling before your entire body relaxed. Slowly turning in his grip, a smile pulled at your lips. You and Marcus stood at least a foot from one another. The two of you stood with the water just below your collarbones. His hair was damp and slicked back, the ends looking a lot longer from the added wetness to them, but they still curled no matter how many times he ran a hand through them. Your hands started at his wrists, Then, they slowly slid up his forearms where you felt his arm hair. The coil in the pit of your stomach tightens as you've come to a realization that this was all happening, and it wasn't a dream. As your hands slide further up his strong, thick biceps and rest onto his broad shoulders, you couldn't mistake the sigh of content spilling from your lips for something else. You hoped it was quiet enough for Marcus to not hear, but the little grin on his face says otherwise.

Your hands slide up his neck, briefly brushing over his vein, and your thumbs can feel the hammering of his pulse. When they finally settled on his scruffy jaw, you were at a loss for words. Marcus can see your eyes on his lips. Experimentally, he licked at his bottom lip with barely a poke of his tongue before pulling it back between his teeth. Almost in a trance-like state, you do the same with your own bottom lip. Upon hearing his laugh, you broke out of the hypnotization he had you under and released your bottom lip from between your teeth.

"You are a foul man," you giggle at him, lightly pushing him away and splashing water in his direction. "In all seriousness, Marcus, it's nice seeing you like this."

"Wet, naked, and vulnerable?"

"No!" You laughed a little hard at his annoying answer, rolling your eyes and shaking your head at him as his smile grew wider. The two of you start swimming in slow, calm circles. "I mean, it's nice seeing you not so serious all the time. I like seeing you happy and... relaxed, to say the least."

"Are you sure it's not because I'm wet, naked, and vulnerable?" He teasingly asks, reaching underwater to poke at your stomach. You rolled your eyes at him again and leaned back to use your foot to nudge him away. "I know what you mean, dove. There are rare moments where I can unwind, but you've helped me in the process of doing so."

His answer piqued your interest. You stopped swimming in slow circles and looked over at him as he slowly bobbed up and down in the water. There's a ghost of a smile on Marcus' lips when you look at him with those wide, curious eyes. He clears his throat and looks away, hoping that pointing his attention on something else would help the words come out smoothly.

"The time I've spent with you, my princess, has been the most serene I have ever felt in my entire life of being your knight," he tells you in a low voice, afraid to speak any louder to where the moment is ruined by his gruffness. "With you, I am able to not worry about... anything. You make it quite easy to forget about my worries. I could be having the most troublesome day, but the second I look into those eyes of yours, it all disappears and I'm able to be Marcus with you and not Knight Acacius."

You carefully swim closer to where he stands. The emotion is heavy on his face, from the way his eyebrows are furrowed, and his eyes are darting back and forth as he tries to use the best words that he could think of in order to convey what he's feeling as to not confess too much too soon. Marcus shakes his head and laughs at himself.

"I'm making a fool out of myself, aren't I?"

Hushing him softly, you lean in close and tenderly wrap your arms around his shoulders to further pull him into your chest. Marcus' hooked nose lovingly caresses your jaw and then lowers down to your neck where he inhales deeply, your sweet scent filling his nostrils, further easing the anxiety that was threatening to burst. You card a hand at the back of his head, fingers gently tugging at his damp curls. He was polite enough to keep his hips a distance away from your own as his arms find a home around your waist.

"You are no more a fool than I, Marcus Acacius," you tell him so quietly, your voice cracking when you say his name. He lifts his head from its place in the crook of your neck. Eyes meet eyes, then forehead meets forehead. Noses brush against one another and his hands find your cheeks. You tenderly hold onto his wrists and shut your eyes, wishing there was a way to capture this moment.

Then, Marcus tells you in a tone that borders between heartache and awe, "I guess we are both foolish beings, my princess." And just like that, a lonesome tear rolls down your cheek, one that he lightly kisses away. His lips on your cheek left a warmth that you wished you could feel all over. But at this moment, right here with him, you will take all that he could give you.

"Princess." There was a knock on your door, followed by the latch unlocking. The door opens quietly, the unmistakable creak causing you to wince and bury your face deeper into your pillow with a groan. "The king requests your presence in his chambers." The blanket was yanked off your warm body, the cold, crisp air of your room causing you to shiver and groan even louder in your pillow. "Come on, princess. You know your father is an impatient man."

Celeste busies herself by picking out your morning gown and laying it on your bed by your curled legs. She does a once over at your body and then does a double take. When you hear nothing but silence, you remove the pillow from your face and look over your shoulder. She stands over you with a peculiar look on her face. Her wrinkled fingers gently pinch at the hem of the dark maroon tunic covering your body. It was a men's tunic, one that fell just above your knees.

"Oh, dear child," she tuts quietly, looking up at your eyes and shaking her head disapprovingly. "Please, do not tell me this belongs to you-know-who."

There was a moment of panic on your face. You leapt out of bed and made a mad dash to your bedroom door to slam it shut. Celeste still stands as stiff as a tree with her hands on her hips. Never has she ever looked so disappointed at you. It makes you want the ground to swallow you whole. Timidly striding across the room, you let out a tired sigh and sit on the edge of your bed, your fingers playing with the ends of the tunic.

"Nothing serious happened, Celeste," you speak under your breath.

She rests a hand on her head in distress, her eyes wide and worrisome. "Knight Marcus?!" She hissed. "Do you not know what would happen if your father ever found out about you two?"

"Celeste, there is nothing to even find out about," you pleaded with her, tears already brimming along your waterline. "We... We're just two people that formed a companionship after hours. That is all. Nothing more, nothing less." The words burned your tongue the second they left your mouth. "You need to believe me when I say this, Celeste. Please, I beg of you. Do not tell my father of this, please."

The older maidservant looks at you with pity, her pursed lips in a frown at the sound of your helplessness and fear of what could possibly happen if word were to spread throughout the castle. With another sigh, she takes a seat next to you on the bed. Her left hand grabs a hold of your right one, and you immediately rest your head upon her shoulder. She rests her chin on the crown of your head, sighing once more. The two of you sit in silence, listening to the faint laughter and commotion happening within the garden through the ajar windows in your room.

"Do you love him?"

The question caught your attention. Celeste's tone sounded melancholy, but you couldn't place a finger on it. You didn’t want her to take your silence as a definite answer. Truth be told, you don’t understand what it is that you feel. Were they platonic feelings? Romantic? Sexual? You do know that Marcus is three times your senior. He has a reputation to uphold as your father’s main knight. He has led the other knights into battle between the other kingdoms and always came back unscathed. Marcus Acacius was a frightening man to some and a dangerous man to others. But you never viewed him as either. He’s a passionate man with many ideals that he would hope to spread. Marcus has a sensitivity to him not a lot of men have, which is why he kept himself guarded as best as he could, only showing you the vulnerable parts of him knowing there will be no judgment. 

“This is a dangerous game you are playing, dear child,” Celeste tells you in a somber tone. “You do not know what you are asking for, nor do you understand what it’s like to love someone like that.” 

Pulling your head up from her shoulder, you rip your hand away from her gentle grip. With a fire in your eyes, you stand up before her, glaring down at the old maidservant with betrayal.

“Of all the people, Celeste, I thought you would be the one to understand me the most,” your voice breaks. "I may not be wise beyond my years, but I know what it is like to love someone. Now, I don't know what it is that I'm feeling. Maybe it's love. Maybe it's not. All I know is that I treat Marcus exactly like how he wants to be perceived. If that's wrong of me as his friend and as the king's daughter, then... damn you all!"

Shockingly enough, Celeste laughs. Not a small, polite chuckle she would give to a guest or to your father. But a full-bellied laugh that had her doubling over. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Don't... Don't laugh at me! How dare you make a mockery of me!"

She only laughs harder, frantically waving her hands as she tries to catch her breath. Her face is flushed as she dabs her fingers under her eyes to wipe away the tears. Still standing in front of her, confused and offended, you cross your arms and look away from her with a shake of your head. Much to your surprise, you let out a small oof when she hugs you tightly. You stood frozen in her embrace. Arms still crossed between your bodies; you eyed the side of her head. But then, you heard it. Celeste was crying on your shoulder, tenderly stroking the back of your head. You hesitantly wrapped your arms around her waist, pressing yourself closer into her front. The woman held onto you tighter, one hand still stroking the back of your hair as her other arm crossed over your shoulder blades.

"Gods, you remind me so much of your mother," she lets out a watery laugh. "She was a spitfire, that one."

Stepping away from Celeste when her arms dropped down, she was quick to cup your cheeks in her cold hands. Her thumbs stroked the apples of your cheeks, smiling weakly when you won't meet her eye.

"Before your mother passed, she made me promise that I would take care of you and your brother," she tells you quietly, gently tipping your head up to look into her cloudy eyes. "I may not be your mother, but I will always love you like my own. Do you understand, princess?" You give her a jerky nod. "It is my duty as your caregiver to ensure that your happiness will never wander. And it is my duty as your mother's oldest friend to keep my promise." You open your mouth to question her, but she hushes you softly. "Whatever it is that you may feel for him, do not let it go, understood?" She gives you a pointed look that tells you to not disagree with her. As she sees the tiniest smile forming on your lips, she gives you a wink and informs you to get dressed in your gown.

There was a gentle knocking at the door.

"Celeste? Princess?"

The door creaks open and reveals just who you were talking about. Knight Marcus trudges inside, his lids heavy from exertion but they brighten the second they're laid on you. Celeste doesn't miss the way his shoulders sag and the soft smile that takes over his face. She also doesn't miss the way your own smile turns into one of affection, the confusion and anger on your face now washed away. She hums under her breath, quiet enough so only she could hear it. Marcus clears his throat and gives the older woman a polite nod. She squints.

"The king requests the princess' presence urgently," he tells you both. His eyes sweep up and down your appearance, silently wishing you two were alone so he could take you into his arms and obsess over your beauty and to feel your cheeks warming under his lips. There are a lot of things he wishes he could do with you without facing any consequences. He wishes the life you two share wasn't one of secrecy. His only hope is that you also think the same of him.

Celeste fussed with your hair and did a simple style with a small braid tied behind the rest of your hair that lays against your back. When she's about to pass Marcus, she eyes the both of you once more before leaving the room, most likely to give you two some privacy.

"Do you know what it is that my father wants to talk about?" The question comes out weak, the jitters never once settling as the dreadful questions and 'what if's' are never-ending.

Marcus shakes his head as his hand tights on the handle of his sword. "I'm not sure, princess. But I wouldn't worry much about it. He didn't seem... on edge." Giving him a nod at his answer, he could still tell that it didn't ease your nerves. It's been a while since you last faced your father. He steps forwards, just a hair away. "Dove, you have nothing to worry about, okay?"

The two of you walked in tandem to your father's chambers. As you turn down the long, stoned hallway, Marcus' hand barely brushes along the shape of your hip when you step in front of him. Glancing at him over your shoulder with a barely-there smile, his silent reassurance was something you didn't know you needed, and now you crave it more than ever. As you knocked on the door and entered upon hearing your father's voice, Marcus' hand laid on the handle of the door to pull it shut to leave you and your father alone.

"Uh, Marcus," the king raises a hand to stop the knight from shutting the door. "It is better for you to be here as well to hear what I have to say."

The moment was filled with panic for both you and the knight. With your father's back turned, you glanced over your shoulder at Marcus, your eyes wide and lips parted as your breathing grew frantic. He raised a hand just above his waist, subtly shaking his head, silently pleading with you not to panic. Had your father discovered what you and Marcus had been doing after hours? With Marcus defying your father's orders, you dreaded the punishment that might await you both. Despite never going beyond hugging and handholding, you and the knight continued to dance around the topic of your relationship, fearing that reality would ruin it.

The tension in the room is palpable. Marcus stands by the door, his silence a testament to his understanding of the king's authority. Your father, with his hands clasped behind his back, gazes out the window, the sunlight catching the glint of his rings. You follow him closely, waiting for his words, and cast another glance over your shoulder, feeling the weight of the moment.

The weight of his words hung in the air, filled with sorrow and regret. "Ever since your mother passed, I've felt like I've failed you, both as your father and as king. You remind me so much of her. She truly was an extraordinary woman," he said, his voice tinged with a sad, melancholic laugh.

It was unusual to see him in such a vulnerable state. Often, it was hard to understand his thoughts or emotions. He usually maintained a facade for the villagers around the kingdom. The only mask you had seen him wear was the one he donned after your mother's death. Listening to him talk about her felt almost therapeutic. Unsure of where the conversation was headed, you remained silent and let him continue.

The atmosphere was incredibly tense as he spoke, his words cutting through the air like a knife. "I understand that you believe yourself capable of being more than just a wife, perhaps even a queen. But it is quite selfish of you to ignore what this kingdom needs in terms of allies and protection," he said, turning to face you fully. Shocked, you couldn't help but scoff, the sound escaping your lips before you could stop it.

"Selfish?" you echoed, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and determination. "Explain to me how pursuing my own happiness is selfish, father. How is my desire to ride with the knights and fight for our people selfish? Go on, explain!" Your breath came in rapid, shallow bursts, but you no longer cared about the repercussions of your defiance. "Were you ever going to tell me that this isn't the life mother envisioned for me?"

The shock on his face was laughable.

"I beg your pardon!" His cheeks flushed with rage. "You don't know what you are talking about, child. You have no idea what your mother wanted for you, and you should not ponder it while you are in my care."

The laughter that bubbled out of your chest was uncontrollable. Marcus, standing by the door, watched the tense scene unfold. He knew better than to intervene or place himself between you and the king. However, as the king's expression grew increasingly stony, Marcus began to worry for your well-being, sensing that you were on the verge of crossing a line from which there would be no return.

Gazing at your father, any sympathy for his struggles vanished, as he remained tethered to his past. Marcus and Celeste offered no assistance, and now, neither could you. The king received no pity. If William were still here, he would undoubtedly strive to alter your father's views on your life choices. Sadly, in this moment, it felt like you were alone against the world. As stubborn as your father was, you now wished you weren't cut from the same cloth.

Now seething and unable to hide it, you stood closer until you were damn near toe-to-toe with your father. "In your care?" The question was spat in his face. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but hasn't Celeste been my caregiver since I was born? Hm? Wasn't it my mother that granted her full guardianship because she knew of the ideals you would bestow upon me, and she didn't agree?" Hearing about Celeste had your father shutting up instantly, and he looks away in shame. "Don't you dare try to act like a caring father, after all these years! When it comes to me being married off to a prince with no values, that is when you decided to step up." Lowering your head to try and catch his eye, he only turns away to point his back at you.

The weight of his words hung in the air as he gazed out the window, his voice barely above a whisper. "You do not know what this marriage could do for us, for the kingdom, and for our people," he said. "You are a princess, and I expected you to act as such."

Marcus lowers his head, his heart aching at the sound of your soft sniffles. He wishes he could cross the room, pull you into his arms, and take you far away from all this pain. He would do anything for you, if only you would ask.

"I know I am not like the other princess', father," you cried softly and hesitantly stepped over to the same window he looked out of, silently begging for him to look at you. But his jaw clenches and ticks, a telltale sign of agitation. You want to lay a hand on his forearm, but you'd rather not poke the bear. "I know I don't have the same ideals a woman such as myself may have, but what about me?"

When you don't get a response, you continue.

"What about what I want for the kingdom? Have you ever, for one second, thought about my own happiness instead of your own?"

The silence stretched on, heavy and unbroken. Neither of you uttered a word, except for your quiet sniffles as you struggled to hold back your tears. Marcus despised the look of desperation on your face. The anguish was unmistakable. It only worsened when you reached out to your father, and he stepped away as if a peasant had stepped on his shoes. When he looked at you, you could hardly recognize the man you once knew as your loving father. Now, he was in his kingly mindset and looked at you as though you were a problem.

The king continues to look down at you as if you were nothing more. "You do not want to marry a prince? That is perfectly fine with me," his voice was void of any emotion, making it impossible to decipher what lay hidden beneath. "There will be a carriage waiting for you tomorrow morning at sunrise. I am sending you to a convent where you will live the rest of your life as a nun. If you wish to rebel against me and ignore your duties as a princess, so be it. I will not be made a fool from your disobedience and disrespect."

"What?" Both you and Marcus exclaim, the shock of the situation melting into terror. Your heart races, and you can feel the panic rising within you. Marcus notices your distress from a distance and quickly comes to your side, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. His presence is a small comfort, a reminder that you're not alone in this moment of fear.

The knight looks at the king. "Your majesty-"

"Enough, Marcus." The king gives him a pointed stare, raising his bushy, white eyebrows, silently telling the knight to not cross the line and make matters worse. "You will make sure she is gone by the time I have woken."

The tension in the air was discernible. You struggled to find the right words, but they seemed to vanish before you could speak of them. Beside you, Marcus was seething with anger, his frustration almost tangible. Among all the scenarios he had considered, the princess being sent away to a convent was the last thing you expected.

"You are making a grave mistake," Marcus tells him, his voice no longer quiet, but more authoritarian. "Sending her away is going to make matters worse for the kingdom. Please, think about what you are doing. You are going against Maryann's wishes. Think of the heartbreak you are going to bestow on Celeste."

The mention of Maryann, your mother, brought a flood of emotions you could no longer contain. You turned and buried your face in Marcus' chest, clutching the short sleeves of his tunic as you sobbed. It felt like you were submerged underwater, unable to hear the knight and the king's conversation. All you could perceive was Marcus' faint laugh echoing in your mind, Celeste's nurturing smile, and the warmth of Marcus' hands tracing the contours of your body. Those cherished moments are now lost, and you can no longer fulfill your mother's wishes as she had hoped before she passed.

Marcus whispers your father's name. They lock eyes, the silence only broken by your heart-wrenching sobs. Marcus feels a lump forming in his throat, his nostrils tingling and eyes stinging. He repeats your father's name, his voice trembling and barely audible.

"Please," he pleads for you. His arms tighten around your body, wishing you could crawl inside his ribcage and rest upon his beating heart that you have unknowingly called home. Each whimper you released was like a stab to his chest with a poisoned dagger.

The king's frown deepens as he witnesses you trembling like a leaf in the arms of his favored knight. He swallows thickly and turns away once more, unable to face the damage that has already been done.

"My decision is final, Knight Marcus. Now, escort the princess back to her chambers."

The tears had long since dried up, leaving you as a mere shell of your former self, numb and devoid of feeling. The future seemed bleak, both for you and the kingdom. The king's rash decision to send you away to a convent was perilous and reckless. Consumed by his own fury, he had likely set the stage for the kingdom's downfall. The thought of Celeste and Marcus being put in harm's way filled you with dread, as if claws were tearing at your heart. You couldn't bear to think about the consequences of your banishment, knowing it would shatter you all over again.

The sense of helplessness is overwhelming. Celeste's anguished cries in your father's chambers still echo in your mind, a stark reminder of the pain she's enduring. She always saw you as the daughter she never had, and now, with your banishment, her heart must be breaking. Your father's silence in the face of her fury was telling. He deserved every bit of her wrath after all these years of loyalty and care she has shown your family.

And Marcus, Oh, goodness. With a slow, unsteady hand, you grabbed at your chest as the pain in your heart intensified. Being able to grow close to each other the way you've been doing the past few months has felt like a fairytale straight from the stories Celeste would make up when you were just a child. In another world, he was your prince, and you were his princess. Meeting in secrecy wasn't ideal, but it was perfect. Getting to see him become his most vulnerable was one of the greatest accomplishments you've endured. The lingering touches and longing glances given to one another around company always made you ache. The burning heat in your lower half never once weakened around him. He had grown confident in his touches and the occasional kisses that would start at your jaw and trail down to your neck where he would feel the hammering of your pulse under his lips. Knight Marcus Acacius was a man. And now, he will be a man that you would never have.

Enough was enough. There would be no more wallowing, no more pondering over what could have been, and no more drowning in tears. You needed to act, and you needed to act fast. A brief moment of panic struck as you leapt out of bed and hurried around your room. Think, think, think. Cursing to yourself, you finally got to work. Grabbing one of your gowns, you turned it into a makeshift sack by cutting and tying the ends with the small dagger Marcus had given you long ago when you were becoming a young woman.

"A princess is never really a princess without her dagger," he had told you, carefully unsheathing it and showing you the sharp blade with your initials engraved right by the handle. "This was given to me when I was your age, and now I want you to have it. Under any situation where you feel the need to use it, think about me and I will be right there with you."

