#not when he thinks it will burden other people

[theonottsbxtch]

FOR YOU, ALWAYS | CL16

an: this was a request! i loved wiritng it and now i love the idea of historical romance prince!charles, thank you for requesting it 💞 also i listened to experience by ludovico einaudi the entire time i wrote this

summary: charles has always hated his life, he thinks, he doesn’t know really. but then he meets someone, she challenges him, she makes him try and all of a sudden he knows what he wants.

wc: 12k

The grand dining hall of the Château de Monte Carlo was bathed in the soft glow of the morning sun filtering through its ornate windows. Prince Charles of Monaco sat at the long mahogany table, his jaw tight as his parents, the Sovereign Prince and Princess, laid out their expectations with the weight of unshakable certainty.

"You must understand, Charles," his mother said, her voice poised yet firm, "a union with Princess Evelyn of England is not merely desirable—it is necessary. The alliance could strengthen our position in ways you cannot yet fully grasp."

His father leaned forward, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the table. "This is not a matter of choice. You are the crown prince. Your duty outweighs any personal hesitation."

Charles’s fingers tightened around the stem of his untouched glass. “And what of my life? Am I to simply be a pawn in your political games?” His voice was calm, but a sharp edge lay beneath the surface.

His mother’s gaze softened slightly, though not enough to dissuade her resolve. “You are the oldest, my son. The weight of the crown has always been yours to bear. This... is part of that burden.”

He didn’t argue further, though every fibre of his being resisted. Instead, he rose, offering a clipped bow. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Moments later, Charles pushed open the heavy doors to his private chambers, stepping into the quiet sanctuary of his room. His temples throbbed with the remnants of the conversation, and he felt the weight of his parents’ expectations settling heavier than the crown he would one day wear.

Inside, the faint rustle of fabric caught his attention. The servant girl—her name unknown to him, as it was meant to be—was smoothing the fresh sheets over his bed. She froze upon seeing him, her hands faltering mid-motion.

“Your Highness,” she said quickly, dipping into a small, practised curtsey. “I didn’t realise you were returning so soon. Shall I leave and return later?”

He waved a hand absently, stepping toward the settee by the window. “No. Stay. Finish your work.”

She hesitated, her eyes flickering to his face, then back to the task at hand. He sank into the settee, his head tilting back against the carved wood as he let out a heavy sigh.

“Do you ever wonder,” he began, his voice soft yet tinged with frustration, “why some of us are given so much freedom, yet chained in ways that others cannot see?”

She paused, her hands gripping the edges of the linen she had just tucked in, unsure if the question was meant for her.

When she did not answer, he looked at her—truly looked at her—for the first time in a long while. Her expression was guarded, her posture poised, as though expecting reproach. “You can speak freely,” he said, a rare hint of gentleness colouring his tone.

Her lips parted slightly, then closed again before she carefully responded, “I think, Your Highness, that even those with freedom often long for something else.”

He smiled faintly, though there was no humour in it. “Something else,” he echoed, the words hanging between them like a challenge to a fate he could not escape.

She quickly turned her attention back to the task at hand, smoothing the sheets in swift, precise movements, as if afraid that lingering would invite trouble. Charles, however, was not done with the conversation.

“And what would you long for?” he asked, his voice quieter now but laced with curiosity. “If you could have… anything?”

Her hands stilled, though she didn’t lift her gaze. “It doesn’t matter, Your Highness. People like me don’t waste time with such thoughts.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

The firmness in his tone made her look up briefly, her eyes meeting his for the first time. They were dark, unyielding, yet not unkind. She hesitated, as though weighing the consequences of speaking too openly.

Finally, she murmured, “I suppose… I’d long for choice. To decide my own path, no matter how humble.”

Charles leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he regarded her with an intensity that made her shift slightly under his gaze. “Choice,” he repeated, almost to himself. “The one thing I’ve never had.”

She blinked at his words, her brow furrowing in confusion. He noticed the look and gave a soft, bitter laugh.

“You think I have everything, don’t you?” he asked, gesturing vaguely at the opulence surrounding them. “All this, and yet I’m to marry a woman I’ve never met. Smile on command. Produce heirs like some stud horse for the dynasty.”

“Your Highness—”

“Spare me,” he interrupted, raising a hand. “I’m aware I sound insufferable. Poor me, the prince in his gilded cage.”

The corners of her mouth twitched, the faintest shadow of a smile threatening to appear, though she suppressed it quickly. “I wouldn’t dare say so, Your Highness.”

“And yet you’re thinking it,” he said, leaning back against the settee, a faint smirk tugging at his lips now. “Go on. You’ve already said more than most would dare. Speak freely.”

She hesitated, then, emboldened by his unusual mood, offered carefully, “I think… it’s easier to envy a cage when it’s lined with silk.”

Charles let out a bark of laughter, surprising them both. For a moment, the tension in the room seemed to dissipate, replaced by something lighter.

“Touché,” he said, shaking his head. “Perhaps I deserve that.”

She resumed her work in silence, and he watched her, his mind turning over her words. There was a simplicity in her presence, a quiet sense of purpose that felt like a reprieve from the endless demands of court life.

As she moved to leave, her task completed, she paused by the door. “Your Highness,” she said, her voice tentative.

He glanced up, his expression expectant.

“Sometimes… cages are only as strong as we believe them to be.”

Before he could respond, she slipped out, leaving him alone with his thoughts—and the echo of her words, which refused to leave him in peace.

The words haunted Charles for days. Cages are only as strong as we believe them to be. They played on a loop in his mind, following him from morning meetings with ministers to the hollow dinners with his parents, where talk of his engagement to Princess Evelyn consumed every conversation.

By the third day, he relented. Not to the sentiment behind her words, but to the reality of his life. Duty, it seemed, would always triumph over desire. He formally agreed to the arrangement in a cold meeting with his father, his voice devoid of emotion as he signed the papers that would announce his betrothal to the world.

That evening, restless and seeking solace, he ventured into the royal gardens. The roses were in full bloom, their scent heavy in the warm air, yet they brought him no comfort. The paths, so meticulously maintained, felt as constricting as the marble walls of the palace.

The crisp evening air offered a solace the grand halls could not. He strolled along the manicured paths, his mind still heavy with the decision he had made, when movement near the servant’s entrance caught his eye.

It was her.

She was dressed simply, carrying a basket as she slipped through the narrow door at the edge of the palace walls. For a moment, he simply watched her, a sudden curiosity flaring to life. Then, before reason could temper him, he followed.

She moved with purpose, her steps quick as she crossed the gravel path leading to the servants’ gate. Charles kept his distance, careful to stay within the shadows. The sound of the gate creaking open carried through the still night, and he quickened his pace.

“Wait,” he called softly as the gate began to swing shut behind her.

She spun, startled, her hand flying to her chest when she saw him. “Your Highness!” she whispered, her tone panicked. She glanced around quickly, as though expecting someone to appear from the darkness. “What are you doing out here?”

“I saw you,” he said simply, his voice low, “and I followed.”

Her expression shifted from shock to alarm. “You shouldn’t have. If anyone sees you out here with me—”

“They won’t,” he said firmly, stepping closer.

“But if they do…” Her voice dropped further, almost a plea. “I’ll be dismissed—worse. Do you know what they’d do to me for leaving the palace grounds with the prince?”

He stared at her, and for the first time in days, he felt a flicker of something other than despair. “Please,” he said, the word escaping him softly but with undeniable weight.

Her eyes widened at his uncharacteristic vulnerability. She shook her head, taking a step back. “No. I can’t. I won’t.”

“I’m not ordering you,” he said quickly. “I’m asking.”

For a moment, she stood frozen, her mind clearly racing. Then, with a frustrated sigh, she pulled the cloak from her shoulders and thrust it toward him.

“Fine,” she said, her tone sharp but her movements careful as she draped it around him. “If anyone asks, you’re my cousin visiting from the countryside. Keep your head down and your mouth shut.”

Charles nodded, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Understood.”

She turned and began walking quickly down the narrow dirt path beyond the gate. He followed, cloaked in her simple, worn garment, the scent of lavender lingering faintly in the fabric.

They walked in silence for what felt like an eternity before the lights of a small village came into view. She turned onto a side lane, leading him to a tiny house at the edge of town, its thatched roof weathered but charming.

“This is it,” she said, her voice clipped as she gestured to the modest dwelling.

He stared at the house, a stark contrast to the palace he called home. “You live here?”

“Yes,” she said, clearly defensive. “It’s small, but it’s mine. No one tells me what to do when I’m here.”

He didn’t respond, too busy taking in the details: the flower boxes beneath the windows, the faint glow of a single candle in the window.

“Now you’ve seen it,” she said, her tone impatient. “You should go back before someone notices you’re missing.”

But Charles shook his head. “No,” he said softly, his eyes still fixed on the little house. “Not yet.”

Her brow furrowed as she crossed her arms. “You shouldn’t have come in the first place.”

“Perhaps not,” he admitted, finally looking at her. “But now that I’m here… I can’t imagine wanting to leave.”

She stared at him, her expression unreadable. The quiet stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. Finally, she sighed again, softer this time.

“Fine,” she said, stepping toward the door. “But if anyone asks, I don’t know why you’re here, and I definitely didn’t bring you.”

She pushed the door open, stepping inside with a cautious glance behind her. Charles followed, ducking slightly to avoid the low wooden beam over the doorway. Before she could say a word, a voice called from inside.

“Back already? I thought you—”

The voice cut off as a man, younger than Charles but older than the servant girl, appeared from the far corner of the small room. He froze, his sharp blue eyes flicking between her and the prince. “What in God’s name…”

“Damn it!” she hissed, pressing a hand to her forehead. “I thought you were working the late shift at the docks tonight!”

“I was,” her brother said, stepping forward and squaring his shoulders. His rough shirt and patched trousers bore the telltale marks of dock work—salt stains and grime clung to the fabric. “But the shipment was cancelled. Now you tell me why the bloody prince of Monaco is in our house. Did you kidnap him?”

“Kidnap him?” she snapped, throwing her hands in the air. “Don’t be ridiculous. He followed me!”

Charles, for his part, seemed utterly unconcerned by the commotion. His gaze wandered over the small room with childlike fascination, taking in the chipped table, the cracked ceramic plates stacked neatly in the corner, and the patchwork curtain separating the single sleeping area. He paused to admire a string of dried herbs hanging near the hearth, as though he’d never seen anything so fascinating.

“Your Highness,” the brother said, stepping in front of him with an awkward, hesitant bow. “I mean no disrespect, but do you… do you need me to call someone? Or are you in danger?” He looked over his shoulder at his sister. “Are we in danger?”

“No one is in danger,” Charles replied, his voice calm. He turned to her brother with a polite nod. “Thank you for your concern. I’m here of my own accord.”

The girl pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering under her breath. Meanwhile, Charles’ eyes landed on a wooden crate near the wall, and before either sibling could stop him, he lowered himself onto it. The crate creaked but held, and he leaned back with a sigh, a serene smile spreading across his face.

The girl spun on him, her exasperation bubbling over. “What are you smiling about?”

He looked up at her, his expression earnest, almost boyish. “It’s beautiful.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Here,” he said, gesturing around the room. “It’s so cosy. Everything has its place. It’s warm, lived-in… peaceful.”

Her brother raised an eyebrow, clearly sceptical. “You call this beautiful? Your palace is five hundred times the size, and you think this is—”

“I know what my palace is,” Charles interrupted, though his tone held no irritation. “Cold. Grand. Silent. This… this feels alive.”

She crossed her arms, her brow furrowing as she stared at him. For a moment, she didn’t know whether to laugh or scold him. “It’s a shack,” she said finally, her voice softer but still tinged with disbelief.

“Maybe,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. “But it’s your shack. And it’s more honest than anything I’ve ever known.”

Her brother exchanged a glance with her, his expression suggesting that he thought the prince might have lost his mind. She only shook her head, sighing heavily as she walked to the table and placed her basket down.

“This is a mistake,” she muttered to herself.

“Perhaps,” Charles said, still smiling, “but it’s the best mistake I’ve made in a long time.”

She busied herself unpacking the basket, placing a few withered carrots, a handful of potatoes, and some crusty bread onto the table. Her brother leaned against the wall, arms crossed, still watching Charles with wary eyes.

“If you’re staying, Your Highness,” she said, her tone clipped as she focused on the food, “I hope you don’t mind scraps.” She hesitated, then glanced at him. “And you can’t tell anyone at the palace that I take the extras. They’d—”

“Dismiss you,” Charles finished, his voice soft. “I won’t tell. You have my word.”

She gave a small nod, her shoulders relaxing slightly, and began peeling the potatoes. Her hands moved deftly, her brother stepping in to fetch water from the small barrel near the door. Charles sat quietly on his makeshift chair, watching the two of them work in a rhythm.

“Do you need help?” he asked after a moment.

Her brother let out a short laugh, but she only shook her head without looking up. “No, Your Highness, but thank you for the offer. I imagine peeling potatoes is beneath you.”

“Not everything is beneath me,” he replied, and while his voice was carrying a hint of dry humour, there was some seriousness to it.

She didn’t respond, but a faint smile tugged at her lips as she chopped the vegetables and tossed them into a battered pot over the small fire. Soon, the room filled with the simple, comforting aroma of soup.

When the meal was ready, she placed three mismatched bowls on the table and ladled out the steaming broth. She set one in front of Charles without ceremony, then handed one to her brother before sitting down herself.

Charles took a tentative sip, and his eyes widened slightly. “This is excellent.”

Her brother snorted. “It’s boiled scraps, mate. You must really have it rough if you think this is fine dining.”

“Max,” she warned, shooting her brother a glare.

Charles chuckled, dipping a chunk of the crusty bread into the soup. “Maybe it’s not fine dining,” he admitted, “but it tastes real. Honest.”

Her brother rolled his eyes but said nothing more, focusing on his meal. The three of them ate in relative silence, the tension in the room easing slightly as the warmth of the food spread through them.

When the bowls were empty, she cleared the table, stacking the dishes neatly on a small shelf. Charles leaned back, his contented smile returning as he watched her move about the room.

“You should go,” she said finally, her voice breaking the quiet. She didn’t turn to face him.

His smile faltered. “I don’t want to.”

Her hands paused for a moment before she resumed tidying the table. “You’ve seen what you wanted to see. This is my life. And you… you have your own life waiting for you back there.”

Charles stood slowly, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves. “I suppose you’re right,” he said softly.

She walked toward the door, not meeting his eyes as she grabbed her cloak and gestured for him to follow. Her brother gave Charles a long, unreadable look as he rose to leave, but he said nothing, only shaking his head as the prince ducked back out into the cool night air.

They walked in silence down the dirt path, the lights of the palace glowing faintly in the distance. When they reached the servants’ gate, she stopped and turned to him, keeping her eyes on the ground.

“This is where we part ways,” she said firmly.

He took a step closer, and when she looked up, she saw something in his expression—gratitude, yes, but something deeper, too. Without a word, he reached for her hand, his touch gentle. He held it for a moment, his thumb brushing lightly over her calloused fingers.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice low and filled with sincerity. “For the soup. For everything.”

Before she could respond, he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. The gesture was brief, but it sent a wave of warmth up her arm, leaving her stunned.

He stepped back, releasing her hand, and gave her one last look before slipping through the gate and disappearing into the shadows.

She stood there for a long time, staring at the empty path, her heart racing for reasons she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—name.

The next few days at the palace dragged on in a monotonous blur for Charles. His mornings were filled with tiresome meetings about the engagement, his afternoons with rigid etiquette lessons to prepare for public appearances with Princess Evelyn. Every second felt like a tightening noose around his neck.

Finally, the day came for him to meet her. Princess Evelyn of England arrived with her entourage in an ornate carriage, her entrance every bit as grand as expected. She was perfectly polite, perfectly poised—and, to Charles, perfectly insipid.

They sat across from each other in one of the palace’s many drawing rooms, chaperoned by a small battalion of attendants and his ever-watchful parents. She spoke at length about her family lineage, her charity work, and her plans to modernise court life, but her words washed over him like a stream of lukewarm water.

When it was his turn to speak, he managed only the barest pleasantries. He was certain she noticed his lack of enthusiasm, but if it bothered her, she gave no indication.

By the end of the meeting, he felt more drained than he had in years. As she curtsied and left the room, he caught his mother’s pointed glare, but he ignored it.

Before she could say anything to him, he glanced at the ornate clock on his wall. It was nearly the same time as the day she would be fluffing the pillows on his settee. A peculiar sense of anticipation stirred in his chest.

Without a second thought, he made his way to his bedroom. As he opened the door, his eyes immediately fell on her.

She was there, as if summoned by some unspoken wish. She was standing by the settee, her back to him as she carefully fluffed the pillows. Her movements were deliberate, methodical, and entirely unlike the flurry of maids bustling about elsewhere in the palace.

A slow smile spread across his face.

“Perfect timing,” he said loudly, causing her to jump slightly.

She turned, clutching the pillow to her chest. “Your Highness!” she said, startled. “I— I can come back later if—”

“Don’t bother,” he interrupted dramatically, throwing himself onto the bed with a theatrical sigh.

She froze, unsure whether to be amused or annoyed, as he sprawled across the silk covers, one arm flung over his face.

“Let me tell you about the most dreadful afternoon of my life,” he groaned.

Her brow furrowed as she set the pillow back in place. “The dreadful afternoon where you met the woman you’re going to marry?”

“Precisely,” he said, sitting up slightly to gesture at her. “You understand my plight already.”

“I understand you’re being ridiculous,” she replied, smoothing the cushions on the settee.

“Ridiculous?!” he exclaimed, placing a hand over his heart. “Do you know what she said when I asked her about her favourite pastime?”

“I don’t,” she said flatly, clearly trying to stay focused on her task.

“She said,” he continued, his voice dripping with mock enthusiasm, “Oh, I do adore embroidery. There’s something so meditative about it.”

She stared at him. “That… doesn’t sound terrible.”

He sat up fully now, gesturing emphatically. “Doesn’t sound terrible? It’s horrific! What am I to do with someone who finds stitching flowers onto fabric the height of excitement?”

“You could try embroidery yourself,” she suggested dryly, unable to resist a small smirk.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Very funny. No, what I need is someone who… who challenges me. Someone with fire.”

She arched an eyebrow but said nothing, turning back to the pillows.

“Instead,” he muttered, flopping back onto the bed, “I’m shackled to a walking lesson in decorum.”

The room fell silent for a moment, save for the soft rustle of fabric as she adjusted the settee. Finally, she turned to face him fully, her expression unreadable.

“Maybe,” she said carefully, “you should spend less time thinking about what you don’t like about her and more time figuring out what you’re looking for.”

Charles opened one eye to glance at her. “And if what I’m looking for isn’t an option?”

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment, something unspoken passing between them. Then, she shook her head and turned back to her work.

“Then you make do,” she said simply.

He watched her for a long moment, his chest tightening inexplicably.

“Is that what you do?” he asked softly.

She paused but didn’t turn around. “Every day, Your Highness.”

Without another word, she grabbed her items and walked out, softly closing the door behind her.

Charles had barely settled back on the bed, still pondering her cryptic answer, when the door to his chambers burst open.

