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#idk how to write medieval people
thevenuscross · 2 months
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composure; prologue
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warnings: lowkey the brother is annoying in some parts, thats all tbh
word count: 2.1k
authors note: the prologue was supposed to be shorter lol, d1 yapper over here y’all.
prologue
The sounds of chatter from your eldest brother and the sounds of clatter from shoes on royal tile warped in and out of your ears. It was like you were drowning, only hearing one syllable to waves crashing you deeper and deeper. There was nothing more frustrating than when your brother began his anxious rambles, where there’s no end to it because his arrogant mind cannot be aware of others' sensitivity to the matter. He wasn’t aware of how you were trying so hard not to spin around and lash out on him; to finally scold him for good after all these years. Let him know how his rambles never helped.
You took a deep breath. In and out. Clasping your hands together in front of you, you started to count numbers in your head.
It was just…you wished he could shush his overwhelming thoughts that trembled your body in fits during these kinds of situations. But never would you let your unwanted thoughts leave your lips. You will continue to conceal them in the back of your mind like you always have and always will. If there was anyone who would conceal their own worries from the ever-growing rumors of war, it was you. You who kept your head high.
Besides, his maid was providing him with reasonable explanations for his rambles. Something you were extremely grateful for.
“If this is such an emergency for them, why must they let us run across the castle grounds to reach the common? They are lucky we were not busy.”
“Sir, if I may, no one expected for them to call upon you in such haste,” His maid said in exasperation as he tried to keep up with everyone’s pace, “We were only notified of this minutes ago.”
“Maybe you should’ve warned us quicker but no, the minute you reached the botanicals, you and my sister’s maid, both decided to dally in a story of the rumors of war instead of outright saying it was urgent.”
Your brother’s maid tried to usher an explanation, probably a reason why he and your maid started with the rumors, but, typical of your brother, he scoffed, shaking his head. “By now we've already known a war is on breach. You did not need to give us a backstory on such.”
“Yes, your Highness, but you must know—“
Tempted to roll your eyes and scoff too, you squeezed your hands. You had enough of this one-sided conversation. With the commons room only ten more steps in front, you relished in pretending to let the waves tumble in your head. The voices behind you faltered and the muffled silence filled you with tranquility. Not uttering a single word, you swiftly opened the oak doors where it was lined with gold. Returning your hands back in front of you, you bowed forward to your parents where they stood, facing each other, their own conversation falling short.
“Mother, father.” You addressed, grateful they still bowed their heads to you.
It didn’t take long for your brother to spill his thoughts onto them. “Will our army be sent to the cliffside on Jackson? Or is the war finally commencing?”
Always in your life had you let your brother do the questioning, the disobeying, the defiance. . Even if your own longed to unravel that side of you. Deep down, you know questioning your parents will not be considered lightly. They had already set the future paths for you and your brother where he will be the one crowned in ruling this kingdom. And you…you couldn’t exactly realize where your life was heading. In all of your twenty-eight years of living, you only knew manners and skills they believed fit right in case they wanted you to be a future queen.
Though your parents weren’t known to be direct with you.
“There is no war in this kingdom. Or will a war happen in the many centuries to come. The conflict between us and the neighboring kingdom will be solved within months. You of all people should not be conflicted with the lies of the rumor.”
Your brother squinted his eyes in disbelief, “Then why are our maids sharing tales of rumors of the supposed war? Do you believe so little in us to come to your call because we are older? Cross I will be if it is just simple news.”
Waves were crashing upon you again. You hid the shakes of your hands by squeezing them tight together. It was an upside to staying silent for most of your life as it made you invisible to most eyes wherever you were. Your sight scattered across the room to catch something that will hold your attention for a couple of minutes and that’s when you saw them. The both of them like statues, patiently waiting for your parents to address them.
Two knights in the room and you were the only one looking at them now.
They wore high quality silver armor, their entire body hidden by the weight of it. Their shoulders aligned perfectly with the other as their chest was buffed. A steel sword rested on their leather scabbards, a shield with the kingdom’s design being held by their left hand. Their helms of silver covered every part of their face, the only thing you can see if they were closer was their visor. You were glad you couldn’t exactly see if they caught you observing them and if they knew, they did nothing of the sort to let you know.
“Listen to your father.” Your mother’s strict tone broke your observance. Her pointed glare quieted your brother, allowing him to stand beside you and listen. “There is no war and there will be no war on these lands. Do you understand?”
You peeked at your brother. He was biting the inside of his cheeks. At first, he opened his mouth but let those unanswered questions down his throat. His fingers anxiously started to tap against his thigh in a scattered pattern. When tense silence gathered in the room, your father exhaled deeply and moved away from your mother’s side and closer to where the knights were. Your brother’s eyes widened slightly but he stayed quiet.
Once your father reached the knights, his eyes met yours then your brother’s. “We’ve noticed the crime has increased due to the…lies spread across the kingdom. As people grow relentless with royalty, me and your mother decided it was best for both of you to have personal guards.”
You didn’t notice your brother glancing over at you.
“These knights are one of the best under the royal regiment. With great skill in sword, they will grant you protection. Your guard must follow you everywhere, even if you think you might not need it.”
You wanted to scrunch your face in, a flicker of annoyance rumbling inside of you. Flocks of questions crept into your throat, your lips being the gate to keep them locked. This is what you were trained to do since birth. Keep quiet in your defiances, keep your composure in your impulsiveness. Biting the edge of your tongue and gulping your questions down and allowing your brother to remark.
It’s too late now to change.
Though for a couple of minutes, your brother did not speak. His eyes were glued to the guards. His tapping increased in pace before he shut his eyes and clasped onto his hands to stop the taps.
“If you want another body to follow us like some street dog then so be it but I know why the two of you did this.”
“Brother,” you grumbled out as he shrugged his shoulders.
“Forgive me or not but you know I am right.”
You and your brother caught each other’s glance and you saw a swarm of pleas. You couldn’t hear how he whispered a please to you. Or how defeated he was when you turned back to face your parents.
“Mother, father, forgive me, but if a war will not happen in our kingdom then why the personal knights. And if the crime is increasing because of the crippling fear of war-“
“There is no war!” Your father bellowed, face contorted. His shout rocked your brother into a whimpering boy, cowering and head low, eyes shut. Slowly, his tapping was back on the side of his thigh. “What will it take to get through your stubbornness?!” The roughness in his voice, the added texture of anger, it all made the room fall to a deathly tremble.
Your brother started in a hushed croak “Father,”
“Enough.”
Your brother bit his words so your parents could carry on. With frustration quipped, their introductions of the two knights were kept short to both.
The guard to the left, slightly taller from the one on the right, was your brother’s. Trained under the royal regiment for ten years where he earned the ranking of Grand Cross, the highest of all rankings. It was an honor to be a personal knight for a royal, but to you, it seemed like a detriment. Always on the watch, always on patrol.
Seemed treacherous.
His guard bowed with his shield and fist over his heart. Your brother eyed him but soon bowed his head as well.
You prayed for his guard.
But you couldn’t pray for yourself.
It was easy for you to stay hidden and stay polite with others because you barely were around people. Either in your room honing the skills set or visiting the town square or the botanicals alone, only calling your maid when you needed her. Your life was centered on keeping your composure.
Now he, your new personal guard, must follow you around, must watch over you, must not let anything get to you. You couldn’t help but want to push and deny any access to anyone watching you.
Though one must not allow such impulsions.
Angsty to be face to face in front of him, you gripped your hands. You couldn’t remember when he was in front of you or when his introduction was over for him. Or when you remembered when your body had a mind of its own and that it remembered how to properly greet someone. He only bowed with his head, shield to his heart.
He stared at you with eyes like a hawk. Through his visor, you saw the darkness in his eyes, the color hidden. If he’s like this, you may need to visit the town square less and less, more hidden in your room.
To your surprise, he hasn’t uttered the words of a knight, where one was grateful to serve for you, protect you. He just stood and soon enough, you wanted to stay in your bedroom for months on end. It was okay if he was only here for a pay raise.
It would ease the notion that he wasn’t into this job.
You formed a tight smile, “Thank you, Sir.”
One must never lose their composure. No matter the situation they are brought upon. That is how one should rule for their people, even if that one will never be the ruler.
It nerved you how he kept five paces behind you like he was supposed to. Or how he hasn't spoken a single word to you even though it was only you two in the halls. He wasn’t like your maid who tried to start a conversation with you, either if it was personal or something simple. She couldn’t bear an awkward silence like he did.
Upon reaching your bedroom, ready to twist the knob and enter, you hesitated. Secretly, you glimpsed at him from the side. You noticed how his shoulders were too tight and how he would slightly shift from one side to the other. Though, you weren’t worried about his awkward stance—you were more worried about how far these protocols went.
Standing there for a minute and racking your brain to ask him a question, your thoughts froze when his eyesight shifted to look at you directly.
“Are you gonna ask me something?” He uttered, muffled. A peep of irk in his tone. You spotted a slight accent but couldn’t decipher where it would be.
You battled with yourself on not asking him if his mother ever taught him respect or if he ever went through knight training.
You stood straighter than before and gripped the knob of your door tighter.
“Where would you be posted if I entered my room?”
He didn’t move. “Outside.” He stated it so obvious, you couldn’t help but to bite your tongue in hope you can swallow your words instead of chewing him out.
“Okay.”
The both of you gazed at one another for a couple seconds before you turned your knob and opened your door. Bowing to him so you wouldn’t show your hindrance, you then turned away.
“Good day, Sir.”
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branmer · 6 months
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bridgerton kind of cemented for me that i just do kinda low key hate historical regency romance land
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halfbakedspuds · 6 months
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I've come to the realisation that the best determining factor for what terrible people your characters actually are is to ask "how big of a change in the story/premise would it take for them to become the Villains?"
Case and point, both my protagonists would need just a single, minor excuse to become the kind of threat that heroes in traditional settings need to rise up against.
That change is the IUC's end-goal on the planet.
If the IUC was there to clear the way for easier human colonisation and annexation of the planet in future instead of upliftment, Adrian would have had no problem going along with it since his only real reason for helping with the upliftment at the start of the book/s (pending on whether this becomes a duology or not cause boy howdy this is a surprisingly long story) is that he needs the job and can't go home anymore, so if the IUC was a colonial organisation, he wouldn't have blinked before committing warcrimes in the name of doing his job.
Likewise, Lyanni basically hates her species early on since she's seen them at their absolute worst and wouldn't bat an eye if some cataclysmic tragedy befell them, as long as it didn't also affect her. So, if the IUC was an invading force, she would've been one of the first native collaborators and would've probably become a Praetor Adjutant just as she does in the actual story, although in this setting it would entail far more warcrimes.
Conclusion using this method: my protagonists early on are right bastards, and that's why I love writing them.
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there's dirt on my face from when they buried me alive; i'll show you how to kiss, teach me how to breathe through these soil-laden lungs.
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jw60 x reader: what happens at the renaissance faire does (not) stay at the renaissance faire.
(warnings: blasphemous filth (it's honestly not bad), unprotected penetrative sex (m on f), idk a little hair pulling, nothing too crazy (be proud of me!), but you should be warned about the insanity that is me writing slow burn. i know i'm forgetting a lot but all my usual suspects. (please be warned, don’t read if you’re not 100% sure.)