Oh, Marcus. Not a minute goes by where you're not thinking about the older knight. There would be no more flirtatious banter, no more whispered secrets, no more tender touches. It was now, at this moment, that you've come to a realization your feelings for him are too intense to ignore. Maybe it's because of the desperation you feel or the terrors you're going to face after sunrise. Either way, you can't shake the unmistakable feeling away.

The reflection in the mirror is unrecognizable. The once bright eyes are now dim, and the skin is dull and dry from countless tears. This woman feels like a stranger, and the thought of living as her is unbearable. The idea of being someone you're not, confined by false worship and seclusion, is suffocating. But then, a spark of realization ignites. Not all is lost. A plan forms: escape before sunrise and head north. Whether you go alone or not is up to you, but finding solace elsewhere is better than being imprisoned by faith.

Just as you were getting a head start, a small clack sound came from the balcony. When you turned around to face the wide-open doors leading outside, you saw no one. As you were about to shut them, an object on the ground that hadn't been there before caught your eye.

It was a stone, almost the size of your palm. As you inched closer, you saw a paper wrapped around the stone, securely tied with wool string. Curiosity got the best of you, and you leaned over the edge of the parapet, but saw no one. You had assumed it was Marcus, but when he wasn't standing on the stone bench, looking up at you with that charming smile of his, your worry began to grow.

You bent down to pick up the stone, carefully retreating back into your room as you gave another glance towards the outdoor darkness surrounding your balcony. Untying the string and finally unfolding the paper, a smile slowly formed on your lips. In messy penmanship, it read: Meet me at our spot.

The rope that has been used during your secret little adventures has been kept hidden underneath your bed. After tying one end of the rope around one of the pillars, you hoist yourself down exactly as you've done the many times you snuck away with Marcus' hands held tightly in your own. There was a rush of excitement and nostalgia upon remembering those times. It felt like yesterday you two were on your balcony alone for the first time, tossing grapes at his head and essentially calling him your favorite person and vice versa.

When you reached the ground and adjusted your gown, you noticed a small lantern sitting beside the bench. It was the typical gentleman thing for Marcus to do, not wanting you to travel in the dark. It was very telling of his character and who he is as a man and as a companion. With the lantern held at arm's length from your chest, you never realized just how terrifying it is traveling alone in the dark. If you were going to leave before sunrise, you would have to get over that fear and think like a Dame, not a princess. An owl hooted in the distance, causing your head to sharply turn towards the noise.

Upon reaching the lake, you gently swung the lantern around to cast a glow around the area. There was no blanket on the ground. There was no other lantern in sight. There was no Marcus. In a hushed voice, you called out to him. Crickets chirped in the bushes as another howl hooted close by. In another hushed voice, more frantic than the last, you called out to your knight. When you reach the looming tree, an arm reaches around and yanks your body back until it collides against a sturdy chest.

With a shriek, you drop the lantern and struggle against the arm around your waist and the hand covering your mouth. You kick at the man's shin and jab your elbow into his stomach, eliciting a grunt from him.

"It's me! Princess, it's me!" The man hisses.

"Marcus?!" You whisper-shouted, allowing him to press you against the tree and observing the wince on his face as he sits up the lantern - thankfully the fire hasn't dimmed from your frantic motions. "You are a foolish, foolish man!" Although you did hurt him, accidentally, that still didn't lessen the smile on the knight's face. Rolling your eyes, you swatted at his shoulder and leaned more comfortably against the tree.

With the low lighting of the lantern on the ground and the full moon glowing behind his head, Marcus looked like a dream come true - your dream come true. His thick curls almost form a halo atop his head, making him look more angelic and heavenly than the rugged fighter he claims to be. You weren't a religious woman, by all means. But if heaven looked like this, you wouldn't mind getting down on your knees and praying to the gods above, begging to be put in a heaven where Marcus will look like this for eternity. It almost brings a tear to your eye.

He looks down at you with an unreadable expression. Both of your smiles disappear and transform into something softer and more intimate. Your eyes take in his features carefully, heartbroken at the fact that tonight will be the last night you will be with him again. No man's brown eyes could compare to your Marcus'. No man's hooked nose could compare to your Marcus'. No man's smooth, timbered voice could compare to your Marcus'. At the realization that no man will ever be the same as your knight's, and that he has ruined everyone else for you, you let out a shuddering breath as the tears fall.

"Oh, Marcus," you wept quietly, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck, allowing him to lower his upper body down to your height to make it more comfortable. His eyes shut as his own emotions take over. His own arms find their home around your waist. He clings onto you desperately, scared that if he were to let go, you'd suddenly fade away like mist right through his fingers. "This... This is all too much."

He hushes you softly, caressing a hand through your long hair, burning the feeling in the back of his mind of how soft and thick your hair was. His nose curves around the shape of your neck, smelling your sweet scent one last time and feeling your pulse against the tip. When you whimper from him pulling away, he eases your sorrows by using his curled forefinger to tip your head up in order to wipe away your tears of heartache. Neither of you speak, only gazing into each other's eyes lovingly.

"You are the most... beautiful woman I've ever known," he tells you quietly, silently begging for his voice to remain steady. "Your heart, mind, and soul are mesmerizing and addicting." Your lips parted at his words, your arms sliding down his shoulders to gently hold onto either side of your neck. He continues, "When I spend my time with you, it feels as though I'm floating through the clouds, and nothing can pull me back down to earth."

The intensity of the moment made you feel dizzy and lightheaded. Marcus' hands gently cradled your cheeks, and his warmth and masculine scent made your mouth water. You could see his lips moving, but the words were lost to you. Gazing back into his eyes, you pulled him closer. Marcus paused, his eyes flicking down to your parted lips before meeting your sorrowful gaze again.

There was palpable tension in the air as you whispered his name, your heart heavy with unspoken words. "Marcus… I…" you breathed out softly, your voice trembling. "I never told you… how… how much I…" The words caught in your throat, refusing to come out. You shook your head, the confession lingering on the tip of your tongue, frozen and waiting.

He takes that final step, your chests now pressed together, hearts pounding in unison. When Marcus lifts his hand to gently brush away some stray hairs from your face, you notice a slight tremble. You can't help but wonder if he's as nervous as you are, if his mind is racing with the same thoughts.

"Oh, my sweet darling," his voice trembling with emotion. His jaw tightens and relaxes, betraying the storm of feelings within him. The intensity of his gaze leaves no room for doubt—he understands your thoughts, your emotions, and the unspoken words hanging between you. He knows exactly what to do, even without uttering the forbidden words.

A surge of electricity shot through your entire body when Marcus' lips touched yours for the first time. You breathed in deeply through your nose and squeezed your eyes shut, your hands clinging desperately to his shoulders as he kept a steady grip on your face. The scruff of his beard scraped your upper lip and chin deliciously. This was what you had been waiting for, what you had been dreaming about for months, and now you finally had it, even if only for a short while until sunrise.

The two of you kissed like famished beasts. There was no holding back when it came to the knight. He kissed you as if your tongue was wine and he wanted to drink up the last few gulps. He kissed you as if he was drunk off of your taste and needed more, more, more. He couldn't stop. He didn't want to, now that he tasted you for the first time. His addiction to you worsened when your lips parted more to take his tongue into your awaiting mouth. The groan he releases had your entire body buzzing with heat.

With one hand gripping his curls at the nape of his neck and your other hand braced between his broad shoulder blades, you pulled away to take in big gulps of air as you forgot to remember to breathe. Marcus chased your lips immediately, his hands tightening on your face as he lips landed on yours again, and again, and again, until they were raw and swollen with passion. The whimper you elicit against him, the vibrations tingling on his mouth, drove him crazy.

This time, it was Marcus who pulled away.

He licks at his bottom lip, not wanting to waste any of your taste lingering on his eager tongue. Your breathing is heavy and desperate. Your lips tingle and buzz. The heat between you two intensified, no longer able to ignore as you two officially crossed that line that you cannot return from. He kisses you again, seemingly unable to go seconds without the feel of your lips on his and tongues intertwined.

The first kiss was everything you imagined it to be. You had expected it to be frantic, desperate, and consuming, and it was. It wasn't tender or gentle. He didn't kiss you like you were going to break apart. He kissed you like you were the oxygen he needed in order to breathe. Marcus was a trained fighter and killer. There has been blood drenched on his hands as others on the opposing side have died on the end of his sword.

After a few more minutes of nearly swallowing each other's tongue--maybe even an hour--Marcus pulled away for a moment to allow you a minute to regain composure and recollect yourself. The fogginess in your eyes fades away and you feel less like you're underwater. You can hear the faintness of crickets chirping again. There was a moment of embarrassment of losing yourself in the kiss, but you didn't care because Marcus also lost himself. He brushes away a small sheen of saliva at the corner of your lips with a sheepish, almost shy smile.

The moment slowly transformed when you held onto his forearm to keep his hand against your cheek. With eyes closed and lashes resting prettily on your cheeks, you kiss his palm so gently that he could barely feel it--just a tickle. Neither of you spoke. You didn't know what to say, and he didn't either, but that's okay. Everything that you wanted to say was expressed through your touches.

"Marcus," you whispered his name as your heart was about to leap out of your throat and land in the palm of his hand. He looks down at you with his beautiful, half-lidded, kiss-drunk eyes. You could no longer hold in your secret. "I'm leaving before sunrise."

His brows furrowed before they straightened. "I know you're leaving, sweet girl. Don't you mean at sunrise?"

Gently shaking your head, you release your embrace and lean back against the tree, gazing out over the lake. Marcus notices the struggle you're trying so hard to conceal on your face.

"No, my love," you tell him in a tearful voice. "I mean, I'm leaving before sunrise, getting through those gates, and heading north. I'm going to take myself far, far away from here and settle by the mountains."

Marcus can't hide the shock on his face. He takes a half step back, swipes a hand down his mouth, and distractedly rubs the back of his neck. Emotions swirl rapidly across his face. He doesn't know what to think or feel. An uncomfortable knot forms in the pit of his stomach, the kind he usually gets when something bad is about to happen.

"Absolutely not," the words come out of his mouth without holding back. He realizes his mistake when you jerk your head back and look at him with surprise.

"I beg your pardon, Knight Marcus?" Using his rank as his name was a way to distance yourself from him, to not let your emotions bubble over the surface in a way you'll regret. He sees right through your facade.

"Don't give me that 'Knight Marcus' shit like I'm going to buy it," he sternly tells you, making sure to point a finger down at the ground rather than disrespect you by pointing it in your face. Tensions were currently high, and he doesn't want to make matters worse by accidentally offending you. "You heard what I said, and I'll say it again, slowly. Absolutely. Not."

The silence between you felt almost tangible. You had seen him address the other knights in this manner when they faltered in their training or when a guest made a disrespectful comment about the kingdom. He had a knack for putting people in their place, but you never imagined it would be you on the receiving end.

Marcus took your silence as an opportunity to express his anxious thoughts. He hesitantly cupped your cheeks in his large hands, which easily dwarfed your face. Your eyes fluttered shut at the calloused warmth. He gently tipped your head up with both thumbs placed under your jaw. "Look at me. Please, open your eyes and look at me." He breathed out a sigh of relief when you did just that.

The wavering in his voice was unmistakable as he warned, "Do you know what would happen if the king ever found out that you went off north? Hm? He would find a way to get you back, or worse--kill you." The last part is spoken with such strain, as if uttering it might make it a reality. The horrifying image of your public execution flashes in your mind: your delicate body hanging from a rope, wrists bound behind your back, or your head placed on a wooden block, awaiting the fatal blow of an axe.

You knew there was a possibility of that happening. Your father was an ignorant man, but he was a dangerously intelligent one. Ignorance, the root and stem of all evil.

Your hands slowly slide up his forearms until you're holding onto his wrists, your thumbs tracing the dark hair and veins. Despite his firm grip, you try to shake your head, but he tuts softly, mirroring your motion. As he begins to speak, urging you to stop ignoring the possibilities, you gently place your fingers over his mouth, silencing him with a tender smile and a soft stroke of his jaw.

"My love," whispering to him and doing your best to remember his facial features. "I would rather die by the hands of my father than live a life that I do not want." Marcus' eyes shut tight, and he knocks his forehead on yours, sniffling quietly to keep his tears at bay. "Oh, my dear knight. I wish for a life where I wake up beside you in the mornings and fall asleep beside you at night. I wish for a life where you can kiss me in front of guests and twirl me around in my extravagant gowns." Marcus lets out a watery chuckle and allows his tears to fall onto your cheeks. "I wish for a life where I can fight alongside you to keep our kingdom safe from the enemies that lurk outside these walls. Whatever it is that I wish for, although they may never come true, I need you to know that you will always be a part of them, for you are the greatest wish of them all."

His trembling lips meet yours once more. His breathing is unsteady, punctuated by sniffling. The warmth of his thick tears mingles with your own on your cheeks. Fates of two, entwined. The two of you pull away, snapping the thin string of saliva that stays on your kiss-bitten lips. When your eyes open, you find yourself peering into his own. The confession was stuck on your tongue. You couldn't tell how you really felt. Leaving him with such a goodbye and further breaking his heart would do you both no good, so you thought.

"I, um... I should head back to my chambers, Knight Acacius," you softly tell him, hoping he can hear the teasing lilt in your voice as you speak his title. The barely-there grin on his lips showed that he did catch on to your teasing--just like old times.

"Foolish girl," he whispers, the smile never once fading as his eyes take in the rest of your features, permanently engraving your beauty in his mind to come back to.

"Foolish man," you whisper back, using one hand to brush his curls from his forehead, slowly sliding your hand down the back of his head, down to his neck, and finally curling your fingers through the curls that rest there.

Hand in hand, Marcus leads you both back to your balcony. The rope hangs limp, still tied around the pillar. You stand there for a few seconds, just looking up at your balcony and remembering all of the private conversations and shy touches you and your knight have shared. Turning in your spot, never once letting go of his hand, you kiss his frown away. His other hand cups your cheek again, your jaw now familiar against his palm. Pulling away one last time, you wipe at the stray tear on his cheek.

"Goodbye, Marcus Acacius," you whisper brokenly.

The moment is heavy with unspoken words as he whispers a goodbye, his hand lingering in yours until the distance pulls you apart. You watch his broad form retreat, his hand lifting to his face, likely to wipe away tears. As he disappears around the castle, a sense of finality settles in. Glancing up at the balcony, you do what you've done for the past few months. Climbing up the rope for one last time and steadying yourself onto the parapet, it was bittersweet.

As you stand in the room you grew up in, thinking of all the memories shared in here, there was a small set of knocks on the door. You pause, heart racing, as the knock echoes through the room once more. Who could it be at this hour? You quickly glance around, ensuring everything is in place. The makeshift sack is secure, the rope is still tied and ready for your departure, and your mind races with possibilities. Taking a deep breath, you move towards the door, each step filled with anticipation. As you reach for the handle, you can't help but wonder if this unexpected visitor will alter the course of your journey.

With your hand on the handle, you do an experimental tug. Surprisingly enough, it was unlocked. It wasn't unlocked before you snuck out to meet with Marcus. You pull the door open wider and wider, wincing at the obnoxious creaking and hoping it doesn't wake your father. As you finally pull it open, your mouth drops, and your eyes widen at the man that stands before you.

"What..." You had no time to finish your sentence before Marcus is charging inside, his large hands grabbing your face and kissing you as ferociously as the first time. He kicks the door shut with his boot and shoves his body deeper into the room, your feet desperately trying to keep up with his long strides.

Marcus forces himself to pull away from your lips. There's a metaphorically magnetic force that keeps pulling him back. He stands before you, skin flushed and hair wild. His breathing was fast and heavy. "I just..." He tries to explain himself. "I just... I needed to see you one last time. I needed to... to say goodbye... just one last time, my princess."

The intensity of the moment is blinding. Desperation and longing fill the air as you lock eyes with him, unable to resist the magnetic pull. His gaze, filled with an unfamiliar hunger, grows more intense with each passing second. The tension is almost tangible, and you've made your decision. With a firm grip on his neck, you draw him closer for another passionate kiss.

One kiss turns into two. Two turns into five. Five turns into hands grabbing at clothes and sneaking underneath to grasp at naked flesh. What happens afterwards is a memorable blur. You only wished you could have yourself a private artist to paint yours and Marcus' naked bodies in acts of pleasure. You would've hung it up proudly in the dining hall above your designated throne.

The haziness of sleep enveloped you as you shifted, feeling the comforting weight around your waist and the solid presence of a broad body behind you. His strong chest pressed gently against your back. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, you snuggled closer to Marcus, seeking the warmth radiating from his naked body. He was like a furnace, a quality you found endearing. Glancing over your shoulder, you noticed the sky had turned a deep blue—your favorite "blue hour." It wasn't sunrise yet, so you still had time to savor this peaceful moment.

Marcus shifts behind you with a hoarse groan. His arm tightens around your waist, a gentle reminder that he wants you close. As you roll over to face him, the tranquility of the moment envelops you both. The room is peaceful and quiet, with Marcus' half-lidded, puffy eyes reflecting the intensity of the night before. You can only imagine that you look just as marked by the shared experience.

"You look so beautiful," his voice low enough to almost sound like a hum. It slowly brings a smile to your kissed lips. Laying almost nose to nose, you let out a small sigh as the heartache returns after the momentary distraction. "I know, my darling."

His thumb brushes across the apple of your cheek before gently gripping your chin to place a lazy kiss on your lips. Marcus Acacius was intoxicating. After just a taste, you found yourself craving more, longing to quench your thirst for him. The breeze gently blowing through the sheer curtains had you shivering. Marcus glides a hand up and down your arm, further warming you with his natural body heat.

"Wherever you may end up, my darling, be sure to write to me every once in a while, yeah? And let me know where you stay so that I can visit you whenever I can," Marcus' words, spoken softly, carried a promise of connection despite the distance. His eagerness to stay in touch after your secret departure sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. The thought of your relationship possibly growing in the future filled you with excitement and hope.

The confession was pursed on your lips, words ready to be spoken. Marcus could see it on your face, the light in your eyes brightening along with your smile.

A boisterous horn suddenly blew from the outer walls of the castle, followed by another, and another. Marcus sat up with lightning speed, the sheets pooling around his waist. Faint shouting echoed from the halls and outside the castle. Both of you jumped out of bed, sheets wrapped around your bodies, and ran to the balcony to see what was happening. Behind you, Marcus hurriedly dressed, his hair a mess and his clothes wrinkled.

"Marcus, what is going on?" Worriedly asking him and rushing over with furrowed brows. You redress into your gown, watching with wide eyes as the knight makes a mad dash to the balcony once again, cursing under his breath as he sees smoke rising from beyond the trees by the main gate.

The urgency in his voice was unmistakable. "The castle has been infiltrated. We need to go. Now!" he barked, though you knew he didn't mean to be harsh. The blaring horns and escalating shouts only fueled your rising panic, making it harder to stay calm.

As Marcus led you through the chaos, the clamor of the knights' armor and the echo of their hurried footsteps filled the halls, creating a symphony of urgency. You clung to Marcus, feeling the strength and determination in his grip. His protective stance gave you a sense of safety amidst the turmoil, as you both navigated the perilous path ahead.

One of the novice knights spotted you both and hurried over, his close helm lifted slightly above his head to speak clearly. His skin was flushed and sweaty.

The urgency in the young knight's voice was evident. "Knight Acacius! Princess!" he called out, his breath quick and eyes wide with alarm. "The Prince of Ivanard and his army have breached the walls! We must act swiftly!"

Marcus's panicked expression morphs into something far more sinister. His jaw clenches, and a vein in his neck bulges noticeably. He gives the young knight a stern nod before dragging you up the stone spiral steps to the chambers where the other knights sleep. The shouting outside grows louder, and your head darts back and forth, trying to catch a glimpse through the stone windows. Marcus pulls your arm harder, nearly wrenching it from its socket as he slams his shoulder into the door of his chambers.

"You said you wanted to become a Dame ever since you were a child, yes?" He hurriedly asks you as he slides on his armor with urgency. He's throwing a number of clothing items over his shoulder, metal clanging against metal and glass breaking onto the ground. He shoots you an impatient look as he hurries over to his closet.

"Yes, ever since I was a child," you reply, trying to keep your voice steady despite the chaos around you. He nods, his eyes filled with determination as he continues to prepare. "Then let's make sure you get that chance," he says, his tone resolute.

He slides out a rather large chest. It creaks open, revealing a set of armor that mirrors his own, but in a size that fits you perfectly. As he hands it to you, your heart races with a mix of surprise and anticipation. This armor, crafted with care, is meant for you.

