#giving me happiness fact vibes
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silvermoon279-madam · 9 months ago
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HAPPINESS FAKT #47 GIRLS ARE COOL
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TDOV
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ricky-mortis · 7 months ago
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Howdy hello- guess who made a wings au :)
More to come with this eventually- I’m working on my designs for other characters at the moment, but for now we’ve got Red-Tailed Hawk for Curt and Eagle Owl for Owen.
For DMA I had Barn Owl wings because a) Barn Owls are beautiful and I wanted to draw the wings for them, and more importantly, b) Owen would probably want to disguise his wings, and it would make sense if it was as a different type of owl. I just assume he’d dye his feathers in some way or another. Look- just don’t think about it too much.
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otaku553 · 2 years ago
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The eventual kazuha and sanemi dynamic
#kny crossover#genshin impact#kaedehara kazuha#shinazugawa sanemi#one day I’ll finish writing the first chapter. one day#anyways I love thinking about these two#i think platonic relationships are so fascinating#like you could definitely construe so many different friendships as romantic ships but to me these two as friends has so much potential#sanemi canonically dislikes Giyuu because he gives off a ‘better than everyone else there’ vibe that is purely unintentional#and canonically is friends with Iguro for reasons I still cannot figure out#sanemi’s so interesting because it’s not like he’s a purely chaotic character despite what his first appearance would suggest#the manga and genya’s memories clearly show that he has a lot of respect for oyakata-sama because oyakata-sama is not high and mighty and-#does in fact understand every sacrifice that goes into the battles that they fight that he must sit on the back lines for#sanemi is a very loyal person I think once someone has earned his loyalty even though he owes about showing this in very aggressive ways#I think he goes off against genya especially because genya fighting as a demon slayer goes against everything that sanemi has fought for#since they lost their happy lives sanemi has been fighting for at least one of them to still be able to live normally and he probably thinks#that Genya spat on that sentiment by becoming a demon slayer anyways#anyways I think sanemi and kazuha would have such an interesting dynamic#sanemi has the authoritative upper hand as a pillar but kazuha isn’t even a demon slayer which means sanemi’s position doesn’t do much#beyond acting as an indicator that he is one of the strongest of the corps anyways.#they’ve both lost a lot but sanemi still has someone to fight for whereas kazuha is holding onto the last embers of a corpse’s wishes#and I think them having a talk about their motivations would be very good#because I don’t think at this point that kazuha has very much reason to live beyond carrying on Tomo’s wishes#if the swords are parallels to visions I think Kazuha’s turning point will be when he receives his own nichirin sword#sorry for the long tags lmao
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obsessive-dumpling · 2 years ago
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Anyone else ever think about how we haven't heard Izuku narrate since Katsuki was shish kabobed in the first battle?
Cause I think about it all the damn time.
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justalittlebluetiefling · 6 months ago
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I went by the dance team's practice today (I was invited by the coach, I'm not THAT weirdo) and when the senior captain saw me she fully burst into tears so I also cried.
I miss these kids a lot.
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queer-reader-07 · 6 months ago
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#full transparency i didn't read the whole the whole live-blog twitter thread about the podcast episode#but i started reading the first one#because i kept seeing people talk about them#and idk they were giving me bad vibes. like parts of it felt. idk victim blamey???#also it started off by being like 'this isn't a power imbalance if it's just a fan and a famous author'#which i just simply don't agree with#to me it is an imbalance if one of you is a literal celebrity and the other is a barely adult fan of yours#that's just my own opinion#but the whole thing just gave me a bad taste. like there was a lot of 'what she just laid there and didn't say anything?'#which is so. maybe i'm jaded but idk maybe she did even if she didn't like it#and also there's been multiple cases of confirmed abuse/assault that i've read about/seen where everything looked happy on the outside#like the fact that she sent him 'loving' messages the day after isn't enough for me to conclude that this woman is lying#and like. i'm not saying she can't be lying#but i also don't think there's enough evidence either way#at worst the allegations are true#and at best they're false and the people who published this piece are capitalizing off allegations of SA#both fucking suck#i said i'd stop talking about this but a lot of people's talk of the situation is rubbing me the wrong way#i was talking to a friend abt this and she was like 'the outlet and the journalists being sketchy doesn't mean the accusers are too'#which is personally how i feel as well#like yeah you're right the people who broke the news have red flags all around#but i wouldn't put it past people like this to capitalize off SA. real or not.#vent#rant
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izzy-b-hands · 6 months ago
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Putting on last year's trans rigs stream from Drawfee before i have to get ready to go out with my mum and her bf today (bc i have the worst feeling in my gut he's gonna make that An Thing for me if given the chance today, aka whenever i eventually need the restroom while we're at Mystic)
#text post#Housemate was amazing and helped me calm down a bit before ae went to work bc my brain woke up in meltdown mode over this tbh#it sucks bc like. im excited to see my mum despite the Everything with that lmao#but im not excited for how her bf has been acting since they got here (and it's been day 1 out of 7 days)#with some outright homophobic comments while Housemate and i hosted them briefly at our house yesterday afternoon#not abt us but like. i mean. u know we're both queer so#doesn't really matter if it's abt us or not it's still fucky and makes me worry abt how he's gonna be today!!#doesn't help that he really wanted to go to Italy with her instead this summer#(despite the passive aggressive complaints from him & mum to a degree abt how expensive it was for them to come out here)#(we're ignoring the fact that a European trip would be even more expensive lmao tho i do think if they want to/can afford it they should go)#like. the Vibe from him has just been that he'll be Just Polite Enough but that he didn't want to be here#and he doesn't expect to have any fun and it's like#dude i am Trying. i and Housemate have looked up stuff to do that includes things he likes (like guns and historical weapons)#we tried making comments abt that yesterday like hey u might like this but if there's anything u have in mind already#and he was just. whatever idc but then made comments that made it clear he's not excited for anything else#like museums or the beach for sea glass hunting or the bird sanctuary or even the zoo#and all have places to rest/sit plus restrooms and food so I don't think it's a worry abt facilities thing for him#i think he's just fed up that I'm still involved in my mum's life since i moved and like#yes there's a detangling of the umbilical cord i and my past therapist were trying to eventually get my mum to cut#since cutting it myself in any attempt has had her metaphorically taping it back together#but like. it's not entirely on me here. I'm trying to set boundaries and make sure she's giving him more attention than me since he's w/her#more than i am now#i know he's upset when she helps me financially too (i offer to pay her back but she always refuses it) bc she took me aside yesterday#to give me some cash for the time with them for souvenirs/fun stuff i might not buy otherwise bc im trying to be mindful of money#aka still waiting on money my fkn job should have already paid me like. a week or more ago now#he makes her happy so even if he hates me i still care abt his frustrating ass#and i do want him to have as much fun as he can while still relaxing during the trip out here#but i feel like im gonna have to physically shake him by the shoulders screaming this before he listens#and even if he listens he probably won't believe me#sorry for the tag essay the edible hasn't kicked in yet can u guys tell lmao
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toytanks · 1 year ago
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ghghghgghg c'mon brain you can write an entire 12 page essay about how these bitches are gay why cant you do the same thing but fluff
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isnotanoctopus · 7 months ago
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I had a mandatory social event for work today, and honestly. As smbd w/ autism, I don't mind social events as a concept; I do enjoy a party, and hanging around people, and enjoying vibes. What I hate is the forced participation, and polite refusal or sitting out resulting in making every neurotypical around you upset or uncomfortable.
It's sweet that people care to make sure you're having a good time, but I hate how it feels like I have to enjoy things on their terms or else I bring a bad vibe; Like I'm not allowed to cover my ears if things are too loud, or leave to sit somewhere quiet to recharge a little, or be picky about the food that I eat, otherwise it's seen as a passive-aggressive act to display my displeasure.
And it really sucks, b/c 99% of the time, I'm not unhappy! Most of the time I'm having fun and enjoying myself :( the anxiety and displeasure only comes in when I'm forced to start worrying if I'm pushing my limits enough to please the neurotypicals around me.
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forever-eternal · 1 year ago
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Sweeping in late to say you give me Maine Vibes, almost exclusively because you write so well, and a bit like Michigan because you're so funny and affable on here!
I’m glad you find me affable, though I can’t see the funny 😅 I’ve been called both, even by strangers I’ve only ever seen at work, but I’ve just never seen it, myself.
