#why are some hobbies just not deemed as good enough to have

[qu0rky]

What has shifted in recent years?

I’ve noticed (as someone who’s been on Tiktok since it was called Musical.ly and witnessed the insane bullying that happened around 2018 disguised as “jokes”) that not only people have gotten angrier, but their criticism doesn’t sound critical anymore, it sounds completely irrational.

The people on that app have especially gotten really comfortable with shitting all over fandoms that they’re not a part of, claiming that “oh the source material is problematic, so i have the right to hate on its fans” who coincidentally happen to be mostly part of minorities or in general enjoy things that are seen as “weird” and “cringey”.

Even going as far as showing photos of cosplayers at cons (which is literally a place for people to nerd out) and making fun of them. I’m sorry, what in the world makes you think that that is an acceptable behaviour?? And what the hell does that have to do with the “source material”?

I am SICK and TIRED of the incessant hate trains on literally any single thing that gains a significant following, because at this point you’re not even opening a conversation about stuff that could be fixed about it, you’re just straight up bullying the (queer/ neurodivergent) teenagers that enjoy it.

This is what happens when you give middle school bullies who are living vicariously through their past (because they haven’t achieved shit after it) a platform to be hateful and actually get rewarded for it.

I like the Hellaverse, i like Anime, i like Kpop, i like being a girl who enjoys things to get through a shitty time in my life. If it upsets you then you’re the weird one.

If your only personality trait is “being a hater” you’re not quirky, you need a therapist.

[sweetpascal]

— 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐰𝐨, 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝

pairing: knight!marcus acacius x princess!reader

pinterest board inspo

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

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

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

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

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follow @sweetpascal-notifs for future fic updates.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And with that, she ushers you out the door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Princess, please!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How did you get that scar?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wet, naked, and vulnerable?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you love him?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was a gentle knocking at the door.

"Celeste? Princess?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The shock on his face was laughable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This time, it was Marcus who pulled away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Goodbye, Marcus Acacius," you whisper brokenly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[jazeswhbhaven]

Do you think Mammon (and the other demons) would get confused by modern slang like saying "this is ass" in a negative way or if something is of poor quality

because Mammon likes ass and he'd most likely get confused about it idk

Ah good thing to talk about, anon. This is going to be long I apologize in advance lol

I will lead in with this, apparently when MC said the word "dildo" Satan, Sitri, and Ppyong had no idea what that was and it confused me because like??? Avisos has a literal dildo vending machine wtf you mean ya'll don't know what that is?

And it makes me think they just call stuff like that something else in their language and that's why they were unfamiliar with the term.

So with modern slang and AAVE (yes there is a difference) the devils in this universe would take the phrases very literal and therefore you'd have to explain.

Now, for Mammon when it comes to phrases like that because he does take it literal. My OC Astra uses phrases like "You've got me fucked up" "On God?" "Catch this fade" "Meet me outside" you know the drill. She always has to clarify because otherwise...lol

Mammon's response to "UGH This is ass..." would be "??? I'm pretty sure the only ass here is yours and mine <3" and then you have to explain.

Satan would try to level with you and understand your "funny words". Leviathan hates it when you speak that way because he deems it "too informal to comprehend" but he's just jealous he sounds incredibly stiff when attempting to say the same things. Beelzebub loves phrases like that and intentionally teases you by having you believe he doesn't know what you mean but he does. Belphie may 50/50 understand since he talks hella informal so he just vibes and doesn't ask for you to clarify.

Funny enough I'll tell you anon who I think would know most of every human speech dialect and that's Lucifer, Asmodeus, and Amy.

Lucifer? Due to age, and his observation of human activity. Asmodeus is a no brainer since he spends a lot of time on earth. Amy? Because it's his hobby to study that and he prefers speaking that way to confuse and upset Sitri because he can't stand how "proper" he speaks when there's absolutely nothing wrong with informal speech if you are conveying the same thoughts and feelings correctly.

But you'd never catch him saying skibidi rizzler in the same sentence.

Also bonus: If Minhyeok was into K-pop and the hip-hop/rap culture that's in Korea, he'd know some phrases. Granted you may have to correct him as some times a lot of AAVE is not used properly so it sounds odd. (gyat being the worse offender lately....)

[infiniteetcetera]

The recent discourse of “Cassian/Nesta don’t make sense as mates from a power standpoint” is so interesting (and true) but I also find it interesting that I don’t think there really is any other SJM world mates that parallel Cassian/Nesta?? Like there’s nothing about them that reads as mates to me. Whether you like them or not, Feysand, Rowaelin, Elucien, and Quinlar all make perfect sense to me as mates (even if it’s not in a romance sense but in like a powers/fantasy bond/parallels sense) The only SJM couple that comes close to Nessian in terms of parallels for me is (Nessian stans turn away now) Azriel/Mor.

There are actually a lot of interesting parallels here on the surface/in terms of scenes. I give you examples:

• Mor yanking her hand away from Az and Cassian yanking his hand away from Nesta, even though the action shows incredible (rare) vulnerability from Az/Nesta.

• The entire Cauldron/end of ACOMAF scene, Cassian’s reactions to Nesta being hurt and Azriel’s reactions to Mor getting hurt are the same.

• A complete lack of understanding for one another despite their connection?? Cassian and Nesta are almost never on the same page and Mor and Azriel still fail to understand each other after 500 years of friendship.

•Choosing Rhys/orders over each other, specifically when it matters most.

•The way Mor describes Azriel’s feelings of inadequacy and feeling undeserving of her are exactly how Nesta describes her feelings for Cassian and not being good enough for him (also neither Cas/Mor has ever told the other they’re wrong for feeling that way).

•Despite their own disregard of the others feelings, Cassian/Mor demonstrate a similar weird possessiveness over Nesta/Azriel, in particular i’m thinking of Cassians reaction to Neris (even though Nesta doesn’t even like Eris) and Mor’s reaction to Elriel (like you’re a Lesbian girl why do you care who Az is flirting with)

•A surface level parallel of powers that implies a subservience that isn’t normal with mating bonds (where powers are meant to compliment each other, even if one is slightly more powerful.) For example, Nesta’s power is death and Cassian is a war general (who delivers death, but is inherently subservient to it) and Mor’s power is “truth” while Azriel is an interrogator with a knife called truth teller (again sort of subservient to the idea and pursuit of truth, not equal to it)

•The implication of having no shared hobbies and one being forced into doing what the other likes (Nesta training to become more like Cas, Azriel going to Rita’s and generally putting himself out there to please Mor)

•The manipulation of emotions to force the other into doing what they want. Nesta goes from 0 to 100 in accepting the bond bc Cassian pushes this idea of being “shackled” to her and reminding her she’s inferior/not enough for him. Mor is constantly using Azriel’s feelings to force him to talk/agree to plans and just generally do what she/the IC wants

•The complete IGNORING of an implicit love confession (Az/Mor after the Autumn court debacle, Cas/Nes at the end of ACOWAR) even though ignoring it is weird and makes no sense.

WHY DO I POINT ALL THIS OUT? I think these parallels could mean some important things, especially because SJM could have chosen to ignore all the weird/bad things about Nessian and pretend they had a happily ever after following ACOSF but she didn’t. So, what are the options here?

1) I’ve seen this one a few times and I think it’s an interesting concept: there are “true” mating bonds, like those in TOG, and there are “cauldron” mating bonds, which have less to do with love/romance/compatibility and more to do with breeding and just generally creating a path the cauldron deems suitable. I think Mor/Azriel being “cauldron” mates would be a great way to explore this concept since Mor can’t love Azriel, giving Azriel a chance to be with someone purely out of choice (no matter who that is), and forcing the Archeron sisters to contemplate their mating bonds and whether they really want their mates (I focus more on Nes/Elain here, I hold true that Feysand is here to stay, though this could be an interesting contention point for Rhys)

2) This seems less likely to me but would be SO interesting: Rhys has the power to fake mating bonds to a certain degree and has been doing so when it suits him. Now let me specify one thing: Rhys did NOT fake his bond with Feyre, we do know this for certain. Based on his thoughts it’s also very likely he did NOT fake Elucien’s bond. HOWEVER i think it is totally plausible and makes sense for him to fake a bond between Mor/Azriel and Cassian/Nesta as a means of controlling Azriel and Nesta. We are told several times throughout the series Rhys doesn’t know how to control Az and the first time we see Az try to defy him (by being with Elain) what does Rhys immediately ask??? wHaT aBoUt mOr, aZ? Such a weird thing to bring up, except it’s not when you get to the basis of all Mor and Az’s interactions and why people think Az loves Mor (he does what she says and tries to make her happy, even to his own loss) except apparently when it suits Rhys. We’ve seen the SAME vibe with Nessian, and we know Rhys has been hardcore struggling to control Nesta. I think if he saw they had some mutual attraction, faking a bond there would make sense. it would also make sense they were able to avoid/ignore each other for so long (like the bond was faded) but then have an intense connection when around each other

3) These parallels mean nothing except SJM poorly wrote both of these pairings 💔

Truly, I know NOTHING for sure but I hope SJM chooses to do something interesting with these pairs rather then leaving them with weird icky damaging histories and ignoring them. Cant be too sure but I have some hope

[hxhhasmysoul]

I found it strange how certain fans don’t apparently see the romantic undertone and chemistry between Gon and Killua, but yet still see can Killua as being gay.