(a/n: well, favorites, did someone say longest story yet? no, size doesn't matter, but this is getting out of hand. we're over 15k, now. next time i'm just gonna hand you a novel. happy valentine's day from the writer that loves you the most. where to begin? no, i don't know anything about faire culture or even that much about theatre, but i hope you like this anyways, because i absolutely loved writing it. i guess goalies are for the heartbreakers (and jw60 is for people who have been demonized because they're hot). this is for those of us with a little bit of a reputation, a little bit of a history. you deserve someone who thinks you look like a princess when your tits are falling out of your corset. yeah, the pacing's probably a bit off, and i got carried away with his big doe-eyes, but shh! don't tell anyone. oh, and you guys can pry bad kisser jw60 from my cold, dead hands. you know how i used to say i hope you watch the canucks and think, wow, qh43 definitely wants something that's just his? i hope you watch the leafs (when jw60 comes back) and think, wow, sweetheart doesn't know how to kiss! and with that stiff upper neck, too, poor baby! of course, please tell me what you think, because i love it when you do. what else? thank you a million times for all the love. try to spot the baby leafs in the supporting cast. and i'm about halfway done with frat!jh86 (it's fun, you'll love it). thank you for being patient with me. go canucks. until next time, all my love).
the corset was making it really, really hard to breathe. you swore, tonight, when you finally unbound yourself, there would be indentations of the small brass eyelets in your spine, perhaps that your back would slink and melt into the ground, having grown accustomed to the relentless support of the tightly-tied ribbon.
"i don't want to hear it," jenny, your best friend, said, holding a hand up to silence you before you even spoke. "you look unreal. you'll thank me for this, babe, i swear it."
you shook your head at her. "i just don't get why i have to dress like a medieval prostitute," you mused, gesturing to yourself, then her, "and you get be, uh, whatever that is."
jenny threw a hairbrush at you, which you dodged. "i'm a jester. you know this. you know how important this is to me."
you sighed, because you did. jenny had been a regular at the old renaissance faire every summer since she was little. you were about to be seniors in university, but this summer, jenny had insisted that you join her, some kind of last hurrah before you began to walk an intertwined path for what would likely be the last time.
and as much as you didn't really have any interest in jousting, or feudal society, or turkey legs, or whatever it was that people did at these things, you loved jenny enough to be grateful that she wanted to share her special place with you.
you didn't ask why she insisted on being a court jester ever year. maybe that was just her true form.
you walked over to where she sat in front of her mirror, put your hands on her shoulders. "and you're the hottest jester i've ever seen," you said, kissing her on the top of the head. "but i still can't breathe in this."
"that's the point," jenny replied, waving you off.
you had wanted to design your own costume, as costume design was quite literally your passion. you'd designed for every school play and musical since freshman year, wanted to pursue it further after college.
jenny had seemed so excited, though, and it was her day, so you let her take the reigns. the way this get-up fit you, though, the revealing upper-thigh slit, the abundance of cleavage you were sporting, the draping lacey skirts, it all had you hoping this specific faire had a strict no-men policy. you could practically already feel the weight of slimy stares on your exposed leg, the top of your chest. not to mention your face, but that was a bit of a constant, not just today.
you finished your hair and makeup, perfected the wench/heroine/damsel look. you knew yourself to be capable of all but shapeshifting, with your design and artistic abilities, but this old-timey seductress look was a spectacle, that was for sure.
jenny squealed when she saw the finished look. you cracked a smile at her ensemble, a straight-up court jester, down to the bells on her pointed hat, the face paint that matched the color scheme of her costume. "you look great," you told her.
"it's about letting my inner jest shine through," she said, "and that's why i dressed you up. so you have enough sex appeal for the two of us."
you were going to ask why there needed to be any sex appeal at all, but when you finally arrived at the sight of the faire, it became clear that that was simply part of the show.
you weren't even out of place in your revealing get-up, among all of the corsets and pants that looked like tights, not at all, although you had to give jenny credit. out of the many wenches and princesses and knights and pirates and such, your costume was especially lovely.
jenny linked her arm with yours as you passed under the tented entrance. it smelled like charcoal smoke and sugar, like wet leaves and musk.
"welcome to paradise," jenny said, a bright, genuine smile on her round face.
you couldn't help but smile, too. smile at this almost-hilarious display of the modern obsession with the past, of the unrelenting pursuit of entertainment, of the shared desire to be someone, somewhere, sometime else. this faire was just human, in a way that could be sort of somber, but in a way that you read as beautiful.
"where to first?" you asked your friend.
for hours, you let her lead you from place to place, from memory to memory.
"this is where my cousin, brett, bought his crush a leather-bound notebook," jenny said, while you perused a leather goods stand. she winced. "think she had a boyfriend, though."
you took pictures of her with different characters, let her take pictures of you with them, after. you smiled, big and cheesy, next to guys on stilts, jugglers, acrobats.
"you're gonna love this one," jenny said, pulling you into a barn that sold soaps and other handmade goods. you held a candle to your nose, inhaled, closed your eyes at the subtle combination of pine and something slightly floral.
you held it out to your friend. "try this one," you offered, picking up another one to test. you left the barn with two new candles and a hand soap for your apartment at school.
"we have to avoid archery," jenny whispered to you from behind a hand as you waited in line for giant pickles.
"why?" you asked, tilting your head at her serious expression.
"pretty sure my high school ex still runs it," she said, "and not the fun one."
you successfully avoided her ex, tried mead (honestly, how did people ever drink that), had your fortune told.
"my mom used to be the fortune teller at her local faire," jenny told you, a wistful sort of look in her eyes. "it's how she met my dad."
your heart flipped. you were a sucker for a meet-cute. "really?" you asked, "how romantic, jen. we have to do it."
jenny went first, the bell on her hat jingling with each movement. she walked away with a vague promise of new opportunities ahead and a new light to step into.
you smiled when she relayed this information to you, grabbed her hands excitedly. "a new light?" you said, "like a center-stage light? like a lead role?"
jenny's eyes widened. you'd met her freshman year in the theatre department, you a bit of a loner with a knack for a sewing machine and her a talkative actress with a beautiful singing voice.
still, after three years of productions, jenny had never had a lead role. she had a affinity for playing the side kick, the best friend, the assistant, the villain's love interest.
but no one had seen what she was capable of more than you, and you knew this year would be the year. you couldn't wait to watch her give the last bow on opening night, with you clapping from the wings.
now, jenny grinned at you. "this is the year, babe," she agreed. "now you!"
she gave you a gentle push towards the booth. the woman running it was probably somewhere between fifty and sixty. she had the face of a person who took advantage of sunny days, of someone who didn't deny herself simple pleasures, who had spent years laughing.
you felt at ease with her when she took your hand, ran her fingers along the ridges of your palm.
"rough hands, girly," she said, shooting you a lighthearted wink. "you workin' too hard, eh?"
you smiled. "just hard enough, ma'am," you told her, to which she patted your hand lightly in approval.
"you'll keep working," she told you, "but you'll find some new fun, too. sooner than you think."
you thanked her, bid her a good day. you never were one to put much stock into this kind of thing, but you'd take a little more fun any day.
when you told jenny what your fortune had been, she bumped her hip against yours. "hopefully that means a new guy," she mused.
you rolled your eyes. "don't need a guy for fun, do i?"
"'course not," she said, waving you off. "just know you, babe."
"you make it sound like i'm some depraved witch," you teased.
she laughed, pulled you by the arm to the big tent in the center of the faire. "c'mon," she said, "it's time for the joust!"
the joust was the main event of the day, you had known this coming in. it was fun, a spectacle of men on horses. you found yourself fascinated with the way they had dressed the horses up, the funny way all the actors were talking, so distracting that you barely noticed when the joust actually happened.
you still applauded and whistled along with jenny, listened to her tell a story about one joust in which the horse ran in the opposite direction, right out of the tent. you were holding your stomach in gentle laughter as you made to finish your day off at the tavern.
the sky began to melt from a blue to a burnt orange, the air hazy with heat. you could feel a day of standing in your thighs, a day of heeled boots in your calves. the makeup on your face had stayed put, but you could feel the weight of it like a halloween mask. your hair pulled at your scalp, a bit.
"hey, thanks for being such a good sport about this," jenny said as she brought you back a massive jug of beer, setting it down on the table with her own.
"what?" you said, scrunching up your face. "this is awesome, jen. thank you for inviting me."
she rolled her eyes at you, but her smile was obviously pleased. "i know it's corny, and kinda weird, but it's, i don't know." she trailed off, a misty sort of look in her eye.
you took her hand from across the table. you got what she meant. with senior year about to start, everything had a new, foreign sort of gravity to it, like it might never happen again. like you might miss it, if you didn't breathe all of it in. "i get it," you told her. "and where else am i gonna get to dress like this?"
she grinned at you as you took a sip from your jug.
"little jenny jester? is that you?"
you both turned to see an old, old man in magician's robes. jenny squealed. "magic jarod!" she said, before turning to you. "be right back," she whispered, "family friend."
"go 'head," you said, waving her on. you watched her approach the man, give him a big hug. you smiled. it was pretty cool, to know people at an event like this. to have people know you.
you sipped on your beer, quickly realized there was no way you were going to finish it. to pass the time, you people-watched, tried to guess people's relations to each other. you admired people's costumes, made mental notes of unique beading patterns or interesting pleats.
at some point, you were torn from your lulled observance by a polite cough. "is this, uh, where the plus-ones hang out?"
you turned your head to the side slightly to see the owner of that deep, pleasant voice. if you were the type to wolf-whistle, this would have been the time to do it.
something thrummed in your chest as you took in the man who stood in front of you, now. maybe it was the height, maybe the lean, working sort of bulk, maybe the soft-looking, just long enough hair. maybe it was the impossibly blue eyes that you could see even in the dim light of the tavern at dusk. maybe it was the careful, straight posture, the high cheekbones, cut jaw.
or maybe it was the fact that he was dressed in some sort of homemade prince outfit, a loose cream blouse, dark trousers, a dainty tiara-like crown atop his head.
he shifted back on his heels ever-so-slightly under your gaze, like it was something tangible, something that meant something.
in the misty, warm lighting of these low ceilings, among the dirty tables and scent of beer, he appeared deliciously out of place, like some fabled savior, some ancient temptation disguised as an angel.
you gave him a small smile, leaning into the table, just a bit. "did you also come with a jester?" you asked, teasing.
his mouth quirked, a beautiful flush blooming across his cheeks at the sound of your voice. he gave a shake of his head that shook the longer curls around his ears. "'m with the knight," he said, nodding to the person who was currently talking to a woman dressed as a pirate, who appeared very confused. to be fair, the person she was talking to was in full armor.
you gestured to the open spot across the table from you. "keep my friend's spot warm until she gets back?"
he stepped closer until he was just across from you. until you could see how long his lashes were, how big his eyes were, doe-like and boyish. how, ever since you'd first made eye contact with him, his gaze hadn't dipped to your chest even once. which was a feat, even jenny had gotten distracted a couple of times.
he made eye contact like a religion, like it was so, so significant. you took a sip of your beer. "what kind of prince are you?" you asked, leaning your heavy head on a palm.
he gave a low short of chuckle, and the sound was a rumble through your body, shook you up from the inside out. he clasped his broad hands in front of himself. "the boring kind," he said.
you shook your head, laughed. "okay, then, boring prince," you said. "what's your name?"
he licked his lips, and your eyes tracked the movement. your hands felt jittery. "joseph," he said, then asked for yours. you gave it. his kind eyes shimmered at this piece of you. "and what kind of princess are you, sweetheart?"
you laughed, bit your lip to stifle it, as you didn't want him to think you were making fun of him. but, really, in what world was this a princess costume? maybe in an adult film, but not here.
he didn't seem offended, though, just gave you a pouty look dripping with mirth. "what?" he said. you had a feeling he was rarely on the outside of an inside joke.