"Marcus," you shakily began to speak but the words died on your tongue, fingers sliding over the piece of metal. Attached inside the body armor was a byrnie, with interlocking iron rings. The small-looped chains drooped to cover any open areas. The intricate detailing of the metal molding had you staring in awe for a split second before you remembered the probable battle happening around you.

Looking back up at him, Marcus gives you a singular nod and reaches an arm out to you. Glancing down at what was being held in his hand, tears pricked at your eyes upon seeing it was William's sword. Your father had taken it from you prior to locking you in your room. His focus remains unwavering as he watches you slide on the armor over your gown. You must've looked like a fool, but Marcus looked at you with a proud glint in his eye, though his face doesn't show it. It was difficult to snap back from Knight Acacius to your Marcus during a time like this.

Holding the sword firmly, you feel its weight settle in your palm. You glance at Marcus with a look that speaks volumes. He recognizes that look—the same one you had before the blaring horns interrupted you both. He knows you want to express your gratitude for everything he's done for you and your family, even though you've always considered him part of the family.

There was an intensity that was hard to ignore as he steps closer, his gloved hand gently caressing your cheek before pulling you into a passionate kiss. The kiss conveys all the emotions he has been holding back. As you both pull away, breathless, Marcus places a tender kiss on your forehead and whispers, "You can tell me after we have won the battle."

With that whispered promise, you give him a determined nod and slide on your dirtied boots, which he also snagged from your father. As you both rush out, darting down the steps, turning corners, and navigating the exhaustingly long hallways, you think about Celeste for a split second. As if she could read your mind, she turns the corner and nearly crashes into you.

"Oh, my dear child!" She cried out helplessly, looking back and forth between you and Marcus, her hair disheveled and tear tracks staining her cheeks. You see her face change as she notices the armor adorning your body and William's sword in your hand with your other hand tightly clasped in Marcus'.

The silent understanding was evident in the way her lips parted and her eyes subtly widened. She cupped your cheek with a wrinkled, shaky hand, then looked at Marcus, giving him a nod before doing the same to you.

"You come back to me; do you understand?" The tremor in her voice was unmistakable. Celeste had always been a strong woman. She never once allowed anyone to see her break down. At a time like this, seeing you, the closest thing she has to a daughter, fully dressed in the armor you dreamt of wearing when you were a child at knee-height, made her feel like the proudest mother ever.

Holding onto her forearm, you give her a hasty kiss on the cheek before being hurried away by Marcus. You hadn't thought to ask Celeste about the whereabouts of your father. Considering she was all alone and running around like a chicken with its head chopped off, you assumed your father was hiding like the coward that he was.

"Once we step outside, you follow my lead. Is that understood?" Marcus's command echoes in your ears. With a firm grip on your sword, you mirror his readiness. His reassuring glance and the gentle release of your hand signal the gravity of the moment. Stepping onto the castle grounds, you exchange a final, resolute nod. Together, you advance towards the main gates, where Marcus' knights stand vigilant, their swords and shields at the ready.

The Prince of Ivanard stood opposite your kingdom's knights, exuding arrogance. His smug expression was infuriating. You gripped your sword tighter, remaining steadfast beside Marcus, who straightened his back and took his place in front of his own knights. There was a tense stare down between the two men.

"You have no business here," Marcus declared sternly, his voice resonating loudly and clearly to ensure that everyone nearby and at a distance could hear. "Do not begin what you cannot end, Prince of Ivanard."

The prince's expression contorted as his title was uttered with disdain. The urge to laugh bubbled within you, but you suppressed it, rising to stand tall, fixing a steely gaze on the man destined to be your spouse. Noticing your stance beside Marcus, the prince approached, flanked by his knights, his fingers wrapped firmly around the hilt of his sword.

"Oh, but my business is here, Knight Acacius," he sneered, uttering Marcus' title with the same disdain he had shown him, yet Marcus barely reacted. "I have journeyed far for the princess to become my wife, and I shall not depart without her. Although, it seems like I am looking at a little girl playing dress-up instead."

Stepping forward, you positioned yourself before Marcus. He made a slight move to halt you but restrained himself, remaining behind. This moment was yours, the one you had been anticipating. You faced the prince without a trace of fear.

"As the princess and heiress of this kingdom, it is my duty to announce that you are not welcome here, Prince of Ivanard," you spoke loudly and clearly, silently applauding yourself for keeping your voice steady and stern. "Like Knight Acacius has previously stated, do not start something you cannot finish."

The atmosphere was charged with tension. Neither of you spoke. You and the prince exchanged silent stares, his body practically radiating anger. Despite the thick swallow you forced down your throat, your eyes remained fixed on him. A movement caught your attention from the corner of your eye. The familiar scent told you it was Marcus. In a moment like this, his presence was everything you needed.

"Come with me now, and I won't take any drastic measures. Or continue this little charade and face the consequences," the prince says with a nonchalant shrug. "I advise you to make a wise decision, princess," he adds, elongating the title in a way that causes you to frown.

Taking a steady breath, you turn to look at Marcus and find him already watching you. He has been observing you the whole time. He sees the turmoil in your eyes and the hesitation in your gaze. In a hushed tone, he reminds you, "Remember your promise."

That was enough to light a match under you. Giving him one last determined nod, you faced the arrogant prince once more. "Prince of Ivanard," you announced loudly. "You are nothing more than a fat-kidneyed, crooked-nosed fool." Some of the knights on your side chuckled underneath their breaths, and even Marcus did too. The prince's facial expression grew red with fury. "Now, I advise you to put up a good fight rather than pretend your cock is bigger than most."

A prolonged silence ensues. The prince lets out a chuckle, devoid of any real mirth, as he nods to himself. His grip on his sword's handle tightens before he draws it from its scabbard. Lifting a hand into the air, he locks eyes with you, his gaze piercing through you rather than merely meeting your eyes. Abruptly, the unmistakable sound of metal-on-metal rings out as all the knights, both allies and adversaries, draw their swords in unison.

The prince offers an emotionless smile. "May God rest your soul," he declares. Then, with a swift motion of his hand, he signals the commencement of the battle.

Battle cries echo from both sides, including you and Marcus. As allies and enemies clash, Marcus disappears into the throng. You raise your sword overhead and bring it down forcefully across the chest of an adversary knight. He emits a guttural squelch and collapses into a bloody heap on the ground. It feels as if everything around you is moving in slow motion. The only sound you can hear is the heavy, rapid thumping of your heart resonating in your ears. Your limbs ache from the effort as you push through the throng of people.

Swords clash against each other, against armor, and against flesh and bone. The battlefield echoes with the roars of men and the cries of agony as lives are lost. Marcus is known as a formidable warrior; his reputation as Knight Marcus precedes him. There is no doubt in your mind that he will emerge victorious.

Battling through the opposing knights, you weave and dodge until at last, you spot him: the Prince of Ivanard. With a swift motion, he cleaves through the abdomen of one of your knights, then kicks the fallen warrior away to free his sword. The knight's blood stains the sharpened blade, darkening under the glint of the rising sun.

He gazes down at the mangled body, a grin spreading across his face. Sensing a presence, he looks up to find you there, breaths coming heavy and wild, the sword in your hand trembling from the strain of fatigue. As your eyes lock, an unspoken understanding passes between you; you both know what must happen next.

With a battle cry, you charge at each other, swords clashing. Emitting a grunt like a wild beast, you push him back forcefully and swing your sword to the left—he parries. A swift slash from left to right catches him by surprise, and for a moment, as the blade arcs toward his face, he's off guard. He jerks his head back just in time, but not before the blade grazes his cheek.

"You are no more a man than I am," you say to him, your voice quivering with adrenaline and sheer fury. "You are a fool, and I would be an even greater fool to marry someone like you."

With a roar of anger, the prince raises his sword and charges towards you. You swiftly dodge to the side, rising to your feet with your sword gripped firmly in both hands. A glance at William's initials engraved on the blade fills you with a wave of determination to honor his legacy and become the warrior he believed you could be.

The battle with the prince is fierce and draining. Your muscles scream for relief, and sweat stings your eyes as it drips down your forehead. Thoughts of Knight Acacius, your Marcus, flash through your mind. In the distance, you can just make out his voice, yelling commands and fighting with unparalleled vigor, knowing his strength comes partly because you are in the fray as well.

Suddenly, as your attention falters for a mere half-second, your sword is knocked from your grasp. You gasp, watching in a trance-like slow motion as it arcs through the air and lands yards away on the blood-soaked, dirt-strewn ground. Turning back to face the prince, a searing pain blazes across your abdomen, eliciting a piercing scream of agony.

With wide, unfocused eyes and an open mouth, your hands clutched the prince's shoulders. Your bloodied fingers slid down the metal, soon grasping his forearms, tense as he thrust the sword deeper into your abdomen, undoubtedly driving the end through you. Emitting another agonizing wail, you glanced down at the gruesome sight.

Your blood, dark and viscous, spills forth, tainting the prince's hands and your soiled dress. The agony is beyond comprehension, leading you to ponder if William experienced this torment before his demise. As you attempt to utter a word, the metallic taste of blood fills your mouth. The prince shows no remorse; instead, his expression reveals a disturbing satisfaction in your suffering. With each turn of the handle, a grotesque sound escapes, and you find yourself beyond the point of vocalizing your anguish.

He leans in close, his breath acrid, almost making you gag—if not for the blood trickling down the corners of your mouth. "You were fated to be my wife," he hisses. "And now, you will meet the same fate as your dear brother, at the hands of my father."

With a feeble, blood-stained smile and your body gradually succumbing to unconsciousness, you teeter on the brink of collapse. As you draw near to the prince, the sword lodged in your abdomen sends waves of searing pain through you. Each cough is a wet, gurgling effort, spattering clumps of blood onto the prince's chest plate.

Gazing into his eyes, your weak smile vanished as you told him in a faint voice, “You’re a coward… and history will forget you.”

The look of contentment on his face shifted to a grim shadow. His forehead creased, and the smile he wore flattened into a grim line. Emitting a guttural growl, he thrusts you back, wrenching his blade, now smeared with your blood, from your midsection. You collapse, the sensation of pain fading into a distant echo. Numbness overtakes you, your senses dulling as your heartbeat echoes, slower and slower.

"Tell William my father sends his greetings," the prince commands, hoisting his sword aloft as blood trickles onto his armor. Through half-closed eyes, you glimpse the blade's gleam, your own heartbeat resounding in your ears. Thoughts of Celeste, William, Marcus, and your mother flicker through your mind in mere seconds. With closed eyes, you resign yourself to your destiny.

Suddenly, a sound like the crunching of bone filled the air. Breathing shallowly, you clear the fog from your vision and look up. The prince hadn't brought his sword down on you as he intended. Instead, a sight unfolded that you wished to etch into memory forever. A sword had been thrust through the prince's chest from behind, piercing his armor with such force that it passed clean through. His eyes were wide in disbelief, and his throat worked spasmodically, spewing thick gouts of blood that darkened his ginger beard to a deep crimson.

A deep, wild scream erupted from behind the prince. Suddenly, his body was hoisted into the air, the sword still impaled through him. His body rose higher and higher until the figure on the sword's other end came into view. The armor was unmistakable. Marcus' arms, now exposed without the protection of his armor, swelled and trembled from exertion and adrenaline. He unleashed another roar, a battle cry of pure fury. His expression was unrecognizable; he was no longer the Marcus you knew. This was Knight Acacius, the fearsome warrior known for his savage prowess in battle and his unwavering leadership in protecting his people. The prince's twisted, lifeless form was now suspended above Marcus' head as he continued to scream, his body almost quivering with the rush of adrenaline.

"Deliver a message to William," he snarls, his voice thick with fury, "Knight Acacius sends his regards." With a forceful motion, he casts the prince's body aside, the sword remaining impaled within.

A sudden rush of emotions swept over Marcus' face. It was evident in the way he gazed down, shaking off his persona as Knight Acacius. His lips moved frantically, yet their words were nearly lost beneath the pounding of your heart. Collapsing to his knees, his hands trembled violently as he placed a gentle hand upon your abdomen. Though he knew no aid could be rendered, the helplessness he offered supplanted the anger with profound heartache.

"No, no, no, no," he wailed, his face contorting as he failed to hold back his cries of despair. He shakily cradled your cheek, now ice-cold against the warmth of his blood-flecked palm. "Oh, my sweet princess. No, no, no."

"Mar…" you struggled to speak, the blood in your throat surfacing repeatedly despite your efforts to swallow it. Breathing became increasingly difficult; each inhale exacerbated the bleeding, soaking Marcus's hand further. "I… I'm…"

He silences you softly, stifling his tears as your breaths become shallower and your limbs grow feeble. He observes your hand dragging across the ground towards him. With a sorrowful heart, he reveals your injury, averting his gaze as he tenderly takes your hand and presses it against his cheek. Your lips quiver into a faint smile. The ongoing battle fades into obscurity; in this moment, there is only you and Marcus.

A lonesome tear trails down your temple. Marcus tenderly wipes it away, maintaining eye contact with your half-closed eyes. He recognizes your effort to stay awake for him. With one hand still cradling your limp hand to his cheek and his other cupping your own cheek, he exhales a shaky breath, the ache in his heart intensifying with each torturous second.

As he gazes down, observing your eyes roam over his features as they always did, he reflects on every shared moment from the past few months. He realized he loved you from the start. Yet, he never found the right moment to declare it. Now, Marcus is burdened with the regret of his silence, only breaking it as you lie before him, on the brink of your end.

"I…" His voice falters as he begins to speak. "I am a foolish man, my princess. I should have told you… how much… how deeply I…" Tears hinder his words, the floodgates of his emotions opening as he watches the light of life dim in your eyes.

The realization that you will no longer be together brings more tears to your eyes. You long to cry out to him, but the fear that your wails would force blood from your mouth, leaving a haunting image for him, holds you back. You do not wish for that to be the last memory Marcus has of you before your agonizing death.

"Come," you whisper hoarsely through the gurgling of your blood. You must tell him before the darkness engulfs you forever. You must tell him before he is left to roam the earth aimlessly without you.

Marcus gently lowers his head and turns until your lips graze his ear. The rattling sound of your breath causes him to close his eyes, his lips pressing a kiss to your wrist against his jaw. He listens intently, deciphering your hushed whispers, understanding at last what you're attempting to convey.

"Love…" you whispered in agony, your lips quivering against his ear as you coughed, inadvertently staining his golden skin with your blood—a skin you would no longer caress with your fingertips or savor with your tongue.

Marcus feels his heart almost cease to beat when he hears the single word that escapes your lips. Your last word, a confession of your feelings for him, irrevocably breaks his heart. He realizes he will never whisper those words against your skin as you both lie beneath the moon's glow, lost in bliss. Nor will he utter them against your lips in a kiss, as if you were the finest wine ever tasted. And he could never whisper them to another, for no one could ever evoke the emotions you stirred in him.

Marcus looks down at you, his expression shattered, knowing it's the last thing you'll see before darkness engulfs you in its icy hold. He kisses you, the blood from your lips staining his. He kisses you one final time, aware that the moment he pulls away, you'll slip into the void.

Finally, he forces himself to break away from your lips. With one last gaze into your eyes, he whispers tenderly, "Now I must remember you for longer than I have known you." Upon hearing his final confession, your vision blurs, speckled with black dots. The roughness of his scruff under your palm fades away. You no longer feel the wound or the blood seeping out, soaking the earth beneath you.

And as your eyes close for the final time, Marcus' anguished scream is the last sound you hear before slipping deeper into the embrace of death.

[gallusrostromegalus]

Soul Society is top heavy when it comes to power. With rare exceptions (Ikkaku), the gap between captains and rank-and-file troops, let alone normal citizens, is astronomical. How does Soul Society handle the reiryoku classism problem in and out of the Rukongai? Do the lower seats think of themselves as cannon fodder? Are there any major political factions that try to tackle the issue (ethically or not)?

So the gotei-13 is actually kind of a solution to this problem on accident.

The thing is, as powerful as the captains are, there usually only about a dozen of them, and a maximum of 2600 shinigami total. They are VASTLY outnumbered by literally everyone else, and because they need drastically more food than others (everyone in soul society needs to eat, but shinigami are at a drastically higher calorie demand and risk of starvation), they are VERY dependent on the rest of society. Zaraki made a fair fist of being a roaming menace but even he had to bow to the economy and work jobs to eat.

Hence, there IS reiryoku discrimination but it's largely in the other direction- shinigami are extremely exploited as workers, and that's the GOOD job. Other psychics are frequently drafted, kidnapped, enslaved for imprisoned so the rich and politically powerful can exploit their abilities. Even if a captain class individual were to say, take out a whole clan in self-defense, the rest of society would come down on them like a hammer and kill them or let them starve.

Yamamoto didn't found the Gotei-13 all at once. Originally it was just him, Sasakibe, the 200 spiritually aware students in his dojo, and the dojo was there to train the postal workers how to defend themselves against people trying to kill them for the messages they were carrying, but secondarily so spiritually powerful people didn't get press-ganged into serving the noble houses.

The first organization for psychic souls Yamamoto ever made was a... Relatively Safe Haven. He was also up against a wall dealing with the noble houses and other political factions so he needed anyone who could push back to do so, so a psychic would be expected to serve in at least some capacity. But the souls under his care were free to marry who they chose if they wanted or have children or not, or travel if they felt safe doing so, and even to just be weird without major repercussions, which was a vast improvement over the way they'd be treated as livestock by the noble houses. Even 1000 years later, Byakuya had to fight his family to marry who he wanted. Imagine what a psychic born in a random village and no legal protections would be facing.

So everyone with even an ounce of spiritual capacity was joining the postal service for his protection. It was a boon to the non-psychic messengers too- not knowing if a random Mail carrier could set would-be attackers on fire with their mind made all carriers safer.

...and them the Quincy attacked.

Yamamoto was now even more up against a wall because while having a united front had been helping him it was now a problem-the Quincy were attacking psychics specifically, something that endangered his ENTIRE organization.

...so he hired every spiritually powerful person he could find, including thriteen real bastards directly off of death row and organized them into an army to fucking deal with Yhwach.

Once yhwach was gone though, he had an army. And a lot of nobles looking to exploit or destroy that army.

Fortunately, one of the real bastards he'd hired had fallen for his peculiar charms and become his wife, and what Lady Tsubaki lacked in battle prowess, she more than made up for in political shrewdness. Be magnanimous, she explained. Be generous and speak of peace in our lifetimes and extend the olive branch to those who harassed you for so long. They won't realize it's bait.

So with her help, Yamamoto proposed that his army become the COURT GUARD in charge of protecting the very real and definitely alive Soul King, as well as all the people of soul society from the hollows and other misfortunes that may befall them. Finally, *proper* employment for all those spare heirs and potentially dangerous village psychics, doing the noble work of protecting society.

Why, he even helped found the central 46, a council of sages and scholars and general brain trust to work on the greater problems of soul society (a problem later but at the time, a VAST improvement over the eternally warring clans), that Yamamoto himself would be beholden to, just to show how civic-minded he was.

And just to finally, fully bury the hatchet- Yamamoto offered five of the captain's seats to the five remaining great noble houses, to be passed from scion to scion, ensuring each line would have a place in the direction of this army... Not realizing it was a trap to trick them into handing over any psychics they had, but also the high mortality rate of captains would kill scion after scion and gradually weaken the clans to the point of irrelevance.

And it WORKED.

By the time Ichigo turns up, the scion of the Shihouin clan is in exile with no plans of returning, the Shibas are reduced to a roaming band of pyromaniacs, the Tsunyashiro clan has been gone so long they don't even appear in the manga, and while the ISE and Kuchiki clans still both have representation within the captainacy... The Ise clan only has a brother-in-law and the Kuchiki are at a genetic dead end, and both those men are FAR more loyal to Yamamoto than their own clans.

Yamamoto has done what he set out to do- make a safe haven for the spiritually powerful to work the (not great but still best) protected jobs in the afterlife, destroyed his enemies the great noble houses, and largely wrested government control from them.

It's not perfect, but you can't fault the man for his accomplishment.

[k-nayee]

Fallen Hazbin Hotel i

wc: 3.3k a/n: this will be a slight au goes cause ngl i never really made it past episode 2💀

Traveler M.List

| Next

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

The creation of your soul was unlike any other.

In the hallowed space where human souls were molded, Seraphim Sera worked beside the successor of Lucifer in the celestial sanctum dedicated to new life.