His younger brother, Arthur, strode in, his golden hair slightly dishevelled and a boyish grin plastered across his face. “Charles! I just saw her—the princess of England. She’s… stunning. Gorgeous. A masterpiece, really. You lucky bastard.”

Charles groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Arthur, must you always barge in uninvited?”

Arthur ignored him, plopping himself unceremoniously into one of the velvet chairs near the fireplace. “I mean it. If I were you, I’d have proposed on the spot. Did you see her eyes? Like polished emeralds.”

“She’s… fine,” Charles muttered, his tone flat.

“Fine?” Arthur’s voice rose in mock indignation. “Brother, I’d trade places with you in an instant.” He leaned forward, his grin widening. “What is it? Not enough excitement for you? Too… proper?”

Charles sat up, his expression exasperated. “If you find her so attractive, Arthur, marry her yourself.”

Arthur laughed, clearly amused by the suggestion. “Oh, if only it worked that way. But alas, you are the crown prince. The heir. The one who gets the girl and the throne, while I’m left to look charming at parties.”

Charles shook his head, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He couldn’t help but wonder how different his life might be if the roles were reversed. Could Arthur really be happy living a life of obligation, of gilded cages and loveless arrangements?

His thoughts drifted, unbidden, back to the servant girl. Her small house, her laughter with her brother over bowls of soup, the way she moved through life with an independence he’d never known.

“What would it be like,” he murmured, almost to himself, “to marry someone who isn’t royalty? Someone who isn’t bound by these ridiculous rules?”

Arthur blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard. Then he laughed, loud and incredulous. “Are you out of your mind?”

Charles turned his head sharply, fixing his brother with a challenging look. “I’m serious. What would it be like to marry a commoner? To live a life free of all this… pomp and pretence?”

Arthur’s laughter faded, replaced by a look of disbelief. “You are mad. Do you have any idea what that would mean? The scandal? The uproar? Father would have a fit. Mother would faint on the spot. And the people? They’d riot.”

“Would they?” Charles asked, his tone calm but insistent. “Or would they understand? Would they respect a prince who chose love over duty?”

Arthur shook his head, a faint sneer creeping into his expression. “You don’t know what you’re saying. A prince doesn’t marry a milkmaid or a seamstress. It’s not a fairytale, Charles. We’re not… like them.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp.

“Not like them,” Charles repeated softly, his voice carrying a hint of disdain. “And what exactly does that mean?”

Arthur hesitated, then shrugged, as if the answer were obvious. “It means we have a responsibility. A legacy to uphold. Marrying into royalty isn’t just tradition—it’s survival. You think Father and Mother arranged your engagement for fun?”

Charles didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned back against the headboard, his mind churning. Arthur’s words grated against something deep within him, something that longed to push back against the boundaries of their carefully constructed world.

“Maybe,” he said finally, his voice low, “the legacy isn’t worth the cost.”

Arthur stared at him, his disbelief giving way to concern. “Charles… you’ve been spending too much time alone. Or worse—reading poetry again. Get your head out of the clouds, brother. This is your life. Learn to accept it.”

With that, Arthur rose, clapping Charles on the shoulder before striding toward the door. “And if you won’t,” he added with a grin, “I’ll gladly keep the princess company. You’re a fool not to appreciate her.”

The door closed behind him, leaving Charles alone in the echoing silence of his chambers.

But his mind wasn’t silent.

It churned, restless and defiant, filled with images of a life he might never know.

The chill of the autumn night bit at Charles’s skin as he hurried along the winding path toward the small house. A week had passed, and though he told himself repeatedly that it was improper—foolish, even—he couldn’t shake the gnawing thought of her.

He hadn’t seen her since their last conversation in his chambers. Every day without her had stretched longer than the last. No wry comments while she smoothed the wrinkles from his sheets, no gentle jabs at his dramatics.

The house appeared before him, small and humble against the starlit sky. Light peeked through the cracks in the shutters.

He hesitated, his heart pounding. Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he knocked.

The door opened a crack, her face appearing in the dim light. The moment she recognised him, her eyes widened in alarm, and she yanked him inside, shutting the door firmly behind him.

“Your Highness!” she whispered fiercely, pressing her back against the door as though to block the outside world. “Are you out of your mind? I’ll be hung if they find you at my door!”

He tried to smile, though he knew she was right. “I haven’t seen you all week.”

Her expression turned exasperated. “That’s not a valid reason to sneak out of the palace, Prince Charles.”

“Isn’t it?” he countered lightly, though the heat rising in his cheeks betrayed the truth of how much he’d missed her.

Her sigh was heavy with frustration, but something softened in her gaze. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said again, though her voice lacked its earlier sharpness. She moved away from the door, adjusting the shawl around her shoulders.

It was then that he noticed the redness around her nose, the slight rasp in her voice.

“You’ve been ill,” he said, stepping closer.

“It’s nothing,” she replied, waving him off as she moved toward the small kitchen space. “A cold. Happens every year when the weather turns. I’ll survive.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” he said quietly, glancing around the room.

“Life doesn’t wait for the sniffles,” she said with a faint smirk, though her movements were slower than usual as she reached for a bowl.

“Then let me help,” he said, surprising both of them.

She turned, raising an eyebrow. “You? Help? What do you know about cooking?”

“Absolutely nothing,” he admitted, grinning. “But I’m an excellent student.”

She stared at him for a moment, as though deciding whether to humour him. Finally, she handed him a knife and motioned toward a small pile of vegetables. “Fine. Peel those. Try not to cut yourself.”

He took the knife gingerly, studying the carrot as if it were a puzzle. She chuckled softly, the sound warming the small space, and stepped beside him to show him the proper angle for peeling.

The next hour passed in a flurry of quiet laughter and careful instructions. He fumbled with the knife, his first attempts earning teasing remarks from her, but he improved quickly under her guidance. Together, they chopped, stirred, and seasoned until the small pot on the stove began to bubble with a fragrant stew.

As they worked, the conversation drifted.

“You’re better at this than I expected,” she said, handing him a spoon to stir.

He smiled. “Careful. If you keep complimenting me, I might come back for more lessons.”

She shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Cooking isn’t glamorous work, Your Highness. It’s just… survival.”

“Maybe,” he said, his tone thoughtful, “but there’s something… grounding about it. It feels real.”

She looked at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “You really hate that palace life, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer right away, instead focusing on the steady motion of the spoon in the pot. “I don’t hate it,” he said eventually. “It’s just… hollow. Every decision is made for me. Every word is calculated. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be in all of it.”

She nodded slowly, her gaze distant. “You’re lucky, though,” she said softly. “Even if it’s hollow, you have a place. A name. People like me… we’re just the shadows keeping the fire alive.”

He stopped stirring, her words settling heavily in the space between them. “I don’t think that’s true,” he said after a moment.

She tilted her head, her expression sceptical. “No?”

“No,” he said firmly. “You’re more than that. You’re clever. Strong. Independent. You see things I never could.”

She blinked, taken aback by the conviction in his voice.

“That’s what I like about you,” he added softly, almost without thinking.

The words hung in the air, and he froze, realising too late what he’d said.

Her cheeks flushed a deep pink, and she turned away quickly, pretending to adjust the pot on the stove.

His own face burned as he fumbled for something to say, but nothing came. The silence stretched on, heavy and charged, until she finally spoke, her voice quieter than before.

“You should taste the stew,” she said, not looking at him.

He stepped forward, dipping the spoon into the pot and taking a tentative sip.

“It’s perfect,” he said, his voice softer now.

Her lips curved into the faintest smile, though she still didn’t meet his gaze.

The evening deepened, the chill of the autumn air seeping through the thin walls of the small house. Charles noticed her slight shiver as she ladled the stew into two mismatched bowls, the threadbare shawl around her shoulders doing little to shield her from the cold.

He stood abruptly, unfastening the clasp of his heavy cloak. She turned to look at him, startled, as he stepped behind her and draped it gently over her shoulders.

“What are you doing?” she asked, pulling the thick fabric around herself instinctively.

“You’re cold,” he said simply, sitting back down and picking up his bowl.

She hesitated, looking at him with a mix of gratitude and uncertainty. “But you’ll freeze without it.”

“I’ll be fine,” he replied with a small smile. “I’ve survived colder nights, army and all of that.”

The warmth of the cloak seemed to envelop her, and she relaxed slightly, sitting down across from him. For a moment, they ate in silence, the quiet clinking of their spoons the only sound.

When their bowls were empty, Charles glanced around the modest room, noticing for the first time the lack of a hearthfire.

“Do you light a fire at night?” he asked, though he already suspected the answer.

She shook her head. “Can’t afford firewood,” she said matter-of-factly, collecting their bowls. “It’s not so bad. We manage.”

“Oh,” was all he managed to say, though the thought of her and her brother enduring nights in such cold unsettled him deeply.

She didn’t seem to notice his reaction, busying herself with tidying up.

Later, as he prepared to leave, she hesitated by the door, holding his cloak out to him.

“Take this back,” she said softly.

He pushed her hand gently back toward her. “Keep it,” he insisted. “For tonight.”

She opened her mouth to argue but stopped, the words faltering. Finally, she nodded, her fingers tightening around the fabric.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

He smiled at her one last time before stepping out into the night, the chill biting at him instantly as he made his way back to the palace.

She played with the royal clasp of his cloak as he left and wondered what her life would be like if she wasn’t just a servant and he wasn’t the Crown Prince of Monaco.

No less than a few days later, her brother barged into the small house, his footsteps heavy against the creaking floorboards.

“Why,” he began, his voice loud and incredulous, “is there months’ worth of firewood outside the house?”

She looked up from where she was patching a worn-out scarf, distracted. “What are you talking about?”

“The firewood,” he repeated, gesturing wildly toward the door. “There’s a mountain of it, just sitting there! Did you rob a lumberyard?”

She frowned, setting down her work and walking to the door. When she stepped outside, her eyes widened at the sight of the neatly stacked pile of firewood by the side of the house.

“I… I don’t know,” she stammered, completely bewildered.

It was then that she noticed a small slip of paper tucked into the top of the stack. Pulling it free, she unfolded it to reveal a note written in a familiar, elegant hand.

Keep warm – C

Her cheeks flushed, and a small smile tugged at her lips despite herself.

Her brother leaned over her shoulder, reading the note. “C?” he asked suspiciously. “Who’s C?”

She folded the note quickly, tucking it into her apron pocket. “No one,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

Her brother narrowed his eyes but didn’t press further, shaking his head as he muttered something about princes and their peculiarities.

She was fluffing the pillows on the freshly made bed when the door to the prince’s chambers swung open. Charles strode in, his expression lighting up the moment he saw her. Without hesitation, he leapt onto the bed, landing with a dramatic bounce that sent a pillow tumbling to the floor.

“You’re back!” he exclaimed, grinning. “And you’re better!”

“And you just ruined the bed I made.” she chided but then moved on to adjusting a vase on the side table. “Well I must say, a lit fire at night changes a whole lot.”

He froze for a fraction of a second, then sat up, feigning ignorance with an exaggerated shrug. “Oh? A fire, you say? That’s… good to hear. Fires are quite helpful, I’m told.”

Her smirk widened. “I’m sure someone told you that.”

“Perhaps,” he said, swinging his legs off the bed and leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “But we’re not here to discuss firewood logistics, are we?”

She rolled her eyes, walking around the room to dust the mantel. “Then what would you like to discuss, Your Highness?”

He sighed heavily, flopping back onto the bed and throwing an arm over his face. “The princess of England.”

She raised an eyebrow, glancing over at him. “Oh?”

“I have to meet her again,” he groaned. “Another tea, another tedious conversation about fabrics or her needlework or some other mind-numbing topic. I swear, I’d rather duel blindfolded than sit through it.”

She snorted, biting back a laugh. “Blindfolded? That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

“No,” he said, peeking at her from under his arm. “It’s perfectly reasonable.”

“Of course it is,” she said, her tone dripping with mock sincerity. “Because what’s more reasonable than a prince skewering himself just to avoid small talk?”

He sat up, clutching his chest theatrically. “You wound me, madam. Truly, your lack of sympathy is cruel.”

She gave him a sidelong glance, shaking her head as she set the duster aside. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” he replied, grinning.

She turned back to the mantel, but when the silence stretched, she glanced over her shoulder. He was watching her, his expression soft, his eyes warm and intent.

Her brow furrowed. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He blinked, snapping out of his reverie, and quickly looked away, running a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t looking at you.”

“You absolutely were,” she said, crossing her arms and giving him a suspicious look.

“No, I was… thinking,” he said, his voice a touch too casual.

She arched an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Thinking about what?”

“About…” He scrambled for an answer, then pointed toward the bed. “About how well you made this bed. Truly impressive. Best I’ve ever seen.”

She rolled her eyes again, but a faint blush crept into her cheeks. “Right,” she said, picking up her duster. “Well, I’ll leave you to your very important thinking, then.”

He watched her go, his chest tightening as the door clicked softly shut behind her.

Over the next few days, Charles found himself increasingly distracted. Whether strolling through the palace gardens or enduring another tiresome tea with the princess, his thoughts invariably drifted to her. The way her wit kept him on his toes. The quiet determination in her movements. The occasional flicker of softness beneath her sharp remarks.

It was maddening.

When he was near her, he found excuses to linger. When she wasn’t around, he searched for her without realising it. And as much as he tried to push the growing ache in his chest aside, he couldn’t deny what was happening.

He’d fallen for her.

It was late afternoon when he returned to his chambers after a gruelling diplomatic meeting. To his delight, she was there, dusting the intricate carvings on the wooden frame of his bed. She didn’t notice him enter, humming softly to herself as she worked.

He leaned casually against the doorframe, watching her for a moment before clearing his throat.

She jumped, spinning around to face him, clutching her duster like a weapon. “Do you have to sneak up on me?”

“It’s my room,” he said, smirking. “I can hardly sneak into my own space.”

She scowled, turning back to her work. “You’re insufferable.”

“So you’ve said,” he replied, stepping further into the room. “But you keep coming back. Perhaps I’m growing on you.”

“I come back because it’s my job,” she retorted, moving to dust a nearby shelf.

He followed her, leaning lazily against the furniture. “A job you seem to excel at. Though I wonder… do you enjoy tormenting me as much as I enjoy tormenting you?”

She shot him a sharp glance, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “Someone has to keep your ego in check, Your Highness.”

He chuckled, reaching out to pluck the duster from her hand. “You do it so well,” he murmured, his voice low.

Her breath hitched slightly as he leaned closer, her eyes darting to his before flicking away. “You should stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” he asked, his voice soft and teasing as he leaned closer still, his face mere inches from hers.

“Whatever it is you’re doing,” she said, stepping back slightly, only to find herself against the edge of the shelf.

The tension in the air was palpable, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. His gaze was locked on hers, and for a moment, the world outside the room seemed to vanish.

A sharp knock on the door shattered the moment.

“Charles?” his brother’s voice called from the hallway.

Panic flared in her eyes, and Charles acted on instinct, grabbing her wrist and pulling her toward the large wardrobe at the side of the room.

“What are you—” she began, but he pressed a finger to her lips as he opened the wardrobe door and ushered her inside.

The space was small, barely enough for the two of them. She pressed herself against the back wall as he stepped in, closing the door behind them.

The darkness was absolute, and the only sound was the quiet shuffle of their breaths.

“Stay quiet,” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear.

A beat passed, and she whispered back, her voice laced with frustration, “If we get caught, it’ll be my neck, not yours.”

“No one’s getting caught,” he murmured, his voice low and steady.

In the confined space, his hand brushed against hers, and he froze. Slowly, almost hesitantly, his fingers moved to her face. His touch was light, tentative, as though he feared she might vanish at any moment.

His thumb traced the curve of her cheek, brushing against her skin with agonising slowness. Her breath hitched, and in the silence, it felt deafening.

“Why are you…” she began, but her voice faltered as his fingers brushed the line of her jaw, lingering there for a moment before sliding to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“You’re trembling,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“You’re too close,” she replied, though her tone lacked conviction.

The faintest smile curved his lips, though she couldn’t see it in the dark. “You’re not stopping me,” he said softly.

Before she could respond, his brother’s voice echoed from the other side of the room. “Charles, where are you?”

He leaned closer, his forehead nearly brushing hers. “Stay still,” he murmured, his hand still cradling her cheek.

She closed her eyes, the tension in the small space suffocating and electric all at once.

Footsteps receded as his brother left the room, grumbling something about missing him.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then, Charles let out a slow breath, his hand dropping from her face. He opened the wardrobe door slightly, letting in the dim light of the room.

“Safe,” he said quietly, stepping back to let her out.

She stepped past him, her cheeks flushed and her breaths uneven. “You’re reckless,” she muttered, avoiding his gaze as she hurried to gather her duster.

He smirked, leaning against the wardrobe door. “And you’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

She shot him a glare over her shoulder, but the pink in her cheeks betrayed her.

“Get back to work, Your Highness,” she said, her tone sharp but her voice unsteady.

He chuckled softly, watching her go.

The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the tall windows of Charles’s chambers, painting golden streaks across the plush rug. She was there again, this time at his desk, meticulously polishing the brass handles of the drawers. She worked with the same quiet efficiency she always did, her movements steady, purposeful.

Charles, reclining lazily on the settee, had been pretending to read a book for the past ten minutes. In truth, he’d barely turned a page. His attention was drawn, as it so often was these days, to her.

He cleared his throat, drawing her attention. “Have you ever taken a moment to rest?”

She glanced at him briefly before returning to her task. “I rest when my work is done.”

“And when is it done?” he pressed, setting the book down and rising to his feet.

She didn’t answer immediately, her focus still on the brass handle in her hand. “When your chambers sparkle, Your Highness.”

He chuckled, stepping closer. “It already sparkles. You’ve polished this desk so many times I can see my reflection.”

She huffed softly, clearly unimpressed. “There’s still dust.”

He reached out, his hand gently brushing hers as she gripped the cloth. She stilled, her breath catching as his fingers lingered over hers.

“You’re relentless,” he murmured, his voice low.

Her eyes flicked to his, wide and uncertain. “And you’re in my way.”

He smiled, his expression teasing but his gaze intent. “I’m rarely in anyone’s way. It’s a novelty.”

She tried to step back, but he moved with her, closing the distance between them. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Observing,” he said, his voice soft, warm, as if he were sharing a secret. “You’re endlessly fascinating to watch, you know.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, but he reached out, gently tilting her chin so she’d meet his eyes again.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” she said, her voice shaky.

“Why not?”

“Because…” She faltered, her lips parting as she searched for words. “Because you shouldn’t.”

He leaned in slightly, his hand still holding her chin. The air between them was heavy, charged with something neither of them dared name.

“You’re trembling again,” he said softly, the corner of his mouth lifting in the faintest of smiles.

“I’m not,” she said quickly, but her voice betrayed her.

“You are,” he whispered, his thumb brushing her jaw in the lightest of touches.

Her breath hitched, and her hands tightened around the cloth she still held. “This is dangerous,” she managed, though her tone was weak.

“For you?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “Or for me?”

She couldn’t answer, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain he could hear it.

His hand moved, the backs of his fingers tracing the curve of her cheek, then down to her neck, where his thumb rested lightly against her pulse. He felt it hammering beneath his touch and smiled softly, almost as if he were marvelling at it.

“You feel it too,” he said, his voice low and intimate, as if the world beyond this moment didn’t exist.