I’m glad you think I write well! It’s very encouraging. Thank you, Lovely! 💙💙
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animationismycomfort · 2 years ago
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I hate them so much I swear to god
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(waste of material honestly)
#ah yes let’s reward the idgash if it’s yours I’m taking it manipulative kidnapper by giving her exactly what she wanted#BETTER YET let’s give her a happy ending while we’re at it#the fact they reward her when she manipulates both woody and forky into giving her what she wants is disgusting#also gabby just gives off such creep vibes whe. it comes to her and forky and it makes me so uncomfortable#she just gives off creep vibes overall to both woody and forky and it’s so gross#and Bo#god bo#where to start……oh I know!#she just acts like she’s better then everyone because she’s “different“ and I hate it#I despise those types of female chracters so much#especially when they look down upon their love interest#or just other characters in general#ah yes let’s yell and look down upon our partners views and choices because to you it’s stupid#and yes let’s publicly talk sh-t about said person to everyone because that’s what you do to someone you lvoe definitely#ah yes let me get mad at you for believing in something that I don’t mhm cause that’s what you do to your partner#and let’s turn their back on them when they need us and get mad at them for making you help WHEN YOU VOLUNTEERED TO HELP#and you could’ve left at any moment but ok yea that’s his fault#picture perfect healthy relationship#love it#this is why I hate most couples in media#just all in all horrible honestly#if you don’t see it that way that’s fine but to me it’s just so gross with the way they hadnled these characters#plain disgusting#rant#loooong rant#I hate Toy Story 4 with a passion#I’m not sorry I’m done lying about being in the middle it sucks good day#idk if I’ll ever rewatch this movie but if I do and my opinions change ill let y’all know#for now take my Toy Story 4 sh-t on#my stuffy stuff
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helpimstuckinafandom · 2 years ago
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So I decided to read Cruel Prince because one of these popular book series has to be good and Holly Black wrote Spiderwick so I trust her more than other authors and I'm 100 pages in and so far I like the protagonist her and her sisters are all valid for the way they feel in this situation and I'm mad curious to find out why Cardan is so cruel and all that I guess
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acourtofquestions · 2 months ago
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KINGDOM OF ASH (by SJM)
Chapter 48
THE FAMILY REUINION🥹😆😭🫶& MY SOULLL
But when they reached Princess Hasar's battle tent, when they had all gathered around a map of Anielle, they had only a few minutes of discussion before they were interrupted. By the person Chaol least expected to walk through the flaps.
A moment later, Chaol was glad he was sitting down.
Nesryn breathed, "Holy gods."
Chaol was inclined to agree as Aelin Galathynius, Rowan Whitethorn, and several others entered the tent.
They were mud-splattered, the Queen of Terrasen's braided hair far longer than Chaol had last seen. And her eyes ... Not the soft, yet fiery gaze. But something older. Wearier.
Chaol shot to his feet. "I thought you were in Terrasen," he blurted. All the reports had confirmed it. Yet here she stood, no army in sight.
Three Fae males-towering warriors as broad and muscled as Rowan—had entered, along with a delicate, dark-haired human woman.
But Aelin was only staring at him. Staring and staring at him.
No one spoke as tears began sliding down her face. Not at his being here, Chaol realized as he took up his cane and limped toward Aelin.
But at him. Standing. Walking.
The young queen let out a broken laugh of joy and flung her arms around his neck. Pain lanced down his spine at the impact, but Chaol held her right back, every question fading from his tongue.
Aelin was shaking as she pulled away. "I knew you would," she breathed, gazing down his body, to his feet, then up again. "I knew you'd do it."
"Not alone," he said thickly. Chaol swallowed, releasing Aelin to extend an arm behind him. To the woman he knew stood there, a hand over the locket at her neck.
Perhaps Aelin would not remember, perhaps their encounter years ago had meant nothing to her at all, but Chaol drew Yrene forward. "Aelin, allow me to introduce"
"Yrene Towers," the queen breathed as his wife stepped to his side.
The two women stared at each other.
Yrene's mouth quivered as she opened the silver locket and pulled out a piece of paper. Hands trembling, she extended it to the queen. Aelin's own hands shook as she accepted the scrap.
"Thank you," Yrene whispered.
Chaol supposed it was all that really needed to be said.
Aelin unfolded the paper, reading the note she'd written, seeing the lines from the hundreds of foldings and rereadings these past few years.
"I went to the Torre," Yrene said, her voice cracking. "I took the money you gave me, and went to the Torre. And I became the heir apparent to the Healer on High. And now I have come back, to do what I can. I taught every healer I could the lessons you showed me that night, about self-defense. I didn't waste it-not a coin you gave me, or a moment of the time, the life you bought me." Tears were rolling and rolling down Yrene's face. "I didn't waste any of it."
Aelin closed her eyes, smiling through her own tears, and when she opened them, she took Yrene's shaking hands. "Now it is my turn to thank you." But Aelin's gaze fell upon the wedding band on Yrene's finger, and when she glanced to Chaol, he grinned.
"No longer Yrene Towers," Chaol said softly, "but Yrene Westfall."
Aelin let out one of those choked, joyous laughs, and Rowan stepped up to her side.
Yrene's head tilted back to take in the warrior's full height, her eyes widening-not only at Rowan's size, but at the pointed ears, the slightly elongated canines and tattoo. Aelin said, "Then let me introduce you, Lady Westfall, to my own husband, Prince Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius."
For that was indeed a wedding band on the queen's finger, the emerald mud-splattered but bright. On Rowan's own hand, a gold-and-ruby ring gleamed.
"My mate," Aelin added, fluttering her lashes at the Fae male. Rowan rolled his eyes, yet couldn't entirely contain his smile as he inclined his head to Yrene.
Yrene bowed, but Aelin snorted. "None of that, please. It'll go right to his immortal head." Her grin softened as Yrene blushed, and Aelin held up the scrap of paper. "May I keep this?" She eyed Yrene's locket. "Or does it go in there?"
Yrene folded the queen's fingers around the paper. "It is yours, as it always was. A piece of your bravery that helped me find my own."
Aelin shook her head, as if to dismiss the claim.
But Yrene squeezed Aelin's closed hand. "It gave me courage, the words you wrote. Every mile I traveled, every long hour I studied and worked, it gave me courage. I thank you for that, too."
Aelin swallowed hard, and Chaol took that as excuse enough to sit again, his back giving a grateful tinge. He said to the queen, "There is another person responsible for this army being here." He gestured to Nesryn, the woman already smiling at the queen. "The rukhin you see, the army gathered, is as much because of Nesryn as it is because of me."
A spark lit Aelin's eyes, and both women met halfway in a tight embrace. "I want to hear the entire story," Aelin said. "Every word of it." Nesryn's subdued smile widened. "So you shall. But later." Aelin clapped her on the shoulder and turned to the two royals still by the desk. Tall and regal, but as mud-splattered as the queen.
Chaol blurted, "Dorian?"
Rowan answered, "Not with us." He glanced to the royals.
"They know everything," Nesryn said
"He's with Manon," Aelin said simply.
Chaol wasn't entirely sure whether to be relieved. "Hunting for something important."
The keys. Holy gods.
Aelin nodded. Later. He'd think on where Dorian might now be later. Aelin nodded again. The full story would come then too.
Nesryn said, "May I present Princess Hasar and Prince Sartaq."
Aelin bowed—low. "You have my eternal gratitude," Aelin said, and the voice that came out of her was indeed that of a queen. Any shock Sartaq and Hasar had shown upon the queen bowing so low was hidden as they bowed back, the portrait of courtly grace.
"My father," Sartaq said, "remained in the khaganate to oversee our lands, along with our siblings Duva and Arghun. But my brother Kashin sails with the rest of the army. He was not two weeks behind us when we left."
Aelin glanced to Chaol, and he nodded.
Something glittered in her eyes at the confirmation, but the queen jerked her chin at Hasar. "Did you get my letter?"
The letter that Aelin had sent months ago, begging for aid and promising only a better world in return. Hasar picked at her nails. "Perhaps. I get far too many letters from fellow princesses these days to possibly remember or answer all of them."
Aelin smirked, as if the two of them spoke a language no one else could understand, a special code between two equally arrogant and proud women. But she motioned to her companions, who stepped forward. "Allow me to introduce my friends. Lord Gavriel, of Doranelle." A nod toward the tawny-eyed and golden-haired warrior who bowed.
Tattoos covered his neck, his hands, but his every motion was graceful. "My uncle, of sorts," Aelin added with a smirk at Gavriel. At Chaol's narrowed brows, she explained, "He's Aedion's father."
"Well, that explains a few things," Nesryn muttered.