"it's just funny," you told him, feeling honest and open in the light of his polite gentleness. "that you think 'm dressed as a princess."
"oh, yeah?" he asked. his tiara shifted on his head. "what're you dressed as, then?"
something different wafted through the air between the two of you, something stronger than just the smell of grime and alcohol. something that felt sluggish, sparkly, seductive.
because even now, he didn't look away from your eyes. and that was, somehow, so much more intimate than some desperate once-over, one that would get caught on your chest, your thighs.
"how many princesses do you know who show this much skin?" you asked instead of answering his question. your voice had grown gravelly without your permission.
you had almost dared him to look away from your eyes, to take you in fully, in all of your corset-strapped glory.
but he didn't. which had you almost begging that he would.
"at least one," he said, a lopsided grin slanting across his face. "at least you."
"you know," you started, thought for a second. you sucked on your teeth, and his gaze flickered to your mouth for one single, almost undetectable second. a second that sparked a fire underneath you, had victory horns blaring in the distance. "you're pretty charming for a boring prince, joseph."
that pretty blush grew deeper, made his stark stature appear comfortable, warm. you wanted more of it. you wanted to know it deeply and personally.
when had you shifted so close together? the both of you leaning across the small table like it wasn't even there, breathing in the same air, sharing so politely.
you wanted to make his kind eyes simmer, make his blood run hot. you were close, you knew it, you could feel it in his exhales, in the slight tremor of his hands.
"don't think 'm the charmer between us, sweetheart," he said, low, a secret.
"we can share the title, if you want," you offered. "i'd share with you."
he hummed, shifted on his elbows, restless. "that's kind of you," he said. there was a roughness to his tone that flipped your heart in your chest, wrapped your legs up in coiling heat.
"what can i say?" you said, "you're a good influence on me."
there was a pause, during which you reached a hand up and gently adjusted his tiara so that it sat straight on his head again. you tried not to ruminate on how soft his hair was under your fingertips, pretended not to notice how his gaze draped over your face like a weighted blanket as you focused on the task.
when you withdrew your hand, he was staring at you. it felt like there was no one else in the room. "there," you said.
"straightened me out, did you?" he rasped, those doe eyes drowsy.
your mouth quirked up in a smirk. "oh, joey, i couldn't straighten you out," you said, tilting your head.
"no?" he asked, almost disappointed, not really. "what, sweetheart? 'd you be a bad influence on me?" he teased, twisting your words.
you knew you had him.
you knew you had him, so you forced aside any sensuality from your tone, your expression. "oh, fuck, i think my necklace is stuck in my hair," you said, clutching your hair, wincing like it hurt, watching concern flood his delicate features so gracefully. "know it's a lot to ask, joseph, but could you come to bathroom with me and untangle it, please?"
"of course," he said, practically before you could get it out, letting you take one of his wide, warm hands and tug him to the bathroom. once he was inside, just behind you, you locked the door, dropped your hair, both hands now free.
he appeared confused for a second. "your necklace?" he asked, but he trailed off as you placed a hand on his chest, felt the silken material of his shirt under your palm.
you peered up at him through your lashes, cocked your head. "'d you really fall for that, joey?" you asked, almost shocked.
his firm chest rose and fell under your hand, his exhales coming out shaky. "you're very persuasive," he mustered.
you hummed, relished in the heat that simmered between the two of you, full-bodied and palpable. "'m sorry i lied," you whispered, because you felt compelled to, because you had a feeling it mattered.
"'s okay," he breathed, immediate in his forgiveness, finally moving his hands from his sides to rest gently on your hips. this decision seemed to take a lot out of him, which made you smile. like his desire was heavy, like he just needed somewhere to put it down. like he wanted to touch you, so badly, but needed permission, needed someone to tell him how.
"can i be a bad influence on you for a second?" you asked him, leaned forward into his chest, "please?"
he nodded, leaned back against the door like holding his posture straight was suddenly too much to endure, let out some affirmative sound, halfway between a breath and a whimper.
you kept one hand on his chest, pressed him into the door, snaked your other hand into his hair and rooted it there. his grip on your hips tightened, now hard and strong, his own hips angling up slightly, involuntarily.
"can i kiss you?" you asked, suddenly soft, despite his sudden strength. because you had a feeling it mattered. that he mattered.
"please," he said, basically a whine, which had you fisting his shirt and tugging him down, his lips meeting yours in something like a fairytale, something heated and passionate and glutted with relief.
something heated, in the way you pulled at his hair, how his hand reached around you to pull you closer, right up against him.
something passionate, in the way your knees felt wobbly as swallowed down his sounds, swore you could feel his heartbeat under your palm.
something glutted with relief, in the way his tiara fell from his head entirely, only recognized by the dull clatter of plastic against wood, in the way neither of you pulled away, in the way it only gave you more access to him.
he tasted like mint and something slightly earthy, like peppermint candy and flaky sea salt. you much preferred this, you decided in a moment, to the taste of weed brownies and red bull that distinguished the kisses you had grown accustomed to, at school.
it was something like a fairytale, but not because it was perfect.
because it wasn't perfect, not at all. joseph was actually kind of a bad kisser, you realized. nothing crazy, nothing jarring, but the tell-tale signs of inexperience hung off of him like a too-big jacket.
moments of too-much teeth, unsure hands, a stiff neck, they made you smile against his mouth, because it was obvious he didn't let just anyone into his space like this.
so when his teeth would clash against yours, you'd simply nip at his bottom lip, playful, forgiving.
when his hands would still, uncertain, you'd just place a hand over where one of his rested, held it there, let him know you felt him, still, unwavering.
when his neck would stiffen, you'd rub at the knots with a knuckle, trace your nails over his hairline, feel a shiver erupt under your fingertips.
until he grew more comfortable in his motions, more brave in his want. desire flowed between you both like gasoline, sharp-scented and flammable. he let out an especially uninhibited groan when you brought your hand down to rest on his waistline, but the sound was engulfed by three swift knocks on the door.
"get outta there, guys," some authoritative voice called. "we're not that kind of establishment."
reluctantly, you pulled away from each other, chests heaving. the top of your chest glowed with warmth.
your prince looked delightfully disheveled. the top button of his shirt had slipped undone, his hair beautifully fussed, his cheeks ruddy, lips swollen, eyes glossy.
you knelt down, gently, picked up his plastic tiara, pushed up on your toes to place it on his head again. when you pulled back, there was something more dangerous than pure lust in his gaze.
as much fun as you knew you could have with him, and as much as you wanted to, you knew jenny would be looking for you, ready to go home. you knew joseph had his knight to attend to. knew this perfect moment that you had summoned was all but gone.
you knew the chances of seeing him again were very slim. the thought made your stomach drop, a bit. you exhaled all of your expectations, let them fall to the ground like sediment as you placed a hand on the doorknob.
he still hadn't said a word, almost in a daze. "you're going?" he asked, a husky rasp, and you could have pouted. it felt cruel, to be leaving behind such a pretty boy, one with such kind eyes.
you nodded slowly.
he just gave you a goofy sort of sad smile, tilted his crown to you like the brim of a hat. "until we meet again, trouble," he said, "you've been a lovely bad influence."
you smiled back at him, actually felt yourself blush. "and you've been a deviously good one," you said, "goodbye, joey."
and so you left him, walked away, but you could still feel his lips on yours, could feel the steadiness of his eye contact, the endearing uncertainty of his grip.
when the night ended, you had walked away from the dashing prince, the one you had pulled apart at the seams, but you knew you wouldn't forget him. your not-so-boring prince, who you couldn't even call a hookup, couldn't deem a fling, so you just knew him as your storybook kiss.
and you didn't forget him, even as the last summer days melted into early september, even as school started back up again, as classes came back into full-swing, as senior year and the countdown to graduation began.
you and jenny moved your things from your summer lease to your on-campus apartment, reunited with your friends who had been away for the summer, got all your classes and credits in order.
before you knew it, it was the first theatre department meeting, and you found yourself in the auditorium on a hot tuesday afternoon, slotting into a seat next to jenny and benji, the set designer who you had worked closely with during all your previous productions.
"good to see you, benj," you said, smiling at him.
he grinned, returned the sentiment, but tilted his head back in mock anguish. "another year of madness," he mused, "here we go again."
"our last go-around," you reminded him, elbowing him softly.
jenny made a noise, shook her head. "don't say that to me," she warned, "swear i'll start crying."
after welcoming everyone back, and building an adequate amount of suspense, the theatre director announced the fall play to be romeo and juliet.
"our department hasn't put it on since the eighties," the director exclaimed, "and i have the utmost belief that we will make it every bit the magical tragedy it is."
jenny was squeezing your hand so hard it hurt. juliet had been one of her dream roles since she was in middle school, since she had watched the movie with claire danes.
already, your head was spinning with visions of shakespearean headpieces, draping dresses, flowery imagery, blushy makeup.
beside you, benji groaned. "oh jesus," he lamented, "please, please, no castles."
you and jenny laughed. benji was one of the most talented artists you knew, and he always pulled it together before opening night, but he was a true procrastinator, tended to be a bit of a lazybones. the cast and crew loved him for it. what was an artist without a little bit of torture?
auditions were set for thursday morning, callbacks on friday, the final cast list to be posted on monday.
you didn't need to be present for any of the auditioning process, so, for the next few days, you enjoyed what you knew from experience to be your last moments of free time for the rest of the semester.
you went to office hours for your design professors, as you always did at the beginning of classes, just to introduce yourself, get yourself properly situated for academic success.
after jenny's audition on thursday, you went out, celebrated what she assured you was an astounding monologue delivery. between salted rims and blue-colored cocktails, jenny flipped her phone screen your way to show you the email that confirmed her callback tomorrow.
you squealed, shook her by the shoulders, pure excitement flowing through you. this was the year, you knew it. this was it.
nothing out of the ordinary, you let one of your friends set you up with some guy on saturday night. he was cute enough, kind of scummy, but, up until recently, he would have been exactly your type. you'd been known to go for the guys who looked like they'd been around the block, a little fratty, a little jocky. this guy, across from you, fit the bill, you could give him that.
all throughout college, you hadn't been the type to judge too harshly if a guy was a little too glued to his phone over dinner, if he had the distinct posture of someone who grew up with money, if he spoke shortly to wait staff.
for some reason, though, tonight, you felt itchy at the fact that he had a tough time looking you in the eye for more than a few seconds, felt a practically motherly concern at the way his fingers twitched towards his phone if he went more than a few minutes without looking at it.
for some reason, tonight, more so than nights before, the memory of a certain stiff-spined prince, blushing pink and thinking you were a princess, even dressed your sluttiest, danced across your mind like a waltz.
you sort of hated how his memory had kind of ruined what, a few months ago, would have been a satisfying hook-up, resented how someone you were never going to see again was dictating, to any degree, who you would go home with, but, regardless, you gave this guy across from you a terrible excuse for your need to leave, set a fiver on the table to cover your drink, hurried out the door and home.
jenny was sprawled out on her bed when you opened the door, watching some trashy reality dating show for the millionth time.