She swallowed hard, her hands trembling as she finally pushed lightly at his chest. “You… need to stop.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, his gaze locked on hers. Then, slowly, he stepped back, though the tension in the air lingered like a storm about to break.

She turned away quickly, grabbing her cloth and pretending to busy herself with the desk again, though her hands shook so much she nearly dropped it.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, the sincerity in his voice stopping her in her tracks.

She didn’t turn back to him, but she nodded slightly, her voice quiet. “Don’t do it again.”

But neither of them believed that.

That night the crackle of the fire in the grand drawing room filled the silence as Charles poured himself another glass of brandy. His younger brother lounged in the chair across from him, a glass already in hand.

“You’ve been distracted lately,” Arthur said, swirling his drink. “Even more so than usual.”

Charles leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking beneath him. “Have I?”

Arthur arched an eyebrow. “You spent half of tea with the English delegation yesterday staring at the window. I’m pretty sure they could have declared war, and you wouldn’t have noticed.”

Charles chuckled, though it lacked his usual mirth. He stared into his glass, the amber liquid catching the firelight.

“Arthur,” he began, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

His brother tilted his head, curious. “What?”

“What would you think of… being the next heir to the throne?”

Arthur blinked, then laughed, loud and incredulous. “What, you’re not planning on dying anytime soon, are you?”

“No,” Charles said, shaking his head, his lips twitching into a faint smile.

Arthur leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. “Then why would you ask that?”

Charles swirled his drink, his gaze distant. “Just… wondering.”

Arthur snorted, leaning back again. “Abdicating is social suicide. If you’re even entertaining the thought, I’d advise you to stop immediately.”

Charles stayed silent, his thumb brushing idly along the rim of his glass.

The quiet stretched, and Arthur froze mid-drink, lowering his glass to the table with a sharp clink. His eyes widened, and his voice dropped. “You’re not thinking of abdicating… are you?”

Charles didn’t respond right away, his jaw tightening as he stared into the fire.

“Cha,” Arthur pressed, his voice rising slightly. “What the hell is going on with you? Who’s put this absurd idea in your head?”

Charles glanced at him, his expression inscrutable. “It’s not absurd.”

“It is when you’re the crown prince of Monaco,” Arthur snapped, sitting up straighter. “You’d give up everything—power, privilege, our family’s legacy—for what? A whim? A fleeting fancy?”

“It’s not a fancy,” Charles said sharply, his voice cutting through the room.

Arthur blinked, taken aback by his brother’s rare flash of anger. “Then what is it?”

Charles leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and staring hard at his brother. “What if I told you it’s something real? That I’ve found something—someone—who makes me feel more alive than anything this throne ever could?”

Arthur’s jaw dropped slightly, his expression caught between shock and disbelief. “You’re serious.”

“Deadly serious,” Charles said, his tone firm.

Arthur exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “This isn’t just about a servant, is it?”

Charles’s head shot up, his eyes narrowing. “How—”

“Please,” Arthur said, waving a hand. “You think I haven’t noticed? The way you’ve been sneaking out, the looks you give when you think no one’s watching? The firewood? You’re an open book.”

Charles leaned back, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “I underestimated you.”

“And you’re underestimating the chaos you’d cause,” Arthur shot back. “Do you have any idea what this would mean for the family? For Monaco?”

Charles’s expression hardened. “For once, I’m thinking about what it would mean for me.”

Arthur stared at him, the firelight casting shadows across his face. “You’d walk away from all of this?”

“If it meant being with her?” Charles said, his voice soft but resolute. “Yes. I would.”

The weight of his words settled over them, and for once, Arthur didn’t have a quick retort.

The next few days were torturous for Charles. Each moment stretched longer than the last, his thoughts dominated by her. Every step he took through the palace halls felt meaningless without catching sight of her—her quick smile, her quiet resolve, the way she challenged him without fear.

He thought of her words, her laughter, the way her cheeks flushed when he teased her. More than that, he thought of the way she made him feel—seen, understood, even cherished in a way that no title or crown could replicate.

His heart ached with the weight of it, with the need to tell her, to unburden himself of the truth that had taken root so deeply he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

But how? How could he look her in the eye and admit what he was so sure would unravel the tenuous balance between them?

One morning, he found himself wandering aimlessly through the palace gardens. It was the time of day she often brought fresh linens from the storage to the castle, she usually crossed the gardens. He lingered, hoping for a glimpse of her, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Frustrated, he returned to his chambers, pacing the space restlessly, thinking. No, waiting to next see her. When she finally arrived, carrying a tray of fresh tea and biscuits, his breath hitched.

“You’re pacing,” she said, placing the tray on the table. “That’s never a good sign.”

“I’ve been restless,” he admitted, stopping mid-stride. “And you’re late.”

She raised an eyebrow as she set the tea. “Didn’t know I was on your schedule.”

He crossed the room to her, his steps deliberate. “I notice when you’re not here.”

Her hands stilled for a moment before she resumed arranging the tea things. “I’m just a servant, Your Highness. Surely you have better things to notice.”

“That’s not true,” he said, his voice dropping.

She looked up at him, her expression guarded. “It should be.”

He wanted to argue, to say it wasn’t her place to decide what mattered to him, but the vulnerability in her gaze stopped him. Instead, he changed the subject.

“Have you eaten today?”

She frowned, clearly caught off guard. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I’d wager you haven’t,” he said, stepping closer. “You work yourself to the bone.”

She shrugged, turning back to her task. “I’m used to it.”

“That’s not an answer,” he said, his tone softer now. “Come. Sit with me for a moment.”

She hesitated, glancing at the door. “If someone sees—”

“No one will,” he said, moving to pull a chair out for her. “Please.”

Her eyes darted between him and the chair before she sighed, giving in and sitting reluctantly.

He poured her a cup of tea, his movements unhurried. As he handed it to her, their fingers brushed, and he felt the now-familiar spark that always seemed to follow her touch.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said quietly, looking down at the tea.

“Do what?”

“Treat me like I’m someone,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Someone important.”

His chest tightened. “You are.”

She looked up at him then, her eyes wide, filled with a mix of disbelief and something else—something that made his breath catch.

For a moment, he thought about saying it, about laying it all out before her. But the words caught in his throat, weighed down by the fear of what her reaction might be.

The next day, Charles found himself waiting for her in his chambers again, anticipation thrumming through him. When she arrived, her arms full of fresh linens, he immediately noticed the faint circles under her eyes.

“You’re overworking yourself again,” he said, standing from his seat near the window.

“I’m fine,” she replied, her tone brisk as she moved to change the bedding.

“You’re not,” he countered, moving closer.

She straightened, turning to face him. “Why do you care?”

The question hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken truths.

“Because…” He hesitated, his hands flexing at his sides as he struggled to find the right words. “Because you matter to me.”

Her lips parted, her breath catching. “Charles, don’t—”

“I’m not trying to overstep,” he said quickly. “But you should know—I can’t ignore it anymore.”

“Ignore what?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Before he could answer, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hall. She stepped back instinctively, breaking the moment.

Over the next few days, he was quieter, more pensive. He found himself watching her more often, the words he wanted to say always on the tip of his tongue. But every time he opened his mouth, the weight of the risks stopped him.

What if she didn’t feel the same? What if she did, but couldn’t say so?

The questions tormented him, each one drawing him closer to the inevitable conclusion: he had to tell her.

But how could he make her understand the depth of his feelings without ruining everything?

Charles really tried to wait it out, he tried so hard.

But when the rain lashed outside his chambers where he sat in the dimly lit room, the fire crackling softly in the hearth.

He worried.

It was late, far later than when she usually came, but he had waited, a knot of tension in his chest.

When the door finally opened, and she stepped inside with her usual quiet grace, drenched from the rain with his laundry in a covered basket, his heart leapt.

“You’re soaked,” he said, standing quickly. “You shouldn’t be out in this weather.”

She shrugged, setting the basket down by the door. “Work doesn’t stop for a storm, Your Highness.”

He frowned, crossing the room to her. “Take off that cloak; you’ll catch your death.”

“I’m fine,” she said, brushing past him toward the hearth, but her shivering betrayed her words.

He moved closer, pulling her gently toward the warmth of the fire. “Why do you always insist on pretending you’re fine when you’re not?”

She stiffened under his touch. “Because I have no other choice.”

Her words hit him harder than he expected. He reached for her hands, his thumbs brushing over her cold fingers. “You shouldn’t have to live like this.”

She pulled her hands back, looking at him with a mixture of confusion and caution. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” He hesitated, his heart pounding. “I can’t keep pretending. Not anymore.”

“Pretending what?” she asked, her voice quiet but steady.

“That I don’t feel this,” he said, stepping closer. “That I don’t feel everything for you.”

Her eyes widened, her breath catching. “Charles…”

“I love you,” he said, the words tumbling out, raw and unguarded. “I’ve tried to fight it, to ignore it, but I can’t. I don’t want to.”

Before she could even stop them, tears welled in her eyes, and she shook her head, stepping back. “You don’t mean that. You can’t.”

“I do,” he said firmly, closing the distance between them again. “I’d give up everything—this title, this life—if it meant being with you.”

Her tears spilled over then, and she covered her mouth with her hand. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think it.”

“Why not?” he asked, his voice breaking. “If I’m not happy here—if I can’t have the life I want—what good is any of this?”

“Because you don’t know what you’re saying,” she said, her voice rising. “You’ve lived in a palace your entire life, with servants, banquets, comfort. You don’t know what it’s like to live without it. To go to bed on an empty stomach. To wake up not knowing if you’ll have work the next day. I can’t do that to you.”

“You wouldn’t be doing it to me,” he said desperately. “It would be my choice.”

She shook her head again, her tears falling faster now. “And what happens when you realise you can’t live like that? When the reality of it sets in? You’ll resent me. And I’ll lose you.”

“You won’t lose me,” he said, his voice pleading as he reached for her hands again. “I swear to you, you won’t.”

“I don’t have a good life,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I can barely take care of myself. How could I take care of you?”

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” he said, his hands tightening around hers. “I just need you. I don’t care about the rest.”

She looked at him, her eyes searching his, her tears glistening in the firelight. “You’re asking me to believe in something that feels impossible.”

“Then let me prove it to you,” he said, his voice breaking as his own tears threatened to fall. “Please. Give me a chance to show you how much you mean to me. Let me love you the way you deserve.”

Her resolve wavered, her breath hitching as his words sank in. She wanted to believe him—desperately—but the fear of what they would face, of what they would lose, loomed over her.

“Cha…” she began, her voice cracking.

“Please,” he whispered, his forehead resting against hers. “Say yes. Just… say yes.”

For a long, agonising moment, the only sound was the rain pounding against the windows and the crackle of the fire.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she said finally, her voice barely audible.

“Then we’ll figure it out together,” he said, cupping her face gently, his thumbs brushing away her tears. “But don’t push me away. Not now. Not when I know you feel this too.”

Her lips quivered, and she closed her eyes, a fresh tear slipping down her cheek. “You’re impossible,” she whispered.

“And you’re everything,” he replied, his voice trembling with emotion.

After pacing around his room for a few days, thinking of how he was going to tell his father, Charles went to his study.

The atmosphere in the king’s study was heavy with tension, the air almost crackling as Charles stood before his father. The older man sat behind an imposing mahogany desk, his expression dark and unreadable. The storm that had raged days earlier seemed to have shifted inside these walls, centering on the room as if the universe sensed the coming conflict.

“I need to speak with you,” Charles began, his voice steady but tight.

The king set down the pen he had been holding, his gaze sharp. “This sounds serious.”

“It is,” Charles replied, straightening his shoulders. “I’ve made a decision.”

The king leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “I see. Go on, then.”

“I’m going to abdicate.”

For a moment, the words seemed to hang in the air, the weight of them pressing down on the room.

Then, the king’s expression darkened further, his voice sharp and incredulous. “You’re what?”

“I’ve decided I don’t want the throne,” Charles said firmly. “It’s not the life I want anymore.”

The king rose from his chair, his movements slow and deliberate as he loomed over the desk. “Do you even understand what you’re saying? What you’re throwing away?”

“Yes,” Charles said, meeting his father’s gaze without flinching. “I’ve thought about this—more than you know. I don’t want this life. I want…” He hesitated, his voice softening. “I want to live my own life.”

The king scoffed, shaking his head. “And what life would that be? One of obscurity? Of poverty? You’ve never gone a day without comfort, without privilege. You know nothing of what it’s like out there, and you think you can just… give all of this up?”

“I do,” Charles said, his tone resolute.

The king’s eyes narrowed. “This is about her, isn’t it? That servant girl. Your mother mentioned her but I did not believe her.”

Charles’s chest tightened, but he didn’t deny it. “Yes. It’s about her. But it’s also about me. About what I want, who I want to be. And I know I don’t want this.”

“Don’t be a fool,” the king snapped, his voice rising. “You think love is enough to sustain you? That some fantasy of a simpler life will keep you warm when reality sets in? She can’t give you what you need, Charles.”

“She gives me what I want,” Charles shot back, his voice fierce. “And for once, isn’t that enough?”

“No, it isn’t!” the king roared, slamming his hand on the desk. “You’re a prince! You have a duty—to your family, to your people. You can’t just walk away because of some fleeting infatuation.”

“It’s not fleeting,” Charles said, his voice dropping but losing none of its intensity. “I love her. And I’d rather live a life with her—whatever that looks like—than spend one more moment pretending to be happy here.”

The king laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “You’re naïve. You don’t even know how to survive out there.”

“She’ll teach me,” Charles said, surprising even himself with the certainty in his voice. “I want to learn. I want that life—with her.”

The king stared at him, his face a mixture of disbelief and frustration. “You’re throwing away everything you’ve ever known for a life of struggle. For what?”

“For love,” Charles said simply.

The room fell silent, the only sound the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. The king finally sat back down, rubbing a hand over his face. When he looked up again, his expression was weary but no less stern.

“You’re making a mistake,” he said quietly.

“Maybe,” Charles replied. “But it’s my mistake to make.”

The king’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze searching his son’s face as if looking for a crack in his resolve. But Charles stood firm, his decision made.

“You’ll regret this,” the king said finally, his voice heavy with warning.

“Perhaps,” Charles said. “But I’ll never regret choosing her.”

Without another word, he turned and walked out of the study, leaving his father staring after him in silence.

The rumours spread like wildfire. Whispers followed Charles wherever he walked, his every step trailed by servants and courtiers exchanging furtive glances and hushed speculations. The air in the palace buzzed with the shock of his decision, but none of it mattered to him. Not the disapproval etched into his father’s face, nor the incredulous murmurs of the courtiers. His mind was focused solely on her.

He found her in the palace laundry room, folding linens with the quiet efficiency that always seemed to calm her. When he walked in, she froze, her fingers clutching the corner of a sheet.

“You,” she began, her voice a mixture of disbelief and exasperation. “You really went through with it?”

He stepped closer, his hands tucked behind his back, his face calm but his eyes alight with purpose. “I told you I would.”

She stared at him, shaking her head. “I thought—Charles, I thought it was just talk. Something you’d get over once you realised how insane it is.”

“Well, I’m officially insane,” he said with a faint smile, stepping closer.

She dropped the sheet onto the table and turned to face him fully, her arms crossed. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The crown, the throne, your entire future—it’s gone. All of it. For what?”

“For you,” he said simply.

Her mouth opened, but no words came. Finally, she shook her head, her voice trembling. “You’re impossible. Do you know what this means? I can’t work here anymore, not if you abdicate. The palace won’t keep me.”

“I know,” he said gently. “And I wouldn’t ask you to stay here. We’ll leave—together.”

“Leave?” she echoed, blinking at him.

“Yes,” he said, stepping closer until he was just in front of her. “I’ve been thinking about it. We can go somewhere no one knows us, where we can start fresh.”

She stared at him like he’d grown another head. “Where would we even go?”

“Italy,” he said with a small smile.

“Italy?” she repeated, her brows furrowing.

“Yes, maybe Marenello,” he said, his voice filled with conviction. “It’s beautiful, the weather is perfect, and… I don’t know, it just feels right.”

She let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “Charles, I don’t even speak Italian.”

He tilted his head, his smile widening. “Then, for once, I’ll get to teach you something.”

His words hung in the air, so tender and unexpected that she couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. The corners of his eyes crinkled at her reaction, and before she could say anything else, he stepped even closer and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

She closed her eyes, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver through her. “You’re serious about this,” she whispered.

“Completely,” he murmured against her hair. “I’m not afraid of starting over, not if it’s with you.”

For a moment, she let herself believe it could be possible—this crazy, impossible dream of theirs.

“When?” she asked softly.

“Tomorrow,” he said, his voice full of quiet resolve. “After I sign the abdication papers.”

She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with wide, searching eyes. “And then what?”

He smiled, his expression both calm and full of determination. “And then we start the life we’ve always wanted.”

She didn’t want to be vulgar, she really didn’t but she had to be honest.

She was shitting herself at the thought of being summoned into the King’s office with the entire family.

The office was uncharacteristically quiet, the usual hustle and bustle of the palace muffled by the thick doors. Charles sat at the massive oak desk, the official abdication papers spread out before him. Arthur stood off to the side, his arms crossed, watching the scene with a mix of bewilderment and unease while his parents stood by the desk with a clear look of disdain etched on their faces.

She stood near the doorway, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She looked smaller than usual, her nerves evident in the way her fingers twisted together. Her wide eyes darted between Charles and the papers, the weight of the moment pressing down on all of them.

Arthur broke the silence first. “Are you sure about what you’re doing, Cha?”

Charles’s pen hovered over the signature line, but he didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked up at her. She met his gaze, and in that instant, the rest of the room faded away. The worry in her eyes, the way her lips pressed together as if she was holding back words—it was as if he was falling in love all over again.

“You don’t have to do this for me, Cha,” she said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

He smiled at her, then, without hesitation, he bent his head and signed his name in bold strokes across the paper.

The moment was electric, the scratch of the pen on parchment the only sound in the room. When he finally set the pen down, it felt as if the world had shifted, as if something monumental had been set into motion.

Arthur exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Well, there it is,” he muttered, his voice carrying a mixture of disbelief and resignation. “You’re officially insane.”

Charles stood, his movements deliberate as he turned to face her. “Go back to your house,” he said, his voice steady but laced with an urgency that made her breath hitch. “Pack your things. Tell your brother. We’re leaving at six.”

Her eyes widened, her lips parting as if to protest, but before she could say a word, Arthur muttered something about needing air and slipped out of the room, leaving them alone, his parents following shortly behind.

The silence that followed was thick with tension, their gazes locked as the gravity of what had just happened sank in.

“You…” she began, her voice trembling. “You really did it.”

“I did,” he said, stepping closer to her.

She opened her mouth to speak again, but before she could, he cupped her face gently in his hands. The world seemed to pause, the space between them charged with an intensity that neither of them could deny any longer.

And then he kissed her.

It was soft at first, tentative, as if he was savouring the moment he had dreamed of for so long. But when she leaned into him, her hands clutching his jacket as if to anchor herself, the kiss deepened, becoming a silent promise of everything they were about to face together.

When they finally pulled apart, her cheeks were flushed, her breathing uneven. He rested his forehead against hers, his hands still cradling her face.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice low and full of emotion.