The hair, the broad-planed face ... yes, it was the same. But where Aedion was fire, Gavriel seemed to be stone. Indeed, his eyes were solemn as he said, "Aedion is my pride." Emotion rippled over Aelin's face, but she gestured to the dark-haired male. Not someone Chaol ever wanted to tangle with, he decided as he surveyed the granite-hewn features, the black eyes and unsmiling mouth.
"Lorcan Salvaterre, formerly of Doranelle, and now a blood-sworn member of my court." As if that weren't a shock enough, Aelin winked at the imposing male. Lorcan scowled. "We're still in the adjustment period," she loudly whispered, and Yrene chuckled.
Lorcan Salvaterre. Chaol hadn't met the male this spring in Rifthold, but he'd heard all about him. That he'd been Maeve's most trusted commander, her most loyal and fierce warrior.
That he'd wanted to kill Aelin, hated Aelin.
How this had come about, why she was not in Terrasen with her army ... "You, too, have a tale to tell," Chaol said.
"Indeed I do." Aelin's eyes guttered, and Rowan put a hand on her lower back. Bad— something terrible had occurred. Chaol scanned Aelin for any hint of it. He stopped when he noticed the smoothness of the skin at her neck. The lack of scars. The missing scars on her hands, her palms. "Later," Aelin said softly. She straightened her shoulders, and another golden-haired male came forward. Beautiful. That was the only way to describe him. "Fenrys ... You know, I don't actually know your family name."
Fenrys threw a roguish wink at the queen.
"Moonbeam."
"It is not," Aelin hissed, choking on a laugh.
Fenrys laid a hand on his heart. "I am blood-sworn to you. Would I lie?"
Another blood-sworn Fae male in her court.
Across the tent, Sartaq cursed in his own tongue. As if he'd heard of Lorcan, and Gavriel, and Fenrys.
Aelin gave Fenrys a vulgar gesture that set Hasar chuckling, and faced the royals. "They're barely housebroken. Hardly fit for your fine company." Even Sartaq smiled at that. But it was to the small, delicate woman that Aelin now gestured. "And the only civilized member of my court, Lady Elide Lochan of Perranth." Perranth. Chaol had combed through the family trees of Terrasen just this winter, had seen the lists of so many royal households crossed out, victim to the conquest ten years ago.
Elide's name had been among them.
Another Terrasen royal who had managed to evade Adarlan's butchers.
The pretty young woman took a limping step forward, and bobbed a curtsy to the royals. Her boots concealed any sign of the source of the injury, but Yrene's attention shot right to her leg. Her ankle. "It's an honor to meet all of you," Elide said, her voice low and steady. Her dark eyes swept over them, cunning and clear. Like she could see beneath their skin and bones, to the souls beneath.
Aelin wiped her hands. "Well, that's over and done with," she announced, and strode to the desk and map. "Shall we discuss where you all plan to march once we beat the living shit out of this army?"
#NO SPOILERS PLEASE (though warning for the chapter in post & tags) this is my first read along with me & more reacts in tags etc#Chaorene Rowaelin Elorcan MOONBEAM this chapter has EVERYTHING so it needed its own post mark-if only it had Dorian than it would be PERFECT#A PROPER MAASVERSE REUINION-FULL CIRCLE-& me squealing in wivern happy in sappy like🥹 crying giggling & kicking my feet in excitement#Aelin Sardothien&HER CADRE/Court; her calling them all that — MOONBEAM finally lol how has this not come up or Lorcan tease or Rowan cheerin#she really nails these scenes-break my heart make my day-like QoS but ow&healingX100-my bbs are happy-TAB REFS-THE DYNAMICS-the wives meet!#Ivory horsehair for times of peace; the Ebony for times of war. — significance in tiny details-It was holy-the gold couch lol-SHES PREGGERS#To sit down even for a few minutes would be a blessed relief. — the difference from TOD - lol only Hasar could get interior design rn#to be the first piece of furniture in the home he'd build for his wife. For the child she carried.—shewastheoneheleastexpectedtoseeomg#holding hands even in blood-the ruler but wished to know-close to disaster-flood?that’s bad for fire/maybe she can steam-HOLY GODS INDEED#a moment later Chaol was glad he was sitting-as Aelin Galathynius Rowan Whitethorn and several others entered. Mud splattered. Too long hair#And her eyes ... Not the soft yet fiery gaze. But something older. Wearier.-the young queens gaze again-but a queen nonetheless-HE STOOD#Not at his being here as he took up his cane and limped toward Aelin But him Standing Walking-my soul needed this back-the core tale trio#The young queen let out a broken laugh of joy-broken but still joy-and flung her arms around his neck-the fact she wanted to hug him—#the ache & healing they both felt-but Chaol held her right back every question fading from his tongue.-Fire lance?-she’s shaking again#The way she gives him belief-then there she is-she remembered-her core-no one does anything alone-to say I’m happy for you & mean it vibes#hand over the locket-Yrene Towers the queen breathed as his wife stepped 2 his side The women stared at eachother-YRENE WESTFALL-notCelaena#I knew youd do it-goes both ways-Thank you-those words in this book-it was all that really needed to be said-smiling through tears#Aelin closed her eyes smiling through her own tears and when she opened them she took Yrene's shaking hands-choked joyous laughs-MY SOUL#Rowan stepped up to her side-Aelin said Lady Westfall my husband Prince Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius-the my wife we deserved#emerald mud-splattered but bright-she sure got those emeralds dropping hints literally in EoS-pine green-Nesryn Aelin friendship core#My mate Aelin added fluttering her lashes Rowan rolled his eyes yet couldn't entirely contain his smile-next quote why I luv books/TOG#May I keep this?She eyed the locket.Or does it go in there?Its yours as it always was.A piece of ur bravery that helped me find my own#It gave me courage the words you wrote. Every mile I traveled every long hour I studied and worked it gave me courage. I thank you#A spark lit Aelins eyes&both women met halfway in a tight embrace I want to hear the entire story Aelin said Every word of it#They know everything-Ok WELL MANON lol-The keys Holy gods-the story would come then too-true queen-she bowed for them#the voice that came out of her was indeed that of a queen-THEY BOWED BACK-the portrait of courtly grace lol-the letter worked well#Aelin smirked as if the2of them spoke a language no one else could understand 2equally arrogant&proud women-hell yes I needed them#My friends-uncleLOL-my pride-AelinswinkLorcylol-how had this come about?-guttered-Rowan put a hand on her lower back Bad#gestureHasar😂-only civilized Lady Elides name had been crossed out-the1sthat escaped-CunningClear-she could see beneath to the soul#I am sworn2uWould I lie-cursedAs if he'd heard of LorcanGavrielFenrys-where to march once we beat the living shit out of this army-Vher
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shidoukanae · 6 months ago
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also now realizing there's a heavy possibility that the unknown event Daniel references where he asks Lyla "how are you going to find your happiness?" is the same event Helene references when she tells Lyla that Lyla "betrayed" her.
Coincidentally, that's probably the same event that allowed Helene to be manipulated by the Empress into turning against Lyla and might have been the cause of Daniel leaving Lyla (probably to find out how to awaken as a dragon so he could gain the power to take her away from her family faster? maybe even going so far as to try and compete w/ Paris for the throne if it means protecting Lyla?)
There's also a suspicious gap of time from when Helene was poisoned to when she told Lyla to get away from her that has been omitted. And considering baby Lyla cries about Helene not wanting to be with her anymore...and that same baby Lyla is seen hugging Daniel in the unexplored scene...Lyla what the fuck did you do to Helene to embitter her like this?