"watching it again isn't gonna make kaitlyn make the right choice," you reminded her as you set your bag down, recognizing the season from a single line of dialogue.
jenny groaned. "i can dream," she said, then fixed her eyes on you. "you look hot," she observed, "what are you doing here?"
you smiled as you began to take your makeup off. "went out with that guy chase set me up with," you explained, then sighed.
"what, did he lose his eyeballs on the way to the bar?"
you laughed, shook your head at jenny's characteristically odd wording. "nope," you said, "eyeballs intact. i just wasn't into it, i guess."
"fair enough," jenny agreed.
"it was so weird, though," you continued, "like, he was exactly what i usually go for."
"so he was a grimy slacker with a good face who has a concerning obsession with his mom?"
you gasped, feigned offense. "how dare you?" you asked, to which she giggled. "that was only twice!"
jenny rubbed at her neck. "for real though," she pushed, "what do you think is different?"
you bit your lip, thought for a moment, looked down at the cotton pad in your hand, now smudged with clumps of mascara and smears of blush. you swallowed. for some reason the sight made you slightly nauseous, some reminder of guilt or dirtiness or low self-esteem, or something like that, something you didn't really want to get into.
"you remember when you took me to the faire?" you said, still not looking at jenny.
"'course."
you exhaled. "well, when you were talking to that magician guy, i met this guy-"
jenny bolted upright from her horizontal position. "wait," she cut you off, excitement making her tone vibrate. "you mean to tell me that you met a guy at my faire, and i'm just hearing about it now?"
"sorry," you conceded, looking up to meet her eye.
"don't be," she waved you off, hugged her pillow to her chest. "i knew your costume would work!"
you rolled your eyes at her, pulled one of your knees up to your chest.
"so?" she asked, urging you on with her eyes. "tell me about him."
"he was just so fucking polite," you told her. "and so pretty. and when i made out with him in the bathroom it was like he didn't know how to kiss me, but he wanted to be good at it. so bad. like he was almost embarrassed about it." you sighed. "i don't even know why 'm still thinking about him," you told her, and it was true, sort of.
"i do," jenny told you, cracked a smile when you shot her a look. "i know everything."
"enlighten me, all-knowing jester," you said, gesturing for her to elaborate.
"you always take the scumbags, babe," she told you, "and they're fun, sure, but now you've had a taste of the teacher's pet, mom's favorite, goes to church on sunday. once you go 'good guy,' you never go back."
"i don't know," you said, skeptical, "i feel like i'm putting too much stock into this. feel like he probably doesn't even remember me."
jenny blew out a breath. "yeah right," she said, "let me tell you something."
"please."
"as much as you're feeling hooked on the good guy, right now," she said, "i can guarantee he's plagued at night by his glimpse of the dark side."
you hummed, smiled. "and i'm the dark side, in this scenario?"
"babe," jenny said, "you're not a 'bad person,' but you're a 'bad girl.'"
you pouted, but you knew what she meant. knew that you were kind, a good listener, a good friend, that you were trustworthy and patient and generous, but also that you weren't above the simple pleasures. that you weren't one to turn down a free drink, were always down to get your hands (and reputation) a little dirty, and until recently, that you were a one-night-stand frequent.
you also knew that people liked to label you as the bad girl simply because of the way you looked, the way you flirted, the way you dressed.
"whatever," you said, shrugging, acting like it didn't matter, wanting to change the subject, knowing just how to do it. "monday's the big day, right?"
jenny gushed about her callback, how that juliet role was practically hers, how she didn't want to jinx it. you told her the truth, that you couldn't imagine anyone else for the role, that they'd have to be stupid not to cast her.
and they proved to be not stupid, monday morning, when the cast list was emailed out to the department. on you way between classes, you received a face-time call from jenny before you even finished reading the full list.
"we did it!" jenny screamed as her jubilant face filled up your screen.
you couldn't help but let your face split into a grin at her excitement. "i told you," you said, "i told you! this is your year, jen. you deserve this so much." you almost felt misty-eyed. "'m so proud of you."
she looked like she actually was crying, now. "stop, babe, or you're gonna get me going," she warned. "fuck, i can't believe it. a lead role! i can't wait to wear your designs center stage!"
"i can't wait, too," you said, and you meant it.
"i know you have class, i'll let you go," she said, "see you at the meeting at four. okay, bye." she gave one last look. "our year!" she squealed as she hung up, leaving you laughing as you walked into class.
finally, it was time for the all-department meeting, your last commitment of the day, when everyone involved in the production met, now that you all knew the cast, from the leads to the directors to the stage managers to the last freshman painting sets under benji's direction.
"morrison's a night. mare," was the first thing that benji said to you as you slid into the seat next to him.
you hummed. "who's morrison?"
"one of my freshman," he explained. "his girlfriend's in the cast, said he wants to 'keep an eye on her,' whatever that means."
you scrunched up your nose. "gross," you said.
"and he sucks at everything," benji said. "'m half tempted to tell him to just stand in the corner and not touch anything."
you laughed as the director clapped his hands on the stage to get everyone's attention, launched into the typical congratulations speech. you felt jenny sit to your right with a deep breath.
"little late, eh, jen?" benji whispered.
"can it, benny," she replied, to which benji scowled. he hated when she called him that.
"and now, we'll do a full introduction," the director was saying, "from the back of the house all the way to the front. i can not emphasize enough how important it is that we, here in the theatre, trust and love everyone around us."
"i love you so much," you whispered to benji, who smirked.
"'m not interested, babe, but so flattered," was his response.
"why don't we start with our leads? jennifer and carlos, please stand and introduce yourselves."
"yeah, jennifer," you whispered, giggling into your hand. benji shook next to you.
jenny smacked you on the shoulder as carlos went. your production's romeo was a senior, too, had been in the department as long as you and your friends. you were a little surprised he had gotten the role, if you were honest, had always thought his acted grief came across as a bit shallow.
then jenny went, standing up, waving to everyone. when she was done with her introduction, no one clapped louder than you and benji, even whistling, a sound that echoed through the space.
the rest of the cast went, then all the directors and behind the scenes people. eventually, benji and his team went, followed by the costume crew.
"hi, everyone," you said, standing up, giving them all your name. "i'm the head costumer designer, and i can't wait to help all of you look like the best versions of yourselves and characters." you had used that line since sophomore year.
more people followed, eventually even the ushers went, followed by the orchestra and band.
you were friends with some of the music kids, so you tried to pay closer attention.
"'sup guys, 'm matt, on percussion," a stocky guy said, then gestured to the guy next to him. you laughed when you heard him grunt, "go, dude."
"yeah, i'm bobby," his friend, the blonde one, said, giving an awkward wave, "i, uh, play guitar."
"jesus, how does he look hotter than last spring?" benji said, putting his head in his hands, referring to the crush he had harbored on the department's guitarist for two years. you rubbed his shoulder in comfort, but a voice you recognized made your gaze snap back.
"hello, everyone, my name is joseph, i'm your new pianist, and i'm so excited to get to know you all."
the next person went to speak, but you just blinked, swallowed your disbelief down like a too-big pill.
it couldn't be him, but it was. there stood your boring prince, in a button down and khakis, this time, no tiara to be found. it made you wonder if he still had it, somewhere, maybe his bedroom, if his gaze would catch on it sometimes and he would think of you. if it would make him blush.
there he stood, hair just a bit longer, but the rest all the same as the dream boy who lived in your memory. so pretty, his words so naturally kind, you barely even noticed that he mentioned he would be the pianist for the production, too distracted by the fact that he was here, in front of you, right now.
hands on your waist, his soft groans muffled against your lips, wide doe eyes looking at you like he couldn't bear to look away, it all flashed across your mind, made you stiffen, your exhale come out short.
"you okay?" jenny whispered to you.
"that's him," you said.
"who?" her brow was furrowed, confused.
"that's him," you repeated. "the guy from the faire."
benji turned to you. "no way you let her drag you to that geek fest," he said, but you both ignored him, jenny's eyes going wide.
"that's your good guy?" she clarified. "the piano man is the bad kisser?"
"lower your voice," you warned, your voice low, serious.
benji leaned in. "you kissed bambi, over there?"
"yes, benny, keep up," jenny said, barely sparing him a look. "babe, you need to talk to him. this is fate." she snapped her fingers. "this is literally what the fortune teller was talking about, work and fun and all that."
you bit your lip, looked towards joseph again. your heart stuttered in your chest when you found him to be already looking at you. his lips quirked up in a shy smile as his fingers fluttered in a gentle wave.
you let a smile drape across your face at his recognition, his cordiality, then winked at him.
he looked at his feet, shifted lightly on his feet. you swore you could see his nervous blush from here. it made you feel like you were coated in glitter.
finally, the meeting ended with the promise of an email containing a review of all the information discussed. as everyone stood up and made for the exits, jenny gently shoved towards the front, where joseph was talking with his friends. she grabbed the elbow of benji and walked in the other direction as he muttered something about always being the last to know things.
you walked down the auditorium aisle, joseph's eyes lifting to meet yours as you got close. his smile grew boyish and bashful as he registered your approach, stepped out of his lean against the stage, brushed his palms against his pants.
there was a pause that you noted, because what exactly could you say, here? what exactly could you do?
could you say hey, matt and bobby, i don't know how you know joseph, but i made out with him in the bathroom of a ren faire tavern and haven't stopped thinking about him since?
probably not.
instead, you just smiled, asked matt and bobby how their summers were. they had been in the theatre band since sophomore year, so you were familiar with them, at least enough to know what place matt was talking about when he mentioned his vacation home and who bobby was referring to when he mentioned his buddies on the team (the both of them were on the club hockey team at school).
matt clapped a heavy hand on joseph's shoulder. "woller's on the team with us," he explained, "convinced him to fill the piano void we had after the seniors graduated."
you hummed, turned your gaze back to joseph, relished in the endearing awkwardness you found. "joey and i have met, actually," you said.
bobby shrugged. "you go to the same school, not all that surprising."
it was sort of funny, now that you thought of it, that in three years, you hadn't crossed paths with joseph one time. not once did he catch your attention in the dining hall, not once did he drop a pen in your vicinity during a lecture, never did he accidentally bump into you between classes.
you'd gone three years without seeing those blue eyes, and since that chance encounter, you hadn't stopped thinking about them.
matt seemed to be more perceptive than bobby, though, giving a slight nod in understanding. "we'll leave you to catch up, then," he said, grabbing his backpack, tossing bobby his. "see you 'round, guys."
then the auditorium was empty, except for you and joseph. like a universe that existed only for the two of you. the high ceilings seemed barely suitable to fit the mass of emotion you felt.
you kept a safe step's distance. "hi, joey," you said, softer than you meant.
his eyes shimmered at your voice, at the nickname. "hi, trouble," he said, in that tone that felt like winter sunlight, "how are you?"
of course he would ask that, hands shoved into his pockets, of course he would ask that and really mean it, really care.