She blinked, her eyes shining as she searched his face. “I love you too,” she said softly, her voice breaking slightly. Because she did, she didn’t know when she exactly fell in love with him. Maybe it was when he first came to her house and looked at it with wonder rather than judgement or maybe it was when they shared that intimate moment in the wardrobe.

He smiled, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “Then go,” he said. “Pack your things. This time tomorrow, we’ll be miles away from here. Together.”

She nodded, her resolve strengthening as she stepped back, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer before she turned and slipped out of the office.

Charles stood there for a moment, the weight of what he’d just done settling in his chest. But for the first time in his life, he felt truly free.

the end.

[space-blue]

I wish it would be any other example... If only because I live in a hostel community, and we had a guy literally called "creepy Carlos" aka "the chicken fucker".

The issue is that he was a major creep who would try to flirt his way into the pants of any breathing woman around him.

He made basically everyone uncomfortable.

Then one day his dorm got too bad, and the head cleaner had them do a deep clean, and Creepy Carlos wasn't home. So someone else found the raw chicken and stick of butter that he was keeping in his bed.

He got kicked out. It was kind of an excuse at this stage.

My issue is that even in this situation, the only harm done was potential contamination for others who didn't consent to live with raw poultry in their bedroom, and women at large being uncomfortable.

No REAL harm was done. But you can't walk out of such an incident, having lived with creepy Carlos, and not be predisposed to distrust a raw chicken fucker.

I've also rubbed elbows with some unhigenic guys who didn't wear protection, and if I learned the one flirting with me was fucking dead chickens, I'd be very concerned with his dick. It is his own, yeah, but what if he's trying to get it inside me? I'd want to know it's spanky clean, that he uses protection before going in that chicken carcass. And even then, if I'm coming after the chicken, I feel like I have a right to be emotionally creeped out and back out.

Is there a moral wrong in not disclosing you fuck dead chickens occasionally?

When does "it's his dick, his freedom" loses meaning because he's trying to get that same dick into someone?

Finally, if he goes in that chicken unprotected, it's a risk of disease, and if he knows that, then he's potentially creating extra work for an already heavily burdened medical system. If he isn't honest about his practices, it could take a while for a GP to figure out it's salmonella on his penis lol anyway, if he's a difficult enough case, he'd be literally slowing access to care for other people.

So while I may not apply my morals to someone's sex life, fucking a chicken CAN have social implications and could lead to harm, unless we're making actual straw men who are perfectly moral and extremely careful in the practice.

And if your persona outside of chicken fucking is that of an enormous creep with no strong understanding of consent, then it's not shocking when a bunch of people develop a strong feeling around raw poultry as side pieces.

Just to be clear, I don't think you're wrong on any point. I just feel like it's a bad example. Especially considering someone's sex life can very easily become "your" sex life. This example is just way too convoluted.

Oh my god. I need to share another story of my new friend making today. So my friends husband says, very casually, as we’re about to leave for the ren faire, “Yeah, it’s like my story about fucking a chicken.”

And of the four people present I was the only one who was shocked. The others all nodded as if to say, yes yes, we know, the chicken fucking.

So he explained, when a progressive person is analyzing a behavior they will typically use the metric, Harm/No Harm. They may not like things in the No Harm category but they wouldn’t object.

Conversely, a more conservative mindset used something like eight metrics. Authority/No Authority Moral/Not Moral, things like that.

So, he posited if you want to sound out someone’s mindset (and you’re willing to live with the repercussions) you can ask: if a man buys a dead chicken from the store, cleans it thoroughly, then fucks it, and then eats it himself…?

I listened in dawning horror, both rapt and disgusted. But into the growing pause I whispered, “No harm…” because it really has no effect on me or anyone else if a man fucks a dead chicken. I don’t like it, I think he’s a weird dude, but like. That’s his dick. But a more conservative person will hear that and object on moral grounds despite not being harmed.

It’s been haunting me all day, so please enjoy.

[transformers-spike]

"Is this why the Autobots are fond of humanity? To indulge their sweet heat cycles? How many human mates has Optimus taken for himself? It seems as though their motives to protect them were never altruistic, much less noble." PLEASE, PLEASE GIVE US A SUB-STORY WHERE THIS TIME IT'S OPTIMUS AND A HUMAN SO IN THEIR HEAT CYCLE PLEASEEEE

Idk am I creating a humans in heat universe for the TF Fandom? I know people like making the bots go through it but I think the humans being affected is so much funnier. Just begging these massive robots to fuck us lmao

How must it feel to burn from the inside out? Betrayed by your own body, rendered unable to function by the fire in your core. You described it as an aching, an insatiable need to appease the hormones overtaking your nerve endings. A mere touch is enough to worsen the ache, it’s what your body dictates in the throes of a heat cycle.

Cybertronians are forged by Primus Himself, their interfaces exist for recreational pleasure and bonding, but your species is biologically programmed to reproduce, like most of the fauna of your planet. It’s a systemic sacrifice, one rendered obsolete by the sentient status of your species. Drugs have been produced to suppress your heats, or at least lessen the effects. Unfortunately, among a dozen varieties of medication, you are either allergic or completely immune to them, leaving you susceptible to your hormonal whims. He is sorry. You must go through so much pain every few months, but you barely show it, brushing off his concerns with a laugh, saying “it is what it is” and moving on as though your body isn’t on a timer. He admires you for it. In spite of your discomfort, you haven’t given up. Once, you told him: “So what if they don’t work on me? I just gotta roll with the punches and hope for the best, it’s been my M.O. since I got the damn thing.” Meeting them for the first time… was turbulent to say the least, but you’re safe and sound, relocated to Jasper, having adjusted to your new life with the help of Agent Fowler. You’ve told them many times you’re infinitely grateful to be in their lives (barring the near death experience at the servos of an Insecticon). For them it’s a pleasure to ease your burden. You’ve eagerly established your consent, although only Arcee is the right size to properly take care of a human. Digits and glossas can only do so much compared to a spike. He tries not to pry, your privacy is yours to divulge at your leisure, but he cannot ignore the charge building up behind his interface when he sees you with the others. Yes, he is an occasional participant, but he will rather cover shifts and allow them some well-deserved respite in your berth. They deserve it. He dares not imagine Arcee’s spike pumping in and out of you, satiating your aching body, filling you to your limit as you beg for more. 

Your scent lingers in the air, caressing his sensors, a gentle hand tugging him along by the servo, pulling him in your direction. They try to keep it to themselves, but his team is beyond a doubt intoxicated by your presence alone. Thankfully, it has (almost) never impeded their judgment during missions; perhaps it has even served as motivation to make it back to base in one piece. He tries to ignore the gleam in his old friend’s optics after quelling your urges, if only for a night. Or Bumblebee's praises coming to you as a slow stream of beeps while he nuzzles your face. Or Bulkhead cradling you to his chassis like a precious artifact as you discuss what late night movies you should watch. Or catching Arcee kissing you over the mezzanine and pulling back with a smile she hasn’t worn since Cliffjumper’s death. You bring them together in your own special way, even if you blush and sheepishly deny it, claiming you should be thanking them instead  Recent discoveries have yielded an impressive increase in energon and brought forth new opportunities. With unparalleled quantities at their disposal, they can now mass displace. The transformation is no small feat, it exhausts their system and rapidly drains their energon level. But he will not forbid Bumblebee from using it to play with the kids as long as it’s not in excess. Nor to join you during heat cycles. Much like Bulkhead. And Wheeljack. And especially Ratchet. Primus forbid, his old friend has every right to enjoy himself to the fullest after all of his back-breaking work. He’s been meaning to pay you a visit, but he hasn’t found the time until now. In the temporary abode you set up in the base, away from the prying eyes of the kids, you prepare yourself for another heat. Some refurbishing was done to meet your needs (in no small thanks to June Darby and agent Fowler’s financial help); the mattress and the mini fridge was a given, but you’ve added a variety of personal belongings and entertainment; a television, a writing desk, a few “bean bags” here and there, and a pile of old magazines to scrapbook. He wonders if you consider this place your home more than your actual house in Jasper. You greet him while downing a bottle of water, holding up your hand to signal for him to wait. Once emptied, you place it next to the mini fridge, among a wide array of bottled water crates. That would explain the groceries June had brought in with Arcee’s help. As a medical professional she’s especially fretful over your condition, doing her best to prevent the risks of heat cycles, bringing you plenty of calorie dense fuel to combat the massive loss of nutrients. He has not forgotten the fear they experienced when they found you shaking from the deficit, having completely overlooked your hunger in a midst of desperation. In this form, he can appreciate the full extent of your body without fear of hurting you, kneading the supple flesh beneath his digits as you giggle and pull him into you. He does not tower over your reclined form as much as he encases you in a careful hug, hearing the rapid thrum of your human spark directly against his audials; he may sense your pulse rate, but experiencing it is a new wonder of its own. You tell him you missed him and you wish he would let himself go and come out to “obliterate your pussy” more often. He nods and apologizes for his absence even as you shush him and insist he enjoy himself as well. He is… the largest Cybertronian you’ve taken, you remark while adjusting to his size.

“Except maybe Wheeljack,” you add cheekily, already bucking into him. Your composure evaporates as he works you up, not to say that he is much better. He steadies himself over you, charge trickling down his interface as your walls clench around him in a vice-grip. You beg him for more, plead that he frag you until you can’t take it anymore, but he has grown used to your requests and knows when your body has reached its limit. You whimper and claw at his back plates, flush against his frame yet dragging him closer as though to merge your human spark to his.

If only he could.

Slow and steady, he frags you through your overloads, each one adding a new surge of spark down his frame until he comes to his end. You are small and shaking, but in this form he can properly hold you against his chassis and comfort you through the afterglow, bringing you another bottle of water and a Clif bar (chosen for the human scaling a mountain with “If you eat this you can kill God” in big bold letters).

You stir and sit up on shaky knees to accept his offerings. Halfway through your meal, you eye him up and down.

“Are you going to stay some more?” you ask with hopefulness, still chewing on the “ultimate nuts and banana power” concoction advertised on the packaging.

“I’m afraid not, Ratchet has been hard at work deciphering Decepticon encryptions, I will be taking on his duties for the night,” he tries to break it gently, expecting crushed expectations, not your bemused expression looking up at him.

“So you’re sending him my way?” You give a chuckle. “Wish we could have spent more time together, but work is work. Just…” you crawl into his lap and hug him as tight as you can, head resting against his chassis. “Please come back tomorrow. Or after tomorrow. I miss seeing you this way. I won’t get between you and… whatever you have going on, but please visit me more often. You have no idea how nice it feels to be around you.” His gaze softens, glowing faintly against your hair. “So I’ve been told,” he says, a smile on his lips. “As long as it lightens your burden.”

[sematarygirls]

      BOYFRIEND!RAFE x DEPRESSED!READER

WARNINGS .ᐟ depression, rafe gives reader a bath, but it's not sexual, fluff, the teeniest bit of angst if you squint at the beginning

NOTES .ᐟ this isn't my best work, but i'm writing it more for comfort than anything else, and i wanted to post it just in case anyone out there is also struggling and could use it <3

Something was up, and Rafe could tell. You were usually so clingy, wanting to spend every moment with him, and he was not complaining by any means. He loved having his girl at his side, showing her off at every occasion, but it had been almost two weeks since he last saw you, which was so very out of the ordinary.

You would answer his texts at first, always coming up with some excuse for why you couldn't see him. First, you were sick. He offered to come over and take care of you, but you'd insisted that you didn't want him to catch whatever you had, so he eventually acquiesced and settled on checking in on you periodically.

But then, your responses slowly became more and more infrequent. Rafe was at a loss. Had he done something to upset you? Why were you being so cold and distant? He couldn't think of any fights you two had recently. Everything seemed perfect until you started pulling away out of the blue.

He texted you to tell you he was coming over, but you hadn't seen it by the time he showed up at your house, all but pounding on the door. He was a little angry, very annoyed, and more than a bit jealous. Were you with some other guy in there? Is that why you hadn't been answering him.

Those feelings immediately dissipated, however, when the door slowly creaked open and you peeked out. Your hair was tangled and greasy, haphazardly thrown up and out of the way. You had dark circles under your eyes and a small frown on your face, your brows pinching when you saw him.

His expression softened as he softly murmured your name. You stepped back, allowing him inside, and he shut the door behind him, his eyes never leaving your disheveled form. "Baby, what's wrong?" He asked gently, approaching you like he would a skiddish animal.

"You shouldn't have come," you said quietly, your gaze downcast. You were embarrassed that he was seeing you like this. The whole reason you'd been avoiding him was so he wouldn't see this part of you—the part that struggled to get out of bed whenever a major depressive episode hit.

He ignored your words, stepping closer and tilting your chin up, so he could look at you. "Talk to me, sweetheart," he coaxed softly. "Is this why you've been dodging my calls and texts?"

You nodded slowly, feeling guilty. You hadn't meant to ignore him, but texting people had become a chore as of late. You couldn't bring yourself to do it, to have to explain why you were acting so off. You just wanted to shut out the world and wallow in your misery.

He sighed, his thumbs coming up to caress your cheeks gently. He hated seeing you like this. He wanted to fix it. He wanted to take away all your sorrow and make you happy again. "Why didn't you tell me, baby?"

"I just- I didn't want you to see me like this," you said softly. "I look like shit. It's gross and pathetic..."

"Hey, don't say that shit about yourself, alright?" he said firmly. "You're beautiful, always, and you're not pathetic. You're going through a hard time and that's okay. I'm here for you, baby."

You looked up at him, your eyes glistening with unshed tears at his words. He was so gentle, so understanding and patient. He was perfect, and you were... you.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "I'm gonna run you a warm bath, okay? Gonna wash your hair and get you all cleaned up."

"You don't have to do that," you said quietly. You didn't want to be a burden, for him to feel like he had to take care of you just because you were dating.

"I know that, but I want to, alright? Just-Just let me take care of you, yeah?" He stared at you expectantly, waiting until you gave him a reluctant nod before he took your hand and pulled you toward the bathroom. "Sit," he ordered, pointing to the lowered toilet seat.

You complied, sitting and watching him as he turned the water on, testing the temperature with his hand and adjusting it until it was just the way he knew you liked it before he flipped the drain stopper. He poured in some of your favorite scented bubble bath, waiting for the water to fill the tub.

He turned back to you, kneeling down to take your hands in his. "Okay baby, let's get you undressed and in the tub, yeah? I'll wash your hair for you."

You chewed your lip nervously, looking at him with uncertainty. You were hardly in any shape to be perceived by anyone, let alone your perfect boyfriend. You couldnt remember the last time you shaved your body or did any personal grooming for that matter. You'd just been so physically and mentally drained as of late.

He cupped your cheek, gently using his thumb to pull your lower lip from your teeth. He hated when you did that, always saying you were ruining your pretty lips. "You're always gorgeous to me," he reassured you. "I don't care what you look like. Right now, I just wanna take care of my girl, alright?"

You hesitated but nodded. "Okay," you said softly. You knew he was just trying to help, and you also knew you desperately needed your hair washed before it reached the point of no return. You'd hated how bad you'd let it get, but you couldn't bring yourself to even attempt the attention and effort that detangling and washing would entail.

With careful movements, Rafe helped ease your shirt over your head, revealing your bare skin to his gaze. His expression was non judgemental, his touch reverent as he helped you out of your clothes. "You're doing so good, baby," he murmured, his words soothing the nerves that were bubbling in your stomach. "In you go," he said, once you were finally out of your dirty clothes.

You stepped into the warm bath, the hot water and calming smell helping you relax a fraction. You pulled your knees to your chest with a soft sigh. You were so sensitive and vulnerable in that moment, and Rafe's kindness made your chest tighten and your eyes mist.

He smiled softly at you, the picture of a loyal, caring boyfriend. He would do anything for you. "There you go, sweetheart. Gonna feel so much better after a nice long bath." He knelt beside the tub, running his hand over your hunched back soothingly for a few moments.

He let you get adjusted and relaxed before reaching for your hair tie, gently pulling it out and revealing your tangled hair. You closed your eyes, waiting for some remark about how you need to take better care of yourself or how your hair was a mess, but it never came. "Alright baby, let's get this pretty hair washed for you," was all he said, his tone soft and comforting. "Can you lean back for me?"

You nodded, unfurling yourself from your curled up position and leaning back, letting your hair soak up the water. "There you go," he murmured, making sure your hair was thoroughly wetted before helping you sit back up straight. He reached for the conditioner, coating your hair in an ungodly amount and running it through the strands as best he could to help soften your hair and make it easier to detangle before grabbing a wide tooth comb. "This might hurt a little, baby. I'm sorry, but you'll feel so much better when we're all done."

He worked meticulously, starting at the ends and slowly, carefully working out each knot and tangle, murmuring soft apologies whenever he hit a bad one that tugged at your scalp. He had experience with this kind of thing, having helped Wheezie with her hair a lot when she was a kid. He was so gentle and patient, making sure he didn't pull too hard.

It made you grateful because if you were doing this yourself, you already knew you would've gotten frustrated and started practically ripping your hair out as you roughly yanked the comb through your hair until you were in tears.

The fact that he regarded you with a tenderness and compassion you didn't even award yourself made your heart swell with love, but it also made guilt tug at you. This was the man that you'd been ignoring—this man that was so attentive and loved you so much.

"You're doing so good, baby. I know it hurts, but you're being so brave for me. I'm so proud of you," he said gently, continuing to work through your hair. He didn't show any signs that he was getting frustrated or annoyed, he just continued to hold himself with pure adoration and care for you.

His sweet words made tears well up in your eyes. You didn't understand how you could ever deserve someone like him, someone who loved you completely and unconditionally. His words of assurance were something you'd desperately needed to hear after weeks of listening to your own brain demean and demoralize you.

"There we go, sweetheart. All done. You did so well," he praised you gently as he finally finished up, running the comb through the last of the tangles. He helped you lean back, rinsing the conditioner. He made sure to get all the excess product out before helping you sit back up, reaching for the shampoo bottle.

He squirted a generous amount onto his palm, lathering it in his hands and applying it into your scalp. He washed it out and applied more until it started to froth up, signaling that your hair was finally getting clean.

"I'm sorry," you said quietly as he worked the shampoo into your hair, his fingers massaging your scalp in slow, soothing circles. You felt guilty for a lot of things, for ignoring him, for making him spend his time on you like this, for being this way in the first place. Your brain had convinced you that you were a burden on everyone around you, and you hated the thought of Rafe having to put up with you when he could have any other normal girl.

His hands stilled in your hair, and he tiled your head so you were looking at him. His expression was serious, deadly so, and for a moment, you thought he was mad at you. "Don't. Don't you ever apologize, okay? You've got absolutely nothing to be sorry for. You understand me?"

You nodded, his words and actions meaning more to you than he could ever know. He always knew what to say, what to do to make you feel better. He made you feel important and loved, and you needed that, especially right now. "Thank you."

His gaze softened, a gentle smile spreading across his handsome features. "You don't need to thank me, baby. Caring for you is the easiest thing in the world. I just wish you could see yourself through my eyes—so beautiful, inside and out."