#the mighty extra#the mighty extra: one girl changes the world#me a week ago: gee im not sure if the Helene saying Lyla betrayed her scene makes sense re: Lyla's death#me now: ohhhhhhhh we haven't gotten to the reason why Helene felt betrayed yet gooootcha that's why something feels amiss#something happened in the gap of time between when Helene got poisoned and when she turned her back on Lyla gooootcha#and here i thought it was a smooth transition but now i see i have yet again been tricked by my own bad expectations LMAO#im so used to just accepting half-baked explanations that are construed to try and explain canon events i didn't even think to doubt myself#this story really is the gift that keeps on giving#also the idea of Daniel competing with Paris for the sake of ensuring Lyla gets to live a happy life is really fucking cute#he gives off a lot of big brother vibes and honestly for a “unpredictable crazy dragon” he's such a sweetheart#my current guess is that Arne somehow tricked Helene to turn against Lyla? or tricked Lyla into hurting Helene somehow (emotionally)?#because these sisters ADORED each other very clearly and Helene being poisoned by Sienna wouldn't have broken their bond so easily#whatever happened was bad enough that Daniel said it was better off if she forgot all about it#which#she did#but not in the way he expects alas#and here i was thinking Helene was just an asshole because she felt severely hurt by Lyla's dangerous actions#nope! she's got a reason indeed and the fact that she felt betrayed by Something TM and yet still tries to save Lyla anyways is just#Interesting!#there's still more depth to dig out of these sisters and their relationship together pre-“Lyla” and im living for it!!!#also im still so confused about Daniel#so he was the sea witch's apprentice which means he knew Sienna but also he ran away from the sea witch at some point#and has been on the run from his own empire joined some pirates is now living with Ellie and is going to Lyla's side post the finale#i still dont get why he didn't take Lyla with him or come back for her. was he waiting to do so? for what? he was already awakened as a-#as a dragon by the time he found Lyla again. and he definitely didn't forget about her so like#*tilts head*#i can understand him being like “oh Lyla left guess she didn't wait for me” but i don't think he's ever implied that???#considering Daniel's side of Lyla's past still has holes in it I think there's going to be answers coming soon to this question but man#i love trying to do a conspiracy board in my head of the events that went down in the bg re: Lyla bc it's so fascinating to piece together#everything is explained but also nothing is explained and the writing for this story is really admirable as fuck
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tkbrokkoli · 7 months ago
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passed to a stranger for the first time ever yesterday c:
#not fandom related#personal log stardate#so it's not like ive not ever passed before like in my early teens i was read as a boy when being w other boys#but since being an adult it has never happened. ppl probably just read me as a butch lesbian#anyway yesterday i was at a concert and before going inside everyone's bag was checked and we were being pat down#ppl being read as men were pat down by men and ppl being read as women by women. not ideal#so i assumed i would be read as a woman so i went to one of the women but she looked at me and gestured for me to go on to one of the men#that rly caught me by surprise bc i dont think ive changed that much on T just yet. been on it only for almost 5 months#i do have some more hair on my chin and upper lip but that's only visible when up close. im letting my hair grow out rn as well#so ig i must be giving off the right ~vibes~ now or whatever. i was dressing the same as ive been for years too#made me giddy w happiness tbh#i know passing isnt the one and only and some ppl never pass and ig just bc ive passed to that lady yesterday#doenst mean ill pass to other ppl but it was a nice little moment for me personally#especially bc at the beginning of the year i had a horrible hair dresser appointment that left me super dysphoric#bc despite having booked a men's cut i was not read as a man at all. in fact after the appointment when i wanted to pay#the lady was like 'you booked a men's haircut but you're not a man right?' uuuughhghhgnnghjghjghjghjk
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sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts · 6 months ago
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ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴀ ғᴀʟsᴇ ᴀʟᴛᴇʀ
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Summary : Your father is fed up with your shenanigans, so he arranges a marriage to Rome's famous general and gladiator, Marcus Acacius.
Warnings: DUB-CON (Forced/Arranged marriage) SMUT, LOSS OF VIRGINITY, unprotected pinv (wrap it before you tap it), Oral F and M, Implied age gap, Scars, Misogyny, Spitting, both give switch vibes,
A/n : I put a dub-con warning just because it is a forced/arranged marriage also ty and enjoy @multiversed-daydreamer for listening to me yap about this all day luv ya 💕
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The table was set, lit, and ready for a feast. Grapes, wine, cheese, and meats lined the table. Being the daughter of a powerful general had its perks, not that you liked the kind of life you had. You understood you were privileged, your place in society clear. You knew that if it weren't for your father's position, you would probably be a slave to the hierarchy. But it didn't mean you had to like your life.
You were 18 and shockingly unmarried—not that you cared. You had more fun sneaking away to the parties that would happen late at night. You were happy for the fact you weren't tied down yet. The thrill of escaping your father's watchful eye and diving into the forbidden world of Rome's underground festivities made your heart race.
You had a reputation, one that was far from ladylike. Wild child, they called you, and you wore it like a badge of honor. You knew what sex was, what things happened in the dark corners of those parties, but you were still a virgin. Your knowledge came from observation, whispers, and the daring escapades you had witnessed, but you hadn't crossed that final threshold. Not yet.
Your father, a stern and formidable general, was a man who worked with gladiators and other powerful figures in Rome. His influence was vast, and his expectations were high. He had grown increasingly frustrated with you lately, and you couldn't quite understand why. His annoyance with your antics was palpable, but there was something more, something beneath the surface that gnawed at him.
As you sat there, wine goblet in hand, you sipped slowly, savoring the taste. You knew he would tell you to only have a single glass, a rule you delighted in bending. The door to the grand hall burst open, and there he was, your father, his expression a storm of irritation and something deeper, something darker.
"What are you doing?" he demanded, his voice echoing through the hall. "Drinking again?"
You looked up at him, feigning innocence. "Just a single glass, Father, as you always insist."
His eyes narrowed, and he crossed the room with swift, purposeful strides. "You think I don't know what you get up to, do you? Sneaking out, causing trouble. Do you have any idea how this reflects on me? On our family?"
You sighed, placing the goblet down. "I know, Father. But you can't keep me locked away forever. I'm not a child anymore."
He stood before you, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. "You're my daughter, and you will behave with the dignity and decorum befitting your station."
You met his gaze, unflinching. "And what if I don't want that life? What if I want to be free, to make my own choices?"
His frustration seemed to boil over, and for a moment, you thought he might explode. But then, he took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging slightly. "You don't understand the dangers out there. The people I deal with—the gladiators, the politicians—they're not like the ones at your little parties. They're dangerous."
You softened slightly, sensing the genuine worry behind his anger. "Then tell me, Father. Explain why you're so frustrated lately. What aren't you telling me?"
He hesitated, the walls he had built around himself momentarily crumbling. "It's complicated," he finally said, his voice quieter. "There are threats... to our family, to our position. I'm trying to protect you, even if it doesn't seem like it."
You reached out, touching his arm. "I want to understand. Help me see what you see."
He looked down at your hand, then back at your face, a mixture of anger and sorrow in his eyes. "Maybe it's time you did," he said, his voice resigned. "But you must promise me, you'll be careful. This world is not as kind as you think."
You nodded, determination filling your chest. "I promise, Father. I'll be careful. But I won't be caged."
Your father's expression hardened once more, and the momentary softness disappeared. He sat down at the table, grabbing a handful of grapes and popping one into his mouth. "Enough. This isn't up for discussion," he snapped. "You are to be married."
Your heart plummeted. "Married? To whom?"
His eyes were cold as steel. "To a man who can protect you, who can secure our family's future."
You jumped to your feet, the chair scraping harshly against the floor. "No! I don't want to be married off like some piece of property. I won't do it!"
He towered over you, his presence suffocating. "You have no choice. This is for your own good."
"Who is it then?" you demanded, your voice rising in defiance. "Is it Lucius? That lecherous old man who can't keep his hands to himself?"
Your father shook his head, his jaw clenched. "No, not Lucius."
"Is it Gaius, then?" you asked, pacing around the table, barely noticing your father grabbing a slice of cheese and eating it with deliberate calmness. "The pompous fool who thinks he's the smartest man in Rome but can't even string a coherent sentence together without tripping over his own ego?"
"Not Gaius."
"Then it must be Quintus! The brute who only knows how to solve problems with his fists, who would treat me like a possession rather than a person."
"No, it isn't Quintus either," your father snapped, his patience wearing thin. He took a deep drink from his own goblet, trying to steady himself.
"Who then? Who could possibly be suitable in your eyes?" you spat, your desperation clear.
Your father took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "It's Marcus Acacius."
The name sent a jolt through you, and you took an involuntary step back. Marcus Acacius, a name whispered in both awe and fear throughout Rome. A man known for his prowess in the arena and his cunning outside it. A man with a reputation as cold and unyielding as stone.
"Marcus Acacius?" you echoed, disbelief coloring your tone. "You can't be serious. He's a gladiator, a killer."
"He's more than that," your father insisted. "He's powerful, respected, and capable of protecting you from the dangers you don't even know exist."
You shook your head, your mind reeling. "No, Father. You can't do this to me. I won't marry him."
"You will," he said firmly. "And you will do it for our family, for our future."
You felt the walls closing in, the life you had known slipping away. You slumped back into your chair, staring at the untouched food before you. "What if... what if I've already been with someone else?" you blurted out, hoping to find some way out of this nightmare.
Your father's eyes narrowed. He leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of the table. "Have you been taken by another lover?"
You hesitated, the lie heavy on your tongue, but the fear of his wrath kept you silent. "No," you finally admitted, defeated.