"'m good," you said. "really good, now. didn't know 'f i'd see you again."
he hummed, and it felt like power, to know that you both were thinking about the last time, to know for certain he was thinking of you, pushing him up against a door.
"how are you?" you reciprocated, leaning back on your heels.
he thought for a moment, the pause fat with nostalgia, ripe with promise. "pretty nervous, if 'm honest," he told you, looked down.
you couldn't hide your delight. "like you honest," you told him, and his blush deepened. he wanted to meet your gaze, so badly, you could tell, but it was almost like he didn't trust himself to, like he might get caught there forever.
he gave a breathy sort of laugh. it made your head spin.
you stepped closer to him, which tore his eyes up to yours. his chest heaved in what might have been a relieved sigh. "do your friends know?" you asked, and your voice had grown husky, softer, only for him.
he shook his head, his eyes welling up with genuine truth, like he would never. "no," he said.
"really?" you asked, cocked your head. "don't kiss and tell, joey?"
his ears bloomed pink, like the word kiss was some kind of curse, like all of it was too much to hear aloud. it had you almost regretting saying it. almost.
when he spoke, his voice cracked, slightly. "no, uh, can't say i do, sweetheart." he said.
you gave him a smile that curled with smokiness. "did you just wanna keep it to yourself, then?" you asked, let your gaze grow hooded. "maybe keep me to yourself?"
his breathing was heavier, and he was so close, and all you wanted to do was kiss him again, knead your knuckles into that stiff neck, feel him against you, but you didn't.
you didn't and then he spoke again. it was breathy, wavering. "think, maybe, uh, we should," he started, "think we should just be, uh, friends, sweetheart."
and you could have been disappointed, offended, even, but you weren't. you just took a small step back, smiled at him gently. let his words settle. "do you, joey?"
he gave a slight nod. "yeah, um, just 'cause of the show, and we'll be working closely, and such," he said. "for the sake of the show." something permissive and almost regretful, something practically compunctious flooded his bright, blue eyes, the way oil sullies a warm ocean gulf.
"thank god we have a pianist so dedicated to the production, then," you said, eyes wide, watched him blush further. "we should probably exchange numbers, then," you continued, "so we can do things that friends do."
he cleared his throat, nodded, entered his information into the phone you offered him. "it'll be good," he said, but it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than you.
"it'll be so, so good," you amended, retreating, now walking towards the exit. "i promise, joey, 'll make it so good, for you."
for the second time, you left him, blushing, disheveled, this time with much more hope in your heart.
"so, did you talk to him?" jenny asked you over lunch the next day.
"and can you get him to talk to bobby about me?" benji asked, taking a bite of his sandwich.
"yes, and no," you said, making benji pout.
jenny stamped her feet under the table in fast succession. "so, what did you say? what did he say?"
you shrugged. "he said we should be just friends." it even sounded funny coming out of your mouth.
benji winced. "ouch," he said, blowing out a breath.
"i don't get it," jenny said, appearing genuinely confused.
"said it was for the good of the production, or something," you said.
"what a load of bullshit," jenny said, now almost angry.
you shrugged again.
"why aren't you upset?" benji asked, skeptical. "in all the time i've known you, you haven't been friendzoned once. it can't feel good to be slummin' it with the rest of us."
you laughed. "i'm not upset because i know he doesn't want to be friends, he just thinks it's the right thing to do."
"what's the difference?" jenny said, "regardless, he set his terms."
"and i'll be respectful of them," you said, and you meant it. you were not one to break hard-set boundaries, to act in a forceful or disrespectful way. "i'm a great friend."
benji narrowed his eyes. "so, you're just gonna be totally platonic with this guy?"
you nodded, leaned back in your seat.
"just friends with the only guy i've ever seen you think twice about?" jenny clarified.
"exactly," you reiterated. "just friends, nothing more." your mouth quirked. "until he inevitably decides otherwise."
benji rolled his eyes. "of course," he said, almost bitter. "the elusive long game."
"won't be that long," you corrected.
"how can you be so sure?"
you smiled at the memory. "his eyes," you said, honestly, almost guiltily. "bit of a dead giveaway."
joseph had declared you just friends, so that's what you would be, for the time being. you trusted he would come to his own conclusions as time passed, so you figured there really wasn't any reason to rush things. there were much worse things than being friends with a very kind person.
so you texted him the next morning, sent him a hey :) it's your favorite new friend, followed by your name, followed by a what're you doing later?
and of course he was a prompt responder, getting back to you in a matter of minutes. a Good Morning, Sweetheart, followed by a We have practice until 6:30, but I'm free after that. What did you have in mind?
his texts read a bit awkward and stiff, in all of their grammatical correctness, but it made you sigh, because what was he, if not a little awkward and stiff?
wanna study at my place? you sent, followed by i could walk you back from practice.
I'd like that. was his response, followed by Just to clarify, you mean actually study, right? That wasn't an innuendo?
now he had you smiling at your phone. get your head outta the gutter joey you texted, followed by just to study, followed by pinkie promise.
you could picture his blush as if you wear standing in front of him.
See you at 6:30, Trouble, was his last response.
you sort of thought it was funny that he called you that, and maybe it should have been a little offensive, because maybe you were tired of being associated with that kind of negativity. maybe you were tired of coming with a warning label, tired of feeling like all anyone saw when they looked at you was a pretty face wrapped up in red flags.
what was funnier, you supposed, was that you didn't mind it when he called you that. you didn't mind it because there was something you liked about being trouble to him, in particular. you liked being his sweetheart, probably more than you would admit to yourself, but there was something addictive about being important enough, singular enough, powerful enough to be deemed trouble by a person like him.
a person who just oozed with goodness, with righteousness, without any of the arrogance so typically marring the quality, a person whose smile leaked sunshine, who was distinct in their genuineness, whose honesty and kindness you swore you could taste, the way marshmallow fluff sticks to your teeth, grainy and sweet.
maybe you didn't love being trouble, but perhaps you didn't mind being his trouble.
that was the sentiment at the forefront of your mind as you entered the ice rink that the club team practiced at, a few minutes early, let the chillier air cool your face.
the last of the team was on the ice, just a few bodies picking up pucks and cones. you scanned the ice, didn't spot his distinct profile, so you just took a seat in the bleachers, enjoyed the rare moment of quiet, breathing in and out.
a quiet thudding noise drew your attention to the glass, where matt and bobby were waving you down. you hopped down from the bleachers while bobby opened the door to the ice, which made a heavy clanging sound.
"hey, guys," you said, now standing in front of them.
"you missed the fun part," bobby said. you had to crane your neck to look at them. they were taller in skates, a little more intimidating in full hockey pads than when they were goofing off in the pit of the theatre.
you laughed good-naturedly. "not here to watch you trick pucks off the crossbar," you said.
matt laughed. "why are you here, then?" he said.
you didn't quite answer, sucked on your teeth for a second. "where's joey?" you asked, instead.
bobby rolled his eyes.
matt just nodded towards the other end of the ice. "i'll tell him you're here," he said, skated away.
your eyes followed him, then widened. "he's a goalie?" you asked bobby. you tracked the big number sixty on the back of the jersey, the slow, deliberate skating motions, the posture you recognized.
"yeah, why?" bobby asked.
"i don't know," you said, "forgot that was even a position."
"it's the position for freaks," he clarified, leaning against the boards.
you scrunched up your face. but, you supposed, you had never met anyone quite like joseph. perhaps that made him a freak, to some degree.
matt skated back over and told bobby they had to get off the ice for the zamboni, telling you that joseph said he'd meet you by the exit.
you hadn't been waiting for five minutes before the three of them emerged from the locker room, holding water bottles and backpacks. your eyes, however, snagged on joseph like a thread on a nail, didn't leave. he looked too pretty like this, damp hair curling at the ends, face flushed with exertion and cold, his body visibly tired but also more relaxed than you'd seen him.
your throat went dry when he smiled at you. "hey, sweetheart," he said, easy.
"hi," you responded, clasped your hands behind your back, scared, if left to their own devices, they'd reach up and push that rogue curl from his forehead.
"where're you guys headed?" matt asked you as you pushed the doors open into the dusky night.
"mine," you said, not thinking anything of it, because it was the truth, because there was nothing to be embarrassed about.
then you saw the blush that tinted joseph's nose, dainty, but there. maybe it had sounded a little suggestive, but you had nothing to apologize for, and his reaction sort of hurt your feelings, for some reason.
you both said goodbye to matt and bobby, who were headed off to the dining hall, and continued on the walk to your apartment. "are you embarrassed?" you asked, not harshly, just truthfully. because it mattered.
it mattered if he thought you were the kind of person it was embarrassing to go home with. it mattered if he thought there was some kind of reputation with you that would become his through association.
it mattered if he thought you were an embarrassing kind of trouble, instead of a beautiful kind.
he didn't answer for a second, exhaled, and you squinted. "are you embarrassed of me?" you amended.
his gaze shot to yours, eyes flooded with concern, genuine worry. "what? no," he promised, "no, sweetheart, of course not of you."
and this made you feel better, a little. "what of, then?" you asked, in step besides his large frame.
a pause settled in the space between his hip and your waist, side by side, stride by stride.
he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. "it's just that," he started, took a breath, then started again. "i know it must seem weird to you, how flustered i get." you wanted to cut him off, correct him, but mostly you wanted him to continue. "'m not as comfortable as you, as confident."
"it's not weird," you promised, "i like how flustered you get. i like your blush." your fingers twitched. "i can try to dial it back, if it'd make you feel better. i can try to be, i don't know, less-"
he did cut you off, then. "no," he said, his voice breaking, only a bit. "don't, uh, change." he cleared his throat, squeezed his plastic water bottle, making it crinkle. "please."
you stared at the side of his face, for a second, any words dying in your throat. "really? aren't you scared 'll bring you over to the dark side, joey?" you said it like a joke, but it wasn't, not really. "aren't you scared i'll turn you bad?"
he looked at you, then, big blue eyes drunk with truth. "'m not scared of you, trouble," was all he said, and that was that.
you showed him up to your apartment, gave him a short tour.
"where do you usually do homework?" he asked, gentle.
"bedroom floor," you said, almost sheepish. "floor's the best place for critical thinking."
he laughed, adjusting his backpack on his shoulder. "lead the way, then," he said.
so you sat with him, on the floor of your bedroom, for a couple hours, until the night made time feel viscous and thick, until your throat was rough from lack of use, until your eyelids felt heavy.
hours of you, doing physics problem sets, and him, finishing history readings. hours of work that were made comfortable, sleepy, by the shared presence of each other, of exhales and warmth and shifting limbs.
hours of work cut with questions about his day, about your classes, about him playing the piano, about your friendship with jenny, about his with bobby and matt, about your mom and his siblings and your design dreams and his uncertain ones.
before long it was past midnight, and you felt your eyes lingering too long on his full mouth, and his gaze felt too honey-sweet on your face. before long, it was time for him to go, before the late hour made you want to see just how far you could push just friends.
out of respect, though, and because you cared about him, at some point, you cleared your throat.