Though Emily had grown adept at forming souls over the eons, she still found herself studying Sera's technique with curiosity and deference.

This time, however, she noticed an unusual stillness in Sera. There was a hint of sorrow in her—deeper than any Emily had seen before.

The state of humanity weighed heavily on Sera's heart. It was something even the sacrifice of Jesus had not remedied.

Where she had hoped to see more unity and compassion, humanity continued to stumble.

Devoted to creation and guidance and yet here she was: moved to a grief that seemed to reach even her divine powers.

Without Sera's knowledge that sorrow imprinted itself on the soul she was forming.

As her fingertips hovered over the amorphous light, her unspoken worries and heartache transformed it, seeping into the essence she shaped.

You were different from the start—a rare blend of purity and compassion, a hope born from despair.

No other soul had quite the same resonance as yours. It was as if each fragment of light carried Sera's lingering wish for humanity's redemption.

Emily remained silent as she observed. For all the thousands of souls she had seen, none had been like this. She could sense Sera's guarded admiration as well.

Though Sera (ever the professional) did not show overt favoritism, there was a lingering gaze—a brief stillness, every time her eyes fell upon you.

And then, just as quickly, she'd retreat to her disciplined demeanor as though she could not allow herself the luxury of attachment.

Once your formation was complete, you were sent to Earth with no knowledge of the watchful presence behind your existence.

From the beginning the world proved to be harsh and unforgiving.

Abandoned as a child and abused by those who should have protected you, you were thrust into a life of struggle.

And yet in spite of it all no bitterness clouded your heart nor did hatred take root; instead you grew wise to life's difficulties, meeting each day with a kindness that was resolute.

Each act of goodwill, every kindness you extended, seemed to spark a subtle ripple effect—something that shaped the lives of others and sent positive changes flowing into places you couldn't see.

Having never grown hard or cynical to life, you were granted angelic ascension upon your death.

Upon your arrival Sera awaited you at the gates, a subtle smile softening her usually serious expression as she guided you to your new position before going off to her own responsibilities.

Life in Heaven felt nearly surreal.

Though the celestial realms were as awe-inspiring as they were vast, you felt a strange pang of loneliness among the hierarchy of angels—most of whom seemed untouched by the hardships you remembered from Earth.

Your days was spent in quiet work under higher-ranking overseers with often yourself as company in the towering halls of Heaven.

That was until you were summoned to Adam's chambers.

You had heard much about him from other angels beyond his legacy as the first man. He was someone who had a commanding presence—sharp wit.

But as you stood before him, despite his evident authority, he exuded an oddly modern charm—a confident, slightly arrogant air that might have been more suited to a CEO than an Archangel.

He looked you up and down, his piercing gaze sizing you up as if deciding whether he could work with you at all.

In those first weeks Adam had made his displeasure known. He rarely missed an opportunity to grumble about the favor he was doing for Sera.

You were a lower-ranking angel after all. And Adam made no secret of his annoyance over this fact. It was shown through your tasks.

They were menial at first: simple records and errand-like duties—which unbeknown to you, was actually ordered to test your resolve rather than develop skills.

He was meticulous and unyielding, a mentor who would not accept anything less than perfection and barely acknowledged your efforts even when they met his exacting standards.

But as the days weeks turned to months there were subtle changes. Sometimes he would sit back and watch you with a look that lingered a bit longer than he intended.

You'd catch him softening in brief moments when he thought you weren't watching with a slight curve of his mouth when you managed something especially well.

And over time his critiques mellowed into an almost playful teasing. The conversations once clipped and formal took on a different tone.

He would linger after giving you a task—recounting stories of the early days of humanity, speaking of his own creation and the burden of his role with a tone that almost resembled confession.

Then one day he invited you to walk with him in the gardens—an invitation that you knew wasn't extended to just anyone.

As you strolled among Heaven's flowering vines and ethereal fountains he casually asked about your Earthly experiences, or as he put it, the "domino effect" Sera mentioned in your file.

You told him of your life as a human and the trials you faced and the choice to meet the world with kindness despite its many hardships.

Then, for the first time ever, a full fledged smile graced his face. Its tenderness filled the stillness around you.

That unspoken bond grew. 

Even the other angels began to notice Adam's (in all his aloofness) distinct warmth that was reserved only for you.

He still carried himself with that familiar arrogance and exuded his usual authority, but his eyes softened when you were near.

His usual cutting words now had an underlying fondness that only the two of you fully understood.

You didn’t speak of it—didn’t dare name it. But when you were alone there was an undeniable closeness.

It went beyond his usual dismissive flirtations or occasional compliments. His hand would linger on yours a moment too long, his touch warm and grounding as he guided you through the grand halls.

You still felt the guarded edges around him even as he allowed this closeness. Almost as if he were keeping a part of himself hidden.

Though you yearned to know more, knowing the gentleness Adam has for you was reserved for no one else made up for it.

For now that was enough.

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

The revelation came upon you like a sudden storm.

It seemed ordinary enough—one of those rare quiet days where Heaven’s peace felt genuine and untouched by schemes or whispers of unrest.

You had been looking for Adam, searching the grand halls where he often spent his time in secluded contemplation or strategy.

Upon entering his quarters you stumbled upon a series of records and texts you hadn’t seen before—drawings, schematics, plans filled with the details of an endeavor you could hardly comprehend at first.

Shock locked you in place as your eyes darted over the pages, the full picture beginning to take shape.

Adam was planning to eradicate all of Hell in a brutal purge. His intentions scrawled out plainly with plans to make it a bi-annual devastation.

His motivations seemed focused—almost obsessive: he desire to destroy Lucifer for corrupting both his wives and damning humanity to sin.

The righteousness of it felt  sinister in a way that clashed with everything Heaven should represent.

It was the sound of footsteps that pulled you from your horrified trance. You look up, catching Adam’s steely gaze as he entered the room.

He stilled, his eyes narrowing as his lips twist into a brief condescending smile before disappearing just as quick. “Eavesdropping now are we?”

“What...is all of this?” your voice shaky but resolute. There was no hiding your distress nor the raw betrayal evident in your tone.

He watched you carefully, his silence stretched painfully long with each passing second drawing his gaze sharper.

“It’s necessary,” he finally replied, each word precise and calculated. “You of all people should understand that.”

You shook your head with disbelief flashing in your eyes. “Necessary? Adam you’re talking about genocide. A-an endless cycle of destruction! How can you say this is the right thing?”

His expression darkened.

“This is for the greater good. Lucifer’s actions have damned humanity, cast shadows over Heaven itself.” Irritation seeped into his voice. “The world would be purer without his influence infecting it, without Hell festering beneath.”

The certainty in his tone left no room for negotiation and you felt the depth of the chasm between you.

You shook your head, taking a step back. “I can’t be a part of this Adam. I...I won’t.”

He watched you as a flicker of something like disappointment shined in his eyes, though it quickly cooled to an unnerving calm.

“Perhaps you’re just not seeing the full picture,” his voice smoothed as if he were offering comfort. “Meet me at our usual spot. I’ll explain everything. Trust me.”

There was a note of gentleness in his words, a familiar echo of the kindness you’d come to know.

Against the shadow of doubt that churned in your chest, you wanted to believe him. You wanted to think that somehow there was something you’d misunderstood.

And so you went to the place that had become yours over the years—a quiet grove within Heaven’s gardens where the two of you spent your time together.

The serenity of it now felt almost mocking.

As you waited you searched for a sense of reassurance, for the feeling that this was all some awful misunderstanding.

That Adam would arrive, put a hand on your shoulder, and explain everything away.

But instead when Adam appeared, his presence felt cold—almost mechanical. There was no trace of the man who had once softened around you nor a lingering warmth in his gaze.

“Adam...” you began only for your words to die on your lips. He raised his hand, and suddenly you felt an unfamiliar pull.

It was as though gravity itself had turned against you. Your wings flared instinctively, but they were useless against the force drawing you downward.

Realization gripped you as you looked up; this wasn’t an explanation. This was a sentence.

Adam’s face was the last thing you saw before the Fall: a sharp tooth grin stretched across his lips.

He raised his hand in a mock salute, almost playful as if he were bidding farewell to an old friend rather than sending you into damnation.

That look—that chillingly gleeful expression was imprinted itself in your mind; searing a deep wound of betrayal that would never fully heal.

Your voice caught in your throat, eyes wide with disbelief as you fell. He hadn’t wavered. Didn't hesitate.

The one who had been your confidante, who had once looked at you with something like love, has casted you down without so much as a flicker of remorse.

Tears escaped and scattered into the wind around you. Just as Heaven faded from sight, darkness fully enveloped you and your world went black.

.*.·:·.☽✧✧☾.·:·.*

You plummet from Heaven like a comet; a streak of searing light tearing through the thick red skies of Hell.

Your form was enveloped in flames as you crashed down with a force that made the very ground tremble.

The impact was like a small explosion—flames erupting, leaving a crater scorched and steaming as debris scattered for yards around.

Slowly you regained consciousness, faint prickles of pain tingling at the edges of your senses.

Your entire body felt heavy. Every inch of your body throbbed with the reminder that you’d been ̶b̶̶e̶̶t̶̶r̶̶a̶̶y̶̶e̶̶d̶ casted down by the very person you trusted most.

Suddenly, you feel warmth pressing against your cheek. You blink, finding yourself face-to-face with a strange malformed creature—a bird if you could call it that.

It had way too many eyes that blinked in eerie unison with a beak far too sharp as it pecked at your face.

You instinctively swat it away with more force than you intended. The creature squawked in protest before flapping its leathery wings and vanishing into the smoky distance.

Looking around you find yourself lying in the center of a deep crater as steam rose from the ground. For a second your mind struggled to reconcile where you were.

Then realization crept in slowly along with a numb sort of disbelief. Hell. You were in Hell.

As you shifted to sit up, soft murmurs above made you snap your head upwards. There on the edges of the crater stood  gathering figures— Hell denizens that drawn to the commotion.

Sinners and demons, the curious and wicked souls damned to this place, they all watched you in curiosity.

That is until they caught sight of the faint remaining glow of your halo and pure white wings.

Their gazes turned alarmed before they scattered away in screeches and shrieks, stumbling and tripping over each other in their desperation to flee in the mistaken belief that your arrival was the start of an unexpected purge.

The silence that followed was almost jarring, leaving you alone in the crater as the echoes of their hurried footsteps faded into the distance.

Your body screamed in protest as you slowly rose to your feet.

You try to open your wings in attempt to take flight, but the moment you flexed them, a searing pain flared down your back making you clamp your wings shut with a wince.

It seems flying wasn't an option right now.

With painstaking effort you hobbled toward the crater’s edge, eyes fixed on the steep walls.

Your teeth grit from the pain when you reach out and grasped a jagged piece of rock jutting from the crater wall.

'Okay,' a grim look of determination cross your face. 'Guess I’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way.' 

.*.·:·.☽✧✧☾.·:·.*

With a weak but firm grip you grasped the edge of the crater, using every last ounce of strength to pull yourself up onto the cracked pavement.

A heaving gasp tore from your throat as you collapsed onto solid ground before scooting yourself away from the crater’s edge.

It had taken longer than you’d hoped, but you’d done it. You were out.

Lying back, you let your head fall against the pavement to stare up at the crimson-tinted sky above.

Clouds churned in dark ominous shades of red as a massive pentagram symbol loomed high above—it glowed sinisterly, slicing through the swirling clouds in sharp precise lines.

Hell’s “moon” hung beside it—a twisted scarred orb that looked as though it had been dragged from the depths of something far darker than night.

And even higher in the distance, just barely visible against the hellish skyline, was the faint shimmer of Heaven’s gate. A cruel and unreachable mirage.

You closed your eyes, letting out a long shuddering breath as you try to gather yourself before reluctantly forcing your exhausted body to move once more.

Just as you managed to stand a strange warmth flickered above your head. Your fingers reach up to touch your now sputtering halo.

The steady glow dimmed as it pulsed weakly—and before you could fully process it, the light extinguished altogether.

The once radiant halo fell and clattered to the ground with a hollow metallic ring.

You stared down at the cold dull metal lying lifelessly in the dust. Your legs buckled and you sank to your knees, reaching out with trembling fingers to pick it up.

The weight of it felt foreign now, devoid of the light and comfort it once radiated.

A sad hollow laugh bubbled up from your throat; a weak attempt to mask the sharp ache of loss.

“...and it was such a good reading light to use,” you murmured, voice barely a whisper.

The familiar warmth of Heaven was gone and replaced by an oppressive heat that clung to you as the air around filled with the bitter scent of sulfur.

The betrayal, the Fall, and now your halo—each piece hammered at your heart, leaving you grasping at the edges of your composure as the weight of this new reality pressed in on you.

Fortunately you didn’t have time to dwell on it for long. 

“Hello!” A voice cuts through the stillness.

Startled, you look up to see a young girl standing at the edge of the abandoned street, her bright eyes wide with wonder.

She was small, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders as she wore a frilly red dress that looked almost too pristine for a place like Hell

She moved before you could process her intentions, darting toward you with surprising speed.

You instinctively opened your arms, catching her as she flinged herself into your embrace with childlike trust.

Her weight was slight with a warmth to her that felt strangely comforting. She nestled against your side, tiny hands exploring your feathers as her eyes sparkled with awe.

“Oh wow!” she squealed, brushing her fingers lightly over the downy feathers of your wings that had unconsciously curled around her as if to shield her from the world. “Your wings are so pretty! They look kinda like my dad’s!”

You blinked, still processing the fact that a child was not only here in Hell but clinging to you like you were an old friend.

Her innocent curiosity and lack of fear threw you off guard. For a moment faint memories of the children you had in your human life resurfaced and a bittersweet warmth filled your chest.

“Who might you be little one?"

The girl looked up at you with a giggle, eyes wide with innocence. "My name's Charlie, Charlie Magne!"

You couldn't help but smile. She reminded you of them in a way—of the tenderness you’d once known.

"And why are you out here alone?” concern was heard in your words. It was dangerous even for a child who clearly belonged here.

“I just wanted to see if it was really an angel causing all the fuss. I overheard my dad talking about it and well...I got curious! So I snuck out and���bam! I found you!” She gave you a triumphant grin as if discovering you were her own special accomplishment.

“Your...dad?” you echo softly causing her to frantically nod.

“Charlotte!” A booming voice calls out sending a shiver down your spine. Charlie looked over her shoulder, her eyes lighting up even more.

“Oh! There he is!” she chirped. Wriggling out of your arms, she hops down and began waving enthusiastically in the direction of the voice. "Over here!”

You quickly got to your feet, bracing yourself as you saw him: Lucifer Morningstar—The King of Hell himself striding down the street with an air of authority.

His softened gaze was locked on Charlie as she ran to him. But the moment she pointed back at you and exclaimed, “Look Daddy! I made a new friend!” his expression shifted.

The smile he’d given her vanished and was replaced by something far darker. In a flash he was in front of you, his crimson eyes piercing through you like twin blades.

You barely blinked before you were slammed to the ground.

The impact stole the air from your lungs, you were left gasping as his weight pressed down on you, a foot planted firmly on your chest.

Charlie's pleads of Daddy stop! seemed distant, almost muffled as you struggled to catch your breath.

'Geez...What s up with this family and tackling?'

Your dry thought is interrupted by the cold bite of metal on your throat. The sharp blade is pressed against the skin of your neck making you give a wide-eye stare up at the man towering over you.

His expression hard and unforgiving with an air of suspicion around him.

"Who sent you to the land of the Damned?" 

[jubileemon]

Why Ichigo And Rukia Ended Up With The Right People

In Bleach, Ichigo ends up with Orihime, Rukia is with Renji. Since it's part of the shonen genre, it doesn't center around romance and would be unlikely to focus on romantic relationships, as there were other interesting and exciting things happening.

The Problem With Ichigo X Rukia

Even though he becomes a Shinigami, he isn't technically a soul. He was not born in Soul Society and never died to go there. If he wanted to be with Rukia, he would either have to wait and die from old age or die right away and part with everyone else way too soon. Rukia is a soul who ages extremely slowly and will probably never die. Their families are in different worlds, so their priorities are incompatible.

This might be the single biggest factor in Orihime's favor against Rukia: she won't outlive Ichigo by hundreds of years. After all, Ichigo is a substitute Soul Reaper, but not a full-fledged one. It was only ever touched on vaguely because the shinigami are all spirits/souls, and things like time and age aren't something that hold much meaning to them anymore. Roughly in the beginnings of the series, Rukia mentions that she's 10 times older than Ichigo (who was 15 at the time).

Ichigo also looks like Kaien Shiba, Rukia’s mentor and the man that she admired. Due to this, even Byakuya himself understood why Rukia would feel a connection for Ichigo. Rukia realized the parallels between Kaien’s last fight with Ichigo’s battle against Grand Fisher, the Hollow that had killed Masaki Kurosaki. As such, she views them as similar and so would be unlikely to have romantic feelings for someone resembling her late mentor. In fact, she keeps comparing Kaien and Ichigo throughout the Soul Society arc.

Rukia and Renji

Rukia and Renji grew up together as orphaned Soul children in Soul Society. They shared the same experiences, jointly discovering the gift of Reiatsu that earned them a place in the Shin’o Academy. Their mutual goal was to become Shinigami, gain higher ranks, and grow stronger. When Rukia tells Renji the Kuchiki clan wants to adopt her, he acts happy but is deeply upset because he predicts they will grow apart. Still, he tries to hide his sadness because Rukia finally has a family. Unfortunately, Renji falsely believes that he's not important to her anymore.

While this saddened Rukia, he only reacted in the way he believed was best for her, and that ended up making him feel guilty about her potential execution. Chapter 98 was devoted to how Renji considered Rukia an unattainable “star” that he, a “tramp,” could never reach. If he just wanted friendship, why did he feel he had to stay out of Rukia’s way? If she just wanted friendship, why did she expect him to protest? The answer is simple: Her adoption didn’t get in the way of friendship, but in the way of the “something more” that they wanted.

Renji's feelings towards her have always been apparent, as far back as when they were kids. As they originally met around several years ago in the Soul Society, they've been around each other for quite a while. One evening, the two of them were unsuccessfully attempting to catch fish when Renji finally managed to snare one. When he turned around, he saw the rest of his friends staring at Rukia longingly. As anyone with a crush themselves would do, Renji admonished his friends for looking at her with love-struck eyes.

Renji's feelings for Rukia are crystal clear, even when he doesn't acknowledge them. On the other hand, Rukia finds it difficult to express her emotions, especially after joining the Kuchiki clan and her stranied relationship with her brother Byakuya. However, there are several instances that prove her love for Renji beyond the shadow of a doubt. In fact, Rukia obviously cares for Renji even after he attacks Ichigo in the Agent of the Shinigami arc. Although Ichigo and Rukia also love each other, their friendship is considerably less intense than her lifelong attachment for Renji.

Ichigo and Orihime

Orihime’s crush on Ichigo was evident from the first few chapters. She even had trouble being articulate in front of him, although part of her character development was how she gained confidence in herself. As for him, he was ready to sacrifice his life for her from the very beginning, when he put himself between her and her brother Sora (who became a Hollow). He almost always singles her out, speaks up for her and he even defends her.

When the Espadas allow Orihime to say goodbye to one person before she is taken to Hueco Mundo, she picks Ichigo even though he's still unconscious from an earlier fight. She explains how she could have picked one of the others, but Ichigo was the person she needed to see one last time. Orihime says how there were so many things she wished she had gotten to do and how she would like to live five times to try multiple different things, but that she'd always fall in love with the same person... Ichigo.

Ichigo literally came back from death for Orihime during his fight with Ulquiorra, all because she pleaded him not to die. Orihime also places her body between Ichigo and Acidwire to protect Ichigo. Ichigo puts himself between Grimmjow’s Ceros and Orihime without hesitation. Orihime more than willingly goes to fight Yhwach alongside Ichigo, serving as the latter's defense. Even Ulquiorra, Grimmjow, and Nnoitora all mocked him for wanting to protect her and underlined how she was the motivation for him to fight more fiercely.

In the early chapters, Orihime knew that Kon wasn't the real Ichigo when he was running wild inside Ichigo's body and being his perverted self. He jumped into Ichigo's classroom, made a move on Orihime, and then kissed Tatsuki before being forced to flee. Orihime knew right away that wasn't the real Ichigo, forgiving him of actions that would have got him in hot water with any other girl. It's a testament to how much Orihime cared about him. That said, Ichigo would have never acted that way in the first place.