"Then it's settled," he said, the finality in his voice chilling. "You will marry Marcus Acacius, and you will do so with dignity."
Tears of frustration and anger welled in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. "I won't be happy, Father. Not with him, not with this life."
He reached out, a rare gesture of tenderness, and touched your cheek. "Happiness is a luxury we can't afford," he said softly. "But safety, security—that is something I can give you."
You pulled away, the weight of his decision crushing your spirit. "I don't want to be safe. I want to be free."
His hand fell to his side, and his eyes hardened once more. "Freedom is an illusion, my daughter. And you will learn that soon enough."
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing alone in the grand hall, the weight of your impending marriage pressing down on you like a vice.
Rage bubbled up inside you, a seething mass of frustration and helplessness. The weight of your father's words pressed down on you like a heavy shroud, suffocating your spirit. With a sudden, violent motion, you swept your arm across the dining table, sending grapes, cheese, and meats crashing to the floor. The wine goblet toppled, spilling dark red liquid like blood across the pristine tablecloth.
Breathing heavily, you glared at the mess you had created, but it did nothing to alleviate the fury burning within you. Without another word, you turned on your heel and stormed out of the grand hall, your footsteps echoing through the marble corridors.
You reached your room, slamming the door behind you. The silence was oppressive, the walls closing in as your mind raced. You had to get out. You couldn't marry Marcus Acacius. You couldn't be trapped in a life you didn't choose, a life that would suffocate the very essence of who you were.
You paced the room, the dim light from the oil lamps casting flickering shadows on the walls. Your eyes darted around, searching for a solution, a way out of this nightmare. Your thoughts turned to your mother, a fleeting glimmer of hope piercing through the darkness.
Your mother had been sent to the countryside years ago, a decision made by your father to keep her safe from the political intrigue and danger that plagued Rome. She lived a quiet, secluded life on the family estate, far from the city's chaos. You hadn't seen her in years, but you knew she would help you if you could reach her.
Rage bubbled up inside you, a seething mass of frustration and helplessness. The weight of your father's words pressed down on you like a heavy shroud, suffocating your spirit. With a sudden, violent motion, you swept your arm across the dining table, sending grapes, cheese, and meats crashing to the floor. The wine goblet toppled, spilling dark red liquid like blood across the pristine tablecloth.
Breathing heavily, you glared at the mess you had created, but it did nothing to alleviate the fury burning within you. Without another word, you turned on your heel and stormed out of the grand hall, your footsteps echoing through the marble corridors.
You reached your room, slamming the door behind you. The silence was oppressive, the walls closing in as your mind raced. You had to get out. You couldn't marry Marcus Acacius. You couldn't be trapped in a life you didn't choose, a life that would suffocate the very essence of who you were.
You paced the room, the dim light from the oil lamps casting flickering shadows on the walls. Your eyes darted around, searching for a solution, a way out of this nightmare. Your thoughts turned to your mother, a fleeting glimmer of hope piercing through the darkness.
Your mother had been sent to the countryside years ago, a decision made by your father to keep her safe from the political intrigue and danger that plagued Rome. She lived a quiet, secluded life on the family estate, far from the city's chaos. You hadn't seen her in years, but you knew she would help you if you could reach her.
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It had been a month of plotting and planning, each day dragging on as your impending fate loomed ever closer. Today was your wedding day, the day your life would be sealed into a destiny you hadn’t chosen. Final preparations had been completed yesterday, and now you were meant to step into the role of a dutiful daughter and bride. You had woken up earlier than your maids would have roused you, knowing your father would want you to rest more so you appeared extra fresh for Marcus. Instead, your nerves had kept you up all night, the shadows on the walls morphing into ominous shapes as you thought of your future.
The first light of dawn crept through the narrow window, and you knew you couldn’t waste any more time. Your small bag, packed with bread, a few pieces of jewelry to sell, and the spending money your father occasionally gave you, lay hidden under the covers of your bed. The plan was simple: catch the slightest bit of rest before your handmaid came in to wake you, then escape before anyone noticed.
The door creaked open, and Lucia, your handmaid, entered with her usual gentle and serene presence. She glided to the window, pulling back the heavy curtains. Sunlight flooded the room, casting a warm glow that felt almost mocking given your circumstances. You sat up in bed, the light highlighting the bags under your eyes from a sleepless night.
"Good morning, my lady," she said dreamily, her voice like a lullaby. "The sun is shining so beautifully today. It's a perfect day for a wedding." She moved to your side, her hands deftly beginning to arrange your hair with practiced ease. You watched her reflection in the mirror, feeling a pang of guilt for the deception you were about to execute.
"Your dress is so beautiful, my lady. It's like a dream come true. You'll look like a goddess, a vision of perfection," Lucia continued, her words meant to comfort but only adding to your anxiety. The dress she spoke of hung in the corner, a symbol of the life you were being forced into.
You let her continue, her words a soothing balm against your churning thoughts. As she began to apply a light makeup, using berries to tint your lips and cheeks, you couldn't help but feel a sense of finality creeping in. "You'll be the envy of every woman in Rome," she continued, her voice full of admiration. "Marcus Acacius is a powerful man. You'll be safe with him."
Safe. The word echoed in your mind, tinged with bitterness. Safety was a cage, and you longed for freedom. Suddenly, you sat up, startling Lucia. "I need your dress," you blurted out, your voice urgent.
She looked at you, shocked and confused. "My dress, my lady? Why would you want my dress?" she asked, her hands frozen in mid-motion.
You gave her a reassuring smile, reaching under your bed to pull out a dress you had kept for a long time. It was a simple yet elegant gown, one she had always admired. "I have something for you," you said, handing her the dress. "I've seen how much you like it. Today, I want you to wear it and have fun. I just... I want to feel normal before the wedding."
Her eyes widened, and a smile of pure joy spread across her face. "Thank you, my lady. Thank you so much!" She looked at the dress, then back at you. "But what about you? Where will you be?"
You hesitated for a moment, crafting a believable lie. "I'll be eating breakfast with the soldiers. I need a moment to myself before the chaos begins."
She nodded, believing your words, and quickly changed into the dress you had given her. You watched as her usual plain attire was replaced by the elegant gown, the transformation bringing a genuine smile to your face despite the turmoil in your heart. "You look beautiful," you said, forcing a smile. "Now go, enjoy yourself."
Lucia beamed, her happiness palpable. "Thank you, my lady. I'll remember this day forever." She gave a small curtsy and hurried out, eager to enjoy the brief taste of luxury you had gifted her.
As soon as the door closed behind her, you sprang into action. Your heart pounded as you grabbed your small bag from under the covers and moved swiftly towards the door. The corridors of the castle were quiet, the early hour ensuring most were still in their beds. You moved with purpose, your sandals barely making a sound on the stone floors.
Every step you took was filled with a mixture of fear and exhilaration. You had never been so bold, and the risk was immense. If you were caught, the consequences would be severe, but you couldn't live a life that wasn't yours. The thought of being trapped in a loveless marriage with Marcus Acacius spurred you on.
You reached the courtyard, the cool morning air filling your lungs as you dashed towards the farthest end where the horse stables were located. The sound of hooves and the scent of hay greeted you as you approached, your eyes scanning for a suitable mount. Freedom was within reach, and your heart soared with the possibility.
But then, a familiar, stern voice cut through the morning air. "Where do you think you're going?"
You sprinted, your sandals slapping against the cobblestones as the guards closed in. Heart pounding, you reached the barn, your fingers fumbling with the latch. The sound of pursuing footsteps fueled your frantic efforts, and finally, the door swung open. You dashed inside, the scent of hay and horses enveloping you. There was no time to lose.
Without wasting a moment, you chose the newest and fastest horse, a powerful chestnut stallion that had always intimidated you with its raw strength. It was your only chance. Your hands shook as you grabbed its mane, your heart hammering in your chest. The stallion snorted, sensing your urgency. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself.
"Hyah!" you urged, kicking your heels against its sides. The stallion reared, its powerful muscles tensing beneath you, then surged forward, galloping towards the gates. The wind whipped through your hair, the thundering of hooves drowning out the shouts behind you.
The gate loomed ahead, freedom tantalizingly close. You leaned forward, urging the horse faster. As you rode, you navigated the narrow alleys and sharp turns of the castle grounds, the stallion's speed making every twist and turn feel like a life-or-death gamble. The guards were not far behind, their yells growing louder, but you kept pushing, your eyes fixed on the gate.