Do you think it’s possible that those fans infantilize Gon by not viewing Gon being capable to understand romantic feelings?

Despite the fact that Gon is technically more experienced with those type of relationships compared to Killua…

I think you’re right, some fans do infantilize Gon a lot (or demonise him). But there is more to why he’s not perceived as gay or why his feelings are not so well noticed.

The most obvious as to why they don’t want to see Gon’s quite obvious feelings towards Killua is the expectation of Gon being straight just by virtue of being a shounen manga protagonist. Those guys do not engage in romance usually, and if they do it’s very much in the background or played for laughs. There will just be “and they were all straight” time skip ending. 

Based on my observations of the two fandoms I’m a part of, there are a lot of fans who come into stories with preconceived notions of what the story will be. If it’s a shounen the mc will have certain traits, his storyline will have certain beats and they will just ignore anything that deviates from these expectations. (Or get very upset that the story is not meeting those expectations)

Killua can be gay, because he’s not the main character and those are allowed more range by the fandom at large. Like there will be people who expect Killua to be Gon’s rival and get confused that he isn’t, but generally the fandom is more tolerant of Killua not fitting that character trope.

And Killua fits into several western gay stereotypes ( I don’t know enough about Japanese gay stereotypes to say he fits those too). 

His body language sometimes slightly veers into what is deemed stereotypically feminine. 

He has more distinct outfits than Gon in the anime. In the manga Gon has more outfits, including a dress-up game that Togashi drew as extras, which includes a dress for Gon, which I at least treat as a canon outfit that Gon has. Which makes Gon not really gender conforming 100% of the time, which in our current societal norms makes him seem queer. But most fans never read the manga, or just skimmed through it.

Killua likes sweets which according to gender stereotypes is a girly preference. In Japan this kind of stereotype can be seen that sweets are for kids and girls, but also in the western so called manosphere you can find people claiming that a real man should never order a dessert. I wouldn’t claim that we never see Gon eating sweets in canon, because I’ve never cared enough to keep track of it, but Killua’s obsession with Chocorobos is so prominent it’s a meme.

And the reader is treated to Killua explicitly waxing poetic about Gon in his head. It’s kinda hard to miss.

_____________

In addition to Gon not performing queer stereotypes as much as Killua does, there just is prejudice against the kind of person Gon is. And here comes the full on infantilization. 

I kind of hate writing this kind of stuff, attaching diagnosis to characters that officially have none. There are aspects to Gon that can lean into interpreting him as neurodivergent. He has moments of hyperfocus when he becomes blind to the world outside, he sometimes has problems regulating his emotions, he can get single minded, he’s prone to risk taking, has issues with self worth and depression.

Like many neurodivergent people he’s not good when it comes to school learning, school is just not compatible with the neurodiverse. 

But people (including some not self aware neurodiverse people) will judge you on your intelligence and maturity if you don’t excel in that environment. With Gon it’s extra annoying, because he proves over and over again how smart he is. 

Also Gon has hobbies and shows excitement about them. To a large subset of society that just means you’re a child, like for some reason the mark of maturity is being tepid and not invested in anything but making money and having a nuclear family. Gon still is literally a child, so his excitement is excusable, but it also makes him see much less mature than Killua who’s already trying to perform moderation in showing excitement about things, he doesn’t always manage, but he’s more reserved, above it all. He’s already self-policing his levels of excitement. 

And because a lot of people in the fandom are young, these biases are just something that have been ingrained into them by the culture, their family and school and they never paused to actually realise that they actually have these opinions and how fucked up they are, because these opinions just feel like duh, like this is obviously how it should be.

And since we don’t get that much of Gon’s inner voice, it’s easy to get tricked into thinking that unlike Killua, Gon doesn’t have a rich inner life, that he doesn’t have all these thoughts constantly running through his head. He’s just this silly kid who sees a bug and suddenly the excitement of that is just 100% percent of his inner life. 

As a silly child Gon’s incapable of romantic feelings, especially gay feelings. Because as we know gay feelings are for older people. Which strongly feeds into the bias that neurodivergent people are generally immature and like should their supposed love lives (or gender identity) even be treated seriously let alone acknowledged?

I personally don’t think that Gon is that much more experienced than Killua when it comes to romance. Like Gon thinks he knows how to throw a date but it’s clear he’s much more interested in the whole planning and preparing a date then being romantic with a person. It feels that his attitude towards “dating” is a little naive and confused, which makes sense because he is a kid. That doesn’t mean he’s incapable of deep love, it’s just that he needs to gain more life experience, actually try to be in a romantic relationship, not just have deep feelings for his friend that they never talk about XD So like I think his experience in romance and dating should only be measured once he tries to take on a date someone he actually would like to date. And not organise play pretend dates for his aunt or as entertainment for some tourist ladies for whom it’s an a funny attraction to indulge a little sheltered boy who things that taking them, complete strangers he’ll never see again his life, on a guided tour of the island and giving them flowers constitutes a proper date. Especially in the context of Gon’s date with Palm.*

_____________

Gon’s love is stated in dialogue and not in his inner monologue, it’s in the way he acts towards Killua, how he repeatedly says that he wants to be with Killua, how much Killua’s safety matters to him. Because of that it’s more missable, it just flows with the scene. It’s not as explicit as Killua’s stream of consciousness. We don’t know what Gon’s stream of consciousness looks like, we don’t know how much of his conscious thought is occupied by him just explicitly thinking about Killua. Because of that the people, who want to see Gon as just a shounen protag, will assume that there are no such thoughts in Gon’s head. Or even more likely, never bother to consider what might be going on in Gon’s head because it’s not something they generally do. And because of the stupid date with Palm gag, they will feel more assured in their assumption that Gon's straight. Because of how Togashi frames it, Gon's clear discomfort with Palm's bahaviour and his complete interest in her as a potential crush are obscured. 

-

-

-

-

_____________

* Dates with older ladies and Palm tangent, le sigh. 

Generally Togashi really doesn’t stick the landing when it comes pedophilia. 

First of all, it’s pretty clear Togashi did no research on it, just defaulted to stereotypes about it. 

There’s Hisoka who kinda embodies the harmful stereotype that links samesex attraction and gender non conforming presentation with pedophilia. And leans into the stranger danger stereotype. In reality creepy strangers like Hisoka are statistically less likely to anything more than passive creepers who stare at kids and have pedophilic scenarios in their heads, because most active paedophiles are people who are in some way close to the child. Unless there is child trafficking going on, or child prostitution. Of course someone so powerful like Hisoka could just use violence or money to get access to children but this is going into speculation about what Hisoka could potentially do outside of what the text gives us. It’s not unreasonable speculation but I don’t think Togashi thought that deeply about it. I just think he went by the stereotype and used the hints of paedophilia as an extra quick association to add to Hisoka’s general super creepy vibe. And I’m saying hints, because Togashi really strives to have plausible deniability here. He always tries to mix in Hisoka’s obsession with strong opponents into the scenes that without that would clearly read as pedophilic. But with that obsession in the mix, it lets some people contest the pedophilic reading, claim that Hisoka’s boner is about Gon’s power growing. I think Togashi muddies the waters on purpose to keep the whole thing less serious.  

Some people in the fandom interpret Illumi as a paedophile. Him being one is more in line with what rl statistics would suggest. He has an extremely creepy obsession with Killua, has means to control Killua and is very chill with Hisoka having paedophilic interests. And while I think it’s a reading that makes perfect sense, it is an interpretation. Even if Togashi wanted Illumi to read that way, he still put in enough plausible deniability that many people will just think that interpreting Illumi as a paedophile is reaching.  

So now we come to Palm and Gon “dating” older women.

What I think Togashi went for with the older women on Whale Island is to give the reader the image that Gon’s dates were akin to kids throwing tea parties for their toys and/or family members. Especially the mention of him going on dates with Mito makes it more plausible that it was what Togashi intended. Just a kid play pretending to do adult things. Cute, naive, innocuous. And also knowing it’s just role playing. Because most kids know that they are playing, that serving tiny toy teacups to their family members is just pretending to serve tea. They are usually old enough to separate their imagination from reality. 

We know that Gon is aware that the date he organises for Palm is pretend. He does not like Palm that way, he does not want to be in a relationship with her and he is trying to let her down easy by taking her on a pretend date. He probably thought it was a good idea because he likely got good feedback from the older women he used to “take on dates”. Likely those women had fun like adults have fun during the fake tea parties. Everyone knows it’s just role playing a scenario for fun. 