"i should probably go to sleep, soon," you said, a rasp to your voice.
he made to grab his things, pushed his massive body up from your floor. "me too," he said. "'s getting late."
he swung his backpack onto his shoulder and you walked him to the door. he opened it, turned back around, leaned against the frame, facing you.
he looked down at you, and your heart surged, your mind clouded with deja vu. "do you still have your tiara?" you asked, nodding up to his head.
his lips split into a smile as he gave a rough, low laugh. "yeah, sweetheart," he said, his eyes growing foggy with memory. "that's, uh, a keeper."
and it probably wasn't how he meant it, but it almost felt like he was saying you were a keeper, and no one had ever thought that before. you squeezed your hand into a fist. "remember when you said you were a boring prince?"
he nodded.
it took every inch of your discipline not to touch him, hug him, tug him down by his shirt and kiss him dumb. "you're not boring, joey," you said.
he swallowed, his eyes welling up with meaning. "how can you be so sure?" he asked, soft.
"you can't be," you explained, "or i would've been able to stop thinking about you."
his hooded gaze caught on your lips, and it would have been so easy to push up on your toes, slot your mouth against his, but you didn't.
his simmering eyes met yours again. "goodnight, sweetheart," he breathed.
"goodnight," you said, your smile fluttery, shutting the door gently behind him.
and so began the most confusing friendship of your life.
the semester progressed quickly, the pace constantly being pushed by your busy schedule. your days seemed to pass in a blink, filled by classes and exams and rehearsals and theatre commitments, fittings and design meetings and movie nights with jenny, lunches with benji.
jenny's juliet grew more and more compelling, benji grew more and more annoyed with his set crew.
the more time passed, the more frequently you were making plans with joseph, until he just became a part of your schedule. two days a week, you would study at your place, a different two days, you would go to his, instead.
he lived with some guys from the team, so the kitchen was a bit messy, and the decor was seriously lacking, but his room was spotlessly clean, actually sort of comfortable, so you didn't mind. he had a desk, but you had convinced him of the magic of the floor, so the floors of your respective bedrooms had become something of a safe place, a tall, tall tower, away from everything else, away from reality.
you came to find that there was absolutely nothing more comfortable than the warm silence that settled between the two of you like a glittery fog when you'd both get into a working groove, perhaps not talking for stretches of time, but the presence of each other easy enough to fall asleep in.
here and there, one of you would slice through the silence like a warm knife through salted butter, asking about something that had happened that morning, or practice, or rehearsal, or something.
he'd ask how your exam went, and his gaze would melt a bit when you'd gush about how you knew you nailed it.
"that's great, sweetheart," he'd say, his posture more relaxed in the nighttime drowsiness. "'m so proud of you."
maybe you'd ask how the game last weekend went, and his nose would twitch, just a bit.
he'd shrug, and the muscles in his neck would clench, and you'd want nothing more than to ease the tension there with your fingers. "fine," he'd say. "could've been better."
and you'd roll your eyes. "you always think you could've been better," you'd say, and it would be true. you had come to understand that he was a real perfectionist when it came to hockey.
he'd smile, lopsided, and your stomach would flip. "'cause i always could be," he'd say, and it would make you frown.
"i don't know," you'd say, the words coming out slow, like molten chocolate. you'd meet his lazy gaze. "don't think it gets much better than you."
nights of studying and walking him back from practice, days during which, when you were lucky, you could sneak a coffee break with him, began to feel normal, but not in the sense that you didn't feel especially grateful every time you saw him. you couldn't imagine an instance that his eyes wouldn't make your knees wobble, that his voice wouldn't make your heart jolt, a time when making him blush wouldn't feel like a triumph, when making him laugh wouldn't pull the most genuine smile from your own mouth.
you felt as if he'd been an abrupt reset to your whole system, ever since that dusky summer kiss against a door, like a startling ice bath to your entire being. for him, though, you didn't imagine your presence to be as shocking, instead more gradual, like your attention, your thinly-veiled attraction was like ivy, slowly overtaking an old brick building.
miraculously, for weeks and weeks, you kept your hands to yourself. sure, there was the occasional hug goodbye, which typically left you speechless, the more frequent touch of a hand here and there, over a glass of water or across a spread of notebooks. once, and only once, there was a firm arm around your waist, the time when you slipped while walking next to him, his quick reflexes meaning his arm shot out to wrap around you, pulling you back upright in a single motion.
you tried your best not to lean into his embrace, mentally applauded yourself for a job well done. "thanks for that," you said, clearing your throat.
he didn't let go of you immediately though, his hand lingering on your waist for a split second, his gaze shadowy, like in a trance.
"joey," you said, and it came out like a plea, because he couldn't touch you, not like this. it wasn't fair, and you were being so good. "don't do this to me."
that snapped him out of his daze, as he gently retracted his arm, settled it unnaturally next to his side, like he wasn't quite sure what to do with it, now that his palm had laid flat against your hip. what do you do with something sacred? "sorry, sweetheart," he said, and his voice was rough.
for the first time, though, you realized, with narrowing eyes, you got the sense that he was lying to you. that he wasn't actually sorry, not at all.
then there was the time that he showed up at your place unannounced, on a day when you hadn't made plans. "coming," you'd yelled out in response to a knock, fresh out of the shower, only a towel wrapped around you. you opened the door, almost yelped when you saw him in the frame, looking straight out of a fairytale with his hair in his face.
of course, he blushed, looked down when he registered your appearance, clicked his tongue as you held your towel tighter around you. "d'you, uh," he said, "do you always answer the door like this?"
you could have laughed at his gentle humor, despite him being so obviously flustered. "only for you, joey," you said, winking at him, making him go red, which made your smile grow as you swung the door open wider, wordlessly inviting him inside. "kidding. one sec, let me get dressed."
eventually, matt and bobby got used to your presence in their kitchen, in the bleachers of the rink. you met their fourth roommate, a tall, lanky defenseman you mistakenly called simon the first time you met him.
"not si-mon," he corrected, "si-mone."
"like the girl's name," bobby said, trying to help, to which simon whacked him on the back of the head.
"aren't athletes supposed to eat healthy?" you asked one time, when you were steeping one of the tea bags you had begun to keep at joseph's place, just for convenience's sake. you had walked in on matt, bobby, and simon making ice cream sundaes.
matt just waved you off. "it's different for club," he said.
bobby scowled. "last i checked, you don't pay rent here," he said, "no rent, no opinion."
"yeah," simon said, his accent slight as he put the ice cream carton back into the freezer. "why don't you go back to your own house?"
"because i'm studying," you said, to which you were on the receiving end of a chorus of groans.
"swear you guys are practically married," matt said. "remember when i walked in on you putting that gray shit on his face?"
you rolled your eyes. "that was a face mask, and it's good for your pores."
"he has you over here more in a week than my girl has been here in a month," simon continued.
you scoffed. "maybe you should fix that, then," you told him. "nothing to do with me. me and your roommate are just-"
"don't finish that sentence," bobby said, "for my sanity, don't do it."
"what's going on out here?" came that deep voice from behind you.
"nothing," simon said, "your girl called us athletes, though."
simon's wording had you almost sad, about to correct him, but something in you stopped. because was it really all that much of a lie? joseph didn't correct him, either, which had to count for something. had to mean something.
"bein' nice, trouble?" joseph asked, a lazy smile on his face.
"you know me," you said, to which his eyes shimmered. because he did, because it was true.
you could almost hear bobby's eye roll. "we'll see you at rehearsal tomorrow," he said on his way back to his room.
as opening night grew impossibly close, your path began to cross with joseph's more in the theatre, too.
as you'd get final measurements in, make some last minute adjustments to skirt lengths and blouse widths, you'd hear that telltale melody from the pit, so smooth it'd put a smile on your face.
once, you were doing a final check of jenny's costume, the last one she would wear before curtain close, and the music began.
jenny's grin grew teasing. "such a sap, now," she said.
"don't," you warned, "i'm the one with all the pins."
she put her hands up in surrender. "not a bad thing," she said, "it's really cute, actually. just can't believe you've lasted this long."
you sighed. "that makes the two of us."
benji popped in from the wing. "so proud of you," he said, "but one of you needs to do something. it's actually painful."
it was sort of crazy, you realized, to be anything but completely grateful and satisfied with being one of joseph's closest friends. it was a privilege, you knew that. it just kind of made you wish you'd never kissed him in the first place, that you didn't know what he felt like, sounded like, tasted like. you could be so completely content if you didn't know that.
"dude, you sound like a dying cat." you recognized matt's voice, assumed he was talking to bobby. "opening night's in two days."
you could picture bobby's disinterested shrug.
benji took this opportunity to walk all the way out onto the stage, clear his throat. "i think you sound great, bobby," he said.
there was a pause. "uh, thanks, man," was the short reply. "what was your name again?"
you winced. jenny shuttered. "brutal," she whispered.
"bob, you know benji," joseph said from the piano bench, ever the polite diplomat. "he paints all the sets."
bobby looked around, took in the castles and gardens that benji had worked so hard on. "you did these?" he asked. benji nodded. "pretty sick, dude," he said, impressed.
jenny put a hand over her heart. "oh, benji, you're so talented and handsome," she said, loudly, drawing everyone's attention.
benji rolled his eyes. "oh, fuck off, jen."
you caught joseph's gaze across the space, him at the piano, you bent down, fussing with jenny's hem.
hi, he mouthed, and your heart stirred.
hi, you mouthed back.
because of the packed and overlapping theatre schedule, you became closely acquainted with the way joseph played the piano, nothing like matt's violent percussion or bobby's novice-at-best guitar abilities. he played with a gentle intensity, a passionate perfectionism, which you supposed was just the way that he was.
you swore you could watch him get caught up in the notes, could follow the deft movements of his hands for hours and not get bored, because he wouldn't get bored.
finally, it was the day before opening night, and after completing the whole last minute checklist as well as all the department's traditions and superstitions, you went back to your workspace for just a second to triple check everything. you wanted everything to go smoothly tomorrow, no surprises. a few minutes into your last checks, though, there was a soft knock on your open door.
you looked up to find a tired pair of big blue eyes. "what're you doing here?" you asked, gentle. "look like you're about to fall asleep, joey."
he shook his head. "wide awake," he said, and he sounded it. "know it's a late night, but it's still thursday. i understand if you wanted to skip tonight, but-"
you waved him off, lugged your bag onto your shoulder. "yeah, right," you said. "not gettin' rid of me that easy."
he smiled, held the door open for you as you passed him, as you both began the walk to his place. the air was chilly, refreshing, but you shivered, nonetheless.
"cold?" he asked, and you nodded, to which he started to unbutton his shirt.
"what're you doing?" you said, and you couldn't help the shocked sort of tone your voice had taken on.
he gave a light laugh, handed you his button down, revealing a t-shirt underneath. he looked at you, almost guiltily, eyes a bit dark, as you shrugged your bag off, put his shirt on, then your backpack. "'m always prepared," he said.