You had run from the guards before, slipping through their grasp with quick wits and nimble feet, but this was different. The stakes were higher, the danger more palpable. The horse beneath you was your only hope, its powerful strides eating up the distance between you and the gate. But it was also a wild, untamed force, difficult to control.
As you neared the gate, you saw it beginning to close. Panic surged through you. With a desperate cry, you urged the stallion faster. The ground seemed to blur beneath you, the world a whirl of motion and sound. The horse’s breath came in powerful snorts, its muscles straining with effort.
Just as you thought you might make it, the stallion stumbled on a loose cobblestone. You were flung from its back, the world spinning around you as you hit the ground hard. Pain shot through your body, your vision swimming with stars.
When you opened your eyes, the sky above was a brilliant blue, and the scent of earth and grass filled your nostrils. You groaned, trying to sit up, but a gentle hand on your shoulder stopped you.
"Easy there," a deep, soothing voice said. You turned your head and found yourself staring into the concerned eyes of a stranger, his face handsome and strong, framed by dark curls. He knelt beside you, his touch gentle but firm.
"Are you all right?" he asked, his brow furrowed with worry.
You blinked, trying to focus through the haze of pain and confusion. "Who... who are you?"
A small, enigmatic smile played on his lips. "My name is Marcus Acacius. And you must be my bride."
The revelation hit you like a bolt of lightning. This was the man you were meant to marry, the man you were running from. But as you looked into his eyes, you saw not the tyrant you had imagined, but a man filled with genuine concern and curiosity.
"You shouldn't be out here alone," Marcus continued his voice a mix of authority and kindness. "It's dangerous. Let me help you."
The irony of the situation was almost too much to bear. You had been fleeing from your fate, only to run straight into its arms. As Marcus helped you to your feet, his hands strong and reassuring, you couldn't help but wonder if perhaps your destiny was more complex than you had believed.
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Marcus's strong arms guided you inside, each step a reluctant surrender to the fate you had been trying to escape. The castle's grand corridors, usually bustling with servants and courtiers, were eerily quiet in the early morning light. You were disoriented, the pain from your fall mingling with the turmoil of your thoughts.
As you entered your bedchamber, a familiar and unwelcome face greeted you. Aurelia, one of your father's maids and his well-known mistress, stood there with a smug expression. Her presence was a bitter reminder of your father's indiscretions and the fractured state of your family.
"Well, well," Aurelia purred, her voice dripping with condescension. "What a surprise to see you here, my lady. Running away on your wedding day? How very unbecoming of you."
You shot her a withering glare, your temper flaring. "Spare me your lectures, Aurelia. I'm not in the mood for your sanctimonious drivel."
Aurelia's smile widened, enjoying your discomfort. "You should be grateful for the match your father has arranged. Marcus Acacius is a powerful man. You could do far worse."
You clenched your fists, your anger barely contained. "Is that what you tell yourself to justify spreading your legs for my father? That you're doing it for power and security?"
Her eyes flashed with anger, but she maintained her composure. "Watch your tongue, girl. You may not like me, but I'm here to make sure you fulfill your duty. Now sit down and let me get you ready."
Reluctantly, you sat down, feeling trapped and helpless. As Aurelia worked on your hair and makeup, her touch was firm and unyielding. Her presence was suffocating, her every word a reminder of the life you were being forced into.
"You think you can escape your destiny?" Aurelia continued, her tone dripping with disdain. "You're just a foolish girl. This marriage is your only chance at a future."
You bit back a retort, knowing it would only fuel her smug superiority. Instead, you focused on the mirror in front of you, watching as she applied the final touches to your appearance. The reflection staring back at you was almost unrecognizable—a vision of beauty and elegance, but one that felt like a mask hiding your true self.
Once Aurelia finished, she stepped back, admiring her handiwork. "There," she said, a note of satisfaction in her voice. "You look perfect. Ready to be a proper bride."
You stood, your heart heavy with dread. The grand hall awaited, filled with guests and the weight of expectation. As you made your way towards it, you felt the walls closing in, your fate sealed with every step.
The hall was decorated with lavish flowers and banners, the scent of incense filling the air. Guests whispered and watched as you entered, their eyes following your every move. At the far end, Marcus Acacius stood, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.
The ceremony began with the priest’s voice, resonant and solemn, echoing through the hall. The guests fell into an expectant silence, the only sounds being the faint rustling of their silk garments and the distant clinking of goblets. The hall, lavishly adorned with ivy and flowers, seemed to shimmer with an almost otherworldly glow, casting shadows that danced like phantoms along the walls.
You stood at the altar, your heart pounding against your ribs like a trapped bird. The priest’s words, though intended to be a comfort, were like a dark incantation, each syllable wrapping around you tighter, dragging you deeper into the abyss of your fate. Your eyes flickered over to Marcus, standing with his back straight, his gaze unwavering. He looked every bit the powerful man he was rumored to be—tall, imposing, with a presence that commanded the room.
You recalled the whispers you had heard over the past months—the stories of Marcus Acacius. The tales were rife with speculation and fear, his name often mentioned in hushed tones. They spoke of a man whose ambition knew no bounds, whose cruelty was whispered about in every corner of Rome. Some said his eyes held a darkness that could see through to the soul, while others claimed he had a penchant for the macabre, often indulging in extravagant displays of power.
As the priest began the traditional vows, his voice a monotone murmur, you tried to focus, but the words blurred into a cacophony. "Do you, Marcus Acacius, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, until death do you part?"
Marcus’s voice was steady, unwavering. "I do," he said, his tone deep and commanding, sending shivers down your spine.
When it was your turn, the words caught in your throat, your voice barely a whisper. "I... I do," you managed, the words tasting bitter on your tongue, the weight of your submission crushing your spirit.
The priest nodded, a satisfied smile curling his lips. "Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife."
As the priest declared you bound by law and faith, the room erupted into applause, the sound a thunderclap that seemed to echo off the very stones of the castle. Marcus took your hand, his grip firm and unyielding, leading you down the aisle. The guests showered you with petals, their faces a blur of congratulations and forced smiles. You felt like a puppet, each step you took dictated by an invisible string.
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The reception hall was a whirlwind of opulence, the air thick with the scent of spiced wine and roasting meats. Long tables groaned under the weight of sumptuous feasts, while musicians played melodies that mingled with the laughter and chatter of the guests. The hall’s high ceilings seemed to stretch into eternity, adorned with golden chandeliers that sparkled like stars.
You clung to the edge of the hall, the laughter and music a distant hum, your mind wandering back to the dark tales you had heard of Marcus. The rumors were impossible to ignore: they spoke of his ruthless ambition, his cold demeanor, and his unsettling fascination with power. Some said his parties were a mask for darker pursuits, where the line between pleasure and pain blurred into obscurity.
As Marcus moved through the crowd, his demeanor was that of a king—gracious yet commanding, his laughter rich and resonant. He was surrounded by his closest allies, men whose eyes gleamed with greed and ambition. They raised their goblets in his honor, their voices melding into a chorus of congratulatory toasts.
You stood near a heavy oak door, the cool stone beneath your fingers a reminder of the stark reality you now faced. The night was growing darker, the moonlight streaming through the tall windows casting an eerie glow on the festivities.
Suddenly, a hand gripped your arm, pulling you away from the door. It was one of the guards, his expression grave. "My lady, you mustn't go near that door. Your father has given strict orders. Any guard who aids your escape will be put to death."
You stared at him, a chill running down your spine. "What do you mean? You can’t be serious. There’s no way out of here. You’re all trapped too."
The guard’s eyes flickered with a mix of pity and resolve. "It’s true, my lady. Your father’s command is ironclad. He has spies everywhere. If you try to leave, he will know. And the consequences for anyone who helps you are severe."
A knot of fear and frustration tightened in your chest. "What do you expect me to do? Just stand here and pretend everything’s fine?"
He hesitated, his grip on your arm softening. "No, my lady. But perhaps you could find a way to make the best of this night. Try to speak to him, learn his intentions. There may be more to him than the rumors say."
Taking a deep breath, you nodded, your mind spinning with the guard’s words. With a determined stride, you made your way through the crowd towards Marcus, who was leaning casually against a pillar, a goblet of wine in his hand. His eyes were slightly glazed from the alcohol, but his gaze sharpened as he saw you approaching.
"Marcus," you began, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. "I wanted to thank you for your help earlier today. I... I appreciate it."
He raised an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his face. "You mean when you tried to flee?" His tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it. "You have spirit, I'll give you that."
You forced a smile, trying to gauge his true nature. "I only wished for a moment of freedom. But I suppose that is behind us now."