After throughly massaging your scalp, he washed out the shampoo, applying a final layer of conditioner to ensure your hair stayed soft and retained moisture. "Do you wanna wash your body, or do you want me to?" He asked gently. He wanted to make sure you were as comfortable as possible, and if you would be too embarrassed with him touching you like that, he respected it.

"I can- um- I can do it," you said quietly. He had already done so much for you already, and as much as you loved being doted on and cared for, it didn't erase the nerves and insecurity that were swirling through your mind.

"Okay, sweetheart. Take your time. I'm right here if you need anything at all," he reassured you. You washed up and rinsed the conditioner out of your hair, the water uncomfortably cold by the time you were done since detangling had taken forever.

Rafe was ready with a towel by the time you were finished. "Come on, baby, let's get you out. You're probably freezing," he said, helping you up and wrapping the towel around you, rubbing the material against your skin to help warm you up before grabbing a separate towel to help you dry off your hair.

You let him take care of you, drying you off before steering you to your bedroom to get dressed. He knew your drawer set up by heart, having helped you put your clean clothes away more than once. "You really don't have to do all that," you mumbled, watching him carefully choose some comfortable, clean clothes for you.

"I already told you that I want to," he said firmly, plucking out your favorite pajamas. "Now, we're gonna get you dressed and settle in on the couch because we gotta get you out of this bed. It's not good for you to stay in it all day," he told you, helping you into your clean clothes. You felt a little silly being assisted getting dressed and undressed, but you were so appreciative that he cared enough about you to help you like this.

"Sorry for the... mess," you said, wincing as you glanced around at your dirty room. It looked like a disaster area, and you only just now seemed to clock how bad it was.

"I already told you to quit apologizing," he gently scolded you. "We can clean it up later, together, but right now, we're going to go watch some TV and get some food in you, okay?"

You nodded, mustering a small smile. "I love you, Rafe," you said, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face in his chest.

"I love you too, baby, so so much," he murmured. His strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer to him as he rested his chin on the top of your head. You inhaled his scent, a smell that was distinctly his and always seemed to calm and relax you, his tight grip on you serving to ground you in that moment, reminding you that there are people who cherish you even in your darkest days.

tags .ᐟ   @starkeysprincess / @cometmultiverse / @iheartjjmaybnk / @all4l0vee / @kissesfrmriri / @xoxohoneymoongirl / @bradshawed / @fallbhind / @rafeslittleangel / @bakugouswaif

[gem-de-lune]

Vibe Check 11/20

The lights are back on, so here is a feelings read. I did a read for their collective and 4 members who were the most willing. Will do ALL tmw in prep for MAMA LA.

Riize as a collective

Ace of Pentacles + The Moon + 3 of Swords + Knight of Swords

So the general consensus is that as a collective, the members are feeling both determined and fearful/worried of an outcome. Which leads me to believe they are abt to do something drastic?? The Ace with the Moon symbolizes new tangible results, but they do not know what they will be. They have no clue how it will resolve.

This brings anxieties with the 3 of swords and a lot more "paper" aspects at play (could be contracts) but seeing how they are all depicted as being crumbled up aside from the one the knight is writing it seems they will very soon be taking some sort of strategic and 100% intentional action here that will be rather significant in their perspective to their stance. They are very very serious about it but the energy is really really like "we are all in this together"....i think when someone said they are opening up bc they landed in LA that is 100% true. They feel safer?

Sungchan

Ace of Coins + 9 of Wands + 10 of Wands + Ace of Chalices

He is feeling a bit brave? Courageous even? There is a burden here in the 10 of Wands that has been released all of a sudden with the Ace of wands. It's almost a story about having run away from something and now feeling free and renewed. Two Aces here are not a coincidence. Its "new" energy. There is a clear intention to persevere and move past something that was restraining him before.

If I had tondescribe how he is doing he is feeling "fresh" and energetic as if he has prepared for something very well.

Seunghan

The Moon + King of Swords + 6 of Wands

He has taken on quite an active position here due to the King of Swords and the 6 of Wands. The vibe is kinda still his signature "go with the flow" but with very clear intent. Seunghan will probably always bee this way in that he cannot NOT accept an outcome in the end- he won't be that resentful himself either. But he WILL still try his best so long as he has the support and people rallying behind him. With the king here, although the moon clouds his path, he has clearity in his intentions towards his goal which is ultimately the 6 of Wands representing victory. He his climbing towards his desired outcome alongside others at the moment. He is doing his best. He is in very masculine energy atm.

In short, he is feeling very driven and determined, perhaps even anticipating a great outcome or at least a good time along the way trying to get there.

Anton

Justice + The Magician + 4 of Chalices + Knight of Wands

This combination is giving kind of "hero" energy? But what stood out to me here is all the women present. This deck actuall has a lot of women, but the fact that this stood out I think cannot be ignored. There is some kind of collaborative element or "leader" thing going on directed towards a particular female. Perhaps this factor is freshly on Anton's mind or he particularly attributes how he feels to be thanks to this woman. She is older than him but not very old, who is either pulling the strings or helped him come up with an idea here. She is very active in assisting them at this time. Due to this, Anton is feeling like he could absolutely take on the world- like he just became captain America or smth. He isn't willing to settle. He isn't willing to conpromise. He is being a bit abrasive and is confident in his stance and opinions. He also must simply feel that American air of freedom lowkey lmfao.

Overall the vibe is that he has a job to do and he's gonna get it done (oh-weyo-weyo)

Wonbin

8 of Cups + 6 of Coins + The Empress

Don't be weary of the 8 of cups here. It is more symbolizing a fear but at the same time an understanding that things and the approach taken will need to change drastically from what was done previously. The other cards indicate the way things will be changing. Wonbin has always had Empress energy, and I think with the 6 of coins it is indicating some past behavior of letting bygones be bygones in a way? Like just putting on a smile to grin and bear it in a fan setting. I don't think he has settled on his attitude going forward towards SM and certain fans. But i see this in two possible ways- either he will do a complete 180 from his previous gentle persona towards certain audiences, OR, HE will be making some very selfish decisions rooted in his own Empress energy. Meaning the things and people he cares about.

He will make decisions for those things and those things only, rather than the things and choices that burdened him before.

Final Notes:

I'm sure yall know this, but Riize is 7 btw

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 3 part 3

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2])

lilia: falling through time, desperately trying to help alice

agatha: bitch I'm trying to save myself!!!!! oh she's so awkward when she thinks lilia's going mad. she's a moment away from grabbing a broom and going there, there like in that 30 rock scene

I know they had a relatively low budget for this show and it was such a blessing in disguise. they invested in great sets and instead of cgi they relied on classic cinema tricks that I find so satisfying?? Idk if it's just nostalgia talking. here they simply move the camera away for a moment, lower the lights and move the actor in position, and it makes for an amazing jumpscare.

baby lilia asking 'vuoi vedere?' do you want to see? because it is a choice for lilia. for a long time she chose not to use her gift- she was simply too powerful, she saw too much, and the knowledge of the future scarred her and made her an outcast among others

alice's smile at seeing a vision of her mom T-T

why inconvenient? what was jen doing? she was an obstetrician and midwife. she was helping women out with herbs and pagan knowledge passed down from mother to daughter. Back in the day midwives were struggling to get their skills recognized in an increasingly male dominated field, they were advocating alternative treatments for women constantly humiliated by condescending modern doctors - from forced bed rest to insane asylums to lobotomy in worst case scenarios. think Charlotte Perkins Gilman's short story, The Yellow Wallpaper. think about everything that happened to Virginia Woolf.

we know that alice was a teenager when lorna died in a fire. she wasn't well, alice says, and we see now that she had a drinking problem. it's equally possible that the demon got to her or that she set herself on fire out of desperation. and if lorna could feel her own mother dying, alice could too.

daang great zombie makeup on the teacher lady

lilia when her incredible abilities made her able to see Death: burdened by knowledge way beyond the scope of humanity she goes into exile

agatha when her incredible abilities made her able to see Death: you know what I'm gonna tap that

I saw people saying that because the Road wasn't real nothing that happened in the show mattered, that they all died for nothing. I disagree completely, and not only because Billy's chaos magic is so astonishingly powerful that he can create a functional Road out of thin air. like, it wasn't a trick, he made it real. But more importantly, what happened to these women, their experiences, their growth on the Road is real. Even if Billy didn't do it on purpose, even if it's fucked up that a teenager can essentially go, you know what would be cool? if they all experienced their deepest trauma! but that's the point, that's the point, that's the whole damn point of the show. life is chaos and nonsense and heartbreak, it's up to you to find a meaning where there isn't any. look at lilia! the lesson is not that you're going to die, but what you choose to do with the cards that you're dealt, with the time that you're given.

while Patti clearly has an american accent, she is speaking correct sicilian, tutti morti su' - they could have had her talk in italian and hardly anyone would have noticed, but they went above and beyond with the details. the latin in the show is also rather impressive, like they actually hired experts rather than relying on google translate

agatha has gotten too used to run leaving a pile of bodies behind. not so easy to consider them just food when you have to live alongside them and witness their feelings, is it?? first wanda and now this!

@perpetualanon pointed out yesterday that agatha also had selfish reasons for wanting to save billy, i.e. she didn't want to risk him being poisoned because who knows what horrors a hallucinating billy could create. Yes! exactly that! it's always worth saying that when agatha has these fleeting moments of compassion and altruism it's in the context of a whole lotta selfishness. i think of her as that drawing of Stitch's badness level, her whole body is almost filled to the brim with awfulness and there's only a thin layer of goodness that she's constantly trying to smother. her actions on the Road are almost entirely selfish, but for the first time in centuries she's surrounded by people, like Lilia here and Jen and Alice and especially Billy, who are accidentally nurturing her almost atrophied good side. and lemme tell you she's pissed about it!

of course these two don't know what a sous vide is, one is dirt poor and the other eats people.

I'm gonna take a stand for zoomers here, he might have never learned what counterclockwise means, but millennials like me would also have hesitated and tried to picture it in our minds. because a lot of us lack spacial intelligence and are generally rather dumb

the shock and terror on her face when she hears nicky crying

another great special effect achieved only with lights and the cast shuffling out of frame

they show the darkhold because they need to mislead viewers and can't give nicky's story away just yet, but doesn't it make sense that agatha would see it? all these centuries blaming rio, and deep down agatha is haunted not by Death, but by her own actions and choices. the way she kept Nicky isolated and unsafe. the way she insulted his memory by going on killing sprees instead of letting herself mourn. the way she used the darkhold to corrupt her soul more and more, because she was never brave enough to confront her guilt.

kathryn hahn really said, do you want Emotional Devastation???? do you wanna see a woman SUFFER? do you want your heart put through a blender??? I can do that in TWO seconds

agatha wants to NOT DIE so badly that she has to drop the clown act and give jen a proper pep talk. because she knows what makes people tick and she can uplift just as well as she can destroy, she can help jen because she knows her so well. there's always that potential there, all of agatha's talent and her intelligence and experience could shape her into a great mother and sister in a coven. a potential that evanora refused to see and that will likely never be fulfilled.

and the irony, the irony of never wanting to hurt jen, to deliberately avoid going after her - because she's a midwife. because nicky was stillborn, because she had to give birth alone in the woods. agatha believes with all her heart that jen's work is fundamentally good and important. and yet she was the one who bound and tortured and violated her. she was so fucking focused on herself that she didn't even realize she was tramping and destroying everything in her path like a mad steamroller. she allied with the enemy, she went against her community's best interests. there's a lot to think about there, I really want to explore it more

patti during that hot ones episode

NOW YOU GUYS REMEMBER HER. and of course it's alice who does

your internalized stereotypes are really testing lilia's patience, billy (and while they consider the oven sharon is writhing and dying on the table)

how it started: jen pushing lilia out of the way

how it ended: "you are my sister in the craft" 🥲

I love you patti lupone

alice is strong! alice is noble! alice is pure of heart!

gee i wonder why

they had to add a goonies poster in billy's room because of this scene, but i guess disney didn't want to buy the copyright so the poster says "the goofballs"

agatha shoving everyone and then kicking jen twice for good measure

my guilty pleasure is watching reactors on youtube (don't judge) and everyone, everyone had my same reaction to sharon's death: she is not really dead. it was too unceremonious, too sudden. you cannot have debra jo rupp unconscious for half an episode and then get rid of her like that, she's too talented, too funny, how can they keep the humor up without her? if sharon is gone they don't want to watch anymore! no, they're gonna bring her back for sure, they're witches, they're going to find a way.

And then Alice dies, and it's unfair, it's too sad, she just had her big victory! that doesn't sit right with you, that the writers would do her so dirty. And then Lilia dies.

Wanda said it from the very beginning: we cannot reverse death, no matter how sad it makes us. Some things are forever. Sharon's death was horrible and uncomfortable and senseless on purpose, because these shows are about the exploration of grief. How can you make peace with the impossible? How can you reconcile yourself with a nice fun lady dying after losing her last shred of agency, scared and alone and forgotten? Didn't she deserve so much more than being just a casualty of witchfolk drama? And how can you reconcile yourself with someone as good and as wonderful as Alice dying in such a cruel way? What about the death of a parent? of a spouse? of a child? What about your own death, as inevitable and inescapable as your birth?

I'm posting this one early cos I didn't sleep last night and I wanna take a nap now 🥲 when I'm tired i ramble, I knew that already. sorry-y!

we get to episode four tomorrow, and y'all know what, or rather WHO, that means!

go to episode 4 part 1

[kanguin]

Ideal show:

Slow paced adult audience portal fantasy anime where a shutin dies in an accident, unfulfilled, unaware of who he really is, but is reincarnated into a fantasy world with a demon king situation. Standard fare. However, instead of getting going right away, the protagonist stays depressed and doesn't even attempt to start the quest he was given until he meets a high energy local adventurer lady, and through helping out with a sudden incident in town, protag and the adventurer form the first true friendship he's ever had. He finds her attractive, but doesn't say as much, as it he quickly finds out via a run in with her ex that she's a lesbian. Turns out, this magical world is enthusiastically and normalizing-ly accepting of queer people, and that actually comforts him greatly for some reason, even though he's pretty sure he's a straight guy; must just be happy for the people here.

His new friend encourages the him to go on and start the quest to defeat the demon king. It's a long journey, and will take years, but if he's prophesied to be the hero, then he's the only one who can do it. There's just one problem, the one prophesied to kill the demon king is a woman. Surely then he must have just misheard, clearly he must have been summoned to HELP the hero, which while disappointing and less glamorous, eases the burden somewhat. So the two gear up for their journey, and the protagonist purchases a magical item from a shop, a bracelet said to help the wearer reach their true potential. If that potential is heroism, it helps you build muscle and strengthens your bones. If that potential is music, your dexterity and fine motor skills slowly improve. Whatever change needs to be made, will be made. So surely, if a nobody like protag is taking to help defeat the demon king, that will be necessary.

The two set off, heading through more and more difficult areas as their quest takes them toward the heart of evil. Slowly but surely, protag gets stronger and faster, hell this bracelet is even smoothing out his skin. With his friend's help, protag slowly catches up to her, but not before she advances further. His adventurer friend has flings from time to time, but this doesn't really bother him, he's just happy she's happy. However the adventurer is getting confused, because she's certain she's not into men, but sometimes the light catches her friend's eyes, or glows off his hair, and she feels... Funny.

As time passes, protag's hair gets longer, from many uncut months, but it's also getting denser and more voluminous, and his hand, despite getting stronger wielding shields and swords, are also getting softer. Maybe the bracelet is trying to sighal to him to live a quiet life? But hey his stomach's getting flatter, even if it's all just shifting down to his thighs. Eh, must be there to build muscle, right?

(more under cut, this started out as a simple wishlist of ideas but ballooned into a full vague framework of a story)

But slowly, this new world challenges the protagonist on facts he took for granted. He meets people who were born one way, only to find they would rather be another, and starts to question what it even means to be a man, or if it even meant the same thing to him as other men. It means nothing to him though... Slowly, he stops trying to prove his manliness at times, and just, wants to be himself. But he's starting to question who he even is; new experiences keep making the protagonist think back to their old life, and reanalyze some things they never gave any time of day. Suddenly they're relating less and less to men, and really, truly feeling happy in the company of women. Perhaps it's just because men bullied them?

Meanwhile, the protagonist is looking... Prettier? And smiling when they see themself in the mirror? They're normally a sad snarker, but their adventurer friend is starting to be thrown off guard by their genuine joy along the journey. And... Kind of attractive, but holy shit what??? They're a guy, she doesn't swing that way, no way.

By the time they're halfway to the demon king's castle, they're greeted at a tavern as two "young ladies". Which throws the two of them for a loop, because clearly there's only one girl here, right there. Sure, the protag is pretty androgenous, always have been, so the mistake is easy to make, but... Wait have they always been androgynous? No they were clearly just some out of shape guy when they got here, why would getting in shape from a magic bracelet make that less defined. And that's when the two remembered.

The bracelet works off of the true self, the full potential of a person.

The two get a room at the in and realize they NEED to talk about what this means. The adventurer is excited, but protag is just confused. The adventurer shouts in joy that protag must be destined to ge a girl, that's why the prophecy seemed off. In a panic, protag checks their pants... Okay little buddy is still there. This, however, makes their friend crack up laughing. She's in hysterics at why they think becoming a girl means that would change. Sure, most girls have a vulva, she has one she says, but not all girls do. And if your truest, most ideal self still has a dick, there's no reason it would go anywhere.

Sure, they've been happier lately, and no longer hate seeing their face in mirrors, but do they really see themself as a girl? Wait, they've not really been referring to themself as a guy in a while, and somewhere along the line "he/him" just got dropped without them even noticing. Why does this suddenly put a lot of things from the past into context? Why does that feel like a weight off their increasingly heavier chest? Changes like this, so gradual you don't even notice, so right they just feel natural... maybe this is what they needed. Maybe this is what they've always wanted. Maybe when they arrived in this world, they weren't exactly the hero of legend, but maybe... maybe they want to become her?

This introspection greatly relieves their friend, who had grinned and bared that she must have stumbled into the responsibility, but never truly felt right taking the chosen hero's role just because of a little gender incongruence. Then again, everything about the backwards, if technologically advanced, world her friend came from makes sense why they just assumed it must be her instead.

When the pair got back on the road again, the two adventurers were working in better sync than ever. The friend native to this world started peppering in feminine terms when talking to and about the protagonist. She'd comment on "her" hair, ask a blacksmith to repair (and adjust) "this fine lady's armor". When the terms would hit a nerve, she'd back off, but slowly, the terminology started to make the protag smile sheepishly.

The protagonist wasn't the only one who was changing, of course. While both were becoming more skilled adventurers as they took on bigger and bigger missions, the more seasoned of the two found herself sitting closer on benches to her friend, stealing glances at night when they brush strands of hair out of their face, having to look away when the tent curtain isn't fully closed when the protagonist starts changing... Oh my god she's into her. Them. Whatever. At least protag isn't a guy after all?

The two of them pick up other party members along the way; some stay for a while, some leave, but by just after halfway there they're a pretty consistent team of four, and the other two are certain there's something between the co-leaders, but hell if they're going to poke that hornet's nest of drama, they have to hear the two of them fretting fruitlessly to themselves when the other isn't around as is.