I don’t think that we’re supposed to think that those women were creepers who believed those dates were real. Because the whole shitty joke is that both Palm and Killua think that it’s real when Gon is perfectly aware that it isn’t. 

Gon has enough self-awareness that he knows he doesn’t have feelings for Palm and that he’d like her not to have feelings for him. But he’s also scared of her because she’s an extremely  strong nen user and she’s shown to be unstable in a violent way. So he chooses to play into her delusion to get himself out of the situation and not hurt her feelings. Because of his lack of like experience it backfires, because he likely had never met a person like her. He doesn’t know that there is no way not to hurt her feelings at that point, that she’s not a rational actor. 

In this Gon both shows that he has emotional maturity in line with his age and certain gaps in understanding the world also in line with his age. 

And we also see that Killua treats Gon as intelligent and as mature as himself and with respect for Gon’s life experience because he takes Gon’s words about dating experience waay too seriously. Which is also in line with his age, kids that age can we waay too serious for their own good just because they are trying to perform more and more the societally accepted trappings of maturity. 

Why is the joke shitty? Because it’s misogynistic, sexist towards boys and again shows how Togashi didn’t do any fucking research on paedophilia. 

In real life we will have people claim that there is nothing wrong with adult women dating or even having sex with teen boys. That these boys should feel proud that they bagged a hottie, that if they complain if they feel bad or exploited they are not real men. That it’s not really pedophilia if an adult woman does that to a boy. It’s also sexist towards boys because it comes with the assumption that a real boy is horny all the time and of course straight. 

And the joke is only that Palm is crazy and she threatens Gon with violence into it. At least that the only issue male shounen fans both teenage and adult have with this. Palm is hot enough to be an obvious target of desire for Gon, a hottie to bag, but you know hahaha the best pussy is crazy, just saying hahaha. 

And of course we have the sexism of women only being concerned with relationships, and being crazy about that. And easily controllable by men they are attracted to. That it’s okay for Knov to exploit Palms mental state and her feelings for him. 

Togashi really shat the bed with this one. And the problem is that a lot of fans hate Palm for this, even more than Hisoka, because Togashi plays it for laughs, unlike with Hisoka. That the only issue presented with the scenario is that Palm is unhinged, otherwise the whole thing would’ve been cool. 

The misogyny in fandom is unreal. Because the thing is that if Palm’s story was framed properly the date would’ve been a far more nuanced thing. Yes, her forcing Gon to do it would’ve been creepy and horrible. But also it’d be clear that Palm wants to date Gon because he seems safe and controllable to her. Because she’s being abused and exploited by an adult man who uses her feelings to manipulate her. And she’s looking for a situation where she’d be more in control. She is both a victim and an abuser. And this is a very psychologically realistic situation. There isn’t a direct causation between being a victim of abuse and then becoming an abuser. Not all abusers used to be victims, not all victims become abusers. But there is a significant percentage of abusers that used to be victims. It’s something Togashi could’ve explored with Palm because it’s all there, in the text, but he chose not to. Instead he played her creepy behaviour with Gon for laughs, made her prostitute herself to make Knov happy, and fixed her mental issues through having her bodily autonomy violated… And I’m not sure he could’ve done it worse if he tried. Because the sad truth that this shitty Palm situation came from him not trying, him just defaulting to harmful cliches while writing her and calling it a day, likely not giving her story much thought at all.

[noyoyoy]

I figured I’d give SOME oversight on Simon and M/n since my blog will probably focus a lot on him.

If you’d like me to go into detail with the two, I will, just let me know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tw: mentions of abuse, alcohol. infidelity, age gap, blood, and murder.

Additional information:

While growing up, M/n hadn’t experienced love he deemed real. Parents always fighting, cheating on one another and screaming. Siblings never around, old enough and moved out already starting families, I guess it’s safe to say M/n was a mistake in his parents eyes. It caused M/n to hide in his room, isolate and never go out, failing school, no hobbies, just laying in bed all the time on his phone, sleeping, or crying, scared he’d one day act the same as the people he grew up with. You are your parent’s child after all.

M/n’s first ‘real’ relationship lasted more or less 3 years, it’s been so long he doesn’t remember how long he was with her. She was always talking to other guys and girls, arguing with him when she never did anything for him. But he was 13 when they started dating, 16 when they broke up due to her cheating on him. Yeah that didn’t feel good, he was always raised to be a man. Never cry, don’t show emotion, don’t be weak. But he was. M/n was sensitive by nature, growing up in a toxic environment didn’t help either, he couldn’t handle being yelled at, storms, loud noises, or confrontation without getting emotional, he couldn’t help it, he didn’t know why.

M/n and Simon overview:

When he met Simon at 18 after moving out, they bonded fairly quickly for growing up in a similar way (without the murder of his family.) They didn’t talk often, Simon being in the army was the main reason why, he didn’t have his phone often, but one perk is he let M/n stay in his home while he was gone since he had nowhere to go. Simon enjoyed coming home to someone, anyone, a friend he knew felt the same way. Since the incident when he was a teenager, he hadn’t felt any security other than the army. The blood, fighting, not having to care about what other people thought of him because he scared everyone away with his demeanor and stance. M/n made him feel again, he always had a smile on his face when Simon walked through the door, normally cooking or making Simons apartment more cozy and homey. (He asked don’t worry)

When M/n turned 19 Simon started to hang out with him more and more, talking together, cooking together, eating, even reading together in silence, just enjoying each other’s company. They both had to admit, it felt good to be at peace, no screaming, blood, gun fire. Just silence, the sound of pages turning and the smell of Pine in the house, curtesy of the candle M/n bought.

First realization:

M/n knew he liked men more so than women, his mother and last relationship blew that out the water for him. He had a fling with a man at one point during high school but it didn’t last long due to how his father acted when he found out. He was.. angry. He didn’t raise a .. homo as he would say, granted he didn’t raise him at all. M/n would never say that to his face. But with Simon.. he made him feel safe. Was it because he was older? Or the fact that he was capable of killing people as a living. Eh maybe both.

Simon never had a relationship. Growing up with a mother who worked all the time, mostly absent trying to provide for her family, while her husband and his father was a drunk who tormented him in any way possible. All he had was Tommy. Had. When he arrived home to the house disheveled, the tree knocked down, ornaments broken, glass on the floor. He knew something was wrong. And this wasn’t a ‘dad is drunk again’ wrong this was… wrong. Wrong. A wrong that made his heart sink to his feet, a wrong that made him sweat, and lose his breath. Walking through the house as quietly as he could, he stopped in the kitchen and froze at what he saw. His mother, lying on the floor, a hole in her shoulder and what looks like another wound of a knife in her side and chest. He stared at it for what felt like hours. He didn’t even want to go through the rest of the house, scared at what he’d find.

He doesn’t talk about anything else after that. Never going further and into depth about what else happened that night. Only saying that he fled and never looked back.

They might be broken and trying to piece each other together, but at least they are together. Safe, happy, and well, together. He vowed when they started dating that he’d never involve M/n into the affairs of the 141. The 141 would never know about him, no one would ever know about him. Unfortunately that changed when they got married. Having to talk to laswell about not telling price or anyone else about him. It took… much persuasion but she did keep her word. Blanked out the section where M/n’s information would go, before printing and putting it in his file.

He’ll be damned if something were to ever happen to M/n. He was his husband, and just because he doesn’t wear the mask around him, doesn’t mean he won’t bring Ghost into his life if it ment keeping him safe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I write fast. I have nothing better to do these days.

[livwritesstuff]

More steddie dads content I really want some Eddie centered like teaching the girls guitar or dnd especially since Robbie is like him I think that they’d bind over a shared interest and he’d teach her stuff from when he was younger!

lol yeah the last few have def been more steve-centric (and also kind of a bummer) so let's switch up the vibe a bit

So, yes, Robbie is Eddie's daughter through and through.

She's stubborn and brazen and loud in her opinions and beliefs. She can be a little flippant about other peoples' feelings when she's not careful, and sometimes struggles to acknowledge the validity in other experiences outside of her own - in other words, she's Eddie to a T. She's even got the same big curly hair (though it's way more well-maintained than Eddie's had been thanks to Steve).

As for hobbies, Robbie is the only one out of Eddie and Steve's three daughters to really take an interest in music.

Eddie is thrilled about this, especially in the early days when Robbie is seven or eight and dying to try out any instrument they put in front of her. She has a natural proclivity for nearly all of them, which is fucking wild to Eddie, but the violin is the one she takes a particular shining towards.

Eddie can't say he'd ever had a resounding interest in classical music, but he wants to support Robbie so he dives into it right along with her.

That shit...

is metal as hell.

Seriously rad.

Eddie anxiously waits for her to be old enough to try out his old electric guitar. He waits until she's fifteen years old - the same age he'd been when he'd gotten his first electric - and then he digs it out of storage and bestows it upon her like the exquisite treasure it truly is.