Ichigo & Rukia Contributed To Each Other’s Relationships

It's kinda interesting to note that both Rukia and Ichigo have worked to boost each other's relationships. Remember, Rukia was the one who dragged Ichigo to apologize to an injured Orihime. Rukia was the initial reason why Ichigo and Orihime came closer together and were more expressive of their desire to protect each other. At the same time, Ichigo was the catalyst for Rukia and Renji to become close again after decades of avoiding each other. Ichigo was not meant to interfere in their relationship as a third party, but to help them realize the complete range of their feelings for each other.

💀🍓

[thevalleyisjolly]

Critical Role PCs (main cast) ranked by whether or not Chetney could be their biological dad

Disqualified (dad known/knew their dad):

Ashton, Beau, Caduceus, Caleb, Fearne, Grog, Imogen, Jester, Keyleth, Laudna, Percy, Taryon, Vax, Veth, Vex

Disqualified 2.0 (no dad):

FCG, Kingsley,* Molly*

*Even if you count Lucien's parents as Kingsley and Molly's biological "parents," Lucien both knew them and killed them, taking them all clear out of contention.

Honourable mentions:

Orym. The one who first made us think, is Chetney _____'s dad? Alas, we know from EXU that Orym's biological dad went by the name "Tarrintel" - that is not to say that it was not, perhaps, an alias of Chetney's once upon a time, but it would hardly be consistent branding for C-Pop Industries.

Scanlan. While we know that Scanlan's father was not in his life, Scanlan did at least know enough about his father to say that his name was "Vicou." Again, it's possible that this is another Chetney alias, but be honest, can you really see Chetney ever going by the name "Vicou"? Would also be very awkward with Number 1 on this list...

And now, on to the rankings!

4. Yasha. Does not remember her biological parents, and it's not impossible that Chetney might have swung by southern Xhorhas in his travels. On the whole though, I'd give it worse odds than the other names on this list.

3. Bertrand. International man of mystery Bertrand Bell is so enigmatic that at one point, it was even speculated that he was the Lord of the Crossroads over in Vasselheim. He does appear to be fully human, but it would be mildly funny if he "exited" the story right before his father came in, which is why he's higher than Yasha.

2. Fjord. Who's to say that his other biological parent wasn't a half-orc who had a great night or two with Exandria's best woodworker?

1. Pike. We actually don't know terribly much about the Trickfoot family, or Pike's parents. What we do know is that at some point, Pike's parents left her with her cousins and went to Wynandir. Now would Chetney do a thing like that? Hard to say. There's nothing saying that Pock O'Pea is his birth name - he could mayhaps have been born a Trickfoot who, say, got in really hot water over in Tal'Dorei and had to flee to Wildemount?

In conclusion, Critical Role has spent a great deal of time pondering the all-important question, "What is that mother's name?" However, it is perhaps time that we all start asking, "What is that father's name?" and maybe even, "Are you my freaking dad?"

[songsofadelaide]

In the summer of your seventh year, as your parents hosted a high-ranking guest in your home, a silver-haired boy stole a kiss from you under the blooming trellis in your family's sprawling garden. Your family called him a little god reborn and warned you to steer clear should your path ever cross with him again. ("He might steal more than a kiss the next time around," your older brother told you.)

There was no avoiding him, though, especially when he has taken quite an interest in you. Your kind, noble parents disliked his entitlement, but who were they to refuse the wily whims of a godling so besotted with their daughter? Their refusal would be tantamount to treason, even more so when the council elders and the oracles deemed you his other half. ("The stars said that you were born for me specifically... Or something like that," said Gojo Satoru, the Crown Prince, a little god from a house much higher and older than yours.)

His boyish presence filled your family's estate for many summers to come after he stole that kiss from you, his eyes so clear and blue and steadfast and he knew better than to lie to you when you asked him if he really liked you. ("I like you this much," he said, tracing an immeasurable, invisible line from his heart to yours.) The confirmation came in a formal declaration, on paper, that you were to be his bride when you both come of age.

In the summer of your sixteenth year, Gojo Satoru asked for your hand in marriage. ("I know it's been declared and all, but I'm asking you for myself now because I truly care for you— and I want you to know that what we have is more than just a simple arrangement by those old farts in the council," he told you with a smile so tender that you thought you were fast asleep on your feather bed, dreaming this all up.)

On that very same summer, a bounty is placed on the Crown Prince's head. A coup is declared against the head of your homeland, the Empire of the Six Eyes, and foes from within the imperial noble circle claim the prince to be a threat to the already fragile peace between the many high and noble houses. ("They cannot touch me, of course," he told you with a chuckle as he brought your freezing knuckles to his lips, warm and ablaze. "I am the strongest. And with you by my side, I will be invincible.")

Years passed and the internal struggle did not relent, even when the instigators were brought to light. The Crown Prince, now the Emperor they loathed and feared made manifest, permitted their existence in court, for he didn't want to be the tyrant they made him out to be. You wondered where you fit in the equation— the Empress— one born under an auspicious star so similar to her husband. ("You need not wonder where you belong, my heart. By my side is your place, always," he whispered to you in the midst of a banquet, as though you were the only two people on earth.)

("By your side, I'll remain then, my heart," you whispered back to him, and he responded to you with a face flushed with glee and a laugh that let on just how nervous he still was when it came to you.)

He called you his heart, but neither of you knew that the oracle lied to the Imperial family, that you were not his heart, not his other half, but the very sword that would pierce his heart instead. Neither of you knew that the true enemy— and the downfall of the Empire— was far closer than you expected.

When your brother became the lord of your noble house, he once asked if the Emperor was ever unkind to you. It was a question you vehemently rebuffed, for Satoru has been nothing but kind to you throughout your marriage. ("And even from before," you reminded your lord brother with a smile. "Have you forgotten how deeply he cherishes me so?")

And when the coup reared its ugly head once more, you couldn't believe your eyes when you saw the leader of the fray— your kind brother, his eyes alight with a vengeance you couldn't recognise. Your digging through the Imperial archives proved fruitful when you finally realised the depth of his rage. ("—Eyes led the annihilation of the ⬛ family, the decimation of their bloodline, save for two of their house's offspring—" said the words on the weathered book.)

As the Imperial castle burned down at dawn, your brother dragged you out kicking and screaming in the pretence of rescuing you. Satoru searched everywhere for you and saw the ensuing struggle, so he rushed to you. He was faster than your brother and had his blade at the ready, but he did not expect your jewelled knife to be the one to pierce him first.

You thought he was going to kill your brother.

"My heart," he mustered with his laboured breath. "I suppose this is a fitting end for a liar like me."

The knife was for your self-defence. It fell from your hands the moment they were stained red. "You knew?"

"I knew," he nodded at you. "I knew and yet was still so foolish to think that I could change my... our fate."

In the summer of your twenty-eighth year, the Empire of the Six Eyes fell to the hands of other high houses. The young Emperor perished in the onslaught and the Empress was nowhere to be found. (In the summer of your twenty-eighth year, Gojo Satoru is lost to you. He does not know about his parting gift to you, and neither do you. The grief that burdened your heart nearly stole it from you, too.)

The coup concluded but the internal war for the throne raged on for many more years to come, and it came for you and your peaceful life, too, in the summer of your forty-fifth year.

A silver-haired boy enters the fray, wielding an ancient power thought to be long gone. He says he will take back what is rightfully his, what was stolen from his parents, and he will not be as kind as his father was before him. ("Perhaps the oracle was wrong," he stated before the men who cowered under his cold gaze. "Perhaps...")

[emry-stars-art]

Children of the Moriyama-Day thrones ✨

I’ve been putting off an explanation for the kingdom Evermore for FOREVER and honestly a lot of it is directly pulled from this post and some more chats with @snazzy-jas-z-is-a-fan-of (thank you ily you’re so smart)

So if you wanna know like 80% of the pre-timeline Moriyama-Day story, read on:

SO. In Evermore, at least amongst nobility, all importance is placed on direct descendants of family lines. Spouses to the royal family can claim titles if they so choose - the equivalent titles are reserved for that eventuality - but their children will always have higher titles than them (ex: the husbands of the Day line queens are not princes but instead something closer to dukes, while their children will be Day princes and princesses, as well as the reverse for the Moriyama wives). This means that every once in a while, if a spouse would prefer to live privately rather than subject themselves to the more stressful aspects of noble life, they remain only vaguely known by the public. This doesn’t happen often by any means, but it does give the royal family an excuse for why the father of Kevin Day has not made himself known.

Each generation has a shared title - the most fit and capable to rule will take the titles of kings and queens*, while their children are princes and princesses. The eldest of each family in the generation adds “high ___” to their title once a younger sibling is born. This is why even though Kevin is the younger between him and Natalie - the next Day generation - he is the heir to the Day throne because his mother was the elder sister. The names in pink are the highest ranking royalty of their generation, whom the throne is passed to.

*(Maybe Evermore retires their monarchs once they’re unfit to rule, or maybe the younger generations take them by force, thus proving they are fit for the throne. I could see it going either way tbh)

The Moriyama line here is continuing essentially as is usual and expected. There’s family members among each generation and the procession of power is in place. The Day family, on the other hand, has almost entirely crumbled.

Queen Shields left the throne of her own volition, taking her daughter Natalie with her. She left the throne and renounced her Evermore citizenship for reasons unknown to the public, though the Moriyama family brushed it aside as the whims of a young woman that clearly couldn’t handle the lifestyle. For this reason, even if she was to come back to Evermore, she would no longer be able to claim her place among the Day family. Her daughter Natalie Shields, on the other hand, was hardly more than an infant when she was taken, and so the Evermore nobility could not say she renounced her throne or her citizenship by choice. If Princess Natalie ever returned to Evermore and demanded her throne, she would have it.

High Queen Kayleigh, as we all know, has passed away. Her son Prince Kevin was raised beside Ichirou and Riko by the Moriyama family as the sole remaining member of the royal Day line. Though he and Prince Riko had always been close because of their age (High Prince Ichirou was at that age range and just older enough that he found littler kids and especially siblings to be “annoying”, the way kids do), as they grew up, Kevin realized that even if Riko was his best friend and brother, he himself had started agreeing more with Ichirou’s political views and ideas. Riko swallowed the Evermore ideals of “conquer and prosper” as any younger brother might. Kevin and Ichirou never had to fight for the power handed to them - they were beginning to see that those traditions were becoming obsolete, and there were better ways to expand and run a country.

Riko did not like the attention Kevin was suddenly getting from Ichirou.

So when Kevin said, suddenly and surprisingly, that he was going to travel before marriage - see what and who around them might benefit Evermore - no one could really stop him. He was by that point the Day crown. High King Kengo allowed it. (He wouldn’t have, had Ichirou not so strongly championed for the idea.)

Young king Kevin is not technically an Evermore deserter or traitor. The Moriyamas cannot prove that he is. But the longer he stays in Palmetto, the more suspicions arise that he isn’t there only on business, or even that he might never intend to return at all. The only way to take the throne from Kevin - destroying the Day line in Evermore for good - is for him to renounce his throne, or for war to break out between the two countries so that Kevin will be forced to pick a side.

(We know what side he’d pick, of course. His adopted brothers as well. The rest of the Moriyamas are fairly certain they know, and are growing severely impatient for the chance to label him a traitor.)

(This also leads to the idea that perhaps, if she found her way back to Evemore on an errand, all the lost princess Natalie would have to do is exchange her claim to the throne for a certain foreign prisoner’s freedom. Ichirou is always looking for ways to get rid of competition, and Riko’s lost plaything is not his to worry about. Kengo’s declining health makes it easy for Ichirou to pass off his word as the High King’s.

So the ex-princess is free to take Jean Moreau wherever he’d like to go. Or, when he says he doesn’t know, wherever she thinks is suitable.)

[mononijikayu]

good luck, babe! — ieiri shoko.

Tears well up in your eyes as you recall that particular day. It was as though you were both bathed in sunlight, her brown eyes shimmering with happiness. But as you both confronted the reality of a future you could not share, tears poured from those beautiful eyes. There was only hurt—a hurt you had forced upon her. Her hands, strong yet gentle, had held yours with a desperate sorrow, promising a love that could not be confined by the world’s expectations, yet ultimately falling victim to them.

Genre: Hidden Inventory Arc to Pre-JJK 0, 2006 - 2015;

Warning/s: First Love, Emotional Turmoil, Breakup, Heartbreak, Angst, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Mature Themes, Cultural/Familial Expectations, Internal Conflict, Cultural Challenges, Mental and Emotional Stress, Angst with Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Romance, Love and Heartbreak, Healing, Growth, Reconciliation, WLW, Second Chances, Relationship Dynamics, Supportive Siblings, Breaking Traditions, Depiction of Implied Homophobia, Depiction of Comphet, Depiction of Smoking, Depiction of Alcohol Use, Mention of Divorce;

masterlist

listen: good luck babe by chappell roan

note: this is the au of let you break my heart again and magnetic. this is if gojo! sister lived and managed to not suffer from a curse. i think this happy ending is well deserved for the two of them. live long and prosper, shoko and gojo! sister!!! :']

2007

SHOKO THINKS IT’S FINE, THAT IT’S COOL. But as she takes another swing from lip and cigarette, to smoke and blow, she knows it's not fine, it's not cool. In the quiet confines of her office, Ieiri Shoko sat hunched over her desk, her usual composed demeanor replaced by a visible layer of distress. Papers lay scattered around, untouched, as her mind replayed the painful moment of your breakup over and over again. The clinical cleanliness of the room couldn't sterilize the heartache she felt. The memory of your words, the finality in your voice, pressed heavily on her, and yet, deep down, she understood the reasons but couldn't accept them.

Shoko had always known the weight of the expectations placed upon you as being Gojo Satoru's sister and a high-ranking lady of your clan. You had always lived in a world bounded by strict traditions and rigid rules—constraints that you, unlike Satoru, never rebelled against openly. Your compliance with these traditions was out of a sense of duty, perhaps even a desire to shield your family from scandal of Satoru’s dislike for tradition, and to maintain the facade of propriety expected of you.

It’s not like Shoko blames Satoru. He himself deals with the pressure of existing just by having his cursed technique. He’s stuck in a hard and a rock place with clan politics and just as much, loving Suguru and mourning his loss from his life — how he’s still protecting him even after all this time, There’s so much that the higher ups think they don’t like about him. You didn’t have to break up with Shoko about it. You can have a choice about it, as Satoru has. But you were too good, a goodie little two shoes. You felt like you had to make up for the mistakes, to correct yourself because the clan says so. And Shoko hates it, she hates that about you. But she hates how she can’t hate you. She hates how much she loves you.

For you, loving Shoko was a truth you buried deep under layers of obligation and appearances. Each stolen moment with her had felt like a breath of freedom, but also like stepping closer to the edge of a precipice. You knew the consequences of a life lived openly with her, how it would be seen as a defiance of your family’s values, a betrayal of the lineage you were born into. The love you felt for Shoko was real, potent, and transformative, but it was also a danger to the life you were conditioned to lead.

Shoko, with her sharp mind and gentle heart, had seen the struggle within you. She knew the love wasn’t one-sided; it was palpable, vibrant, and life-affirming. That was what made the break–up so excruciating. She didn’t feel like a fool for loving you, but she was a fool for hoping that love would overcome it all. She was hoping that love might be enough to inspire you to choose a different path. And somehow, with that hope, she just ended up disappointed. 

The moment lingered between you, heavy and dense, the air thick with unsaid words and stifled emotions. Despite the pain that was evident in your eyes—a mixture of regret and sorrow—there was an undeniable firmness, a resolve that spoke volumes about the decision you had made. It was a painful choice, undeniably, but it came from a place deep within you, where truth outweighs comfort and where integrity demands sacrifices.

You stood there, your stance solid yet somber, reflecting the inner turmoil that had been a constant companion in the days leading up to this moment. The decision to end things hadn't come lightly. It was the culmination of countless sleepless nights, of endless internal debates, and of painful reflections on what it meant to truly love someone—not just in the joyful moments but also in letting go when the paths diverged too greatly.

As you spoke the words, your voice was steady but not without emotion. Each syllable seemed to carry a weight, each pause filled with the echoes of shared memories and dreams that would remain unfulfilled. "This is the hardest thing I've ever had to do," you admitted, the honesty in your voice cutting through the tension. "But it's necessary—for both of us.”

“Does what I have to say matter in this?” Shoko asks, her voice shaking as she looks at you, her face the epitome of grief. The break–up hasn’t even happened. And yet, she just felt like the world fell apart. “How…why? At least tell me why?”

“I can’t do this, Shoko. It isn’t just about us,” you had said, your voice trembling despite the firmness of your words. “I have responsibilities, expectations... I cannot be truly yours without losing everything else.”

Shoko had tried to argue, her own heart breaking as she spoke. “But what about what you want? What about love? I thought you loved me.”

You felt tears prickle your eyes. “I do. I do love you.”

“Then why are you leaving me?”

Your answer had been a quiet, devastating whisper. “Sometimes, it's not enough to just love. I’m not good enough to be strong, Shoko. I….I’m sorry.”

She huffs the air as though she was choking on it. Shoko starts laughing like a mad woman, which only made you feel as though tears would never end. Shaking her head at you, you looked at her almost pleadingly, as though to say, ‘please, i love you. I’m sorry.’ It was cruel of you, Shoko thinks, how you could easily pull her heart strings with your tears. Oh she hates it. She hates how she loves you.

“Then, good luck babe.” She retorts back at you, as though she was cursing you. As if she was releasing all the pain in one tsunami wave. “Really, good luck. Good luck. Good luck.”

“Shoko—”

She shakes her head again, raising a hand to stop you. “Leave. Please. I don’t want you here.”

Now, alone, Shoko allowed herself to grieve not just for the relationship lost, but for you as well. She grieved for the person who had to hide their true self, who had to mask their desires and dreams in the shadow of duty. She grieved for herself, too, for the future she had allowed herself to imagine, however briefly.

In her solitude, Shoko couldn't help but feel abandoned, yet she couldn’t truly resent you for your choice. She understood all too well the cultural and familial shackles that bound you. This understanding didn’t alleviate her pain; it compounded it, knowing you were out there somewhere, continuing to deny the essential parts of yourself.

As the night deepened and the lights in her office flickered softly, Shoko realized this might be her own crossroads: could she move on, knowing you were still in the world, just out of reach, yet forever distant? Her heart still ached with love for you, a love she feared might never find its resolution in her lifetime.

The door to Shoko Ieiri's office swung open with a soft creak, and there stood Satoru Gojo, his usual carefree demeanor slightly muted as he stepped inside. His arrival was unannounced, as was his style, but the timing couldn't have been more intrusive. Shoko, still engulfed in her storm of emotions, looked up sharply, her face a mix of surprise and annoyance.

"Not now, Gojo," she snapped, her voice brittle with barely contained anger. "I'm really not in the mood for your jokes or whatever you're planning to pull."

Gojo seemed to understand easily. For the first time in his life, he closed the door quietly behind him, his usual grin replaced by a more serious expression. He hadn’t looked this serious since that day. But Shoko thinks it doesn’t suit him. He was meant to be a foolish little boy in a grown man’s body. He ignored her request for solitude and instead, walked over and sat down across from her, with his long legs criss–crossed and his bright blue eyes meeting hers with an unusually heavy gravity. Shoko can only surmise that infinity is closed.

"I'm not here to joke, Sho," He said gently as he looked at her. "I heard about what happened between you and my sister. It’s just….. I'm really sorry."

Shoko's demeanor faltered for a moment, the hardness in her doe-like eyes giving way to a more wounded vulnerability. She looked down at her desk, her fingers playing with a pen, her guard slowly coming down in the face of Gojo's sincerity—a rarity that she knew meant he was genuinely concerned. She’s tried not to think about it. It was hard to think about it. But now that he’d brought it up, all she could remember was your tear–stricken face as you tried to turn around and run away, sobbing as you left her all alone.

"Sorry doesn't change things, Gojo. It doesn’t fix anything," she muttered, her voice thick with emotion. “She still broke up with me. And now she’s damn…she’s left me, to uphold some bullshit lie about herself."

"I know," Gojo replied softly, sighing shortly after. Shoko thinks that Gojo understands best. After all, the love of his life left him too. And he doesn't know if he'll ever see him again. "Listen, she's hurting too. and I just..."

Shoko sighed heavily, allowing herself to meet his gaze. "I know she's hurting. But I’m hurting too, okay? She’s hurt me. She's keeping up with the lie she's been told, that loving me is going to be a taint on you and your family."