2 years into the journey, and just looking at the protagonist, there's no clue she could have ever been mistaken for a man. Mere months from the demon king's castle, and she's gone from a joke the hordes can't take seriously to a fearsome warrior you don't approach, lest she strike you down with her blade or her crossbow-wielding situationship takes you out first.

Despite all the battlefield confidence, however, the protagonist and her oldest companion in this world still rest at a stalemate, where each have formed a wall of excuses for why they shouldn't approach the other about how they feel. Fighting is easy, navigating feelings is complicated, especially when the circumstances today are different from when they first met years ago. The demon king is mere months away, the party is ready to take him on, but that's bizarrely ever the topic of conversation. The mage and cleric find it not only amusing, but also reassuring, as if navigating complex social barriers is their biggest concern, then they're probably going to be just fine.

That is, it's funny until it's gone on for 3 years, the captain's a clueless virgin, the co-captain stopped having hookups over a year ago, and both are pent up to high heaven.

Then one day, just before they get to the demon castle, the impending threat cracks the surface of the tension, and the protagonist confesses to her companion, even though she knows her friend only dates women, she just has to confess. To this, her friend calls her an idiot for not realizing that isn't an issue, it hasn't been for a long time. She does reciprocate those feelings though, she was just worried the protagonist had long ago written her off as an option after she made it clear she wasn't into men, even though things had changed. In relief, the two laugh, sob, and hug, before pulling away into a long overdue kiss.

The party, newly resolved of tension, gathers their materials, and lays absolute shit into the demon king. The three years that it took to get here had honed all of them into fine warriors, but most of all the protagonist's bracelet had made her into the perfect weapon to slay the evil tyrant. With a decisive slash, the absolute evil that had plagued this land was now without his head, and the hordes of his armies that witnessed this cowered in fear of their defeat.

It would take many more years before the rest of his forces in the land outside the path the party cleared were stamped out, but the root had been thoroughly ripped out and the land could heal and rebuild without threat of absolute destruction for once in many millennia. The protagonist and her "best friend" would go on to get married, and after a few more years helping stamp out the dark army's remnants, the two would settle down in a small town, open a shop, and most of all be happy.

Maybe they stay monogamous, maybe they find a third person they both fall in love with. Maybe they eventually open the relationship but have each other as their anchors they always come home to. Maybe just the one from the magical world originally goes back to hookups on the side with her wife's blessing. I don't care how it's handled (though shirking monogamy in a story is always welcome), but I need a story like this put to animation in my lifetime. Maybe I might write my own story off this framework someday, fleshed out into a full narrative with actual names and locations, but if something like this gets put into production, which is a pipe dream I know, I would truly die happy. I love portal fantasies and their opportunity to explore a world unlike ours, and the opportunity for fish-out-of-water tales that help the protagonist grow into a better version of themself bring me so much joy. So to take this genre that is so often male wish fulfillment, and make it something that reflects my fantasies as a queer trans feminine person, it would just make me so happy.

I hope what I wrote is enjoyable by anyone who reads this, and I sincerely hope I don't have to mute this post from terf backlash or something. If you got to the end here, thank you so much, from the bottom of my heart.

[thecoffinsys]

Slay the Princess is the perfect demonstration of trauma, dissociation, and systemhood.

I NEED MORE PEOPLE TO TALK ABOUT THIS. And it's NOT just for the reasons you may think. Yes, it is due to the multitude of voices, but that isn't all there is to systemhood. Slay the Princess dives into almost every fundamental stage of grief, trauma, stress, and body sensations regarding traumatic events that we as a collective have ever experienced. Stay with me.

SYSTEMHOOD

Not only does Slay the Princess display systemhood through the multitude of voices, inability to come to a conclusion on outerbody decisions, and having different methods of how to survive specific situations— it also displays systemhood through loss of time, depersonalization, loss of identity and sense of self, alters having abilities over the body that others do not, looping the same trauma over and over again, and rapidly splitting due to traumatic experiences — even down to not being believed by family members when you tell them something horrible happened to you.

The entire idea of jumping from one alternative world to the next after dying or making the incorrect choice perfectly displays a repetition of the same traumatic memory over and over again, the mind trying to logistically think of what could have been done differently as a means of coping with what really happened. When you fail to save the world in one reality, your mind restarts the entire scenario again, trying to find a better option to the mistake you've already made.

The Stranger rout perfect displays depersonalization, dissociation, loss of self and identity, and confusion regarding time. The second you step down a staircase, you completely and utterly forget yourself in the mundane action. Forgetting who you are, where you are, what your purpose truly is - and sinking deep within your own mind, until suddenly you're right where you are meant to be and have no memory of how you got there. It's so perfect in how it shows the confusion and distress.

This game is about becoming. whole. Gaining. A sense. Of self. And purpose. Gaining more perspectives, more understandings of what it means to be a person. (Oh my god I'm screaming)

In The Nightmare, the voice of the Paranoid displays perfectly symptoms of not only paranoia regarding trauma, but symptoms of OCD due to trauma. He has an ability that no other alter has, which is to keep their organs running by participating in his own compulsion. Which really displays how some alters have abilities that other do not, because to be a system, you must be fragmented. Several shards of glass attempting, to the best of their ability, to be a functional mirror- but never having the exact strength. And different shards will hold different capabilities than those who are smaller, weaker, and carry smaller and/or more specific burdens. Paranoid is a very big shard, I think.

Following that — mirrors are a huge motif of the game. Not only do you continuously see them in every rout, but you end each rout by finally looking at yourself and seeing you for you. And the more perspectives you gain, the less "you" you truly feel. You become tired, withered. But it is all in the efforts to "become whole". To make this being of perception finally understand what it means to be more than just broken worlds creating branching understandings.

In A Moment of Clarity, dozens of voices begin to cloud our understanding due to the very traumatic thing we experienced in the last world. A rapid split because of trauma! We become more broken; "losing ourselves". Now there are even more conflicting thoughts, feelings, and opinions regarding how we should go about surviving- and it displays our further descent from our sense of self. Which is ironic given the name of the ending!

And finally (but most definitely not finally, I could keep going on and on but no one would want to read all of that), The Narrator never believing you when you tell him you've been here before, have experienced horrors that he could never imagine, and have been through countless nightmares. But not only does he not believe you, he will also ridicule your idea, and go on to say "you failed because you didn't listen to me" or "you damned another world because of what you did". Puts the blame on us, once again. It's the same thing a lot of systems do experience in the real world. You try to reach out, you try to explain to someone you trust that something horrible happened to you, but you're met with disbelief and shamed for your own trauma. Made to feel like the guilty one when you are in fact the victim- the survivor. That one stood out to me very personally.

. . .

I really want to go on but this is already a billion paragraphs and I worry no one will even get this far. But this game means a lot to us as a system and as someone who experiences things very similar to what is displayed in the game on a daily basis. Slay the Princess might be one of our all time favorite games as of right now, especially considering the guy who traumatized us for 200 episodes straight is the main guy voicing the entire thing- that also helps with sentiment-

Uhhhh thank you for reading if you made it this far :]

[factual-fantasy]

25 Asks! Thank you! :}} 🐬

@stargirldrawsx3

Oof, that's a tough thing to answer/explain.. Motivation to draw OCs.. uhhhh..

I guess I sometimes just picture them in my head and think "man that would look really cool if I drew it" And then I.. draw. it. 💀

idkkkk-- my apologies, I'm not the best at explaining art stuff. My motivation for drawing/creating OCs just comes and goes. Idk what sparks it or haw to spark it artificially. If I'm not feeling motivated to draw OCs I just draw fanart or other OCs that I do feel like drawing.. sorry i cant be more helpful here! <:(((

Thank you! :DD And I've been drawing for literally as long as I can remember. Some of my earliest memories are drawing stick figured in my school notebook in my back yard.

Of course though I cant really tell you the estimate of years without revealing my age <XD but I can say that its a very long time! :))

YES SIR MR ANON SIR! WILL DO SIR! 🫡🫡🫡

He's an interesting character to me. :0 Aside from his voice being a bit annoying at times. (He sounds like Finn the human but more theatrical.)

Something I've noticed is that it seems like a lot of other characters dump a lot of stuff on Gingerbrave and depend on him to help them. I always wonder/feel like he's got a lot on his plate. I'm surprised he doesn't act more stressed or seem tired at all..

This has made me think of angsty scenarios where Brave gets hurt or sick and has to rest for a few days. But he just cant. He's gotten so used to helping people and always being asked for help that he doesn't feel like he can just sit around and do nothing.

I wonder how much of his self worth is pinned on being the helping hand or the hero. I wonder how he would feel if he suddenly became a "burden" to his friends or Pure Vanilla..

Over all I don't mind his character. He's pretty neat! :))

@wolfie-777

Tbh..? I didn't really like them <:(

The characters voices in Indigo park were so theatrical and annoying to me that I could hardly focus on the game. I just kept thinking "pleasestoptalkingpleasestoptalkingSHUPUPLLOYD" Also I wasn't a fan of the characters of indigo park being.. living creatures..? They looked uncanny and unrealistic.. how did they even get there-

I would have liked indigo park more if their voices weren't so theatrical and if they were big animatronics or something instead..

Secondly Finding Frankie. I liked the concept actually. Having this fall guys type gameshow thing with a grand prize was cool! And all the parkour gamplay was really unique and fun!

But then Frankie came along and broke the fourth wall. "I'm here to make the game more interesting and spark fan theories!" It took me right out and made the game feel cheap. Then of course the characters are these big monsters with blood that makes no sense... I would be more immersed if they were just big animatronics that went rogue.

All in all, not the biggest fan of these two games 😅

Thank you for all of this <:)) I'm trying my best to get past these bad health days and get back to drawing. Its been really tough but i hope to come back soon.. Just not to the Octonauts fandom <XDD

@vivicantdraw

:000 You like my handwriting?? :DD Why thank you! That's very sweet of you to say! :))

Also, that's a great drawing of Barnacles! :00 And akjwendfjef XD The thieves just on fire in the background XDDDD

I wouldn't count on it <:( I never even finished the show when I was really into it... but hey its always possible I suppose-

Thank you.. I'm trying my best to just move on and keep drawing. But ngl this has really sucked. My health has been weighing me down so much for months, and now all this art theft and blatant disrespect on top of it? I've tried drawing on my own time but this art block has just not let up.

@chromchill

I'm doing my best to draw privately, but I hadn't realized how much I relied on peoples nice comments for motivation. This art block has been killer.

@bred-by-insanity

Awe! Cute dog! :))

And thank you.. I'm doing my best. But man this just sucks.

I will never accept anyone's excuses for disrespecting my, or other artists boundaries.

And yeah, thank you.. I miss people interacting kindly with my Octonauts stuff.. But its not worth all the theft. Same with FNAF. I've decided to just draw those in private.

Well don't get me wrong, my FNAF stuff gets stolen, traced and copied a lot too. The Octonauts ones just happen more frequently. 🙄

(Referencing this post)

XD Yeah he got out eventually

I do not, I'm only found on here on Tumblr! (And my YouTube channel that I never post to)

Remember, if you find my artwork anywhere else, it is 100% stolen every time. No exceptions.

@misfortuneandflamingos

AAAA THANYOUU!! :DDDD

<XD Thank you. And yeah the world just be broken like that 😔

I've seen fanart of those things, but haven't looked into it myself :00

Also thank you!! :DD

(Link in ask)

Thank you! I'm hoping to find ways to post some TADC stuff soon <:)

Also wow- I see the resemblance! But this is the first time I'm seeing this character, its purely a coincidence :0

Link in ask

Aww!! I love Sylveon 😭💞💞

Thank you, and don't worry- I see what you were getting at <:)

I'm doing my best to move on from this and I'm working on getting my confidence back. I think I just needed a big break from Tumblr to just indulge and games and stuff.. I'm hoping to return soon.

(Referencing this post)

XDD I'm glad you like it! :DD That one was really fun to draw 🤣🤣

@smil3y-f4c3

Hmmm... good question.. Well, my favorite is Dusknoir. I can see Bibi liking Sylveon... hmmm.. Jangles probably likes weird or funny looking Pokémon, mayyybe Mr Mime..? I can see Cici liking Mimiku.. as for Gerald I can see him having a surprising interest in pokemon like Xerneous, Dialga and Deoxys. Maybe Xerneous being his favorite.

@smg6-the-memer

I'm hanging in there as best I can <:/ I hope you're well! :))

@neo-metalscottic

Oof, been there buddy! I hope you have a speedy recovery. <:) As for me I haven't been doing so great. Have had some rough health days recently and lost a lot of my confidence about posting my artwork online. It feels like every time I check here someone has sent me yet another stolen piece of art I made. I've spent my time just screwing around on Roblox to get away from it all 😔

Now Mario and Luigi: Brothership.. I've heard of it but haven't played it myself. I've been meaning to watch someone do a playthrough of it sometime <XD

[lazycranberrydoodles]

hi i don't know if i have questions specifically but want you to know i'm obsessed with your transfem hua cheng and he xuan and that it's super meaningful to me to see other people doing transfem characters and headcanons and I love to see it and love your art so much too so thank you for doing that!!!

yw!!!

hua cheng and he xuan have such interesting relationships to their bodies and powers. to me, trans headcanons not only acknowledge their complex identities within the text, but also add a layer of meaning. plus i just love drawing and writing girls.

more of my thoughts on trans & tfem huaxuan below.

⚠️warnings for: mention of transphobia, canon typical violence, tgcf spoilers⚠️

hua cheng is incredibly metaphorically trans. being born under the star of solitude with a cursed eye, he spent his childhood enduring abuse and covering up his face. (one thing that especially sticks with me for a transmasculine headcanon is that he is smaller than expected for a 10 year old, canonically due to malnutrition). still, he snuck into the army out of a sense of duty (re: tmasc hc, i believe he lied about both his age and his gender to enlist). however, to become crimson rain sought flower, instead of harming others, he wrenches the source of his pain (his eye) out of his body with his own hands. once he removes his eye, instead of dying like a weaker spirit would have, he becomes much more powerful and starts forging an identity for himself. his self-mutilation doesn't just free him from the burden of his cursed eye; he eventually claims blood as his signature. for his whole life, hua cheng has been injured and beaten, but after tong'lu, blood becomes a symbol of his power. his blood rain shows that he does not shy away from brutality and that he feels at home within violence.

this is why i'm always talking about hua cheng's DIY top surgery within the kiln. hua cheng carved up his own body in a way that massively empowered him. he reclaims violence as his own natural habitat, rather than something he has been forced to endure. i think this is very transgender; transphobic rhetoric often labels medical transition as mutilation, but to many of us, that is how we become our true selves. it is a tool to make us stronger.

hua cheng's story is about self-determination. despite his circumstances, he was able to literally brute force fate and luck into his favor with the power of his devotion. i also like to read ghost city (and hua cheng's other miscellaneous acts of good) as a metaphor for disability. to the public, it's dangerous and sinful, but in actuality it is hua cheng's way of 'saving the common people'. ghost city provides safe haven for the undead and their wares, making both the mortal and ghost realms safer. the traditional channel for serving believers is from heaven, but hua cheng forged his own path and refused to take part in its corrupt system. he has a radically different approach to executing his goals, so he is excommunicated and misunderstood outside of the vilified community that he provides a home for (the ghost city residents).

it's important to me that hua cheng is trans -- whether in hualian or hualesbians -- because her story revolves around forging her own path, turning the parts of her body that she hated into sources of power, and defining herself (SHE NAMED HERSELF FLOWER CITY!!!). as a spirit, she hangs around because she wants to be the best version of herself: not out of self-love, but because she is a means to an end (the end being xie lian's will).

beefleaf are literally genderfluid in the text. i personally read shi qingxuan as a trans woman rather than genderfluid because she is 1) more powerful as a woman and 2) does it for fun -- being a woman brings her joy. she begrudgingly turns back into a man when her brother tells her she needs to be more proper. additionally, she was raised as a girl and -- iirc -- doesn't have a problem with this.

he xuan, in addition switching back and forth between male and female forms, also has a very trans narrative. they were literally forced to live the wrong life. his power, similarly to hua cheng's, also comes from their body (eating other ghosts). however, hers is additive. she, to me, is the type of trans person that doesn't see their transition as a loss of anything, only a gain (hua cheng, on the other hand, enthusiastically lost his weakened past self). hua cheng killed the girl he used to be, while he xuan morphed into an unrecognizable, more powerful version of herself. hua cheng purposefully built his ideal self, while he xuan strayed from her AGAB more passively.

i don't think that he xuan would crossdress with shi qingxuan if she didn't want to. even if that was the case, i think their woman-sona is very developed for a guy that reportedly doesn't like it. in my headcanon, she is still in denial by the end of the novel. i think that both his love for shi qingxuan AND the unsettling feeling of gender dysphoria would keep him from dissipating. my final and silliest reason for headcanoning he xuan as nonbinary tfem is that she eats a ton because she's on estrogen and is trying to gain boob weight.

tl;dr: trans women can accumulate power by cutting out their eyes and eating ghosts and i think that's awesome

[graytodd]

Hi, I wanted to ask for your opinion on how a Yandere DickJay would work. In this scenario the following occur:

Dick's obsession starts of Jason's death.

Dick reads Jason's Journal and realizes Jason had a crush on him.

Dick keeps track of Jason's whereabouts at all times when he comes back.

Jason is oblivious to Dicks red flags for quite sometime till someone points it out but even then he is still in denial.

Any other additions is up to you.

Personally, I've never been a fan toxic dynamics, I like to think of Dick as a biter lol but not phisically or mentally abusive over Jason. Maybe a possessive/brutal Dick ready to protect his little wing at any cost could work as an example of yandere? I hope. I'll ramble on this thought of Dick's aggressive behaviors he's shown toward anyone who hurts Jason, especially toward Bruce, his mentor, the man who raised Dick and gave him a new life. A scenario that comes to mind might be sth post-GW where Dick in order to relieve Jason of the burden of rejection and manipulation he feels toward Bruce, (cause Dick cannot stand seeing Jason hurt all over again), Dick might mention that the day Bruce kept Dick in the dark about Jason's funeral something in their relationship broke down, and got worse even when Bruce didn't tell him about Red Hood's true identity, when Dick took good care of Jason for weeks, keeping him hidden in his apartment until he was able to recover, just as now. Once again Jason's hurt, and once again Dick feels the need to tear Bruce apart. “I'd kill for you.” Dick would say to Jason at one point, to let him understand he'd cross the line that was imposed on him when Dick became the first Robin, when his obsession for revenge his parents was consuming him. Jason'd endure the statement with a bewildered expression, because goldieboy could never; no one would avenge Jason. He would shrugged in reply, smiling sleep too tired to answer in words; Jason cannot conceive that he's as important to Dick as his own parents; Dick cannot get his hands bloody for someone like him, for anybody, nor for the people he loved the most. Dick's looking at Jason as if there was a question hanging between them; gimme me orders, a nod, something. You've no idea how far I'm willing to go to protect you. I need to show you - Dick avenged Jason once and may do so again.

[bouquetface]

Jungkook - Vedic Chart Observations + Predictions

My first time making this post I had the wrong birth time. I've finally found the time to do a proper read with hopefully the correct time - 3:23-3:35 PM

Also I hope everyone just takes this as fun. I do not mean any disrespect in making assumptions. I am well aware, I do not know him or his life. Please take it as entertainment.