In true teenager fashion, Robbie is...unimpressed.

She humors him for a bit, and to her credit, she does seem at least a bit intrigued by the almost forty-year-old guitar, but when Eddie offers to show her how to play, she only shrugs.

"I don't want to mess with my technique," she tells him, as if she's not shattering his heart into a bazillion tiny pieces.

"What does that even mean?"

"I dunno," she shrugs again.

Later, once the guitar has been safely put away, Eddie recounts the exchange to Steve.

"I just don't get it," he laments, "She'd be so good at it! I don't get why she won't just give it one chance."

"She's you, my love," Steve tells him, "Are you forgetting all the years you spent rejecting everything outside of what you deemed acceptable. You grew out of it. She will too."

So Eddie resigns himself to waiting it out. Robbie ends up deciding she wants make a career out of playing the violin, and she goes to New York to get her bachelors in music.

Just as Steve had predicted, once she hits college and grows up a little bit, she starts seeing the value in the world outside of the small corner of it she occupies. She comes home from her first semester regaling them with all the things she'd learned, and she catches Eddie by surprise when she asks him to bring out his old electric guitar.

Eddie and Robbie jam in the basement for like five hours before Steve insists they go the fuck to bed, and that "Hazel has school in the morning, in case you lunatics forgot."

(As for dnd, looking at it from the perspective of teenage girls, Steve and Eddie's kids absolutely do not want to think about their dad DM-ing. Eddie can't even breathe the wrong way without his daughters calling him out for being cringe or whatever, never mind executing a whole campaign. They'd die of embarrassment - guaranteed.

Robbie does get super into MTG in college, which Eddie absolutely takes as a personal F-You from his daughter. He gets his revenge by refusing her offers to teach him to play, even though it honestly sounds like a fuckin' blast, but that's a hill he's willing to die on)

[din-miller]

ACTIONS HAVE CONSEQUENCES

Pairing: Din Djarin x gn!Reader

Word count: 1.4k

Summary: pirates come looking for Grogu but find you alone in the cabin instead

Warnings: canon-typical violence, mentions of decapitation, no angst, yeah you read that right decapitation but no angst to be found in this bad boy, it's just comical trash, crack fic really, reader is a sarcastic asshole, married couple, slightly unhinged reader, Din even more so and don't get me started on Grogu, cabin fic, mentions of Moff Gideon, mentions of med-school drop out reader,

A/N: this started off as a serious fic full of sorrow, then somehow turned into a night time comedy special. I'm proud of myself.

You don't normally let Din and Grogu head to the marketplace without you, but you woke up with a sore throat this morning and it hasn't gone away. You tried to convince your husband to let you join them. Fresh air would do you good, you had helplessly reasoned.

"Fresh air does nothing for sore throats. Rest does though mesh'la." Din argued back.

"Oh I didn't realise you were the one who dropped out of med school."

Needless to say, you didn't win that argument.

So now you're stuck in a cabin that you didn't know could be so quiet. For there only being three of you, the house is constantly loud. To be fair Grogu is now speaking in full sentences.

You've been alone before without them, but this time there's something unsettling. Like a bad omen is lurking in the daylight.

You should've contacted Din the moment the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. But you didn't and now you're standing in the living room with two men as you stare down the barrel of a blaster.

"You're going to regret this," You sighed, dramatically, "Look, I'm currently in the middle of making dinner and I have a sore throat. Can we get this over with?"

The tall one – let's call him Lance – glanced over at the short one – Manny. Yeah, that suits him – and sent him a baffled look.

"Where's The Child?" Manny growled and despite knowing you'll win this, you always do, your stomach turned at knowing they're here for your son.

With a shrug you crossed your arms non threateningly, "It's just me here. I'll let you know if I see a child though."

Lance glanced around the room, "You have a lot of kids toys for not having a kid."

"What? A person can't have a hobby?" You raised your brow, acting mildly offended.

Manny stepped forward, hand tightening around his weapon, "Enough! I know you have The Child. Give him to us and we won't kill you. Deal?"

"A deal?" You scoffed, "Why the hell would I make a deal with some lousy pirate? You're not even holding your blaster properly."

He looked down at his weapon, brows drawn tightly together, "I'm not?"

You tisked and pointed to the gun, "Allow me?"

When he gave a small nod you stepped forward, "Here, one hand grips right here... Good, now loosen this hand."

As soon as the blaster is loose enough you grabbed it out of his hand and pressed it against the lower region of his body. He froze, eyes going comically wide.

Lance, being weaponless already, raised his hands in an act of surrender. Honestly when you first felt like you were being watched you thought it would be a little more exciting than this. There's always next Monday you guess.

"You two are actually doing me a favour, bearing you don't have any allergies," You waited for them to shake their heads, "Good. Follow me into the kitchen. See, I've been trying out a recipe for my husband and I's anniversary – it's this weekend, you're not invited. Anyways, I'm not sure I have the correct level of spice to it."

"I'm sure your husband will enjoy it."

"Thank you Lance," You smiled and held a fork full of spicy food to his mouth. You watched as he took in the flavour and deemed it plenty spiced enough, "I'll get you boys a plate full."

Your eyes darted back and forth as they ate, taking in every reaction they had to each bite. It's a silent meal, rather uncomfortable for them you imagine.

Manny set down his fork, "This is our last meal isn't it?"

You blew out a breath, "Sometimes you gotta learn the hard way that your actions have consequences."

Lance politely raised his hand, "Can I have a glass of water?"

"Unfortunately, Lance, you can't. You know why? Because you're trying to murder my family, that's why." You growled, then cocked your head towards the door leading outside, "Now do I have to tie you both to the porch or can I trust you to behave and sit like good boys?"

"We'll behave," Lance said, stepping over the cabin's entry doorway, "Right Manny?"

The short man huffed, "I ain't itching for a blaster fire to the back, Lance."

They both sat on the bench and leaned back against the wall. You took a seat opposite of them, perched on top of the railing you had installed after you moved in.

"Who do you work for?" You asked, blaster twirling in your hand, safety on.

Manny rolled his eyes, "We work for ourselves."

You hummed, "Why us? Why the kid?"

"Figured it would be an easy target now that the Mandalorian is dead."

For the first time since he interrupted your day, you're taken back at his words, "Dead, you say?"

"Yeah, in the fight with Moff Gideon." Lance explained, "We heard you adopted his son."

You have to give him credit for knowing at least that part. You did adopt Grogu. Married Din the same day too.

How many people out there think Din's dead? And who's the dumbass that thought Moff Gideon could kill Din?

Your eyes narrowed in on Lance when his jaw dropped and you could see the faint shine of sweat gathered at his temple, "Am I seeing things?"

"Oftentimes yes, but that's him," Manny shrunk in on himself, eyes forward in horror, "That's the Mandalorian."

You look back behind you, your eyes locking in on your husband. He looks furious, even underneath all his armour. His blaster is already in his hand and floating beside him is Grogu. Your son has his hand held up directly in front of him, eyes squinted – a warning.

This is the proudest you've ever been.

"Ner kar'ta," Din's hands are on you, moving different parts of your clothing around searching for a wound he won't find, "Are you okay?"

Lance nodded, "A little parched – oh, you're not talking to me, right that makes more sense."

You smiled down at the man. He's absolutely hopeless, but it gives him a fun personality. Too bad he has to die.

"I'm okay, I promise," You reassured him, "How was the marketplace?"

"Dull without you there to keep us company," Din said, Grogu nodding in agreement, "How was resting?"

You glanced down at the two men, "I had some unwanted visitors interrupting my relaxation."

Din looked them over, "Why are they unharmed?"

"The only weapon I had in reach was Manny's blaster," You held up the weapon while simultaneously introducing Manny to your husband, "Felt wrong to kill a man with his own gun."

Din pulled Manny up by the back of his shirt, the short man standing on his tippy toes to avoid strangulation.

Manny patted Din's beskar chest piece of armour, "Look Mr. Mandalorian, this is all a misunderstanding-,"

"Yeah," Lance stood up and his friend shook his head, silently telling him to stop, "We thought you were dead."

Din dropped Manny. The man crumbled to the ground, Din's foot pinning him down. You watched as your husband's attention turned to Lance.

"And that gave you permission to hunt down my riduur and child?" He growled, every bit the Mandalorian these pirates fear, "Tell me why I shouldn't put your head on a pike for all your pirate friends to see."

Lance turned to you for help. You looked past him to your husband and nodded, "It would give me much pleasure to see shabuirs like them displayed as an example to why no one touches my family."

"What my riduur wants, they shall receive," Din hauled both men up, his grip tight enough to leave nasty bruises on their skin, "This should only take two hours. Longer if the tall one is stupid enough to run his mouth."

"Two hours!" Manny exclaimed, "I can cut my own head off in less than a minute. I'll even save you some effort and behead Lance too!"