“I know. And it's not your fault. It’s none of your fault. It’s….” He lets a breath pass through his lips. “It’s just, she hasn’t seen it through yet.”

"Gojo, I just feel like a fool," She admitted, her voice a whisper of defeat. "I allowed myself to believe that things could be different, that love might be enough to overcome everything else. I love her so damn much, Gojo. I love her too much, I’m willing to go through this. But I should have known better."

Gojo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Hey, you're not a fool for believing in love and hoping it would work out" he said earnestly. "It's one of the few things worth being foolish for. And you’re not alone in hoping things can change. I think…I think she wishes things would change too.”

Shoko looked away for a moment, gathering her thoughts. When she spoke again, her voice was steadier, but the hurt was still palpable. "It's like we're being punished for something that should be celebrated. Our love wasn't a rebellion, Gojo. It was just... love."

Gojo's eyes held a deep understanding, tinged with a hint of sadness. He knew too well the pain that came with having love tangled grievous prejudice. His response was a whisper, meant as much for himself as for Shoko. "The world can be cruel to those who dare to live authentically, who dare to defy what it deems normal."

Shoko's eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill over. The intensity of her feelings, the struggle to maintain her composure, painted a vivid picture of the emotional toll the situation had exacted. "Why is it," she choked out, the words barely a breath, "that what feels so right to us, so fundamentally pure, is what they seek to destroy? Why must love come with such high costs?"

Gojo reached out, his touch tentative, not wanting to presume but needing to offer some comfort. His hand found her arm, a gentle reassurance that she was not alone. "Because, Sho," he said softly, "Fear drives people to oppression. They fear what they cannot understand, cannot control. And nothing is less controllable than genuine human emotions, genuine love. It threatens them. It’s that powerful.”

Shoko turned to face him now, her gaze fierce despite the tears that streaked her cheeks. "And what if she can't see that, Gojo? What if she's too caught up in the fear, too wary of the repercussions to take a stand with me?"

The question hung between them, heavy and suffocating. Gojo Satoru felt the weight of her despair, mirroring his own past hurts, reflecting the battles he had fought to keep love winning—some won, some lost, but all leaving scars. But he hoped that Shoko wouldn’t give up. That you wouldn’t give up. He’d at least be happy to know that both of you got the happy ending that Suguru and him would never find in this lifetime. He gives a small smile at her direction. 

"Then, Shoko," Gojo said, his voice steady despite the turmoil he felt, "You fight enough for both of you until she can find the strength. You live your truth so boldly, so unapologetically, that it becomes a beacon for her... for anyone who’s lost in the shadows of their fears. You become the light that not only guides but also inspires."

"But what if that's not enough?" Shoko's voice broke on the words, a whisper of desperation lacing through. "What if my fight only drives her further away, into the safety of shadows, where I can't reach her?"

Gojo had no easy answers, no promises that the path they chose would lead to the outcomes they hoped for. "Then you love her from afar," he murmured, his own experiences lending pain to his words. "You love her, and you let her go, hoping that someday, the world you're fighting for—a world where love is celebrated in all its forms—will be the world she walks back into."

The silence that followed was filled with shared sorrow, a mutual recognition of the love and loss that had colored both their lives. Shoko nodded slowly, a quiet acceptance of the hard truths they'd laid bare. She wiped away her tears, straightening her shoulders as if physically bracing herself against the pain.

"Thank you, Gojo," she said finally, her voice firmer now, tempered in the fires of their conversation. "For understanding, for being here."

Gojo offered a small, sad smile. "Always, Sho. You’re almost like family — no, you’re family to me. No matter how dark it gets, you're not alone. Remember that."

As they parted ways, the resolve hardened in Shoko—a resolve not just to fight, but to endure, to hope, and to continue loving, no matter the cost. And in that resolve, she found a sliver of peace amid the turmoil.

As long as you’ll be waiting for her on the other side,

It would be worth it, being in all this pain and grief.

Shoko thinks about your smile, your kisses on her skin.

Maybe one day, she’ll see you in her arms again.

2013

YOU DON’T SLEEP VERY WELL. You fear that you’d sleep and see Shoko again. You fear that you’ll continue to be haunted. But you suppose, you already have too much that haunts you when it comes to Ieiri Shoko. Her judging eyes, the eyes you have so loved, piercing through over and over the lies behind your eyes — it hurts. It scares you. Because you had loved, still do love, her. And she continues to be your grief. A grief that perseveres in absolute devotion within the tenants of your truest heart. 

In the quiet of the night, the world around you is silent and still, you find yourself once again caught in the grip of what-ifs and memories that refuse to fade. You turn slowly, your gaze falling upon the man beside you—your husband, chosen not by the whims of the heart but by the cold calculations of tradition. He breathes softly, peacefully unaware of the turmoil that keeps you awake, night after night.

He has been nothing but kind and considerate, a good man who respects the vows you both shared under the watchful eyes of the elders and your families. Satoru seems to like him enough, but your brother knows just as much as you that you wouldn’t love this man. And if you do, never truly with all your heart. Still, in these many years of marriage, he has upheld every promise he made to you, providing support, stability, and respect. Yet, as you watch him sleep, you feel a pang of guilt for the lack of love you feel, for the hollow space inside your heart that he has never been able to fill.

Your mind drifts, unbidden, to Ieiri Shoko—the love of your life, the blue spring of your eternal summers, your white nights in the winter mornings. It was her laughter echoing in your memories, her eyes bright with the promise of a life less ordinary. You remember the warmth of her touch, the way her presence seemed to make everything brighter, more real. You had loved her, truly and deeply, in a way that you had never managed to love him. She was everything that made life worth living. And you get reminded as you think about a memory.

The balcony was bathed in the soft glow of twilight, the fading sun casting long shadows that danced across the floor. Shoko stood against the railing, her silhouette outlined by the gentle light, a lit cigarette held casually between her fingers. As you entered the room, your gaze fixed on her, a subtle frown forming on your brow as you watched her with a mixture of concern and affection.

"Shoko, you know I hate that you smoke," you finally spoke up, your voice soft yet filled with genuine worry.

She turned to face you, her eyes meeting yours with a playful glint, a thin wisp of smoke curling upwards from her lips. Despite the seriousness of your words, her expression held a hint of amusement, as though she anticipated your next move. "And what, my dear, do you plan to do about it?" she replied, her tone teasing, a challenge in her voice.

Closing the distance between you, you reached out and gently took the cigarette from her hand, extinguishing it in the nearby ashtray with a simple flick of your wrist. The tension between you crackled in the air, charged with unspoken emotion and the weight of unspoken desires.

"I have a few ideas," you murmured, your voice low, filled with a mixture of determination and longing.

Without hesitation, you leaned in, capturing her lips with yours in a kiss that spoke volumes, a silent declaration of your feelings. In that moment, the world fell away, leaving only the two of you, lost in the intensity of your shared passion. Shoko responded eagerly, her arms wrapping around your neck, pulling you closer as she melted into your embrace.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, the air heavy with the heady rush of desire. Shoko's eyes sparkled with surprise and delight, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "I love this idea," she laughed, her voice husky from the kiss.

Your heart swelled with hope and affection, a warmth spreading through you at her words. "Maybe we can make it a regular treatment," you suggested, a hint of playfulness in your tone.

"Sounds like the perfect remedy," Shoko agreed, her smile infectious as she leaned in for another quick kiss. As she whispered against your lips, her words carried a promise of a future filled with love and possibility. "Who needs cigarettes when I have you?"

Tears well up in your eyes as you recall that particular day. It was as though you were both bathed in sunlight, her brown eyes shimmering with happiness. But as you both confronted the reality of a future you could not share, tears poured from those beautiful eyes. There was only hurt—a hurt you had forced upon her. Her hands, strong yet gentle, had held yours with a desperate sorrow, promising a love that could not be confined by the world’s expectations, yet ultimately falling victim to them.

Sitting up in bed, you stifle a sob with the back of your hand. The weight of your choices presses down on you, a burden you’ve carried through the years, growing heavier with each passing day. You had chosen this life, chosen duty and tradition over the desires of your heart, and with each choice, a piece of you had withered, lost to the shadows of regret.

You look at your husband again, his face innocent in sleep, undeserving of the resentment that sometimes brews within you. You know this is not his fault—it is the result of decisions made by others, choices rooted in outdated customs and rigid family expectations. But knowing this does nothing to ease the longing in your heart, the yearning for a path not taken, for a life lived in the full color of love rather than the grayscale of obligation.

Quietly, you slip out of bed, moving to the window where moonlight spills into the room, casting long shadows across the floor. As you gaze out at the world bathed in a silvery glow, you wonder about the life you might have had with Shoko. Would it have been easier? Would the love you shared have been enough to overcome the challenges you would have faced together?

But these questions offer no comfort, only a deepening of the ache that sits permanently in your chest. In this life, you are a wife, a role defined by others, your identity shaped by expectations you never asked for. In your heart, you mourn the woman you could have been, the life you could have led.

As the night deepens, you stand alone, lost in your thoughts, the silence of the house echoing the emptiness you feel inside. The realization that regret has become your constant companion is bitter, and you know that come morning, you will wear your mask again, the façade of the contented wife. But in the darkness, you allow yourself to grieve, to mourn a love lost to time and tradition, a reminder of all that could have been.

As you wandered through the dimly lit streets, your footsteps unsteady and your vision blurred, the city seemed to mirror your inner turmoil. The night was quiet, too quiet, and every soft echo of distant traffic or the rare passersby felt like an intrusion into your private world of sorrow. The weight of your decisions, the weight of a life lived in the shadow of what could have been, pressed down on you with every step you took.

The cold air bit at your skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of tears that streamed down your face, but it was a sobering reminder of the reality you were living. The whiskey had promised escape, a brief respite from your pain, but it had betrayed you, leaving you more exposed, more raw than before. The stark truth was unavoidable now: no amount of alcohol could fill the void left by Shoko, could smother the flames of what you still felt for her.

You paused under a streetlight, the light flickering above you as if struggling to maintain its own existence. You leaned against the cool metal of the lamppost, feeling as though it was the only thing keeping you upright. Thoughts of Shoko swirled in your head—her smile, the sound of her laughter, the way she looked at you with so much love and understanding. It hurt, remembering her like this, as though she was just out of reach, separated from you by more than just time and decisions, but by the very course of life you had chosen.

The voice in your head, her voice whispering, "I told you so," wasn't one of condemnation but of a heartbreaking foresight. She had known, perhaps even before you had allowed yourself to admit it, that the path you were choosing would lead to regret. Shoko had always seen the parts of you that you had tried to hide from the world, the parts that yearned for freedom and authenticity.

And now, standing alone under the flickering light, you allowed yourself to truly feel the magnitude of your loss. Not just Shoko, but the part of yourself that you had silenced for the sake of conformity, for the sake of a peace that now tasted bitter. You drive yourself mad at the memory of day after day of your youth together. You huffed against the cold night air as you thought about how lonely it has been, how truly upsetting it is that you chose wrong.

Eventually, you knew you had to move, had to keep walking back to the life waiting for you at home—a life that, tonight, felt like a prison. But with each step, a resolve began to form amidst the chaos of your emotions. This pain, this profound sorrow, could not be the end of your story. You couldn't allow your fears and the expectations of others to dictate the rest of your life. You owed it to yourself, and to the memory of what you and Shoko once shared, to find a way forward, to find happiness not just for your sake, but as a testament to the love that had once dared to challenge the world.

As you reached your door, a silent vow formed in your heart: you would find a way to live truly, to honor the love you still carried, and perhaps, one day, to heal. Tonight, you mourned. But tomorrow, you would begin to fight for a future where your heart no longer had to hide in the shadows.

You want to call Shoko tomorrow. 

You want to hear her voice again.

You want to see her face again.

You want to love her better this time.

2014

IT WAS HARD TO HAVE A NEW START. After the tumultuous end of your marriage, returning to Tokyo felt both like a defeat and a fresh start. The ink barely dried on the divorce papers, you carried not just physical luggage but a heavy burden of emotional baggage. The dissolution of what was meant to be a lifelong commitment had left you feeling raw and exposed, but also strangely liberated, ready to reclaim the pieces of yourself that had been lost in the shadows of an unfulfilling union.

The Gojo clan, however, had its own views on your situation. Tradition and reputation were pillars of their standing in the jujutsu community, and your divorce was seen not just as a personal failure, but as a stain on the clan's honor. The elders' threats to expel you loomed large, casting a dark cloud over your return. But amidst the storm of disapproval and gossip, there was Satoru.

Satoru, with his unwavering loyalty and irreverent disdain for outdated conventions, stood by you like a beacon of support. When you voiced your fears about the elders' threats, he dismissed them with a wave of his hand and that confident smile that seemed capable of warding off any darkness.

The simplicity of Satoru's statement, "Happy together," carried with it a profound depth, echoing in the space between the two of you. It was a direct command, a plea, and a gentle piece of wisdom all at once. His eyes, usually so playful and mischievous, now bore the weight of genuine concern and a trace of personal regret, highlighting the seriousness of his intentions for you.

His words will always hit you with the force of a revelation. Satoru, despite his outward appearance of boundless confidence and joy, carried his own regrets—regrets about paths not taken, words not said, and choices made in the shadows of duty and expectation. His relationship with Suguru, whatever its depth and complications, had not led to the happiness that perhaps it could have, had circumstances been different.

In that moment, you understood that Satoru’s advice was not just about defying the elders or the clan. It was about seizing the chance for happiness that he, for all his power and freedom, felt he had missed. It was about living openly and without regrets, about choosing love over fear and societal expectations.

"Happy together," you repeated softly, the idea resonating deep within you. It was a simple concept, yet one that felt revolutionary given everything you had been through.

"Yes," Satoru confirmed, nodding emphatically. "You and Shoko have a chance to build something beautiful, something real. Don’t let fear or tradition stand in the way of that. Learn from our mistakes."

“Brother….” You whisper at your brother tenderly. 

Seeing your hesitation, Satoru reached out, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "I know it's a lot to take in," he continued, his tone softening. "And I know you're worried about what fighting this battle might mean—not just for you, but for me as well. But you need to understand, I've been dealing with the clan's rigidness my whole life. I know how they think and how they operate."

He paused, ensuring he had your full attention. "What happened with Suguru... it taught me a lot. Life is too short, and the path of solitude and sacrifice for the wrong reasons—it's not worth it. I don't want you to look back one day, full of regrets, wishing you'd chosen differently."

The mention of Suguru brought a pang of sadness, a reminder of lost friendships and love that had once promised so much more. Satoru's voice was filled with a rare vulnerability as he shared these reflections, giving you a glimpse into the personal cost of his own experiences.

"And I don't want to see the clan's outdated prejudices destroy more lives, especially not the lives of people I care about," he added, his voice gaining strength. "You and Shoko have a chance at real happiness, a chance to live openly and love freely. That's what you should be fighting for, not the approval of some dusty old elders who cling to outdated traditions."

Your mind raced as you absorbed his words, the weight of your own fears battling with the burgeoning hope that Satoru's support ignited within you. It was daunting, the idea of standing up against the formidable structure of clan traditions and expectations. Yet, the thought of being with Shoko, of potentially creating a life filled with the kind of love and companionship you truly desired, offered a compelling counterpoint.

"Satoru, are you sure?" you finally asked, the concern clear in your voice. "Taking on the elders... it won’t be easy. They could retaliate."

Satoru smiled, a slight curve of his lips that carried both defiance and assurance. "Let them try," he said with a chuckle. "I’ve faced worse. And besides, it’s about time someone shook up the Gojo clan a bit. If not us, then who?"

His confidence was infectious, and despite the risks, you felt a surge of courage, bolstered by the support of someone who had become more than just a family member or a fellow sorcerer, but a true ally in your pursuit of happiness.

"Okay," you said, a newfound determination steadying your voice. "Let’s do this. For us, for Shoko, and for everyone else who’s ever been told they have to choose between love and tradition."

Satoru nodded, pleased. "That's the spirit. Now, go be happy. And remember, I've got your back."

With that assurance, you felt ready to face whatever challenges might come, knowing that whatever happened, you wouldn't be facing them alone. The path ahead was uncertain, possibly fraught with confrontation and challenges, but the promise of a life lived true to your heart made it a path worth taking.

As you walked through the familiar gates of Jujutsu High, your heart pounded with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness. The school grounds were bathed in the golden hues of the setting sun, casting long shadows and bathing everything in a soft, forgiving light. It had been years since you last set foot here, years filled with longing and regret, but today you carried a new sense of purpose.

You scanned the area, looking for any sign of Shoko. As you approached the faculty parking lot, you saw her. She was just about to get into her car, her back to you, unaware of your presence. You paused for a moment, just watching her. Time had changed her, just as it had changed you. She seemed more confident, more assured in her movements, yet there was still that unmistakable grace about her that had first drawn you in.

"Shoko!" you called out, unable to keep the emotion from coloring your voice.

At the sound of her name, she froze. Slowly, she turned around, and when her eyes met yours, they widened in disbelief. For a moment, she stood there, stunned, as if she truly had seen a ghost.

You took a few tentative steps toward her, your heart in your throat. "Shoko, it’s me," you said softly, almost afraid that any louder voice might shatter the fragile moment.

Shoko blinked, as if to clear her vision, before a myriad of emotions played across her face—surprise, confusion, and then, a dawning joy. "I can't believe it's really you," she managed to say, her voice a whisper.

As you closed the remaining distance, Shoko's initial shock softened into a vulnerable hesitance. Her eyes, once brimming with an uncomplicated joy whenever she saw you, now held a guarded wariness—a shield forged from the years of pain and separation. Yet, despite the shield, there was an unmistakable flicker of the old affection, a tug at her heart that she seemed to fight.

"I—how long has it been?" Shoko asked, her voice shaking slightly, betraying the turmoil inside her.

"Too long," you replied earnestly, stopping just a breath away from her. You could feel the warmth of her, so close yet still so far, held at bay by the invisible walls she had built around herself.

Shoko swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to the ground before forcing herself to meet your eyes again. "Why now? Why come back after all this time?" Her voice was a mix of hope and hurt, needing to understand your sudden reappearance, fearing the reopening of old wounds.

You reached out, your hand hovering in the air, hesitating before gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear—an intimate gesture that once would have been second nature. Now, it felt like a relearning of the language of her soul. "I realized something," you began, your voice thick with emotion. 

She looks at your eyes, as though she was searching for life, for truth. “What was it?”

"I realized I've been living half a life without you. And no matter how hard I tried to move on, to forget, you were always there—in the back of my mind, in every quiet moment. I came back because I need to know if there's a chance, any chance at all, that we could be something again."

Shoko's breath hitched at your words, her defenses wavering as the earnestness in your voice called to her. "You left," she whispered, a single tear escaping down her cheek. "You left when I needed you most. How do I trust that you won’t do it again?"

The pain in her words stung, a harsh reminder of the consequences of your past choices. "I know I hurt you, more than I can ever make right," you admitted, your own voice cracking with regret. "But I'm here now, Shoko, and I’m not going anywhere. I want to make things right between us, no matter how long it takes. I'm not asking for immediate forgiveness or for everything to go back to how it was. I just want the chance to show you, every day, that I'm here for you."

Shoko looked at you, her eyes searching yours for the sincerity she so desperately needed to see. The conflict was palpable as she struggled between the safety of her guarded heart and the dangerous hope your return offered. Slowly, imperceptibly at first, she nodded, the smallest agreement, but enough to flood your heart with a tumult of relief and determination.

"Okay," she said, her voice barely a whisper, laden with cautious optimism. "We can try. Slowly."

Hearing those words, feeling the tentative acceptance in her tone, you knew the road ahead would be fraught with challenges. But as you stood there, under the fading light of the setting sun, with Shoko's tentative permission to re-enter her life, you felt ready to face those challenges. Whatever it took, however long it took, you were prepared to spend every day proving that the love that had once bound you together was worth fighting for—a second time around.

You searched her face, looking for signs of the love you once shared, hoping it wasn't too late. "I've missed you, Shoko. More than I can say. I've thought about you every day. About us. I left so much unsaid, so much undone..."

Shoko smiled, a gentle, forgiving smile that melted any remaining fears. "I've missed you too," she admitted. "It's been hard, but I always hoped... somehow, I always hoped you’d come back. That we’d get some happily ever after like those cheesy fairy tales, you know?”

“We can have that now,” You whisper to her in a soft tone, her eyes bearing against your own. “Our own happily ever after, like those cheesy fairy tales.”