Marcus took a sip of his wine, his eyes never leaving yours. "Freedom is a fleeting thing, my dear. But power... power is eternal. And together, we shall wield it."
Your stomach churned at his words, the rumors about him echoing in your mind. "Is that all you care about? Power?" you asked, unable to keep the bitterness from your voice.
His smile faded, replaced by a more serious expression. "You misunderstand me. Power is not an end, but a means. It ensures safety, prosperity, and control over one's destiny. Is that so terrible?"
You struggled to see past the image you had built of him. "I’ve heard things about you, Marcus. Dark things."
He chuckled softly, a sound that sent chills down your spine. "People fear what they do not understand. Let them talk. What matters is that I have the means to protect those I care about."
His words, though seemingly sincere, did little to quell your doubts. You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, your father’s voice boomed across the hall.
"Honored guests!" he called out, drawing everyone’s attention. "The hour grows late, and it is time for my daughter and her new husband to retire to their bedchamber."
A murmur of approval and knowing smiles rippled through the crowd. Your heart raced, a mixture of dread and resignation filling you. Marcus extended his hand to you, his grip firm and possessive as he led you through the throng of guests towards the grand staircase.
As you ascended the stairs, the weight of your future bore down on you. You glanced back once, seeing the guests' faces fade into the distance, their laughter and conversations becoming a dull roar. When you reached the door of the bedchamber, Marcus paused, turning to face you.
"This is just the beginning," he said, his voice low and intense. "We have much to learn about each other."
You swallowed hard, forcing a nod. "Yes, we do."
He opened the door, and you stepped inside, the room lit by the soft glow of candlelight. The bed, draped in rich fabrics, seemed to loom ominously in the center. Marcus closed the door behind you, the click of the latch sounding like a final seal on your fate.
As he moved closer, you felt a mix of fear and curiosity. This was the man you were now bound to, and despite the darkness that surrounded him, there was a part of you that longed to understand him, to find the truth beneath the rumors.
"Let's start anew," he said, his hand gently brushing your cheek. "Whatever you have heard, whatever you fear, put it aside. We are bound by more than words and vows. Let’s see where this path takes us."
You recoiled from his touch, your anger bubbling to the surface. "I'd rather fuck a pig than you," you spat, your voice dripping with venom. The shock on his face quickly morphed into a cold, calculating expression.
"You need to learn your place," Marcus hissed, his grip tightening on your arm. "You should consider yourself lucky to have me, especially with your reputation."
You glared at him, your temper flaring. "Lucky? Is that what you think this is? A blessing? I know what people say about you, Marcus. They call you ruthless, a monster. I'd rather die than be your plaything."
He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "You speak so boldly for someone in such a precarious position. But let me make something clear: you are mine now. And I will do whatever it takes to keep you in line."
Your heart pounded in your chest, a mixture of fear and defiance. "You can't control me. I'll never submit to you."
A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. "Is that so? Tell me, my bride, are you truly a virgin, or have your wild antics already sullied you?"
The question caught you off guard, your cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and anger. "How dare you—"
"Answer me," he demanded, his eyes boring into yours. "Are you a virgin?"
You clenched your fists, refusing to be cowed. "Yes, I am," you snapped, your voice trembling with rage. "Not that it's any of your business."
He seemed taken aback for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he studied your face. "So, you are pure, despite everything. Interesting."
"You think you can just claim me like some prize?" you retorted, your voice rising. "I won't be your obedient little wife. I won't be another notch on your belt."
Marcus's expression hardened, his grip on your arm like iron. "You will be my wife, and you will learn to respect me. You don't know the first thing about power or survival. But you will."
"You don't scare me," you lied, your voice faltering slightly.
"Don't I?" he whispered, his lips dangerously close to yours. "You should be scared. But perhaps you're just too stubborn to realize it."
"Stubborn?" you scoffed. "Is that what you call it when someone refuses to bow to a tyrant?"
His eyes flashed with anger, and for a moment, you thought he might strike you. But instead, he did something even more unexpected. He leaned in and kissed you, his lips crashing against yours with a fierce, passionate intensity.
You froze, your mind racing as his kiss deepened. There was a raw, undeniable heat between you, a clash of wills and desires. Your initial shock gave way to a whirlwind of emotions—anger, fear, curiosity, and something else you couldn't quite name.
As his hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer, you found yourself responding, your body betraying your mind. The kiss was a battle, each of you struggling for dominance, neither willing to yield.
When he finally pulled away, you were breathless, your heart racing. His eyes were dark and intense, a storm of emotions swirling within them. You stared back at him, defiance and confusion mingling in your gaze, unsure of what to say or do next.
"I'm sorry," Marcus said, his voice unexpectedly soft. "I shouldn't have forced myself on you like that."
His words, so out of character, only fueled your anger further. "Sorry?" you scoffed, pushing him back slightly. "You think a simple apology will make up for everything? For the way you've treated me, for the way you think you can just claim me?"
His jaw clenched, but he didn't back down. "I know I can't make up for it. But perhaps... perhaps we can find a way to understand each other."
You were silent for a moment, then your eyes narrowed. "Understand each other?" you echoed, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Is that what this is about? Understanding?"
A dark, reckless impulse surged within you. You grabbed him by the front of his tunic, pulling him closer. "You think you can control me?" you whispered, your breath hot against his ear. "You think you can just take what you want?"
Before he could respond, you pressed your lips to his again, this time with even more intensity. The kiss was fierce, a clash of wills and desires. You could feel the tension between you, the thin line between hate and something far more dangerous.
Marcus responded in kind, his hands gripping your waist with bruising force. The room seemed to spin as you lost yourself in the raw heat of the moment, your anger and frustration boiling over into something wild and unrestrained.
You broke the kiss, your breathing ragged. "You want me?" you demanded, your voice a low, challenging whisper. "Then take me."
His eyes blazed with desire and a hint of confusion. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice rough.
"Shut up," you snapped, pulling him closer. "No more talking. Just... take me."
With a growl, Marcus responded, his hands tearing at your clothes with a desperate urgency. You mirrored his actions, your fingers fumbling with the fastenings of his tunic. The fabric fell away, and you pressed your bodies together, the heat of his skin igniting a fire within you.
"You're infuriating," he muttered, his lips trailing down your neck.
"And you," you retorted, your hands exploring the hard planes of his chest, "are a tyrant."
He paused for a moment, his breath hot against your skin. "Then why are you doing this?"
"Because," you said, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and desire, "I hate you. And I need to feel something other than this... this helplessness."
He captured your lips again, his kiss searing and demanding. "I hate you too," he whispered against your mouth, his hands roaming your body. "But I can't resist you."
The world outside ceased to exist as you gave in to the storm between you. Clothes fell away, and you were left exposed, vulnerable yet defiant. You pushed him onto the bed, straddling him, your eyes locked in a battle of wills.
"You think you can control me?" you challenged, your voice breathless.
"I don't need to control you," Marcus replied, his hands gripping your hips. "I just need you."
Marcus brought his thumb to circle your clit, his rough touch sending jolts of pleasure through your body. You moaned slightly, your head falling back in bliss. His voice teased you, dripping with arrogance. "What, haven’t you touched yourself before?"
You gasped, grinding down against the hard length of his cock straddled between your legs. His smirk faltered at your audacity. "Of course I have," you retorted, your voice edged with defiance, a spark of rebellion lighting your eyes.
Marcus gripped your hips, lifting you off him with ease before moving to sit back against the headboard, his arms casually behind his head in a display of smug dominance. "You want the virgin to do all the work?" you taunted, your eyes narrowing in displeasure as you crawled closer.
His smirk returned, darker this time. "The virgin, huh? That's what I get to call you now?" He paused, watching you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. "You're the one who's on me like a dog in heat."
You looked at him with a dark expression, sitting back on your thighs, your chest heaving with frustration and desire. With one hand, you began to caress his upper thigh, mimicking the movements you'd seen from the sex workers in your father's employ. Though inexperienced, you weren't ignorant; you'd read secret novels and asked questions of your father's mistresses. But nothing had prepared you for the raw reality of this moment.
"You know what to do?" he questioned a challenge in his eyes, his voice a low growl.
You didn't answer with words. Instead, you leaned forward, your tongue darting out to lick from the base of his cock to the tip, tasting the salty pre-cum on your tongue. The taste was oddly addictive. You wrapped your hand around his thick length, marveling at how it almost didn't fit in your grip. Steadying him, you licked the tip, eliciting a deep groan from him.
"Don't be shy," he patted your head condescendingly, his fingers tangling in your hair. Despite your nerves, you collected spit in your mouth and let it fall onto the tip of his cock, watching as he rubbed it around with a satisfied smirk.