I think it'd be fun if any long-term fans could fact check my assumptions based on his chart. And I really want to emphasize this is just for fun. I really hope I don't offend anyone 💗

This is using vedic so signs and planets will all be different from western. The timing section uses both western & vedic methods.

Money and Family/Early Life:

2nd H - Jupiter in Cap - This is Jupiter's debilitation. This can indicate financial hardships throughout one's life. However, in D9 his Jupiter is exalted in Cancer . This shows as he ages, his Jupiter gains power. In his case, Jupiter gains the power to financially bless him. He may have started out in a family that didn't have the best financial standing but it was destined that he would improve this area of his life.

5th H ruler (Mars) in 11th H - This is another wealth indicator. It shows someone who is eager and motivated to go after their desires. Mars is very protective of it's wealth and desires in this house. Funny enough mars as 5th ruler in 11th can indicate older brother helping you gain wealth since mars shows brothers/male friends and 11th H shows gains and eldest sibling. Jungkook has had BTS all help him gain wealth & achieve his desires & vice versa.

2nd H is ruled by Saturn - This shows the wealth would come through hardwork and patience. The negative of this placement is it indicates carrying family burdens. In Jungkook's situation, he started working very young (as a teen) and likely is the main provider for his family.

Saturn AK as ruler or 2nd & 3rd in 4th H - This shows it is apart of his life's purpose to take burdens off his family. If you believe in past lives, this shows needing to repay his parent’s soul who he may have known in his past life. If you do not believe in past life's, it simply shows life's purpose is connected to working and his family.

4th H ruler (Jupiter) in 2nd H - This is an indicator of expanding your family's legacy. This manifests different for everyone’s charts tho. IRL I've this in the chart of someone who took over their family restaurant and made it much more profitable. This placement also shows the mother runs the family and household. The household likely doesn't follow the traditions of the man/dad will run the home. The mom can be like a teacher and guide for everyone in the family.

Saturn in 4th H - shows his mother and home instilled traits of discipline, hardwork, patience, maturity. This can show his mother may have been the main disciplinary parent when he did something wrong as a kid. In the sign of pisces the usual saturn in 4th energy changes tho, here Saturn isn't as tough, pisces is an emotional and adaptable sign. His home life wouldn't have been as limiting as other people with Saturn in 4th. His early life may have been routined and structured rather than strict and cold.

3rd H ruler (Saturn) in 4th H - Occasionally this shows a child who learned to speak slowly or at a later age than norm. A quiet or shy kid/toddler. I'm not sure if anyone other than his mom and dad would be able to confirm that tho lol. This also shows his regular communication style to be generally truthful and keeping things to the point and short - not short & sweet tho because Saturn brings honesty, making him less likely to sugarcoat things.

Moon in Leo 9th H - Moon represents the mother in vedic but when in 9th it can provide insight on the father. In this case, his dad takes on a motherly role as well. If you believe in past lives, this placement shows you knew your father's soul in a past life. He may have even helped him out in the past life too. His dad may have been encouraging and supportive. Moon loosely conjunct Mercury in 9th shows his dad may be one of his closest friends.

Education, Travel and Father:

Moon in Leo 9th H - I think Jungkook doesn’t have a college or higher education. However, this placement shows someone who values formal education. Someone who can desire to change or get involved in the government through education or politics. However, I don't believe Jungkook has ever spoken on politics.

In his case, his 9th H planets seem to manifest as interest in foreign travel. 9th is the house of higher education and travel so this makes sense. His higher education can be seen as being gained through experiences - especially experiences abroad.

This placement shows becoming very religious/spiritual/philosophical after the father's death. I am unaware if Jungkook has ever spoken about religion before tho. If he has, he may embrace that religion more than he already does.

Sun in 9th H/9th H ruler in 9th - This shows strong interest in travel. This shows the father instilled strong morals. The father figure in his life gives wise advice. This is a blessed placement to have - it shows good past life karma and strong wealth indicator. In Jungkook's case, the ruler (sun) is placed well in it's home sign conjunct a benefic (moon). This adds to the strength of this placement. This shows Jungkook could have made an excellent preacher, motivator or teacher. His dad or father figure may have been a great at these things too.

Spouse/Marriage:

Venus in 10th H - In a man's chart this indicates meeting the wife in a professional setting. His 7th H ruler and DK being in 9th indicates he will meet his spouse when far from the birth place - possibly abroad - for a work related event.

Venus in Virgo 10th H - This Venus is debilitated. This doesn't mean the spouse will be bad or he will have a bad love life. It shows the planet Venus is unable to freely express itself in this sign's energy. Virgo is practical and analytical, it won't let Venus go recklessly indulge itself in love, money or other pleasures.

Virgo Venus has a practical approach to relationships - venus won't risk anything for love when in virgo. It shows Jungkook won't fall for someone based off appearance. He likely would disagree with the idea of "love at first sight". His approach to relationships is more cautious and logical. He knows the consequences of love and relationships. He'll consider the worst case scenarios before even approaching someone for a date.

He needs to know his wife on a much deeper level to trust her. Venus in 10th H shows he needs her to understand his career and image. She will be cautious and hardworking herself to understand how it is to be in the public eye.

The difficult part of having Venus in Virgo shows Jungkook can be very hard on himself. Venus here can make one feel love is to be earned. This makes one very critical of themselves, it can make them connect their self esteem to their looks, money and career. Venus can feel unworthy, Venus is constantly looking to perfect itself when in Virgo.

7th ruler (Mercury) in 9th H and DK in 9th H - This shows the spouse may be younger or youthful in appearance. She may have higher education and/or she is well travelled. She is likely a foreigner - this doesn't always mean someone from a different country, places in your own country can be foreign to you. His wife's culture and background will be new/foreign to him.

Her communication style will be charming. Something about her communications style really shines - ex: she could have pretty voice, she could be very funny, she could speak eloquently, she could be witty/clever- she could even be a writer professionally or as a hobby. However, it seems likely she would have or will later in life have published work.

Moon in DK - Typical description of Moon DK is a sensitive spouse, however in this case moon is in a fixed sign. This makes the spouse less likely to be overlysensitive but she will still have a sensitive side to her. This also shows the spouse can treat Jungkook like a child at times. After marriage, she takes on a nurturing role - ex: consistently asking him how did you sleep? did you eat? Due to DK conjunct mercury she can be very chatty too so she'll likely be the type of wife randomly texting him these questions but also other random things that come to mind or occur in her day. Not saying she's scatterbrained but she is fast thinking and moving - she could be very witty/funny.

DK conjunct Mercury and SUN shows she might be younger but she won't be unsuccessful. This is a hardworking lady. She has earned her way to wherever she is and she will not take shit. This is the sun's influence. She will be prideful and at times authoritative & stubborn. She’ll have a leadership position or leadership energy. Being stubborn is highly likely due to all these planets being conjunct in a fixed sign.

She may be interested in humanitarian causes. This might be something she is educated on or talks/writes about at some point. DK in 9th H, she will share and educate Jungkook on her beliefs and culture. They may even do something related to speaking up for certain causes or charity events together at some point in their lives. Mercury and sun’s influence in leo 9th H shows standing up for something bigger than yourself.

Timing relationships:

Jungkook has a few late marriage indicators (Venus Virgo, Venus opposite Saturn, 7th H ruler conjunct Sun). He may still need to go through relationships before meeting his spouse tbh.

A lot of this is based on SR which requires correct current location. If he moves, a lot of this is unlikely to be true. So take it as entertainment:just for fun

Sept 1 2025 to Sep 20 2027 - There are indicators in dasha periods & SR of a relationship. However, based on transit and sr in 2026 it seems he will let something or someone go in favour of something else.

Mars in 7th house of relationships shows conflict with partners and south node over 7th h ruler shows letting a partnership go. This could be in a professional sense rather than romantic. Hard to tell because he is very private.

2028 - The SR does show relationships being a big focus on this year. However, SR 7th ruler (moon) conjunct uranus indicates an unstable year. SR mars, venus and south node are in 7th h these indicate ups and downs in relationships. It's like he can't decide how he feels or finds out something shocking suddenly & it changes how he feels- for better or worse.

2029 / Age 32 - This year seems pretty important for his career/image and money. He may be more public or more social irl. He could confirm his relationship this year or be more of public presence in other ways. However, this could also be in his personal social life. This why it's so difficult to be accurate with celebs, we don't actually see their real lives.

2032 / Age 35 - This is a highly favourable year for relationships. He'll likely marry this year.

Sept 1 2034 - Nov 30 2036 / Age 37-38 - This is likely when he'll have kid, make a big move, expand his family or home.

BTW I realize I didn't specifically state which year he'll meet his spouse just the year he might marry. This is because truthfully his relationship may begin in one of the years where another ends - not implying cheating or anything like that. It seems the start is unstable in some way - might meet and then separate before coming back together.

Anyways if you got to this point, thanks and i hope you enjoyed it. don't take it seriously, it's all in good fun. wishing him the best tho.

[transient-winds]

OKAY Y'ALL BUT WTF WAS THIS CHAPTER IM BAWLING MY EYES OUT AS IM TYPING SO EXCUSE THE TYPOS.

(this is very much a "ume thanking sakura again" breakdown and also me crying about class 1-1 being the best people in the world wthhh)

Spoilers for Wind Breaker Chapter 162 Ahead!

THE TITLE?!?! THE TITLE.

"Everyone's Feelings"

Going into it went "oop this gonna make me cry at the end" and I STILL AM. THESE TEARS ARE FOR SAKURA AND EVERYONE ELSE WHO FEELS A LOT FOR SAKURA.

I was so prepared for things to end last chapter, NOPE, turns out there was MORE. *tumbles off of my chair*

Roppo Ichiza & Gravel are not at all subtle in trying to poach (not actually but in my eyes this is what i sees) Sakura via gaming like catnip and I'm oh so down for that what. Quality time with the allies y'all, I just love the comraderie!! Sakura is collecting so many big brother figures like they're pokemon. The best one is obviously Suzuri, no questions ask ("but Ume claimed him first-" HUSH DEARS WE ARE LETTING SUZURI TAKE THE SPOTLIGHT).

Ofc Suo ever the shit stirrer but we get an amazing look at Sakura's stompy stomp!!

My thoughts on Umemiya and Sakura's moment post-Noroshi:

Umemiya thanking Sakura again but this time for reaching out to their allies is such a beautiful moment!!

I understand why Ume never thought about asking for help because the man has been burdening himself with so much responsibilities. He saw the fight with Noroshi, or rather HIS fight with Takiishi, as HIS responsibility and everyone else involved were collateral to the consequences of his "failures" (i.e. not being able to defeat Takiishi sooner). His mind was clouded with so much pressure over what he has to do to maintain the peace he helped build in Makochi that it limited his vision, feeling like he can only rely on people within reach (Bofurin). It didn't help that Ume and his kings continually treating and referring to Noroshi as THEIR shadows and THEIR past, thus THEIR problem so its no wonder that same sentiment ripple down to everyone else in Furin too. Everyone except Sakura that is.

Sure, an argument can be made that had things not gone over well with Shishitoren and Gravel, there wouldn't be any allies to ask help from but I'd counter-argue that Roppo Ichiza was already an established ally of Furin. If Sakura hadn't been there and the battle of Noroshi was still set in motion, I wholeheartedly believe that Bofurin wouldn't have reached out to them at all. This is because of their conditioned mindset of not having anyone but each other (in Furin) dealing with the problems that threaten their town. Makochi residents are so used to dealing with things internally.

Sakura—who's new in town, had begun the process of learning to rely on people and was traumatized by his recklessness during the KEEL arc—had no such limitation or mindset and that's why only he had the thought of asking aid from their allies. Only he was able to think of the bigger picture in this situation. Expecting Noroshi to have an army? Well let's get an army of our own too! Especially when he knows the strengths of his allies so it added to their defense and offense.

So yes! Sakura IS amazing and we should give him the biggest round of applause because he single handedly turned the tide on the battle by doing the one thing Chapter 1 Sakura wouldn't thought of doing: asking for help.

Which is why this panel hurts me so much. It hurts because he's already a shining presence similar to Ume and he did it just by being himself. I hope that later on, Sakura will recognizes that for himself too.

He doesn't have to be another Umemiya, he just needs to be the better him.

Hiragi says it best about what makes Sakura so captivating yet incredibly fragile and all of Class 1-1 understands this very well.

Someone needs to look out for Sakura because if they don't, he'll fall into the same mistakes and flawed mindset Umemiya had.

Every moment they had done leading up to the barbeque was most likely a part of that drive. The drive to be strong enough to help carry Sakura's current and future burdens so he wouldn't have to do it alone. And they'll continue to do so as long as they stand behind their beloved grade captain, their leader.

NII-SENSEI, WHAT GAVE YOU THE AUDACITY TO TUG ON MY HEARTSTRINGS LIKE THISSS. OMGGGG WTFFF. *wailing and sobbing pathetically in the corner*

—

Honorable (Silly) Mentions (because my heart is in pain and i need humor to mend it):

The Togasaku stare, Sakura's sixth sense for Togame looking at him is just hrk im dying. My heart is so full of affection for Sakura and then they add this??? At THE BEGINNING??? SIRS STOP MAKING EYES AT EACH OTHER!! Y'ALL MAKE ME SICK (with love)

Choji why are you so squishable, you absolute fiend. I love you reincarnation of the killer rabbit of Caerbannog!!

Kanuma, honey, you gotta stand up for yourself :(!! Suo's not even looking at you directly (or is he 👀)

—

I'm dead, deceased even. Nii-sensei, their team and the official english TL team have killed me and dumped my body in a river of my own tears. DECEASED I TELL YOU!! The biggest love sending their way because wow haha I've crying for the past hour.

Thank you for reading this post too, my usual bs spouting nonsense but emotional edition. Still I'm happy with how it turned out because I realized a lot of things on why Noroshi arc was so much more different than the previous battles, sharing the most similarities with KEEL in terms of how unprepared Furin was to face their opponents and winning had only been in their favor with the outside help. Which I also liked to think was partially where Sakura had came up with the idea thus fully learning his lesson on what it means to bear the responsibilities of a leader.

[hughesybear]

thinking about them (extensive Petey & Quinn thoughts below cut)

so! Hughes and Pettersson, Quinn and Elias, Huggy and Petey. the natural and the savant. the “odd couple” holding out for contracts together in Michigan. named alternate captains at the same time; when Petey was asked about Quinn being named captain, he said “Quinn is the captain and we’re happy.” the title of best player on the Canucks fluctuates between them season-to-season.

they are so similar in so many ways. quieter personalities, lead-by-example types, relentless drives to improve. people who care deeply about their communities. a perfect fit for the leadership dynamic alongside each other.

Quinn on Petey: “I think our skill sets are complimentary.”

Petey on Quinn: “We think the game very similarly.”

leading up to his draft, Petey broke his shot down into twelve component parts and mastered each one because he knew it was viewed as a weakness; leading up to his Norris-winning season, Quinn improved his shot to the extent that it became a legitimate weapon, and it’s gotten even better this year. the day after he got drafted, Petey came back to the Canucks’ draft table for the later rounds to learn about their process and the players they were picking after him; the offseason after playing the Predators in the playoffs, Quinn consulted with Allvin to sign Sherwood, who has been an amazing fit with the Canucks so far this season. they both see exactly what the team requires from them in order to improve, and they don’t stop at anything to get better, whether it’s their own game, working with their teammates, or any other aspect of the team.

Petey was at Quinn’s captaincy press conference, and Quinn was at Petey’s contract extension press conference. both so skilled, so cerebral, so creative, and yet so different in how people perceive them, but their similarities on the ice unify them nonetheless.

Petey on rooming with Quinn:

What are the best and worst parts about rooming with Huggy Bear on the road?

He is the messiest guy I know! He’s going to say I’m throwing him under the bus, but it’s time for a change!

Is he one of those guys that lives out of his suitcase?

Oh, gosh, that’s the perfect explanation. He steps into the hotel room, I’m trying to be neat, put my bag where it’s not taking up space. Then he comes in, throws the bag in the middle of the room, open it up, takes out his suits, puts it over the chair. Lays in bed, kicks off his shoes. Then his socks off, just kicks them too. He’s very messy. On the good side, he doesn’t talk that much! No, but we put on movies. Netflix. We have similar taste, similar interest in what movies we like. It’s fun.

Quinn on rooming with Petey:

Petey called you a messy guy, what was Elias Pettersson like as a roommate last year?

I read the thing, he’s just so dramatic. Let’s just leave it at that […] Me and Petey are really tight so I loved it. We had a lot of fun together. We don’t have roommates this year in the hotels but I think me and him both miss each other and would want to roommate […] But yeah, we had a lot of fun, he’s one of my best friends so we had some good times too.

they’ve come a long way from rooming together five years ago, and now they find themselves in a position they’ve been in from the moment Petey scored his first goal on his first shot in his first NHL game - bearing the burden of the franchise together. enjoy the future, folks, here it is right now! except it isn’t, not all of it, because three of the six Canucks that were with the team five years ago are currently out of the lineup.

so what do Hughes and Pettersson do? they step up. they lead in tandem. roommates, franchise cornerstones, brunch pals - some of those things are in the past, but they still share what they have in common on the ice, and so many things off the ice as well.

they bleed for this team in the same way, in the same places, for the same cause.

Which teammate would you choose to make a playlist, if those were the only songs you would be able to listen to for the rest of your life?

Quinn Hughes: “Petey.”

[melithril]

[Adar] Perspectives

♫ - Safe & Sound - Taylor Swift & The Civil Wars

A/N: For @zanytimetravelcupcake, thank you for the request! I learned so much, so I hope you enjoy! If you all want a good learning curve, go check out kintsugi! <3

Adar did not see the point anymore. Of course, his point was his children. No matter how pointless things felt, he had to survive and be brave for them. To him, they deserved the world, and he would give it to them in every way he could if it meant they would feel as though they belong. Adar believed they deserved that much, that they deserved the happiness that came with having a  homeland, even if that meant it must happen in the absence of his own happiness. 

That wasn't to say Adar was particularly unhappy, though. While he may not be the most content of people, he most certainly had his reasons for that. He had small bits of happiness in his life, however. His children, seeing them grow from little uruks into adults, into warriors who had withstood so much hatred from Middle Earth. Then, there was you. 

You had come into Adar's life when he needed someone the most. You had walked through the door and before long, Adar found himself hoping you would never open it again. At first, he chided himself for feeling such emotions, as he had given up on love a long time ago. Though, as time passed, Adar realised that you were not bad for him, and had actually helped start to heal him. He may never be the person he used to be, but your existence in his life had meant that there was something for him to wake up for, and a reason for him to get through each day.

There were some days, such as today, where existing felt like the worst thing in the world to have to do. Adar bore a lot of weight on his shoulders, the burden of leadership got heavier as the days passed by. He would not show it often, but you could tell when something was not right. 

"Adar?" you questioned lightly, not seeing him at his desk when you entered the room. Instead, he was looking out of the window in his chair leaning on one arm. 

"Ilmarë," he replied with a soft tone, unmoving. Even on his worst days, Adar would never take his feelings out on you. 

Striding over to him, you knelt beside his chair and took his uncovered hand in your own. As you glanced up, you noticed he was more stern faced than usual. Where his features would normally be soft, instead they were harsh, and you knew his thoughts were plaguing him again.