"You don't understand," Din grinned under his helmet, body humming with anticipation, "The effort is my favourite part," Din nodded his head in your direction, "Eat without me, mesh'la. I'll be back in time to tuck Grogu in."

"I'll have the shower ready for you when you get home," You promised, "Oh, and make sure to take your time, alright?"

Din activated his jetpack, throwing down a quick 'i love you' before taking off. You looked down at Grogu, "Your buir and I will never let anything or anyone hurt you. We love you, kid"

[lvrhughes]

Guitar lessons | J. Drysdale

word count: 0.6k

pairing: Jamie drysdale x f!reader

summary: coming to visit Jamie, but when Trevor calls for help, it’s time for you to teach Jamie guitar yourself

warnings: none! pure fluff

requested: no

not my gif!

You could hear the strum of the guitar from outside, it was out of tune and formed wrong.

“Oh God” you mumbled under your breath, before walking into the the house.

“Y/N SAVE ME!” Trevor yelled at you as you walked in.

“What happened?”

“The guitar.” Was all Trevor said. You giggled walking towards your boyfriends room, where the horrid strumming was coming from.

“Hey Jam”

“Y/n/n!” He finally put down the guitar to open his arms for you to jump into. And you did dragging him back onto his bed.

“I think Trevor wants to kill your guitar” you warned Jamie, he just laughed.

“Oh I know, he’s tried.”

“Wait he’s tried?”

“Oh yeah, once time I came back home and he was on the roof with it, said he tried throwing it off but he couldn’t. Felt too bad.”

You laughed. Trevor had genuinely tried.

“Okay c’mere baby.” You said sliding off him and sitting on his bed. He followed sitting beside you. You grabbed his guitar.

“Follow what I do, okay?”

“Okay.” You could tell he was eggar, he knew you could play but you had never played for him.

You put your hand into the chord of G. You turned to show him how your hand was set, then strumming the chord. It sounded so good to Jamie, he knew he’d be playing it wrong before.

“Okay,” you handed the guitar to Jamie, “you saw that, now you try.”

He put his hands where he remembered you did, you corrected him a bit but for the most part he was correct, and strummed.

“OH MY GOD I DID IT!” Enthusiasm was radiating off him.

“SHOW ME ANOTHER PLEASE” So you obliged. You showed him simple chords and helped him memorize the hand placements.

You and Jamie were in his room for almost three hours, you could tell he was passionate about his and decided to learning it, so you helped him. By the time you had deemed it was more then enough guitar for the day he had learned G, D, C, and E chords.

“Baby we have to go show Trevor!”

“Okay Jams, let’s go” he was like a excited puppy, he grabbed his guitar and your hand, pulling you both out to Trevor room.

“What the fuck?” Was the first thing Trevor said when Jamie ran in, pulling you behind him.

“Listen, listen!”

“Oh no” you heard Trevor mumble, a small laugh leaving your lips.

Jamie sat on Trevor’s bed, pulling his guitar where he needed it and placing his hand in the right position. He played through all the chords you taught him, Trevor had a presently surprised look on his face. You smiled looking at Jamie, he was so focused, it was adorable to you.

“That was actually good” Trevor said when Jamie stopped, shock lacing his tone.

“Thank you” Jamie beamed. “We’re going now, it’s time for cuddles.” Jamie ended, grabbing you and his guitar again and returning to his room.

You laughed as he threw you on his bed, following shortly after putting the guitar away. He basically fell on top of you, quickly he nuzzled into you.

A content sigh left his lips at the warmth from your bodies. His eyes shut as you ran your hand threw his hair.

“Baby if you keep doing that I’m going to fall asleep.” Jamie mumbled against your chest.

“Good, you need some sleep. We’ve been playing for over three hours.”

And he did, he fell asleep not even ten minutes later, you following in suite.

yourusername

Like by trevorzegras, _quinnhughes, and others

yourusername teaching Jamie guitar is my new favourite hobby<3

tagged: Jamie.drysdale

trevorzegras pic credit?!?

yourusername shut up🫶

_quinnhughes you two are disgustingly cute

yourusername why thank u

jamie.drysdale are u sure that’s really a compliment?

yourusername yes

user158 THEYRE SO CUTE

liked by yourusername

jackhughes get this off my feed

yourusername you’re just jealous😚

[frxstbyt]

୨୧ dear diary

— a/n : i said i'd post my fics on here. i kept my word.

— characters : darrel "darry" curtis jr., sodapop "soda" curtis, ponyboy "pony" curtis (mentioned), steve randle (mentioned)

— timeline : several years post-canon

— warnings !! : swearing (just one), angst, implied mental health issues, implied suicide

— chapters : 1/1

— words : 655

dear diary?

dear journal?

dear future me?

future me?

yeah, that sounds about right. anyways, i don't know why i'm doing this. i mean, i saw ponyboy doing it himself. he told me that writing in a journal helps keep him organized and composed of his thoughts. or something along the lines of that, i'm not sure.

like i said, i'm not sure what provoked me to do this: write in a journal. i normally don't do this. i usually just bury my feelings deep inside until i can no longer hold them in and explode into a mental breakdown. it's just...i don't know..it's...strange. yeah, strange is the best way to put it.

i know i'm supposed to write for an extended period of time, but my hand is cramping already. having bookkeeping as your second job when you already work in construction takes a toll on you. i suppose i could take a break and finish writing later.

see you, stranger.

— darry?

— past you

* * *

future me,

hey, it's me again, your past self. i know i said i'd write again after a small break, but i completely forgot. two months ago. (oops.) i guess that's what happens when you toss things away carelessly into your jungle of a closet.

but...yeah. i guess i have an excuse though. ponyboy left for college a while ago. i miss him, i think. i don't know. the night before he was supposed to leave, we got into an argument. it was our worst. we were screaming at each other so loud steve could hear us all the way from his house. ponyboy had tossed his luggage into his car and said he never wanted to see me again. sodapop was still crying after he left. ran off to his room. i feel bad. neither of us are entirely over it, but soda's getting better. i'm not. i got nightmares about our argument, ponyboy leaving. it got to the point where, by some miracle, the gang scrounged up enough money to send me to therapy. that's why i couldn't write in this. (well, it was mainly because i was stressed at the time and cared less about finding a stupid journal i wrote in a long time ago.)

ah, i got too carried away there. maybe this is good for me—writing down how i feel and getting my thoughts out. it's working, i guess.

i'll write some more another day. let's hope it's not in another two months.

— past you

* * *

i need to keep this out in my line of sight to keep up with my entries. it's been almost a year since i last wrote in this thing. so much for me promising to not have such huge time gaps here, huh?

god, i don't know where to begin. i got out of therapy a few months ago since i was deemed "cured," but the gang thinks otherwise. they know the night terrors haven't gone away, and they definitely noticed that my depression has gotten worse.

my headache is killing me right now. i'll write later.

* * *

i'm fine.

i'm fine, okay? it's been six months since i last wrote in this thing, and i honestly couldn't care less about trying to find a consistant schedule for my entries. i don't care. why do i even bother in the first place? it's just a hobby i was pressured into doing.

well too bad. i'm not writing in this shit anymore.

* * *

...hey.

i know what you're thinking: 'how long has it been since he's last written here?'

well...it's been...a while.

oh, and before you say anything else, this isn't him. it's his brother, soda. now you're probably wondering why i'm the one writing here...the answer is rather simple.

darry killed himself two years ago. stole one of our dad's guns from the attic and shot himself clean through his skull.

...i'm sorry.

— sodapop curtis

୨୧ the end

[practically-an-x-man]

Whatever Keeps You Around (Rick Flag x Eris)

Summary: Based on this prompt, Eris runs into an immortal surprise in a very mundane place. (Title from First Time by Hozier)

Word Count: 2.1k

Tags: Mild jealousy, mild possessive themes, some mentions of violence.

____

"Go see if they have any bread you like, hon."

Eris nodded, ducking past him and half-jogging up to the shelf of artisanal bread in the corner of the store. This was why he'd picked this store, even though it was small and pricey and overly-organic: Eris claimed it was the only place in New Orleans that made bread the right way, whatever they in their mind deemed the right way.

All Rick knew was that it cost about eight dollars a pop and was loaded with spices he couldn't identify, and that Eris could go through three loaves a week if he let them. Usually he did. The one perk to working for Amanda Waller was the paycheck, and that allowed him at least enough wiggle room to buy the right kind of bread.

She jogged back up to him, two loaves wrapped in paper in her arms, just as Rick had finished thanking the deli clerk for his cold cuts and cheeses. Eris tucked the bread into the shopping cart almost delicately and promptly plucked the deli bags from his hands to inspect his selections.

"Oven-roasted turkey? Not the herb kind?"

"Outta stock. I've got thyme and stuff back at the house if it really bothers you," Rick replied, "What kind of bread did you pick out?"