You took the tip into your mouth, savoring the taste of his pre-cum, and groaned at the flavor. He moaned deeply as you sucked gently, guiding your head with his hand. You gagged slightly as you tried to take more of him in, your hand still gripping the base, your eyes watering with the effort.
"Spit on it," he commanded. You did as he asked, letting more saliva dribble onto his length. He patted your head again, a gesture both condescending and encouraging, and you resumed sucking, taking him deeper into your mouth. You gagged again, but he didn't let go, enjoying the sight of you struggling to accommodate his size.
"Come on," he urged, pulling you up to straddle his hips once more. You thought he was finally ready to take your virginity, the moment you'd both been building towards, but he surprised you. Gripping your hips with firm hands, he moved you so his face was between your thighs.
"What are you—" you began, but he cut you off, his lips attacking your clit with a fervor that stole your breath. He completed the arc with his tongue, taking your bud between his lips and sucking hard. You almost screamed, the pleasure overwhelming you. "Oh God," you moaned, your hands flying to his hair to steady yourself.
He paused for a moment, his dark eyes meeting yours with a predatory glint. "Marcus, baby… Marcus," you whimpered, your voice trembling with need and desperation.
He resumed his assault, his tongue and lips working in tandem to drive you wild. You began to grind against his mouth, the sensation too much to bear, yet not nearly enough. The tension built rapidly, your orgasm approaching with a force that took you by surprise.
"Marcus!" you cried out, your fingers gripping his hair tightly as your body tensed and then shattered into a million pieces. He held your hips firmly to his face, lapping up every drop of your release as you rode out your orgasm on his tongue.
You fell back onto the bed, spent and trembling, and he crawled over you, his face slick with your essence. "Well, well," he said, a wicked grin spreading across his features as he rubbed his cock against your still-sensitive pussy. "Are you all fucked out already?"
You managed a weak glare, but it melted into a moan as he pushed into you. The stretch was intense, making you claw at his shoulders for support. He kissed your neck, his lips and teeth leaving a trail of fire as he pulled out slowly before thrusting back in deeply. You moaned at the sensation, your body arching to meet his every movement.
"You hear that?" His gruff voice asked, pulling you back to the present as his cock dragged from your cunt, pushing back in slowly. The squelch of him pushing deep inside you was loud, the sound of your arousal undeniable. You threw your head back, moaning his name.
"Yeah, you do," he muttered, his breath hot against your neck. His teeth grazed your delicate skin, sending shivers down your spine. "Hear how wet you are?"
You opened your eyes slowly, your vision filled with the sight of him. His beautiful, sweat-covered face was close to yours, every scar and wrinkle telling a story, the grey in his beard adding to his rugged appeal. His eyes burned with an intensity that made your heart race.
A moan escaped your lips as his thrusts grew more desperate, more hungry. He caught your wrists together in one of his big hands, pressing them down into the mattress with a grip that left no room for escape. Your thighs were splayed wide, almost uncomfortably so, pressed down by the width of his hips. His cock was splitting you open, and you were so impossibly wet that you could hear it every time he pushed back into you, a lewd squelching sound that only seemed to spur him on.
He grinned wildly, his teeth flashing in the dim light. "You like that, don’t you?" he taunted, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "Only I can make you this wet, make you submit so completely."
You could only moan in response, your body arching beneath him, every nerve ending on fire. "Marcus," you whimpered, the intense pleasure making you delirious. Your mind was a haze of sensation, every thrust sending you spiraling further into a world where only he existed.
His grin softened slightly, a hint of something almost tender in his eyes as he looked down at you. "That's right," he murmured, his voice a low growl. His thrusts were deep and relentless, each one driving home his dominance. "You're mine now."
You wanted to hate him, to deny the truth of his words, but with your body quivering beneath his, you knew he was right. You were his. Every thrust, every touch, every whispered word claimed you, bound you to him in ways you had never imagined.
His pace quickened, his hips snapping against yours with a ferocity that left you breathless. The room was filled with the sounds of your combined moans, the slap of skin against skin, and the wet, obscene noises of your coupling. His free hand roamed over your body, caressing and squeezing, leaving trails of fire in its wake.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he muttered, his lips brushing against your ear. "I can't get enough of you."
Your response was a garbled moan, your head thrown back in ecstasy. His words, his touch, everything about him overwhelmed you. You felt yourself teetering on the edge, the coil of pleasure tightening in your belly, ready to snap.
He seemed to sense your impending release, his movements becoming even more deliberate, his thrusts hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over again. "Come for me," he demanded, his voice rough with his own need. "Let go. I want to feel you."
The command sent you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed over you with the force of a tidal wave, your body convulsing beneath him. You cried out his name, the sound echoing in the room, a testament to your surrender.
His weight pressed you into the mattress, his skin hot and slick against yours. You felt every throb of his heartbeat, every shudder of his breath. It was an intimacy you had never experienced before, raw and all-consuming.
As the waves of your shared climax ebbed, you lay there, wrapped in the warmth of his body. For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, tangled together in the aftermath of passion.
As he lifted his head, his eyes met yours, filled with a complex mix of emotions. The intensity of his gaze made your heart flutter, but the softness in his expression was unexpected, almost tender.
"Well," he murmured, his voice low and taunting, "I guess the rumors were wrong. You're not a virgin after all." He paused, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Well, not anymore."
You felt a flush of anger rise within you. "And what if I wasn't? What difference would it make to you?"
He smirked, the familiar arrogance returning. "Just proves you're not as innocent as you pretend to be."
You pushed against his chest, forcing him to roll onto his side. "You're insufferable," you snapped, your breath still coming in short gasps. "You think you know everything, but you don't."
He chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down your spine. "Maybe not everything. But I know enough."
You glared at him, the heat between you not entirely dissipated. "You don't know anything about me."
His hand moved to your cheek, thumb brushing over your flushed skin. "I know you're stronger than you think. And I know you feel something for me, whether you want to admit it or not."
You scoffed, turning your head away. "You're delusional."
"Am I?" He leaned in, his lips ghosting over your ear. "Or are you just afraid to admit it?"
Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, a shiver running down your spine. "Get over yourself," you muttered, trying to sound indifferent.
He laughed, a low, rumbling sound that made your insides twist. "I could say the same to you."
You pushed at him again, trying to create distance, but he caught your wrists, holding them against the mattress. "Let go," you demanded, struggling against his grip.
"Not until you admit it," he said, his voice soft but firm.
"Admit what?" you hissed, your anger flaring again.
"That you feel something for me," he said, his eyes boring into yours.
You glared at him, refusing to give in. "You're impossible."
He sighed, releasing your wrists and rolling onto his back. "Maybe I am. But so are you."
You lay there in silence for a moment, the tension between you thick and palpable. Despite everything, you couldn't deny the magnetic pull you felt towards him, the strange mix of hatred and desire that left you breathless and confused.
Finally, exhaustion began to creep in, your body heavy with the aftermath of your intense encounter. "This doesn't change anything," you said, your voice softer now, almost resigned.
"Maybe not," he agreed, his tone equally soft. "But it's a start."
You turned your head to look at him, finding his eyes already on you. "What do you want from me, Marcus?" you asked, the question hanging heavily in the air.
He reached out, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice a whisper. "But I want to find out."
You closed your eyes, a sigh escaping your lips. "I'm too tired to argue with you."
He chuckled softly, the sound surprisingly comforting. "Then don't. Just sleep."
You turned onto your side, your back to him, trying to create some semblance of space. The room was silent, the only sound the soft rustle of sheets and the faint crackle of the dying fire in the hearth. You closed your eyes, willing sleep to come, but your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.
Despite your best efforts to maintain distance, you couldn't ignore the warmth radiating from Marcus's body, the solid presence of him beside you. There was a strange sense of comfort in his nearness, an unexpected feeling of safety that contrasted sharply with the chaos of your emotions.
As you lay there, the exhaustion from the night's events slowly began to overtake you. Your muscles relaxed, and your breathing grew steady and slow. You felt the mattress shift slightly as Marcus moved closer, his arm draping over your waist in a possessive yet gentle gesture.
For a moment, you considered shrugging him off, but the weariness was too much. Instead, you let yourself sink into the feeling of his arm around you, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against your back. It was oddly soothing, a stark reminder that despite the tumultuous start to your union, there was a potential for something more, something deeper.
"Goodnight," Marcus murmured softly, his breath warm against your ear.
You hesitated before responding, the word barely a whisper. "Goodnight."
PART 2
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