"What is the matter, Adar?"

He sighed, running his hand through your hair and holding your face in his hand. Adar looked down to you, his eyes meeting your own, and you saw nothing but love in the way he stared. 

"Why do you love me, starlight?"

You almost flinched at his question, but from his tone you knew he was not finished. You hated when he felt like this. Not because it was an inconvenience, far from it, but more because you hated him feeling bad when, to you, he deserved everything. Instead of answering, you nodded in response to ask him to continue. 

"Well," he started, his hand back on the arm of the chair and his gaze once again landing on outside. "You could have anybody in Middle Earth, and I do not understand why it would be me that you would choose. I am broken, perhaps beyond repair. But you, you are full of life, my star. So much of it is ahead of you, I believe I would not suit that."

It tore a hole in your heart to hear that. To hear that the one person you loved most in this world thought so little of himself. To look upon him now and see the often stoic and calm lord, now with his eyes glazed over and voice wavering. You knew when you met him that he was vulnerable, and very susceptible to bouts of uncertainty, however little he may show it to others. Trying to think on the spot of how to help, you disappeared into your room and came back holding a small vase. 

"Here," you started, kneeling beside Adar's seat and staring up at him. "I want you to look at this." 

His brow furrowed as he took the miniature piece of porcelain and eyed it, turning it around in his hands. It was a black vase, no bigger than your forearm, and running through one side of it was a sliver of gold lacquer, holding it together as it clearly had been broken in the past. Adar shifted in his chair to face you a little more, inquisitive as to what exactly he was holding. 

"What might this be, my star? Other than a fine piece of work, that is."

You smiled. "I want you to have it. It is a gift."

"Thank you, starlight. Where did you get it?" Adar had yet to take his eyes off the art, clearly enjoying it.

"It is a vase made for me as a child by my mother," you began, grabbing a chair and pulling it up in front of him so you were face on. "It didn't always look like that, though. It was pure black when it was brand new. I kept it clean every day, and it was my favourite possession as I grew up. A few years ago it broke, the corner piece there was shattered."

As you turned the vase in his hands, Adar hummed in acknowledgement, and he ran his fingers over the golden rivers now adorning the broken side. 

"It is lovely, but I fail to see why it is relevant to our conversation."

"Because I thought it was beyond repair when it broke. I thought it was broken for good, and that I would never get it's perfect form back again, which devastated me. An older lady in my village took it in, and I watched her work on it one afternoon. She had fixed the side of it, and I will admit, now it is even more beautiful."

Adar nodded in agreement. You continued to talk, hoping something would click in his head eventually.

"She told me it was an art form, it's called kintsugi. This is where you take something broken, and fix it, and in that you learn to embrace the flaws or imperfections. She taught me that things that appear beyond repair are often more beautiful after the fact. I think you could learn from that too, my love."

Adar placed the vase down on the table, with the cracks facing you both as he took your hands in his own, rubbing his thumbs gently across the palms of your hands. 

"Ilmarë, I believe I understand now. Do you really think that of me? You believe I am still beautiful though I am broken?"

"No, I  believe that you are beautiful in spite of being broken, Adar. I believe in the good in you, I believe that despite all that you have endured, and all that has happened to you, that in this moment you are more beautiful than ever. Though I have known you merely a few years, I think that you are imperfect in the most beautiful of ways."

Adar's piercing blue eyes met your own, and he smiled. You felt butterflies in your stomach; even after all this time, the sight of his smile never failed to make you fall in love all over again. His smile softened his whole face, and it lit up with a newfound warmth. 

"I love you, Adar. I stay because I care so deeply for you, and no matter what I will stay with you for as long as you care to have me. Please never forget that."

Adar leaned forwards and placed a kiss to your lips, and you held his face in both your hands, gently running your fingers over his scars. This was an action he used to flinch at, but now he reveled in your touch every time. Pulling away, you whispered against his lips. 

"Never forget that when you doubt yourself, I am here. You are my kintsugi."

[nomatterwhatnomatterwhere]

Feels (Wistful) like Summer Rain

A.N: Soo... it took me longer than I thought to finish this one. I'm really sorry about this. I'm not entirely satisfied, especially with the ending. I don't know. Let me know what you think. In any case I hope you like it

T.W: emotional abuse ( kinda ?), social anxiety ( done bad but still)

Max's pov: Feels (Warm) like Sunlight

Kelly's pov: Feels (Harsh) like Winter Wind

Misunderstanding Max was not difficult, in fact he made it quite easy. And you had always read too much between the lines

That was why you hadn't insisted when Max had wanted to change the subject when you'd alluded to Kelly.

Part of you wanted to insist, to know if it was worth it after all, to take a step back. But another part didn't want to hurt Max any more than the rest of the world already had.

He hardly ever gave it away, but he didn't like being labelled the villain of the story. The villain of every story.

Who would?

Yet with the character he had on the track, with his racing manner, he was perfect for the role.

You remembered perfectly his eyes asking you to confirm what the tabloids reported, whether it was true that he was unfair and violent.

You remembered well how easy it was to see his poker face collapse at the slightest hint, and how no one seemed to notice.

Or maybe they pretended not to notice.

Because people like to see what they want to see, what suits them, and it didn't matter if they ruined other people's lives with their way of doing things.

Because people had seen Max's raw talent and had decided that that sixteen-year-old boy was the ideal villain in a world of competitiveness where only the best can triumph.

That's exactly why you meant every word you said, that you were truly sorry, because you had seen how happy Kelly had made him, and you really hoped the two of them had parted better than the gossip pages let on, and it hurt that you couldn't be more of a comfort to him at that moment.

But you didn't belong there.

Not any more. For a long time.

Max had caught your eye long before you realised it.

Your situation at the time wasn't the best, but that didn't mean you were easily distracted, quite the contrary.

It had been rather strange how between acting as if nothing was changing at school, and dealing with foster care at home, it had been Max who had caught your attention.

Max didn't attend classes much, and no one really knew why, plus his home situation wasn't much happier than yours.

Only yours had been handled much better. His were rumours that were somehow confirmed.

Maybe he had attracted you because you thought you were similar, even though you knew how different you really were.

Those few times you saw Max at school, he never tried to hang out with the others; no matter how much his gaze lingered on the groups of kids at recess, he never got up to go to them, and they always kept their distance from him, but Max never seemed to mind so much.

You, on the other hand, always had anxiety about being alone, you didn't want to stay with your thoughts. But you also got anxious when you were with your friends, because you were never really honest with them, because you didn't want to argue with anyone, because you never took sides for fear they would get angry with you and leave you alone.

Somehow neither of you were really comfortable with the others.

You found out why Max was so absent because you asked the Vermeulen, your foster parents.

It had taken you a while to open up to them, not because they were mean or you didn't like them, they were just different from what you were used to, and you didn't want to be a burden of any kind to them, who had welcomed you with open arms first into their home and then into their family

It had not been easy for them either, the therapist who had dealt with you had said that your adapting so much to what others wanted was the result of a trauma that you had not yet realised you had suffered.

And how could you, what the psychologist called ‘trauma’ had been normal for you until child welfare workers had turned up on your doorstep asking you to pack your bags.

In fact, you had difficulty understanding why they had taken you away from your parents: they were not violent, had never beaten you and they had never made you lack anything. Of course they often shouted at each other, about things you didn't understand, but wasn't that something all couples did? They demanded that you behave well in every situation, that you never talk back, and that you do well at school, but there was nothing strange in expecting you to be a polite child. They weren't affectionate parents, but that didn't make them monsters, most people don't like physical contact and your parents were that kind of person.

The Vermeulens had given you an mp3 so you could listen to the music you wanted when you were studying without feeling guilty about the volume. When you travelled by car Vincent, Mr Vermeulen, always took the longer and more scenic drives because you liked to watch the scenery change, and you could listen to a few more songs because that mp3 had become your best friend. They had taken you to see The Nutcracker at the theatre because it was your favourite CD in Mrs Vermeulen's vast collection, Julie, you had listened to it so much that she had bought a copy just for you.

For Christmas they had taken you to a Christmas fair because you had never been to one, with Julie putting your scarf over your nose every three times so you wouldn't look too much like Rudolph and Vincent holding you on his shoulders when your feet started to hurt.

The best thing, though, was seeing the two of them at the candy stand arguing over which was better between liquorice and gummy bears, only to see you choose milk candy. From then on there were always packets of those sweets around the house

It was this blatant distinction between your parents‘ and the Vermeulens’ way of doing things that made it difficult for you to open up to them: You loved your parents, but Julie and Vincent made you feel not only valued but also part of something, and that made you feel ungrateful and unappreciative.

That was a thought you didn't feel ready to share yet though, so you diverted to the other thought that wandered through your head with no intention of paying rent

"He participates in a lot of races, that kid is a karting prodigy."

Max wasn't family, but Vincent couldn't deny that he had a keen eye for the little devil that haunted his go kart track, perhaps because you could see from afar that little Verstappen had talent to spare, or perhaps because a bit like you, he looked to him like a child older than his age.

Maybe that was why he didn't object when Julie, after a doubtful look from you, suggested you spend some time at the go-kart track and see for yourself how good your classmate was

The go-kart track was your second - third ? - home. You liked how every time you went there you felt relieved of a burden, you felt free of the tension of having to be attentive to everything around you, that was probably why you had never noticed Max before.

But once you did, it was hard not to notice him: he was one with the kart, he looked like he was made for racing on the track.

It was also hard not to notice his father: Jos Verstappen was someone who made you feel strange, somehow Jos reminded you of your parents even if you didn't quite understand how that was possible.

Your parents would never have left you somewhere because you had not achieved the desired results in a competition. Jos always seemed to be dissatisfied with what Max did, and Max seemed sad, even though it was obvious that he loved racing on the track

You had approached him after Jos had left him stranded for the umpteenth time. You knew he'd come to pick him up. If he hadn't, his mother would have done it. But that time he seemed the most broken you had ever seen him.

You weren't sure what it was, but since that day something had clicked between you: it was the reading between the lines, the catching of a different look from the usual, the slight change in tone, the getting to know each other so intimately that made your relationship with Max so immensely different from any other.

It was something that grew with you over time, something uniquely yours but that everyone around you perceived, even without really understanding it.

That was why you thought you had a special place in his life: apart from his family, you were the person he spent most time with on and off the track.

You always knew what was going on in his head without him uttering a word, not that Max was one who didn't speak.

Max could talk a lot when he wanted to, and when he talked about something he liked - racing, engines, winning - he had a light in his eyes that made it impossible not to be spellbound listening to him.

To say that Max wasn't popular would be a lie, you remembered with deep affection his confused look when he found a stack of Valentine's Day dedications on the counter, his gaze seeking confirmation in yours, as if to ask if what was happening was normal, and his not knowing quite how to act about it.

It was something Victoria often teased him about, not knowing how to read those social interactions

"Probably all the space in his head is taken up with strategies for competitions."

You really thought you had a chance, you saw it: you saw how Max sought your gaze before others, how he somehow searched for your approval, your support. How he was looking for you.

At least until Kelly had arrived and reality had hit you like a bucket of ice water as the ground beneath your feet crumbled.

You wanted so badly for him to love you back that you had seen things that had never been there, because obviously Max had never had a thing for you.

Because otherwise you wouldn't have seen that look in his eyes, as if Kelly had attached the moon to the sky.

You wouldn't have seen that smile so joyful when he talked to her, when you had waited years to see him smile like that.

You wouldn't have felt like you were in the way.

It sucked to feel that way. Rejected. It hurt so much that even the thought of feeling that way again led you to avoid seeing his races, limiting yourself to messages of good luck or congratulations, but even those were short-lived

"I think I've lived Max's life enough" was what you told the Vermeulen after days of silence "Racing is his passion. Not mine. I think it's time to try something new" you had finished with a small smile, resigned, but at least not forced.

But that didn't mean they didn't stay awake with you when you cried at night, in case you needed something.

You wouldn't have needed anything.

But they kept leaving you over the kitchen counter a cup of hot chocolate, bitter, because you had long since given up the absurd amount of sugar that was milk candy.

They had both been open and understanding when with downcast eyes you had asked, whispered, if it was all right for you to walk away from that world

"You're your own person, and it's just right you try different things and what works better for you. Our world doesn't have to be your world. And that won't change what we feel about you"

You realised you were crying when Julie wiped the tears from your face. She had just painted her nails.

Relationships with the Verstappens went on without too much trouble, they had only diminished, sleepovers and outings with Victoria were still a must have and Sophie had never made a secret of how much she enjoyed your company.

Only once had you been asked if you would like to see one of Max's races live again.

Neither of them had insisted when you had declined due to an important commitment that day, but neither of them had missed how tense you were at the question.

It was true though, even if you had wanted to go, you couldn't because you really had an important commitment.

Since your time away from the world of racing you had tried different things, but radio was the one you felt most at home in: whether you were put on the assistant director's desk or the leaderboard or whatever, you felt you were in your own world.

When you had been offered to replace one of the announcers you had accepted, even if it meant not sleeping until the next morning. It was worth it, in the end, because they had confirmed you for that nightly column which, although niche, had seen a significant increase in ratings since you had been hosting it. The audience liked your approach, they interacted more, even at that ungodly hour, and even for the other hosts it was clear that that was your place.

The YouTube channel came later, even though it wasn't entirely your idea: at first it was stories or live feeds on Instagram, but your audience seemed to like it and they suggested you expand it, so you did.

There were people who didn't like you, who thought you were fake and posh, and who enjoyed sending you unkind comments. But it didn't matter any more.

There were people who liked you, even without ever having seen you. People who without knowing you thanked you because you had said something that made their day better, or because they felt understood by someone.

(That had been another reason for your broadening the topics of discussion on your channel).

Deciding to do a live broadcast from the kart track had been something you had been thinking about for a while. Even though you had drifted away from the world of racing, it had always been a part of you, and it would come back to greet you cyclically when you got notifications of start times, qualifying results or penalty investigations.

You hadn't managed to completely detach yourself from what had been your world for most of your life, those who knew you simply didn't know this side of you.

You were embarrassed to say that the reason you no longer followed the sport so assiduously was because it reminded you of how your first crush had rejected you without realising it, and you were even more embarrassed to think that that little crush on Max Verstappen had never really got over.

But the kartdrome was not just the more or less painful memories of Max. It was also the hiding between the tyres to study, the milk sweets you offered to everyone who came in, the people who switched from karts to formula but always went back to their roots, so you decided to give it a try.

You didn't know how you would react if it went wrong, but fortunately for you your interest in the sport seemed to be appreciated, so much so that you found yourself walking around a paddock again after not setting foot there for years.

Returning to breathe the air of racing was strange: it wasn't something new, but it was different from what you remembered.

It was strange to move around and meet people who wanted to take a photo with you, hug you or just say hello, you didn't think you had brought much to what was the world of car racing, yet everywhere you turned there were people who seemed to think otherwise.

It was even stranger to meet familiar faces long before they became famous. You'd known them from Max's races, you'd even stopped to talk to some on occasion, but you hadn't kept in touch.

"Look who's finally back"

It had taken you a while to realise that Esteban was talking to you: you couldn't remember ever having spoken a word to him when you went to watch the races. He must have noticed, as he snorted a laugh before showing you a photo in which oh, yeah, that was definitely you wearing a sweatshirt kindly donated by Max standing next to you

The other kid in the photo must have been Esteban but in your eyes he was so different that you had to alternate your gaze between him and the photo before you really realised.

"You were always nice to everyone. It was a shame not to see you around any more."

He had been the first to say it, but after meeting other drivers the general thought seemed the same: you were someone who, despite everything, stuck out.

Not once had the thought of how you would behave if you met Max crossed your mind.

That's why you didn't know how to react when you met him.

Although perhaps it was more accurate to say that it was he who had met you.

It wasn't that you hadn't recognised him, you were realising that the man in front of you, with the two glasses in his hand, wasn't one of the many people there.

It was Max Verstappen.

The same Max Verstappen who didn't know how to deal with others, who watched from afar as the other children played, not knowing which way to approach them.

You didn't know what it was, whether an involuntary reflex or something else, but you broke that embarrassed silence.

Yours was not a question to be answered with ‘less than you think’, and you were ready to ask for an argument if he did not ask another question

"Why didn't you come to the Redbull pit?"

That wasn't a question to ask someone you hadn't seen in a long time, especially not in that tone that almost seemed to accuse you, when he had no right to do so

"Sorry what-"

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming to the races? I could've-"

"I didn't have to tell you tho" maybe you had been too blunt in answering him, but it was true. You didn't have to give any information, plus it would have been weird to tell Max with whom you had been radio silent for years "We hadn't talked in ages, I couldn't just text you. It didn't feel right, you know?"

You had seen his gaze change and could feel the wheels turning in his head, but you too had started to ask yourself some questions

"Didn't think you knew I was there … Was it Vic who told you?"

"Heard you on the radio"

Oh. You didn't think Max was a radio guy, honestly. Not least because even though they'd changed them, your column times still remained infamous.

There was another silence that led to your apology for his break-up with Kelly, a subject Max didn't seem to want to talk about at all, given the fleeting change of expression.

He was pensive. And sad. Yet more proof of how important Kelly was to him.

Somewhat resentfully you wondered if he had ever made such an expression thinking about you, although you found it difficult that between all his commitments Max found time to think about you. He hadn't thought about you since he started dating Kelly, why would he now

"I can get you a pass, if you plan to watch the race"

You had laughed.

What else were you supposed to do in a situation that oscillated between the ridiculous and the comical

"If I plan to watch the race? I don't think you will ever find someone who's not here for the race. Well, they sure have other things to do, but you know what I mean"

It was common knowledge that the Montecarlo race was the VIP hangout, and you didn't think you had to be the one to explain it to Max

"I appreciate the thought, but I already got my pass, but thank you"

you backed away from the railing you had been leaning against, convinced that the conversation would end there, now that you had nothing to go on talking about, but what he asked next left you mildly surprised

"Even for Quali?"

He "You… “ remembered "have my attention"

It wasn't common knowledge, but you often preferred qualifying to racing: there was something about pre-race performances that gave you goosebumps, an adrenaline rush you could never quite describe. Max knew it. He'd listened to you for hours as you explained how the qualifying air was different, and he often agreed with you, even if he would just put his head down and let you talk.

Time may have passed, but he still had that same expression that you had never been able to put a name to.

You had smiled when you recognised Raymond's voice greeting you: he had been Verstappen's manager for as long as you could remember, but it was he who had steered you into the world of radio. You owed him a lot -

(Did that make you an honorary nepo- baby of some kind?).

After asking him to pass on your apologies to Ray you were drawn into another conversation, and then another and another, that you almost didn't notice how Max's presence followed you around like a shadow, though not physically, and how that seemed to make the others uncomfortable.

Almost.

It had been like stepping back in time for an evening: sensing his gaze from a distance, knowing exactly what he was thinking with just a glance, having conversations that lasted a blink of an eye, a slight smile or a shake of the head

And you were pretty sure the next day you would have regretted not clarifying the situation right away.

It had come back to you why you thought you had a chance with him, why you had seen things that had never been there, why you had fallen in love with him

Misunderstanding Max wasn't difficult, in fact, he made it quite easy.

And you had always read too much between the lines