"thank you," you said, and it looked like the words warmed him from the inside out. you figured, maybe, you'd push your luck. "god forbid you show a little skin."
the silence rumbled. it was dark, but it was as if you could feel the heat of his blush, felt it on your own face like a creamy foundation. "easy, trouble," he said, and it was quiet, hoarse.
soon enough he was holding the door of his apartment open, as he had so many times before, then he was leading you into his bedroom, but it felt so different, for some reason, so much heavier, harder, more heated.
you took your spot on the floor, spread out your notes, planning to get a little bit of studying done, as you knew you wouldn't finish any schoolwork tomorrow, with all the running around you were going to be doing. he took his spot across from you, maybe a little bit closer, which you pretended not to notice.
time passed as it usually did, in this situation, at this hour, in his company.
but then you'd catch him looking at you, feel it like a blistering singe, would look up to meet his gaze, only to find it back down on his homework, like the movement of your head was enough to scare him back into routine.
and then it happened again, and he wasn't even looking at your face, this time, he was staring at your middle, your body, which he never did, and you wanted to throw something at him, tell him to stop, please, because you couldn't handle it. his longing was too much to take, the way it was seeping through the walls like a aphrodisiac. if it was a challenge to keep your hands to yourself under normal circumstances, it was almost impossible, now, when he was hiding his want so poorly, almost like he wasn't trying to hide it at all.
the third time it happened, you cleared your throat. it was making you sort of nervous, and it was definitely getting your hopes up. "you starin' at me, joey?" you asked, not accusatory.
"sorry," he said, immediately, didn't meet your eyes.
you tilted your head. "that's the second time you've done that," you observed.
he looked up, at that. "what?"
"that's the second time you've lied to me about being sorry."
he swallowed, and your eyes tracked the motion. his flush was that of guilt, maybe a dull sort of shame.
"why're you embarrassed?" you asked, shifting a bit closer to him. "you're allowed to look at me, you know."
his blue eyes swam with promise as he let out what looked like a soft sigh of relief. "i am?" he asked.
you nodded, felt a little mean. maybe it was the fact that it had been months since his lips had been on yours, and the memory still sparked a fire inside of you. maybe it was the fact that you'd been so patient, maybe it was that you had a feeling the sight of you in his button-down, a little tight in the chest and by the hips, was making his throat dry. "you're allowed, joey, because we're such good friends."
something like a grunt rumbled in his throat, involuntary, and you squinted at him. you were right in front of him, now, sitting on your heels, watching his indecision weigh on him like a boulder between his shoulder blades.
"what?" you asked, the picture of innocence. "what's wrong?"
"nothing, sweetheart," he said, breathy, "nothing's wrong, it's just that-"
"what?" you pushed.
he didn't continue, just swallowed around his words, rested his elbows on his bent knees, notebooks strewn to the side.
you gave a little pout, leaned forward, so close, now, you could see the faint gold in the blue of his eyes. "don't like being my friend, joey?"
"no, i do-" he rushed, but you cut him off again.
"'ve been so good," you said, because it was true, "and you're being mean."
this seemed to sober him up, to turn his words to steel, steady and honest. this seemed to tap into a well of confidence you didn't even know he possessed, because he leaned forward, too, reached a broad hand out, brushed his thumb against your cheekbone, making your breath catch in your throat.
"i like being your friend," he said, and the words were like a soothing balm to your scorched reputation. then his gaze rippled with heat, and you remembered how you had gotten that reputation in the first place. he gave you a knowing sort of look. "but i want to kiss you, sweetheart. so badly."
you could have cried with relief, could have slapped him in the face for taking so long, could have made him wait a little bit longer just to be cruel, but instead, you just wrapped your arms around his neck, shifted forward, let him make space for you until your knees straddled his hips.
it felt like something religious that he was the one that pulled you closer, by your hips, that he was the one to dip his head down and meet you in a kiss that felt, simultaneously, like opening a door marked do not enter and finally, finally, coming home.
you tugged lightly at his hair, just wanting him closer, just wanting him as close as you could get him. his grip on one of your hips grew firm, confident, as the other hand splayed out on the side of your face, rough and warm.
you sighed into his mouth, because he tasted like how you remembered, like cool mint, and because he smelled so good, and because you felt so perfect, so safe.
his teeth knocked against yours, and his rhythm was off, and you had the feeling he was holding back, a little, but all of that was so him, was exactly the imperfect kiss you had been fixating on, but this time with the added passion of knowing him so genuinely, so deeply.
you dug a knuckle into his neck, worked at the knots under your touch. your movements grew slow, languished, lazy, as you softly rocked your hips against him, relished in the groan you pulled from him, making you pull away, just a little, feel him breathe heavy against you, his eyelids heavy. "so stiff, joey," you said, "relax for me, yeah?"
"yeah." he nodded, whined, slightly, when you shifted back and forth again. when his eyes caught yours again, there was something new there, a deeper desire, a question.
you leaned forwards, pressed your mouth messily to his jaw, down his neck. "just ask me," you said, between kisses, "you're allowed, baby, just ask me."
his voice was dazed, like it was hard to focus with your lips on his neck, with you grinding against him. you could feel him, firm and hard, underneath you. "just need," he tried, "just need something, sweetheart, please."
you pulled back, slightly, rested your cheek on his shoulder, giving you both a moment to catch your breath. "don't wanna rush you," you said into his collarbone, because you meant it, because it was important. "but 'll give you anything you want."
it felt so odd to even have to say that, because it seemed that everyone you'd been with, before, had already assumed this of you, that of course you'd give them anything, everything, because you were you, with that face, with that flirtatious smile, with that history.
it felt so lovely, to feel compelled to have to clarify that for him. because of course you would give him anything, everything, every single part of yourself, if he'd only ask.
he clasped his hands behind your back, exhaled slowly. "thank you," he whispered, and it broke your heart into a million pieces. when was the last time someone had thanked you for offering yourself up, like this? why did it almost make you want to cry?
"what do you want, baby?" you asked, running your nails along his neck, after his words had hardened around your heart like crystal, somehow still silken-soft. "will you let me make you feel good, hm? can i?"
you felt him take a deep breath against your chest. "please, sweetheart," he rasped. "please, need you, so bad."
"yeah?" you asked, shifting up and off of him, now kneeling beside his lap. "can i touch you?"
he nodded, and the heat in his eyes burned you. "please."
you reached a delicate hand forward, palmed his cock over his clothes, gentle, found him so hard and hot, while he hissed at first contact. "makin' me wait so long, baby, and you've been needin' me, too?" you teased, a soft grin on your swollen lips as you pulled him out fully, ran your hand along the length of him.
"'m sorry, sweetheart," he breathed, and it seemed funny, apologizing, then. "just wanted t'do the right thing."
you hummed, pumped him up and down, slowly, spit onto his length, kept going. "right thing, hm?" he nodded. "didn't feel right to me, baby," you said, picking up your pace, your grip wet and firm. he huffed, and his thighs tensed. "know what feels right?"
"what?" he asked, eyes pleading, practically spellbound by you, your steady stream of words, so different from him, rendered basically speechless.
"your cock in my hand," you answered, and of all things, he blushed. you bit your lip, because you had a feeling your word choice was the reason. you were pretty sure that, despite the circumstances, the thing that had your clean-tongued prince flustered was your dirty mouth. you pulled your touch away, let his eager hands help you out of his button down, your shirt underneath.
when you looked at him again, he was looking at you, already, with a galaxy in his eyes.
"what?" you asked, your mouth quirking up.
he laughed, lightly, shook his head. "just so pretty, sweetheart," he said, "just so, so pretty."
you scrunched up your face, but didn't hide your delighted smile as you went to kiss him on the jaw, hoisting your leg up and over him until you hovered above his lap. "pretty enough to fuck?" you asked, against his neck, right by his ear, and you smiled at the jolt of his hips, the shake of his breath. "tell me."
his hand braced the back of your neck, gave the softest rumble of a laugh, like whatever he was about to say was above him, like it was incomprehensible. "can i fuck you, trouble?" he asked, and you laughed, too, because the curse sounded so foreign on his lips.
it was something lovely to be laughing, with someone you trusted wholly, like this. with someone who thought, all that time ago, that you were a princess.
"watch your mouth, joey," you teased, giving him a false look of depravity as you reached under you, gripped him again, angled his cock to your core.
"such a," he began, his breath hitching when you began to sink down on him, "such a bad influence."
you groaned at the stretch as you pushed yourself down further, felt the burn of it in your throat, in your toes. you sucked on your teeth, had to close your eyes for a second as you clung to his neck for support.
finally, all the way in, you stayed still for a moment, adjusting, letting him adjust to you.
"this okay?" you whispered into his shoulder.
there was a pause. "you're perfect," he said, so genuinely it hurt. "feel so good, sweetheart."
you smiled. "can i move, baby?" he surprised you, then, answering you by gripping you harder and angling his hips up into you, slow and deep. you groaned at the sensation, fluttering in your stomach. "so good, joey," you breathed, then smiled, your tone turning devious when his other hand rooted in your hair, hard, steady. "fast learner, hm?" you asked, "already know what i like?"
his pace stuttered, but you met him thrust for thrust, up and down. "show me," he said, almost whiny, a slight sheen on the high points of his face, a flush on his neck and nose. "show me what you like, sweetheart." his eyes flooded with meaning. "want this t'be good for you, hm?"
your chest could have cracked open, because you couldn't remember the last time someone had wanted that, never mind voiced it to you. who would you be to deny him that?
you kissed his shoulder, showed him just how hard to tug at your hair. "you're so good to me, baby," you said, "too good to me, yeah?" you placed your palm over his hand, on your hip, moved it to your clit, showed him how to touch you. the friction made you clench around him, forcing a whimper from your mouth, a throaty groan from his as you both picked up your pace.
time didn't feel real, you supposed it never had, in this room. it had seemed irrelevant when you were working on mechanics problems for physics while he drafted papers for eastern european history, and it seemed irrelevant now, too.
for seconds or minutes or months, you felt yourself spiraling closer and closer, heat building inside of you as his thrusts grew jerky, as his breathing heaved, as the friction of his hand against your clit made you delirious.
your thighs felt hot with exertion as you moaned. "gonna make me cum, joey," you said, at some point, dreamy, "so deep inside of me, baby, feel you here." you placed a palm on your lower stomach to show him, pushed down, relished in the pressurized sensation.
"'m so close," he breathed, "so perfect, sweetheart, right there."
"fuck, let me have it," you pleaded, so warm and wet around him. "want it so bad, baby, let me feel you. let me take it."
he came apart at your words, his muscles tensing abruptly under your palms as his orgasm triggered your own, so sudden and staggering you swore your teeth were chattering. your head collapsed onto his shoulder as your eyes squeezed shut and he wrapped his arms around your back, holding you tight against his chest.
his shoulder was just barely damp with sweat under your cheek, and the air felt humid, heavy, like you could cup it in a palm.
when you opened your eyes, your flighty gaze caught on something shiny, just next to his desk, which had been taken over with completed lego sets. hanging on his open closet door was his tiara, you realized, from all those months ago. from before all the friendship and pining and making kingdoms out of bedroom floors.
it was sort of funny, how something like a cheap plastic crown could mean so much. if he hadn't worn it, what then? would any of this have even happened? if you hadn't reached up to straighten him out? hadn't made some joke about not being able to?
you laughed into him, and you could hear his smile. "what?" he rasped, making you look up at him. he looked straight out of a classical art museum, some kind of angel in acrylic, painted by a god-fearing sinner, all blushy cheeks and big, forgiving eyes, corded shoulders and lips wet with spit.
you massaged the back of his shoulders with a careful hand. "remember when you thought i was a princess?" you mused, the memory at the front of your mind.