"Honey-rosemary and something they call rustic medley," Eris muttered, "I'll be the judge of that."

"Sounds pretty good," he agreed, "Maybe we can make butter to go with it."

Eris tilted his head, something Rick stupidly misinterpreted as a lack of understanding.

"I saw it online, you just put heavy cream and a little salt in a mason jar, shake it u-"

"I'd be willing to bet I'm more familiar with making butter than you are, Flag." Eris cut him off, sharp as always, "But why?"

"I dunno. Seems like fun."

"You have a real strange idea of fun. And this is coming from someone who lived through tapestry being the popular hobby." they jeered, but tossed a carton of heavy cream into the cart as they passed the dairy case. Rick tried to hide his smile. If anyone was the definition of 'actions speak louder than words', it was Eris.

He stayed close to Rick's side as they wandered the store, occasionally tossing things into the cart on what looked like pure whim. Cans of tomato soup, the ones Rick remembered mentioning were his favorite because they reminded him of his childhood, made their way in alongside pretzels and peanut butter and bars of high-cacao baking chocolate. It was far too bitter for his tastes, at least in anything other than baked goods, but Eris could snack on it like a Hershey bar. She liked it for the same reason she liked the artisanal bread, he thought. Nostalgia, or the closest thing to nostalgia they could find.

"Lasagna tonight? Or should we just find something to stick in the oven?" Rick asked, frowning at the prices of the pasta boxes on the shelves. Eris was back at his side in a moment, moving so quickly and silently that he would have jumped if he wasn't used to it.

"Hm. Neither. Make your pot pie." he decided, and Rick felt him lean in against his side, "I have a taste for it."

His mother's recipe, the one he'd tried so hard to get right after her death, now lived on as a favorite in the mind of a centuries-old metahuman.

That one made him feel good.

He knew Eris wasn't one for public affection, but he still couldn't resist wrapping his arm around their shoulders and pressing a kiss to the top of their head. He pulled back quickly, before Eris could wriggle away or complain about looking soft, and waved a hand at the produce aisle they'd left in their wake.

"Go grab me a bag of baby carrots and some green beans, then," he said, then paused and corrected, "In a bag. Not just loose green beans."

"I know that, smartass." Eris huffed, rolling her eyes at him as she walked away. Rick suppressed a chuckle.

There was someone else in the produce aisle, apparently trying to decide between a starfruit and a cherimoya. They were half a head taller than Eris, with wavy brown hair halfway down their back and a flowing blue sundress swishing around their knees.

Rick didn't pay them much mind, and was about to turn and grab a can of biscuits when Eris froze in his tracks.

"Julius?"

The taller figure whipped around so fast it must have given them whiplash, and their eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. Rick could see, even from afar, that their features had the same strangely archaic look as Eris' own, though perhaps a continent and a few centuries apart.

"Oh my- Eris?" they stammered, then gestured vaguely at themself, "And it's- er, Wisteria now. Wisty."

"Wisty." Eris repeated, as if testing out the name, "You're... very not dead, for someone three hundred years old."

"Made a deal with a witch a while back. And you're... very tame for how I remember you."

That made a grin flash across Eris' face, quick and sharp and promising only dark things.

"Try me."

But Wisty didn't flinch. She just smiled right back, though this one was nostalgic, almost soft.

The thought struck Rick like a bolt of lightning.

Eris had a type.

Underneath the flowing fabric of her dress, Wisty had to be at least as tall as Rick himself was, and just as stacked with muscle. Old scars littered what bare skin was visible around her clothing, like she'd been a fighter in a past life- or perhaps still was. And she knew not to flinch at those shark-smiles Eris threw at her. Just like Rick did.

The thought made something strange bubble up inside him. He wasn't sure he liked it. As strange and twisted as Eris' affections could be, he'd never before had competition for those affections. It was actually one of the best things about being with them, knowing they'd always drift back to him at the end of all the chaos.

It wasn't Wisteria's arrival alone that had him so tense. What really got him was the set of Eris' posture as he spoke to her: leaned back slightly on his heels, shoulders loose, head tilted ever-so-slightly in curiosity. Casual. Relaxed. The only time he'd ever seen Eris truly relaxed was when they were alone with him.

"We should catch back up." Wisty decided, a smile slowly growing on her face, "Go... spar like the old times or something. I'm a lot tougher than I used to be."

"I don't doubt it." Eris said, their spine automatically straightening at the promise of a good challenge.

He deserved this, Rick thought. This was some sort of cosmic payback for those two years he spent pushing her aside in favor of June, for snapping at all the times they suggested making him into a metahuman like them - it was all to keep him safe, to keep him around.

Well, here was someone who'd stuck around. Who'd played the long game, the centuries-long game, the way Rick was always so afraid to commit to. Who could hold their own against Eris, when she still had to pull her punches against him.

"What do you think? My lance and your spear, or hand-to-hand?" Wisty asked, playfully throwing up her fists with a broad grin. Eris returned the gesture, bouncing on his toes a little.

It was like he'd forgotten Rick was there, just ten feet back. And even as much as he wanted to call out, to remind them... he couldn't move. All he could do was watch it all unravel before him, the can of biscuits still held tight in one hand. Suddenly his mom's old recipe didn't seem to matter much.

"It'll be like before. You and me," Wisty said, "The old war god and the king's footsoldier."

Then there was a different kind of tension in Eris' posture. The shift was sudden, her chin lifted and her shoulders drawn back, all joviality transformed into something more guarded.

"I'm with someone." he said, each word crisply spaced, and brushed past Wisty with smooth, disciplined steps. They grabbed a plastic bag and shoved a handful of green beans into it, pausing only to pluck a few wrinkled and undesirable vegetables from the lot and toss them back. Wisteria turned, fixing them with a tilted expression.

"You told me you wouldn't love another. You told me love was too painful. You told me... that I was the last one."

Eris snatched a bag of baby carrots, holding them tight in her hand as she turned.

"I was wrong." they said, chin set and eyes blazing, "And if you do a damn thing to him, if you hurt him thinking that'll bring me back to you, I'll kill you where you stand. And I will feel no remorse."

With that, he stormed his way back to Rick and tossed the vegetables into the shopping cart.

"You were staring." they muttered, taking the can of biscuits from his hand and dropping it into the cart alongside the rest of the groceries. Then, to his surprise, they folded their fingers into his own. For Eris, that was the equivalent of a public strip tease. Rick gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

"Yeah, I know. Couldn't help it." he admitted, knowing better than to try and duck around it, "First time I've ever seen one of your old friends. Didn't realize there was anyone else... like me."

"She wasn't like you." Eris huffed, ducking around his arm to give the cart a brisk shove, "Nobody's like you."

"It's alright if she was." Rick argued, "I know I'm not the only person you've loved, doll. That's okay."

Eris opened his mouth to respond, then reconsidered and shook his head. It must've been a lot to explain, or something they couldn't bear to speak in such public company. Their posture was still tense, shoulders stony, and they didn't spare so much as a single glance back at the produce aisle.

"Nobody's like you." she just repeated, even more set and sullen. Rick decided there were two ways he could take that: a sign that this love was real, or a sign that the pattern would end up repeating itself in a few years. He decided to take it as the former. The latter, true as it might be, felt far too pessimistic.

"Rome!" a voice called from behind them, and finally Eris turned. Wisteria had caught up, and fire a glance between the two of them. Rick met her eyes calmly, and found something strange swimming there. She returned her gaze to Eris, unflinching. "A hundred years. Rome. Then we'll have our fight."

Rick could hear the other half of her words: because he won't be around by then. Maybe he should have been offended by the implications. He didn't bother. He'd always known there would be someone after him. He didn't expect to meet that someone, but... this was life with Eris. He'd learned to get used to things like this.

"Fine." Eris agreed, though the firm look never left her eyes, "I will meet you on the steps of the Colosseum in one hundred years exactly. We will have our fight."

Their grip tightened on his hand unexpectedly, right on the verge of being painful. Wisteria's eyes fell straight to it, and she frowned a little. Eris must not have been any more affectionate in their prior life.

"But you will get no love from me then." they concluded, "They will bury my heart when they bury him."

Rick saw hurt bloom across Wisty's face, a shocked and helpless sort of pain, but Eris just spun and gave the cart another brutal shove towards the checkout lanes. Rick found himself pausing an extra moment, looking into Wisty's shockingly crestfallen eyes and debating an apology.

In the end, he just shut his mouth and trailed after Eris, leaving Wisty where she stood. He had a sense that speaking to her would only make things worse. It was better just for him to be, in her mind, some speechless nameless thing at Eris' heels. It was probably safer for the both of them.

He caught up to Eris just shy of the checkout lanes, right as they set a rotisserie chicken in the front basket of the cart. She glanced up at him as he approached and offered him something like a smile. It was a little pointed, a little irritated, but he didn't mind that too much.