“Then give it to me.” She laughs softly as you let your fingers trace her cheeks. “Give me that cheesy fairy tale. I’ve waited long enough for it.”

The sun dipped lower, casting a warm glow that enveloped you both, making the moment feel almost magical. "Can we start over?" you asked, heart pounding with hope. "Can we give us another chance?"

"Yes," Shoko answered without hesitation, her voice firm and sure. "Yes, we can start over. Whatever it takes, however long it takes. We're worth another chance. We’ve always been.”

You beamed at her, taking a breath as tears of joy poured. “I love you. So much.”

“I love you too, you idiot.” She retorts back, tears of joy equally pouring.

As you stood there, holding each other in the fading light, the years of separation seemed to melt away, replaced by the promise of a new beginning. You knew there would be challenges ahead, but with Shoko by your side, you felt like you could face anything. This was your second chance—a chance to make things right, a chance to build a future together, founded not just on love, but on understanding, forgiveness, and renewed commitment. And this time, you were determined to make it last.

“Good luck to us, babe.”

You blushed at her words.

You reached out for her hands.

“Good luck to us, babe.”

She smiles and leans in towards you.

A new chapter finally begins together.

It was like blue summer all over again.

[shannonsketches]

I noticed that the element of the triforce that the individual characters are supposed to represent, is also their weakness. Zelda's wisdom is being stifled by doubt and lack of experience; she's eager to learn, but her zeal is not enough and relies on faith and Link to save the day. I'm not implying that wisdom and faith cannot go hand in hand, but she needs to be able to represent her element more. Maybe her wisdom is knowing when to wait and allow someone else to bear the task? But it takes away too much initiative from her. Ganon's element is power but he's the one who ends up losing almost every time. And Ganondorf on his own, isn't powerless! He's a king, he knows magic, he can wield almost any weapon, he's patient, conniving and intelligent and knows how to make best with what he has. He isn't weak! And yet, the whole split happened, because he was feeling powerless.

They locked themselves in a self-sabotaging cycle that's powered by doubt.

Yeah! So one of the reasons I really love the Triforce lore is that it’s a three-way mirror that reflects both what the user has and also what they need (very wizard of oz).

Ganondorf is a very powerful man, physically, and magically.

Politically, though, he’s next to helpless, which is an awful thing for a king to be. He’s a king of thieves in OoT, because the Gerudo are not a wealthy or thriving nation there. In-Game they don’t have a local living area like the other regions (or even a store — just one floating bombchu salesman in the middle of the desert) — they’ve got a post-war fortress full of guards, and a temple that is being used as a secret base Hylians can’t get to.

Consider also, Ganondorf is the most highly decorated of the Gerudo, and he’s not decked out in gold. He’s wearing mostly iron and topaz. Nabooru and Twinrova are the only ones who have gold fixtures/jewelry along with the higher ranked guards for their protective elements (which is why I think it could arguably be pale bronze or yellow brass, which is a common and highly durable gold alternative).

The Gerudo are implicitly just surviving in OoT, and Hyrule speaks of them like they’re monsters (except for the one guy in town who has a fetish). More than that, WW establishes that his real grief comes from the weather, which any mortal is powerless to control.

So Ganondorf is powerful as a person, but powerless as a king, which is literally the only thing he was born to be.

Be that as it may, though, he is a well-loved king, and a survivor, and a thief, so he also has to embody both wisdom and courage too!

Zelda is the most obvious mirror to Ganondorf. She is a very powerful woman politically and magically, but physically-- compared to Ganondorf -- she's terribly meek. That's the obvious read, that they're 1:1 Parallels, but her real weakness lies in her courage.

Zelda (in OoT) leans on her massive political power -- In the child timeline, she literally sees a foreign dignitary executed before he does anything wrong, based on a recurring dream she has.

Do you know how insane that is? Do you realize how powerful she is?

Ganondorf is not just some guy -- he's a foreign KING. He's a KING that a TEN YEAR OLD had EXECUTED based on VIBES.

And we think she embodies wisdom because her vibes were (as we, the audience know) correct. But it's actually because as an adult, she understands that none of it needed to happen that way. That the only reason Ganondorf was able to pull off his stunt and get the Triforce at all was because she tried to control the situation, sending Link to gather everything Ganondorf couldn't get himself and put it all precisely where Ganondorf needed it to be.

Despite being a child at the time, by the end of the story, by the time she's Sheik, Zelda is taking full responsibility for what happened, and is doing everything in her now extremely limited power to fix it. She's so sorry to need Link, and at the end of it all is desperate to give him another chance to be a kid, and to be innocent, and to be happy, because she realized so quickly that she never should've involved him, visions be damned. She knows none of it was his fault or his business, and she's mortified that she dragged him into it in her own attempt to control the weather.

These other two items shift in other games -- WW and Twilight Princess show us a Zelda with tremendous courage and very little power, physical or political. And then the Wild's era, despite removing the Triforce narrative, shows us a Zelda with immense power and terrible guilt and insecurity -- her power locked behind her fear, and she is only able to access both when she embraces courage.

Which brings us to Link.

Link, on the surface, is a third wheel in a chess game between ancients. But the reality is that he's the base of the prism. He's the foundation that reflects both of the others.

There are MANY different personalities for Link, and personally my favorite gag is that Link is simply too stupid to be scared, but that's just a gag -- because something I've come to really enjoy and respect about him is that he consistently displays fear. Link embodies courage because he is full of fear and chooses to fight anyway. Link leads a good life. He is comfortable, he has family, he has friends, he knows peace. What makes Link courageous is that he is willing to give up his access to all of that if it means that everyone else keeps theirs.

Link will lock himself in a room with the apocalypse if it means he's the only one who gets hurt, and it's not because he believes this is his sacred duty, or his life's purpose -- he'd much rather be at home chasing chickens around or riding his pony through some pretty scenic route -- it's because he is so full of love for other people that he's willing to give up anything to keep them safe.

Link's not very powerful, but he is also unburdened by any desire to be powerful. Link's not very wise, but he is unburdened by any desire to be wise. Link is content in who he is, Link is happy to keep things simple. But Link is so brave that he becomes a leader, which actually makes him the most dangerous of the three.

Courage, unburdened, is fucking terrifying. To both Wisdom and Power. Because, unlike Wisdom and Power, Courage is contagious.

Link can empower and inspire and reveal truths others might not have been able to find on their own. Link doesn't need charisma or brutality. Link can build armies just by being observed.

"But Sketches, you haven't really said anything about how Link reflects the other two." It's subtle! But he does. I see it like this:

• Ganondorf reflects Link's relentless determination, refusing to stand down in the face of impossible odds. In this way, they're connected by their power and courage. • Zelda reflects Ganondorf's burden of being born in a crown, forcing them to learn leadership, and how to use their recklessness strategically, as children. In this way, they're connected by their power and wisdom. • Link reflects Zelda's sense of love for the faceless innocent, and her dedication to protecting all who can't protect themselves. In this way, they're connected by their courage and wisdom.

Because the inherent configuration of the triforce requires those connections to be balanced -- Separately they are overwhelmed by their traits. Ganondorf is willing to sacrifice everything he is in order to reach his goals, Zelda is so pre-occupied with preventing prophecy she ends up instigating it, and Link is so ready to step in and help that he never considers the consequences.

Every single one of them, left to their own devices, would rather see themselves destroyed than fail those who may or may not be relying on their success. They're all very similar, highly reflective characters who all represent compelling foils for each other and yes, display how their unfettered strengths are also the thing that damage them most.

[remidyal]

Outstanding antagonists after Junior Year

This post is as much for myself for fanfic purposes as it is for any speculation regarding a Senior Year that may never happen and even if it does would be I think at an absolute minimum three years and more likely 4-5 down the road, but I wanted to round up the known potential antagonists remaining out in the world, roughly ranked in order of known hostility:

Chungledown Bim. Certainly the MOST hostile of opponents, we know he's not dead post-Boy's Night (whenever Boy's Night is supposed to fit into the Quangle) because he's on Fabian's nemesis alert.

Arianwen Abernant. Evidently she has recovered her magic, probably while Cassandra was corrupted into a more Nightmare King-ish state. She was pretty pissed at Aelwyn and Adaine the last time we saw her over the whole death of Angwyn thing; I somehow don't think being chased around Sylvaire by the vand will have improved her mood.

Bobby Dawn. The full extent of his involvement in the Junior Year plot is uncertain, but he sure as hell wasn't helping things. Also some real potential hate between him and the party over the Sandra Lynn thing; while Fig might be gone in a Senior Year I'm going to ignore that for these rankings and in any case Sandra Lynn still lives with Kristen and Adaine regardless, so I think that conflict would be born out. I also think there's a strong case for a clash of pantheons style story going on in the background, and Bobby here would be front and center on the Sol-Helio-maybe Galicaea side.

Kalina. I don't necessarily think Kalina actually IS a traitor to Cassandra the way that Kristen thinks and Ankarna thinks; I almost believe that her turning up at the end of Junior Year was a reaction to them deciding to hunt her, in fact. That being said, while I think Kalina is fully team Cassandra, I also think (and even understand!) that she is most definitely NOT team Kristen, who did let Cassandra kind-of-die and now is splitting her attention. So what's Kalina's play now? I think she's going to try to push for Bobby Dawn to add Cassandra back to the Sol-Helio-Galicaea pantheon, which would be to her a much more stable foundation to keep Cassandra alive on than Kristen.

The Automatons that are going to be hunting Fig. Yes, these are self-evidently a way to excuse that Fig won't be around to help out if there's a senior year and Emily chooses to not play Fig. They're also kind of hilarious, especially since they open up all kinds of questions like 'wait did Sandra Lynn spend her first year of adventuring fighting off killer statues of Arthur Aguefort?' They'd be higher except they're only hostile to 1/6th of the Bad Kids.

Gertie Bladeshield. Also only hostile to 1/6th of the Bad Kids at present, though Cassandra knows if any of them speak up in Kristen's defense she'll probably swear a vow of emnity to them too. Could probably be made up with via a sincere apology, or at least by setting her up with someone.

The Court of Stars and Princess Nara. Now we're into the dubiously hostile territory, because this might not lead to actual conflict, but if there IS a clash of pantheons between the Sol one and the Ankarna-Cass one then the most obvious fight other than Cassandra is over where Galicaea ends up. The members of the Court of Stars we met this season seemed much more, um, I'll use the word chilled out than Angwyn and Kir of last year, but it still feels like a mercurial thing.

Arthur Aguefort. I've been saying for a very long time that the only boss fight that makes sense for a Senior Year IS to have to fight Arthur Aguefort himself; it doesn't even necessarily have to be a 'he's evil' sort of thing, but could just be a 'you're the best party we've had in centuries and I wanna throw down'. He dropped some hints at it in the finale, of course, too!

[1anxiousbeancrying]

I headcanon all of the Angels in hazbin hotel to have different wings and characteristics based on different birds. Like I have so many thoughts on the angels it's not even funny. I also have a few on halos.

Lucifer: I like the idea of all of the seraphim being the same type of bird being a dove but I like to imagine that Lucifers wings changed after he fell to duck wings even if they do not look like them they have the same shape and capabilities of them, as his wings seem much bigger than the other seraphim though I don't think we've seen sera or Emilys wings at full size. It's also why his wings are two different colors, he also absolutely quacks.

Emily and Sera: both have dove wings, they are seen as authority figures in heaven so there wings indicate there purity and elegance. Though I was thinking of giving them swan wings (I'm not sure yet), Emily also coos and vocalizes more than sera

Adam: he's heavens golden goose, he's loud and angry like one and I can image him honking. His wings are very large and beautiful, and I can see him being very possessive over his exorcists due to the first two lady's in his life leaving him. He absolutely makes the exorcists preen his wings.

Vaggie and lute: putting these two together because there the same species. All exorcists have falcon wings. The exorcists are heavens army they need to be fast and deadly. Compered to the other angels in heaven exorcists have very dark wings with lighter insides similar to the falcon. Never race an exorcist you will lose. Exorcists all preen each others wings as they are all part of the same flock, after vaggie was left in hell she greatly missed having someone preen her wings but after what lute did to her she absolutely hates people touching her wings. All exorcists use falcon calls to communicate with each other.

Winners: most winners have extremely small wings from what we saw in the show, I like to imagine the bigger the wings the more important the role of the winner is like St Peter's wings where very big compared to that of Molly's. The most common wings you would see in winners are pigeon, hummingbird, seagull and Robin.

Redeemed sinners: the only redeemed sinner so far is sir pentious and from the looks of it he doesn't have any wings, so I'm assuming that sinners don't get wings when they go to heaven.

Halo headcanons

Halos indicate your rank in heaven, the more spikes or accessories indicate more power, sera being the most powerful/influencal angel we've seen so far has an extremely large and beautiful Halo.

Next is Emily, but due to her having a lower status her Halo is smaller ( I also think the eye appearing when she's angry is cool)

Next would be Adam with his bright gold halo and single Spike, his is interesting because despite him technically being a winner his status as the first man boosts his power. His halo also has the power to communicate with all the other exorcists like we see lute do in the last episode when she picks it up.

Then we have the exorcists, their halos are completely black which is very interesting as all other angel species so far have bright halos, maybe it represents the violence their capable of? Idk they also have the same spike as Adam Maybe that's how he can communicate with them. My theory on the exorcists is that there heaven born so would rank higher that the winners it just makes more sense and it would be the opposite of the sinners where hell born are ranked under them.

Lastly would be the winners, sinners turned winners and the cherubs as the all have the same halo being a single ring. Everything in the show so far has indicated the winners being the weakest in heaven this could change but so far this is my ranking.

[anarchy-and-piglins]

As promised: emduo-centric royalty AU with sad little child hostage ward Techno I can't stop thinking about.

Techno is the second son of a tiny kingdom. The kingdom is feared far and wide for its military prowess and the production of high-quality weapons. However, a lot of this reputation is hot air. Their numbers are actually small enough that a bigger nation could come and overpower them relatively easily if it really wanted to, and they do not hold any significant trade routes or harbors. It's solely their fearsome reputation that scares people off.

Or it used to scare them off.

Another (much bigger) nation led by King Dante came and took over, using overwhelming forces to their advantage despite their weapons and strategies being subpar. When they were done, Dante allowed the king and queen to keep ruling, but on the unspoken condition that it was actually Dante pulling the strings behind the scenes and every decision goes through him

Dante leaves some of his trusted generals in the higher ranks to ensure an eye is kept on everything, and as an extra insurance, he takes one of the princes with him. Obviously not the heir, that would be a scandal! But the second-born son would do just fine

Dante takes Techno in and to much of the outside world, they presume this is a wardship, as is common between allies.

When in reality, it's more like a semi-polite hostage situation.

Dante uses the military powers he has gained from Techno's country to quickly overthrow a few other surrounding smaller nations by aggressive, militaristic means. His reputation suffers for it, but that doesn't really matter when within a blink of an eye, Dante is ruling over the 'United Nations of Hypixel', one of the biggest countries in the world and thus a significant player on the political stage.

The other countries that remain are of similar huge size and a lot stronger than any of the smaller countries Dante trampled thus far though. And while Dante is greedy, he's not a moron. So he knows that going to war with any of them heedlessly would be a bad idea.

So he changes tactics. He sends delegations, he invites nobles and other royals, and tries to make diplomatic treaties. Maybe there's a little bit of assassination and blackmailing and information laundering and stuff going on too but shhhhh. No need to worry about that, Dante is proving he can play nice.

Techno, eight when he was taken from his home, remains at the court all the while.

To the outside world, he's living a cushy life as a prince. They only see a spoiled little boy who has everything he could ever wish for, lavish clothes and fancy food and servants helping him with whatever he wants. Little do people know that's only the image Dante wants to project, now that he's trying to play nice with other countries. The fine silk and heavy velvet hide the scars and bruises Techno gets from Dante and his generals behind closed doors.

Hell, even from the servants. Dante has made it clear he doesn't care how Techno gets treated by them, as long as they don't inflict permanent damage.

Others wouldn't know that those fancy public appearances are the only times Techno gets to eat proper food, and even then Dante will punish him if he eats too much during them. He can't appear greedy, after all. But Techno has been taught politeness. And how to decline courteously. He's been taught manners.

He's been taught how to obey Dante perfectly, and be a sign to others for Dante's goodwill.

Of course, anybody who would actually bother to investigate this with more than a passing glance could see that Techno is being horribly abused.

The problem is that they don't give it more than a passing glance.

The truth of the matter is that Dante has skewed the narrative enough to make Techno's nation seem like even more of a bloodthirsty, war-mongering one many people already believed it was. And Dante is merely the man who has leashed the feral beast.

They're allies now, and people don't like Dante, but they don't like Techno's family and the nation he came from even more. So even most outsiders coming to the court will avoid Techno when possible, or even regard him with disdain and mistreat him.

Commoners hate him for being royalty and being a symbol of the nation that caused so much war, royals/nobles from other countries hate him for his heritage, Dante and his men just hate him, period.

Techno can't catch a break.

His only hope is to wait until this is over. He's turning twelve in a few weeks. He misses home.

[Dante tells Techno that his parents don't want him back

Dante says that since he has secured his position enough and the game has changed, he doesn't really need a hostage anymore. But he asked Techno's parents, and they said they didn't care to have him back.

They were always rather cold to Techno, would always tell him he was an accident and the only son they needed was Billiam, Techno's older brother. The heir. It saves them the trouble of having to stage an 'accidental death' for Techno down the line, when his existence becomes a threat to the succession rights.

But maybe part of Techno had still been wishing they loved him.

Sometimes, Dante wonders out loud if publicly executing Techno would be a good move for his reputation; especially since people hate Techno's family so much.

If Techno shows fear at the prospect of death, Dante punishes him. So very quickly Techno becomes numb to that too.]

Techno doesn't really have anybody in his corner at this point. Until Phil comes to court.

Phil is the emperor of the Antarctic Empire, a nation far up in the north. The country is harshly cold and rather mountainous. It's also almost entirely self-sufficient, despite the strange climate it manages to completely feed its populace and provide its own resources. It barely trades with the outside world and since the borders are lined by a mountain pass on the south and oceans on all other sides, it doesn't see a lot of travelers. It is, for all intents and purposes, an enigma. Some people rumor it doesn't exist.

The country also manages to stay out of any foreign politics 90% of the time because of its solitude, so having the emperor come out himself for a summons is quite something.

[Dante send the invite not expecting a response. It was more of a formality, honestly. Because not at least addressing the Antarctic Empire would have been worse, in terms of what's polite. And he can't risk catching their ire.

Little does Dante (or anybody else) know, but the Antarctic Empire is very aware of what's going on past their borders, because of a spy network all official documents simply refer to as 'the crows'. So Phil and Kristin have been keeping informed on the fact that somebody was making The Next Big Nation (tm) and that it could spell trouble later. Phil came down to see what's up.]

Phil knows about Techno's nation/family too, through the crows. But Phil also has a very strict policy that boils down to "the crows are little shits and they lie". Or more accurately, Phil knows how to treat secondhand information and always takes it with a grain of salt. That's why when something truly matters, he goes down there himself instead of sending somebody to speak for him like most other royals do.

And thus, Phil is the first one who tries to scrutinize Techno's situation and ends up going "Hey what the fuck! this is not how you treat a child."

He knows the Blade family does not make allies, and that Techno is a hostage. Slowly he starts to befriend the boy, who is extremely reluctant to extend any trust, while also not pissing off Dante or starting a war. It's a work in progress, but Phil is a stubborn bastard.

His original intention is to get Techno back home to his family. Until he finds out the truth of how Techno is treated there too - the proverb 'out of the frying pan, into the fire' comes to mind, perhaps.

That's when Phil goes "free sonboy" and takes Techno home instead.

Slow bonding and healing ensues, naturally <3 (also I'll post a link to my drabble in the replies)

[silvyavan]

Yuno Grinbellior: Fall From Class Solidarity Grace

This has been a LONG time coming when it comes to Yuno's character, all the power ups and hellacious writing involved with said character. This actually had me re-reading Black Clover just to compile this callout/thesis/whatever the hell this is.

Hypothesis: Yuno's character arc and symbolic meaning got absolutely ruined in Spade arc, on the entire series premises even, to the point where he went from class ally to class traitor. From "You don't have to have massive capital or a prestigious family to have lots of mana and worth" to "Being born to privilege literally gets you everywhere in life".

And even if its not, Yuno's character arc ends up being "always at the important events, never where it matters the most".

ARC 1: THE GRAND ELF ARC AND THE SET UP TO THE CHARACTER.

One of the pivotal moments of the early series is the Magic Knights Exam and how it ends. The choice between captains is arguably the best metaphor for how Asta and Yuno's rivalry feels scuffed and represents that, in a world where mana is everything, big mana DOES get you in high places, even if you're unaware of it.

When Yuno gets his turn to see which captains would want him, all of them raise their hands and he even has the option to choose the best ranked squad, Golden Dawn, a squad that is already built upon with SEVERAL noble houses supporting it, including the Wizard King's own support, and with a repertoire of big mana bitches. Yuno, who symbolises the 4 leaf clover and all the mana and perceived pedigree that comes from it, has the chance to go into a squad that is exclusive only to nobles.

Asta, however, is the more realistic approach of someone who starts from the bottom up and has nothing, as no squads raise their hands because they want him and the only option he DOES have is the squad that's at the bottom of the barrel/with the worst reputation.

This is important because this is aligned with the next instance we'll talk about: Star Festival.

The Star Festival literally has this shit said outright: even if you take THE worst squad out of the gutter and work to the point of disability and get borderline killed trying to protect your country, the squad full of nobles who have:

1) an environment where its much easier to gain achievements (GD being located in Kiten, near the border between Diamond and often attacked, even getting Spade spies, thus making nation relevant achievements is surprisingly easy),

2) more resources and funding due to nepotism and support from rich family members ( having many noble families who can afford tutors, training, education and even connections into getting into squads, often even allowing immediate medical care in case of emergencies), and

3) implicit connections with the higher ups in the government (William being from the same squad where Julius, current wizard king was, the ENTIRE judicial court of Clover being royalists/pro noble faction, likely having relatives in GD)

will still achieve better results for less effort. Asta still has to work harder than Yuno, just for 2nd place. Black Bulls squad can literally save villages and towns, stop foreign invasions and terrorists and they still don't get as much payback as the squad made up entirely from connections, money and massive mana prowess. Is the GD still also doing the same things as the Black Bulls? Yeah, but if you look at the point distributions, Golden Dawn gets SEVERAL per missions/events, with a Spade Kingdom officer being a whole 5 stars.

It's the most obvious metaphor and it leaves a bitter taste in one's mouth, since one of the key notions that one usually gets from the rivalry between Asta and Yuno is that its a friendly rivalry that isn't inherently favored in one direction. And this, and many OTHER instances shown later in the story are testament that that's not true.

Even though Asta and Yuno both qualify for the Royal Knights position, what happened at the actual tournament, concerning Langris, feels like a statement of Yuno throwing away any attempt of principles. Yuno was THERE when Langris went off the deep end, and this guy is his vice captain. Even agrees with Klaus that something is definitely off. But he makes no attempt to actually stop him. Luck, Magna, Noelle, Charmy and Asta all jump in to try and stop him. EVEN JULIUS comes in to try and stop him, so any statement of "he's his superior, he can't go against him" can't hold ground because Julius' judgement clearly says that hes got issues, so I doubt Langris would have grounds in trying to discipline Yuno for "insubordination".

Like, maybe it's just me, but if you see your vice captain go off the deep end and try to kill a contestant from a different squad AFTER its been announced he won, you should probably stop him for both their sakes.

Yuno doesn't, NOBODY from Golden Dawn does, what does that speak on what they view as "going too far"?

And when the match between Asta's and Langris' team ends in a draw, and in a show of solidarity, all the Knights come to Asta to support him, Yuno is... not part of the crowd. People like Klaus, Hamon and Mimosa from the Golden Dawn are. So you've got people from ALL OTHER squads, who don't even know Asta, coming in to his metaphorical support. Its almost out of place how he's not even coming over there, compared to the previous volumes where he was, in fact there.

This just keeps going on until the actual Elf incident, where it feels like Tabata finally remembers "oh yeah, Yuno and Asta are kinda supposed to be friends", and Yuno is immediately worried for Asta in comparison to the previous arcs where he's kind of aloof with him. Can the aloofness be part of the respect for him? Maybe, but this is only because we keep having places where Asta and Yuno are together in a situation. Spade Arc is not like that.

ARC 2: SPADE ARC AND THE FUCK UPS

Spade Arc, has, for the major part except for 2 instances, been an arc that keeps hammering in that Yuno is continuing the saga of acting like the first 15 years of his life mean jackshit.

Yuno is now Vice Captain, has a fanclub and seems to be acting like William is some important figure to him. And all of this feels like absolute lip service.

Vice Captain because Langris stepped down and naturally they needed someone reliable but there's plenty of other, more higher ranking and experienced brigade Knights who could have taken over the responsibilities (assuming that the position isn't just some "second strongest in the building" ranking, and has actual paperwork, responsibilities, workload, etc). So Yuno, getting the position when he's been a Knight for only 2 years, feels like a weird choice and doesn't even give a show of "mana may not be the same, but effort is". They just put any big mana bitch in charge. Even some of the GD only refer to his phenomenal magic as the show of good characteristics.

Yuno and Asta, assuming they both have the same amount of missions and effort put into this, would've had the same position if it wouldn't have been for the Court Rulings and Banishment. And that's what makes Yuno being Vice Captain rather unbelievable or just straight up condescending. Even if the Court Ruling DIDNT apply, it makes no sense for the position to be given to someone who's been in the magic Knights for about 2 years.

The fan club, again, feels like a superficial way to state that "people like Yuno". Yuno is considered handsome, yes, but a fan club usually can't survive off of being handsome alone. There's no actual show of when, how or why this club formed. It sure as hell couldn't have formed in 6 months, even if they're made up of civilians as well. I know the anime has made some supplementary episode on this, but again, the "we accept you" moment feels backhanded.

We know Charlotte has a fan club, but they're all part of her squad. We're not given any example if there's civilians in her fanclub, or if there are other fanclubs dedicated to other famous magic knights.

Even if there wasn't any animosity, for these people to take like a year to accept a new recruit? This fanclub feels more like a representation of actual Yuno fans than a statement that people like Yuno.

The solidarity between him and William. My brother in Clover, where did all of this come from. I'm pretty sure Yuno would've been more pissed about the fact that William chose Yuno because of the elf soul in him. He's not, maybe he doesn't care, but there's not... a whole lot of ANYTHING. It's another case of tell and not show, but maybe because of the timeskip, it feels a bit fake.

The worst of it is, arguably, the moment where he calls out the Captains for keeping William at arms length for the Elf incident.

I want to remind yall, All Of Yall, that the Elf incident didn't just possess the Knights of Golden Dawn, but also EVERYONE ELSE IN THE MAGIC KNIGHTS. 3 (4 if you count Kaiser) WHOLE captains got possessed, SEVERAL vice captains and many other Knights who started blowing shit up all over the kingdom. Patri "killed" Julius in front of Yami, Fuegoleon got ROBBED AND LOST AN ARM due to machinations of the Midnight Sun, Nozel almost DIED in front of his family during the incident, and Jack pretty much had to go and juggle all this shit as the only other non possessed Captain besides Yami in dealing in this.

Like YEAH, no SHIT that they haven't forgiven him, this affected EVERYONE'S bodily autonomy, health and survival. William, bless this homosexual, is a war criminal and I'm pretty sure the Court Rulings, while politically sane, was the only reason his ass wasn't on trial. It's been 6 months, yeah, but the incident has made everyone's life in some way harder and the kingdom's stability worse. They have the right to be mad about this. Even Yuno admits it, he can't blame them for the animosity but at the same time, he's acting like them being mad about it is unwarranted.

Yuno, your autism is bad, I understand, but look back, literally less than 30 chapters ago, and ask yourself, would you be mad as fuck at your coworker if they almost killed everyone? Yes? Because as far as I'm concerned, the moment between Yami, William and Tiny Julius was a closed incident, one that did not have other captains involved. They did not see that shit, maybe they were briefed, but the emotional turmoil was absolutely necessary about this. We're not given the briefing of the captains when William would have had to come clean in front of them. Wish we did, considering how it would've made this moment much more cathartic.

But all this is not the worst offence to Yuno's character. The Prince revelation is.

The thing is, up until this arc, Yuno's behavior might be a bit off putting, but he's still technically a peasant who just so happens to have a lot of mana. The talent and mana was more so his and his alone. His talent made from effort, his mana who he just so happened to he born with. No fancy family, no fancy secret heritage. Just pure, raw autism fueled power.

The Prince revelation essentially smacks it all off of the table and just makes the excuse "of course Yuno is talented and full of mana, he's Foreign Royalty!". Hell, fucking NOZEL makes a "that explains everything" statement.. It's disheartening, cheap and just makes any effort that Yuno previously put into honing his skills feel fake. It is arguably the reason I pray that Asta never gets any secret family bloodline, because its souring the whole character arc and if Asta got that, Tabata might as well cancel the series because that would be a slap to the face for those who wanted Asta to be a winning underdog.

ARC 3: THE PEDESTAL OF BEING IMPORTANT BUT NOT INVOLVED.

This arc has lasted, maybe a bit over 30 chapters (332-369), and it has made not one good thing about Yuno.

Remember the statement I made previously? "Always in the middle of important events, but never when it really matters"? Yeah, no arc shows it as much as this one.

The start of this arc is Lucius attacking Asta's promotion celebration party, a long awaited party to celebrate Asta getting Senior Magic Knight, First Class. 3rd overall, and first in that ranking, essentially saying that Asta's next position would be Grand Magic Knight. In the same title, Fuegoleon says that Asta and Yuno SHOULD have been on the same ranking as Grand Magic Knights, but doesn't say why. Even so, they're not at a relatively similar position of ranking. Most Knights in this ranking are either captains or vice captain level.

This is, naturally, an important event. Orsi, Lily and the kids from the church are there! The captains are there! But not Yuno.

It's implied that Yuno got to Grand Magic Knight within the timeskip, and Asta only managed to get Senior Magic Knight after he was pardoned. But even so, Asta went and celebrated and congratulated it with Yuno. We don't see Yuno's reaction. Only the statement that Asta was always ahead of him. It sounds like ignorance of privilege at this point.

Yuno was out because he, the Golden members and Black Bull members, who have experience with devil activity, were away to investigate it. Unfortunate, but hopeful thinking makes you wonder if he had plans to congratulate Asta after the party, or come in late but still in time for it.

The reality of the matter is that Yuno showed up after the party, after Lucius went and fought Asta and missing quite literally everything. He even says that the attack Adrammelech planned was a feint. Was he not considering the idea that maybe if this was a feint, then something WORSE is going on somewhere else??? Even more so that he went and obliterated high ranking devils in an instant. Hell, with them all gathering in the min hall, it gives the impression that Yuno arrived to this meeting late enough for everyone to gather.

It's almost as if they're treating Yuno's reaction to the events are more important than, you know, actually participating in the events. Noelle and Nero had experience in devils too, but they didn't participate. They actually went and tried to help Asta when he was down! Even the Captains got out to try and help! And yet for Yuno, he's just reacting to it with the promise of vengeance, when nobody knows if vengeance will actually bring Asta back.

This isn't the only moment either. The magic Knights tournament, the golden dawn massacre, and this is a trend in Yuno being involved in the important and big battles, sure, but he's never in the moments that matter in terms of showing the actual presence of the character or weight to the plot. He's almost like a filler character who only shows up in major incidents at this point. Fucking SEKKE has more emotional weight to the plot at this point (I jest but what if).

The arc is, at this point, still ongoing and MAYBE the current state of Yunos character will change (I pray).

But, if I had to give my two cents, my idea of what would make Yuno's character more solid would be the contrast of Yuno who has all the gifts and Yuno who's only got his effort left.

That is to say, put Yuno in a situation where his efforts and abilities are put to the test by reducing/negating his powerups.

One version of this, is that Lucius somehow gets close enough to reach his soul, Elf Yuno takes the brunt to save Yuno, and now Yuno is down to only his Star Grimoire.

Another version, is that Adrammelech vs Yuno happens.

Yuno vs Adrammelech where Adrammelechs (supposed or proposed) Sun magic cancels out Star magic and his wind magic is entirely limited. A fight where Yuno can't rely on his massive magic to fight Adrammelech and can only use weapons made from spirit magic and wind as agility against him.

"Take away the talent and magic and what are you left with" type of fight. It would also add some zest to Adrammelech if he's fighting Yuno PURPOSEFULLY, to separate Asta and him from the fight with Lucius and make it an Asta vs Lucius Rematch while holding his own rematch with Yuno.

If its not, then having the Lucius vs Asta and Yuno might be more of a redemption scenario to Yuno missing the key moments of the party fight. Like how Yuno on his own is kinda struggling due to Lucius using numbers, Asta on his own needed to have hostages used against him. But if they both show up at the same time, then they can counter each others weaknesses.

Those are just some possibilities, and I have no idea how Tabata is gonna spin this, but fuck! Let's hope he doesn't fumble!

[themagicbrew]

everyone! Meet Utrom.

The original traitor. The first defender of earth.

You may be able to read more about him Below. (side note: some things in my previous posts may be reconned)

(edit: sorry about any of the spelling and grammar errors)

Assigned Name: Utrom

Age: Uknown

Gender: Unknown (Queergender)

sexuality: Pansexual (poly)

Current occupation: Part-time nature conservationist, full-time tourist. (formerly) Rebel leader and Kraang surveillance scout

personality summary: Utrom is a jovial charismatic bundle of love, who cares deeply for the world around him and is burdened by his past. He continues to learn and grow for centuries, wishing to right his wrongdoings. He is a strict pacifist, however, Utrom is still capable of intimidating others when needed. Think of him as the fun laidback uncle of Earth! (for the most part)

Backstory!

Pre-Rebellion:

Utrom started out as any other Kraang, born on planet primordial and raised to be a soldier for their glorious empire. He was by no means, a cut above the rest. Utrom was just another nameless soldier- another cog in the machine

He (just like any other member of his species) took pride in what he was. Despite his big hulking figure, Utrom served as a surveillance scout for the empire. His occupation was to scout out planets prior to the oncoming conquest. He would study various things like the enemies' ecosystem, culture and technological advancements. Utrom had a deeper fascination- perhaps, even a hidden admiration for other lifeforms but not to the extent where he’d feel remorse for aiding in their complete genocide. 

Unlike most Kraang, Utrom would acknowledge to some degree his enemies were capable of outwitting them- though he knew no creature could ever overpower the might of kraang, Utrom also knew blindly underestimating their prey would have consequences.

This was not a common ideal, even for scouts like him. 

His comrade. The one assigned to aid him on all his missions. Kraang2. Had a completely different set of ideals, ones that were more aligned with the common kraang soldier. They were polar opposites in many ways BUT- their differences were what forged their strong bond. 

Utrom had even developed deep romantic feelings towards Krang2 but due to the culture they live in. Recognising or understanding such complicated emotions was nearly impossible. From his perspective, Kraang2 was his comrade and nothing more.

Sure, he liked the way She’d slaughter their foes or how she’d recklessly jump into battle without a thought or- even the quiet moments where they talked about climbing the ranks together but, She was just a comrade. Nothing more. 

Utrom never knew why but Kraang1 (2’s elder brother) did not trusted him. He didn’t understand what warranted such specific hostility directed his way. Utrom never made the connection that his close friendship with 2 may have been the root of it. Kraang1 never outwardly showed his concern for his younger siblings, especially in front of others. Kraang1 was also a higher-ranking member of the empire, he is considered a prodigy to General Chre’ll. 

He would abuse his authority over Utrom, singling him out from other soldiers for petty reasons.

To describe dynamic in the simplest of terms: they are like petty coworkers. a lot of their interactions would range from passive aggression to straight-up hostility or (more commonly) strained professionalism.

Utrom, being a lower rank could not bite back- otherwise, he'd be met with severe punishment. The abuse he undergo was something normalised within their society. Utrom would quietly question The kraang as a whole, however, his doubts would be buried. His head 6ft deep under the propaganda he was raised upon.

He was a soldier, meant to aid the empire's glorious crusade. To keep the natural order of things. the strong will devour the weak.

Utrom's betrayal/rebellion:

Names are important things within their culture. They are symbols that are achieved, rather than a title given upon birth.

Typically, a kraang would earn their Name after ascending the ranks and becoming a general however, a name can be earned through other means...more importantly, earning a name isn't always a good thing within the kraang.

Planet Earth was meant to be Kraang1's first conquest. Think of it as a crowning, one where Kraang1 would assert himself in the empire as "General Prime" (after a successful invasion.)

So what exactly happened?

Utrom, someone who was never seen far from kraang2's side- working in tandem- Was tasked with scouting out earth, alone. He was no position to question Kraang1's decision as per usual and thus, remained silent.

Once Utrom arrived on Earth (landing in Japan during the Heian period.) He went through the usual motions, Examining and collecting data. However, during this time- without his beloved comrade to distract him, his doubts began to take hold.

It was then he met a Sōhei, one who was unafraid of Utrom. Normally, when an enemy discovers him- Utrom was quick to kill but.. this time, he didn't.

the Sōhei fascinated him. They had simply struck up a conversation and even in that moment, they had hit a personal cord with Utrom. With words alone, he began to wonder- his doubts beginning to unearth.

So he did something he'd never thought he'd do.

Utrom began to befriend the enemy. He learned many things with the Sōhei and eventually, other humans too. A whole new world of opportunity had opened up to him, one that he'd never considered if he was with the kraang.

All of this was done under the Kraang's (metaphorical) nose.

Utrom saw how imperfect the empire was, thanks to the help of his human friends. Yet, he wanted others to see it too. Utrom wanted his fellow comrades to know, that there was more to life then blood and conquest.

He began to orchestrate an entire rebellion, gathering kraang from lower ranks to rise up and defend Earth. Kraang2 was the first to know about this but opposed the idea. Yet she remained silent, thinking that Utrom would come back to his "senses" (which he never did.)

This rebellion was how Utrom earned his name. Once word got out about a traitorous scout, he was 'branded' and named Utrom.

However, this act would lead more kraang to aid Utrom. He was a normal loyal soldier like they were, if he had the courage to fight authority then perhaps they could too?

This lead to a full on Battle on earth. The rebels and humans were getting decimated, despite everything- they were losing to the kraang.

Til the very last second, the human friends pulled out a piece of precious kraang tech. One built by a rebel and meant to seal in the kraang....and perhaps the rebels too.

Utrom knew this and allowed this, knowing that he too may be sealed as well.

Once the Key was unleashed, the battle was over in an instance.

Utrom somehow managed to avoid being sealed into the prison dimensions along with only a small handful of rebels left. The rest were sucked into the prison dimension where they'll no doubt, meet their demise.

This... Affected utrom in many ways he never thought it would. Unsure what to do with himself. He gifted the Key to one of his human friends.

The lost of kraang2 cut him deeply... Now stranded on earth, all he can do is heal and live a new life.

Post-betrayal

Utrom spent his first century on earth within Japan, living closely with the Sōhei he trusted so dearly. He had vowed to become a pacifist after the war, which was a tough journey for Utrom.

He had lived his whole life as a soldier. War was the only thing he knew but with help from his Human friends. Utrom managed.

Eventually, one by one his friends would pass on. Their lives were so much shorter than his.

He than decided too travel across earth. learning from humans without involving themselves in their conflict. Utrom would spend many centuries attempting to conserve the planet's ecosystem, socialising with humans and more importantly, trying to forget kraang2

Fast forward to present day

Utrom received word from the E.p.f that there was a failed invasion within NYC and that his presence is required. He was horrified to know, that he'd be helping with Kraang2 interrogation.

He did not work for them, serving more so as a "kraang consultant" due to his former role as a rebel leader. Yet, given that this was his old comrade, he felted the need to stay.

Now Utrom is trying hard to undo the damage that she and her brothers have caused.

Triva:

Utrom voiceclaim is Keith david (x)

Utrom likes telling stories about his time on earth. His antics with vary but all of them bizarre in their own special way. Utrom is essentially one big history book. A living artifact.

Utrom begins to keep an eye on those involved in NYC's invasion. Whether they be good or bad.

He struggles with being a pacifist, even til this very day. He often worries about snapping at someone since he's constantly aware of his strength.

Utrom great with dealing other peoples emotions however, closes himself off from his own feelings. He feels responsible for everything that had happen and is trying hard to 'fix' everything.

He still retains strong romantic feelings towards kraang2 and will continue to visit her once The E.p.f efforts in finding her brothers prove to be fruitless. (biggest simp in all the galaxy)