"You're mine." she muttered, possessive like a wolf to its mate, "Until they put you in the ground, you're mine."

"I love you too, wartime."

[chdarling]

I’m the terrible anon who dared to call Sirius despicable because he behaved like a supremacist and a sexist (normal thing for wizard of the 70’s, as said by another anon, so I don't understand what's wrong in my comment).

And always for the anon "it was kind of annoying to read that comment because I often feel like readers only want to read the best of a character and not their personal struggles" I don’t see the correlation with my comment. I never said "sirius is always perfect, how dare you to write him as a fallible human?".

I specified that Sirius must grow, so I want to see this process, not to see a perfect Sirius in the end (since I know very well that he will never be for so many reasons) but to see his improvements.

And this is one of the chapters where he gave the worst of himself, considering he treated lily like a b**** for a futile reason like every single sexist always do since the beginning of time and think about MB and HB as w**** as a supematist does and in fact even sirius "felt properly disgusted with himself". He realizes that he still has a lot to do to be a decent person. He knows that and that’s why I never wrote that he's a hopeless case but needs to grow up.

Can I get an opinion without the groupies feeling offended by listing some of the flaws in a fictional character or not? I must say that he's wonderful and perfect ? He's not and never will be and I'd like to be able to say it. But he can be improved! I never said he's a lost cause.

P.S. I mentioned graham simply because he's already on the warpath with sirius and is the only character who despises him enough not to go easy with him. Lily is a too obvious conclusion. The boys love him too much and they don't realize how wrong and obnoxious they have been towards some classmates (you yourself wrote an answer to an anon comment where you listed all the moments that could justify the distrust and dislike of the muggle born towards James and Sirius).

And to become better, Sirius will have to learn to listen and care for others, even if they're out of his little circle of friends. He will fight a war that he could avoid because he's privileged by birth, he will have to learn to be empathetic and selfless towards those he doesn't know and with whom he has not developed strong emotional ties.

I hope I have clarified my positions to the other anons if and when they'll read this.

Have a good day.

“Groupies”? Come on. This is rude and weirdly aggressive.

You shared an opinion to my inbox, presumably wanting me to reply. I replied — mildly and lightheartedly. A few people had opinions on your opinion, which is what happens when they’re shared publicly. I went back to reread the post in question in case I or anyone else was rude and I missed it, but no one attacked you or called you a terrible anon. They just disagreed. Not even that many or that vehemently. 🤷🏻‍♀️

For the record, my blog isn’t a public forum where I am obligated to mediate anon debates or air anon opinions while also making sure no one reacts to said opinions in any manner an anon deems incorrect. How exhausting. This is my personal blog where I engage with people in good faith and for fun about a hobby. When it stops being fun or people stop acting in good faith, I stop engaging.

None of this is that serious. (Or Sirius. Ha. Get it. Badum tss, etc.)

[blackbutlerfandomnerddomain]

So I'm making a Smiling Critters AU that's more based off the cartoon versions of them and not Poppy Playtime canon

It's called the "Smile Everyday AU" and the whole prompt is what if the Smiling Critters were close growing up but grew apart after their teen years, they all grew up as adults with perfect jobs, live their lives normally, have romances, but obviously senses something is wrong until they reunited. Will drama ensue? Will the past effect the present? Why are the dreams Catnap's been having change so much?

It takes place in a fictional 2015-2016 where the gang are around 26-27 at least (each are born in 1989 since according to lore that's when the Smiling Critters first debut) and I'll share Catnap and Dogday's profiles first and let the others join later/if someone ask enough

First off, the leader Dogday!

He's a pure-bred American Cocker Spaniel

He was the youngest in his litter and doesn't have much a great relationship of his family, especially his siblings who thinks he acts like he's better than them after he got famous, but he pretends everything's okay and can't stand up for himself when they ask for too much or talk bad about him in another room

He's basically Mr. Peanut Butter from BoJack Horseman

In high school he was part of the popular squad due to his personality, his energetic works on the field, and just cause everyone saw he has a bright future ahead of him. But the sad side-effect of this was he couldn't spend time with all the Smiling Critters or notice if something was wrong

Became an actor after collage and won the hearts of many

Despite his good features and being a walking green flag, he struggles with relationships wince he can't find someone who he connects with. They either like him cause he's famous or rich or that he's too sweet and fun and he struggles to show his other sides/interests which leads to break-ups

Lives in a luxury home by the beach

Has a decent work out schedule

Out of the rest, he does wear his old charm symbol everyday for the most part, but does cover it up so it won't get damaged

Has depression but never talks about it to anyone

Fashion Aesthetic;

Theme Songs;

Next is Catnap:

He's a Bombay Cat and Ocicat mixed breed

He practically lived alone by the time he was 11 since he mother was hardly around

Is selectively mute thanks to this being canon-

Only Dogday knew what he was saying when he's not speaking

Was deemed the "weird" kid in school and was harshly bullied by a lot of the students. Dogday and the other Smiling Critters didn't really notice which hurt him even more and began to isolate himself more

He dropped out of collage after his mental health got so much worst and pretty much was the first to drift away from his friend group cause he felt they didn't care for him...

Be became an author of a well known Murder Thriller book series called "The Red Gas" which got him a pretty big famous title from it

He constantly gets asked to join interviews but he refuses which only adds more to the "mysterious author" persona people view him as

As a fun hobby, he secretly has a night time podcast and nobody knows it's him since he really barely talks anyways, he mostly reads poems and stuff to his viewers to help them sleep

He smokes

He suffers with anxiety and depression and takes medications for it

He has his charm symbol but hides it away in his penthouse apartment, wanting to forget but can't bring himself to throw it away

Sometimes when he can't sleep, he hugs his necklace

He began to have some weird dreams during collage of some weird monster, not knowing some of his dreams are prophecies

Fashion Aesthetic:

Theme Songs:

This AU is still in the making with the story being made, debating if I should add magical elements but I'll leave the whole prophesies with Catnap even if I chose not to add the magical elements. But if I were they would basically have a super hero like plot of "you're the chosen one, here's your powers, have crisis" but I ONLY WANT IT SO I CAN HAVE DOGDAY BE RAPUNZEL AND CATNAP HAVING A ANGSTY MOMENT OF HIS POWERS BEING SCARY!

There's isn't much I can say about this AU for right now but I will update yall whenever I can or if things are asked! Also their designs will be fixed/altered once I draw them all out!

[theladyofbloodshed]

SJM is a feminist qwueen.

Elain is Elain felt wrong at so many levels. Couldn’t understand why. But here’s my reason for hating it.

Elain is Elain means that Elain is not much. Not worth considering a threat or an opportunity. Not a villian, not a hero, not useful, just not much. Why would that be? What’s different? Nesta and Elain are both made by the cauldron. She’s eager to help (in ACOWAR).

She’s not doing what males do in SJM fantasy world. Not swinging a sword (like Aelin and Mor). Not rude and dismissive of authorites (like Feyre in the high lords meetings). She’s being normal and wearing dresses. And that’s completely fine.

But apparently not by SJM, the feminist queen and her fans. Because guess what, that’s not feminism. That’s internalized misogyny. You only like feminist heroines when they do something that males do. How dare she stay in the house and bake? Be queit and proper like a lady. Wear dresses!??? Go put on some fighting leathers and swing a sword. Only then will we value you. We are feminists. Can’t have a girl acting all girly and expect people to think she has some good qualities. Qualities worth appreciation. Nope, we will value you when you fight, put on some muscles and ditch those dresses. And get out of the kitchen!

Until then, Elain is just Elain.

Never tell me that young girls reading this are not getting a bad impression. I saw a 14 year old pick up this book today. SJM and her internalized misogyny, that the fans label as feminism ✨ is going to shape some young minds into believing a lot of fucked up things being right. Forgiving your abuser and sexual assualter (Aelin-Rowan, Feyre- Rhys), mistreating people with trauma (Nesta being locked up) and of course, the smaller problem discussed above. I am not old enough to have children yet, but I regret the fact that I read this crap and I beg all you fans out there to never have your children read this crap. It is honestly surprising that these books have not been deemed inappropriate yet. I have read a lot of dark romance and this is not it. The theme is clear in dark romance. Characters in those books are held accountable for their actions. The constant cycle of making the fans beleive that Rhys, Rowan, Cassian etc. are not wrong and you should want a partner like that..now that is harmful.

P.s. English is my third language. Idk if I made any mistakes, but do let me know if I did so I can take care of it next time.

It was such crap. If Rhys was actually held accountable for his words then yeah, okay, he can say that. But if Feyre ever questions him, it happens once then it's waved away by Rhys. Within a few minutes of meeting the sisters, he dismisses Elain as unimportant and Nesta is Illyrian at heart and he can never forgive her - for something that never ever involved him.

For me, it wasn't really about the fact that Elain is typically more feminine. Beyond the colour of their dresses where Elain favours pink, I'd say Nesta is also very typically feminine (for the time period). She doesn't like pants, her hobby is reading, she was saving herself for marriage. To me, what Rhys said aligned with Feyre's view of Elain from the first book where she said that it wasn't that Elain was being mean and not helping, she just didn't grasp that she might actually get off her ass and help. And Rhys is fine with that. Elain can be oblivious but that's okay and he won't ever push her <3 It's so hard not to compare how Elain and Nesta are treated. Both lived in the cabin. Nesta said mean things, Elain didn't. Nesta helped, Elain didn't.

At the end of it all, these men should stay far away from these women. The men all need therapy and should be taught how to be a better partner <3

p.s. your English is brilliant

[euphoricfilter]

any tips on how to write for beginners? also where do you get the inspiration?

i guess just go for it. when i started writing on here i had minimal writing experience, especially story writing, and then over the course of the last year and a bit, naturally i’ve improved (i hope)

i think it’s easy to read other people’s work and want to copy their style, or want what they have. which is just part of human nature, so i say when you start out— write to find your style, even if it is a subconscious effort to do so. by either using other people as a guideline or fully winging it until you’ve formed a way that’s uniquely yours which is a lot easier than it sounds i promise. you kinda just naturally progress the more you write

don’t expect to have a whole novel length piece of work written. it’s hard, writing takes time and a lot of brain power. write small tidbits, little poems, things you like, things you see. find a prompt and write a couple hundred words about that. i think my favorite part of writing is the little excepts that have no context whatsoever in my notes, but just sound pretty and paint the image enough for you to imagine the story further or create a whole new world

uhhh what else…

write for yourself!!!!!. i struggle with this a lot and have to constantly remind myself that what i write should be as much for me as it is for other people. i tend to put pressure on myself and then that makes what should be a fun process entirely unenjoyable and then it starts to feel more like a job than a hobby

depending on what you write, research is always fun and a good place to start. which can sometimes lead to further development of plot ideas.

don’t be scared of stereotypes. i think there’s a negative connotation between writing and stereotypes but sometimes they’re the best stories!! sometimes it’s nice to know what to expect, or read something that can evoke something like nostalgia because the story follows the lines of something you’ve seen before (no plagiarism though!!! that’s stinky)

i get inspiration from a lot of things!! a lot of my fics are based on scenarios i come up with while trying to sleep. i think i’ve talked about this before, but usually before i sleep, i’ll come up with film ideas or drama ideas and essentially script out movies in my head which i turn into fic ideas as i’m not exactly able to produce an entire millions of dollars budget film. which is why i feel like my writing, at least to myself feels more visual, because it’s a visual piece in my head

fics like ‘standing next to you’ was inspired by the part in the MV where he’s on stage performing in-front of the actress on the car.

some of my writing is inspired by words i like, simple as that

or certain themes. a common theme in my writing is stars and destiny, something i really really love writing about hence why i probably bring it up so often

“stardust” was inspired by an article i’d read. movies i like. that one tae idea surrounding howls moving castle. “helping hands” was inspired by a tiktok i saw. stuff like “the feminine pact” was derived from my own ideals surrounding femininity, and my own sort of weird relationship with the term “feminine”

of course i get inspo from requests as well

really if you think about it there’s a story in every little detail of your life. and finding inspiration becomes hard when you’re actively seeking for it so let it just naturally come. i have a over active brain so i’m constantly thinking which on the occasion is incredibly useful when it comes to pulling ideas from every little detail of my life and the things that surround me

i think the assumption is that inspiration has to be something big, or meaningful to a large group of people when really it can be smaller things that other people deem insignificant, that you love

i hope that sort of helps?? this is purely from my own experience over the last year and a bit ☝️😔

[lemonhemlock]

To add to the children's discourse lol.

I've seen people say that the twins are Aemond's but Maelor is Aegon's and that is why she would choose to get killed because Helaena hates Aegon that much. and I hate that, it doesn't matter who the father is, the kids are Helaena's and she will always try to protect them.

I personally would prefer the kids to be Aegon's (not because I'm a helaegon first, then a helaemond lol) because I think the children being his adds a depth that he's seriously lacking in the show. going insane for the kids he ignored most of their lives, it will be really good to watch and explore. I also don't think Aemond needs to be the father for the "son for a son" to make sense, because in my interpretation, the person wanting to become the monarch (Rhaenyra) lost a son, so the King has to lose one as well. In this angle, it doesn't actually matter who killed Luke, Aegon would have to lose a son anyway.

I also think that Aemond has too much spotlight to steal Aegon's arc as well...because if Aegon knows the kids are his, why would he go on full revenge and hate if he never cared for Helaena anyway? They also didn't show Aegon and Aemond having a good relationship for Aegon to care that much about Aemond's kids.

If he doesn't know, his whole arc will be hollow, because he's the dumb one that thinks the kids are his but surprise...your sister-wife and your brother actually went behind your back and had kids and had this whole full-on romance behind your back.

Don't get me wrong, the kids could be Aemond's especially with them being so young in the show (why, just why?) but that doesn't mean that I have to like it. lol

Rant over lol, would love to hear your thoughts. :)

Hello there! So, I would start by saying that no one is denying helaemond isn't a show-introduced thing. There are no hints at that in the book - again, this doesn't preclude or deny or contradict its existence EITHER, just that we have no reason to believe off the text that the children aren't Aegon's. Ergo, Blood & Cheese was most likely specifically designed with that in mind.

So, from that vantage point, I really don't think paternity has any play in this Sophie's choice, especially since it's Helaena making that specific choice and the children are all hers anyway. There's also a desperate (and understandable) logic that informs her motivation - Maelor is deemed young enough to not understand what is happening to him and that could serve as a small mercy in this context, basically the best out of a horrible situation. That's a lot more reasonable for a mother rather than prioritizing her children based on sperm donor.

As an aside, making helaegon a failed marriage and giving Aegon his downright sociopathic hobbies serves to hinder the plot, rather than further it - this has nothing to do with helaemond, it's just the writers not thinking their decisions through. Like, as things stand, I'm supposed to believe that 1. Aegon doesn't care for Helaena anyway 2. he thinks it's funny watching his own bastard children fight to the death in the rat pits, all the while they plan on selling me the fact that 3. Aegon is somehow gonna be devastated when his legitimate son is killed, a son he never interacted with and never showed any feeling towards, because he is too self-absorbed in his own pursuit of pleasure.

Why does that make more sense? It's all a mess anyway, no matter which way you cut it. Obviously, Aegon cared for his children and family in the books, so they're gonna have do some damage control here, otherwise Blood & Cheese is going to logically have absolutely no effect on him, which defeats the point of this entire exercise (also an observation for those against humanizing Aegon).

The children being his and him caring about them is indeed a very easy and immediate way to humanize his character AND not diminish the horrifying aspect of Blood & Cheese. But so is them not being his? Him being able to care for them as if they were of his own body is also a pretty touching element, if you think about it. Show!version will have to be retconned anyway, whichever option you pick.

B&C was specifically designed by Daemon because it fundamentally stabs at the core of the greens - all siblings are affected by the harm visited on these children. Helaena goes mad with grief, Aegon enacts his bloodthirsty revenge on the city's rat catchers, Aemond starts spiraling - even Daeron sacks an entire city in a rage when Maelor is killed. It's not so outrageous or far-fetched for me to believe that these children could have been very loved no matter who fathered them, by their mother, father and both uncles, in whichever permutations.

I also don't think Aemond needs to be the father for the "son for a son" to make sense, because in my interpretation, the person wanting to become the monarch (Rhaenyra) lost a son, so the King has to lose one as well. In this angle, it doesn't actually matter who killed Luke, Aegon would have to lose a son anyway.

That's certainly Daemon's reasoning, but it doesn't mean that he is being even steven about this. Retributive justice in no way involves taking the life of another innocent person who had absolutely nothing to do with the crime in the first place. Even if Aemond had legitimate sons of his own within a lawful marriage, killing his son for Luke would not amount to retributive justice. Daemon utilises false equivalences here and I need people to stop drinking his kool aid. It is not Rhaenyra and Aemond who are peers here, it is Aemond and Luke.

Aegon had nothing to do with this crime, he did not order it or target Luke specifically and involving him in it simply inflicts harm upon innocent parties; targeting Jaehaerys is also disproportionate to the offense committed - as another user mentioned recently on one of my posts, Jaehaerys is a little boy playing with toys, while Luke is actively contributing to his mother's war effort. These two are not peers or counterparts either.

The harming of innocents and proportionality to the crime are two principles of retributive justice that Daemon actively breaks in the pursuit of his sadistic revenge.

If there is ever any doubt, one can always pick up a copy of the Old Testament.

Exodus 21:12-14. He that smiteth a man, so that he die, shall be surely put to death.

Lo and behold, the punishment for murder is the death of the murderer. Nothing whatsoever about killing the murderer's nephew or the murderer's son.