"'course," he said. "most beautiful girl i'd ever seen."
you closed your eyes, exhaled, opened them again. "i was dressed as a wench," you said, but the joking tone you'd aimed for sounded dumb, following his honest confession.
he just smiled, a sliver of perfect teeth through pink lips. "don't know, trouble," he said, "pretty sure i know i princess when i see one. i was a prince, after all."
you hit him lightly on the chest, laughed. "i guess you know what you're talking about then, hm?"
he hummed. "oh, yeah," he confirmed, rubbing circles with his thumb into your lower back, "'specially when i'm talking about you."
and you thought, for the first time in a while, that maybe, to have someone talk about you wouldn't be a bad thing. that, perhaps, to have this somebody talk about you would be something quite special.
tomorrow, it would be daylight, and it would be busy, and the world would speed up again. tomorrow, benji would be late, of course, and bobby would mess up the chords to the interlude, and jenny would absolutely nail her first lead role. tomorrow, matt and simon would make a bunch of crude jokes and benji's freshman would give him a fruit basket to thank him for his leadership, and the theatre director would cry, because of how wonderful the production went.
tomorrow, a lot would happen.
but, tonight, there was just the boring prince of legos and piano keys, holding the unbecoming princess of bedpost notches and pleats. tonight, they resided over the kingdom of bad influence and embarrassed flushes.
and tonight, the kingdom was finally quiet.
fin.
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ghouljams · 9 months
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Gah I go feral for medieval!141 x princess reader… knight soap or knight ghost! idk why but knight x princess reader is one of my favorite tropes. Especially with the forbidden love trope!!! And knight and reader run away together before princess!reader is to be wed, it’s like a nice mix of angst and fluff. And are you currently writing a medieval 141 AU or have you already posted something?
Like I said in my other post I turned my original medieval au into an original story because I loved it so much, but I haven't posted it anywhere! It's just me and my best friend that know about it. Knight x Princess is absolutely one of my favorite tropes, I love the acts of service angle. Here's more Knight!Ghost and Princess!Reader
Ghost hovers at your side as you bend down to take the simple white flower offered to you. The little girl's gap toothed smile is as bright as the sun, and you tuck the daisy behind your ear with a gracious thank you. You don't get to walk around town much, but when you do you make a point to be kind. You wouldn't be a very good ruler if you looked down your nose at the people who would one day be in your care.
"You don't happen to have another of those, do you?" You whisper conspiratorially to the little girl, "I think my knight might like one as well."
The girl peaks around you at Ghost, the man stares down at her with all the warmth of an icicle. She looks back at you with a shy smile. You do your best to make sure you look reassuring, and she plucks another little flower from her pocket. The petals are a little smushed, but you like it all the better for it. You give her a parting pat on the head and straighten up to turn towards Ghost.
His shoulders pull a little straighter when you look at him, eyes a little softer as you reach to tuck the flower into his armor. "Hopefully this helps you look a little friendlier," you tease him, your fingers lingering at the edge of his breastplate.
"My lady," he nods, you pull your hands away, you know better than to touch too much, "I'm not supposed to look friendly." Ghost doesn't make a move to relieve himself of the flower, only reminds you of his station as knight. You know all too well how he's supposed to look, how he's supposed to carry himself.
"At least we can match," you tell him, taking his hand to climb back in your carriage.
"Small miracles," he murmurs as you pass him. His fingers grip yours a moment too long, but it may as well have been nothing at all the way you miss their warmth when he releases you.
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feyascorner · 2 months
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suggestion for a funny but fluff fic or miniseries: Modern day Baldurs gate /faerun, were Ascended Astarion and GN Consort reader have lived a couple of centuries together and are still acting like newlyweds / deeply in love and just obsessed with each other. (but also dress gothic/victorian or like they don't belong in the current timeline.)
Would be funny if its written from the perspective of a new servant or a party guest- Maybe they mess up using medieval words when trying to describe modern things and the POV person is not aware they are vampires.
idk Dracula investigator reporter style- Thoughts?
anon you're such a genius for this1!!! THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE UGH I TWEAKED IT A BIT THOUGH W THE PERSPECTIVE PART I HOPE YOU DON'T MIND <33 (also this is not proofread)
A ball in this day and age is uncommon.
At first, Alfira was skeptical. Especially considering the party's hosts were famous for being---a rather eccentric couple. Inviting but strange at times. Dressing in garbs similar to the pictures Alfira has of her great great great grandmother, it was natural that they'd stick out like sore thumbs in high society. But with the pay proposed to her, Alfira could dare not decline playing her instrument at the party. Even more so when she realized how exclusive the party really was.
She'd been invited to stay at their obnoxiously large mansion alongside the other servants for the week preceding the event, and while the sensible decision would be to practice her piece, her naturally curious nature got the better of her. And now, she hides an entire notebook under her pillow regarding all the peculiar things about the couple.
'No. 1: They rarely show their face during the daytime. Perhaps they simply don't want to expose their skin without a concerning amount of sunscreen? Everyone online raves about how bad the sun is for your skin nowadays.
No. 2: The kitchen is completely off-limits to everyone but the head chef. It reeks anytime I go near it, so I don't mind.
No. 3: He calls them their consort. Weird. Is that considered affectionate with rich people?
No. 4: We're not allowed to take our mirrors outside of our rooms. This one I really don't understand.'
The list goes on for ages.
Alfira's observations are ones done from across rows of other recruits or servants, given how rare of an occasion it is to see either of them. Though, she's noted that where one is, the other isn't far away. They're practically attached at the hip, and even if she's a complete outsider, it's easy to tell how smitten they are for one another.
And with how well she was being treated (the food and rooms alike) under their care, Alfira began to feel a sort of guilt for suspecting so much. They surely didn't deserve such obsessive note-taking when all she could see was the way Astarion pecked your forehead before lending you his arm, only gentle laughter ringing in the air.
Perhaps the two of you were truly just a happy couple. A strange one, sure, but happy.
The day of the event comes in no time. Despite the lack of preparation, Alfira manages to play her main musical piece with minimal slip-ups, and continues to leisurely play as she watches all the wealthy guests. The ballroom bustles with people, and because she knows that she isn't acquainted with anyone here, her eyes are naturally drawn to a crowd in the center of the room where you and Astarion are greeting the guests. As usual, your arm is locked tightly with his.
In a room full of dresses and suits, the two of you still somehow manage to stick out. The intricate designs on your attire aren't all to blame, because Alfira swears she sees a sort of aura around the two of you.
It must be a trick of the light, though, surely.
When Alfira and the other musical hires begin to play a slow dance song, you eagerly pull your partner to the dance floor. The dance comes to easily to the two of you, eyes so loving as they're set on one another that Alfira nearly feels jealous. The other single guests seem to feel the same way as Astarion leans into your ear and grins with a whisper.
Alfira squints.
'No. 32,' she notes in her head. 'He has sharp teeth.'
Once the dance is over, she thinks her hand may very nearly fall off. But when she sees you and your partner approaching in her direction, the pain is immediately forgotten as she straightens her back, eyes wide when you offer her a smile.
"Alfira, right?"
"Y-yes! That's me."
"I apologize I couldn't greet you sooner," you place your free hand on Astarion's arm. "We were so swept up in the preparations we didn't get to welcome the truly important guests."
Alfira blinks. A guest? She's not a guest.
You huff. "You really do look just as I remembered you to be! Right, Astarion?"
"I don't particularly remember the bard from then to be frank, my love," he responds, as if Alfira isn't standing right in front of them.
'No. 33,' she notes again. 'He's kind of a jerk to anyone else.'
But more importantly, a bard? She's a musician! Not merely a wandering bar entertainer with a bloody lute and a corset to go along with it. It's even stranger that you seem so familiar with her, even though she's only first talking to you right now. Is she finally losing it?
"Sorry, have we met before?" Alfira blurts.
"Ah," you laugh. "Apologies for my informality. We have, but I doubt you'd remember."
What does that mean?
"Although it pains me to tear you away from such a fascinating conversation, my love, we should greet the others," Astarion chips in, and Alfira inwardly sighs in relief. "Good day, bard."
That damn word again--
As Astarion leads you away back toward the crowd with you pressed close to his side, he smiles down at you while you whisper something he finds humorous up to him. Alfira realizes she's never been that close to either of you, and fears she may have missed her chance---as strange as the encounter was.
However, she does notice one thing about the couple as you walk away.
Both loving sets of eyes are the same piercing shade of bloody red.
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aethelwyneleigh27 · 7 months
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Lia's Writers and Blog Recommendations
Hi there lovelies! Lia here and I'd love to share the some creators that have so far been feeding me with amazing content and I'd love for you and them to know how I feel about their works so there is a bit of commentary (feel free to ignore if you're only here for recs). They are all from different fandoms and I genuinely love their works. I am not here to hate on anyone at all, simply here to bring attention to those creators I find worth reading. In fact I actually don't do negative commentary. (If I do, it's probably towards my life 😭)
This will be constantly edited if I find more creators that I loved within each fandoms. I'm sorry to all the creators I've probably bothered with this notification, if you want to be taken off this list then I will respect that and do so :))
I will respectively use the pronouns these people have provided in their bios and if they do not have it in their bios then I'll simply use they/them <3
To all tagged creators, y'all are amazing and so fucking underrated :3
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CoD Creators
@frogchiro - This creator is more likely known for the absolutely scrumptious CoD hybrid AUs. MY GOD EVERY SINGLE ONE OF HER AUs ARE JUST ON ANOTHER LEVEL. Ranging from Hacker girl!Reader to Baracks Bunny!Reader. (Octo König and Coyote Graves are personal faves of mine) (Her nsfw content is the most toe curling shit I've ever read)
@ghouljams - This creator is another known for their CoD AUs, only this time you may know them as the one who wrote the Cowboy and Medieval AUs. This person and @frogchiro actually got their inboxes mixed up a few times I believe, they're both really just that good, I clearly need pointers. (I honestly don't have much words because god do I eat their content up)
@wishesforyouo (previous account being: @puff0o0) - This lovely creator makes short but sweet CoD content, you may recognize her as the person who made the popular self-aware CoD AU. Definitely my cup of tea because I really like short reads from time to time. (Miss this AU, sweetie <3)
@blingblong55 - This creator loves to make me cry, idk why. I love her though, her nsfw content is also freaking delicious I can't even.
@xo-cod - This creator, I can't even begin. I just love their writing style, it's sweet, quite short and worth the read. (We also have the same name)
@lunarw0rks - This creator makes me wanna bang my head on a table with how good their Ghost content is.
@ceilidho - This creator I can't even begin to describe how fucking delicious the Ghost content is, idgaf if it's short (IT'S PERFECT). Like my god, how'd y'all come up with content that you do. I think she captures Ghost quite well in her writing.
@mistydeyes - This creator, my fucking god. Her content is so good especially the requests she gets. The overall vibe of her writing gives a specific aesthetic that I love so much and honestly their series is worth the freaking read. Series mentioned here, the writing style is so unique but captures the characters perfectly.
@wordstome - This creator made the GREATEST FUCKING FRIENDS TO LOVERS KÖNIG FANFIC I HAVE EVER READ. It was all just so perfect, the length, the pacing and the writing style is fucking incredible. God where'd y'all get the talent to write this, here's the link to said fanfic because I do not gatekeep.
@multifandomimagin3s - This creator and the amount of Rudy content, I AM EATING IT UP. What do y'all feed yourselves to write with this amount of quality? Like their depiction of Rudy (and of course the others) is just Chef's kiss. (Also idk why but this person seems familiar since I remember someone in Wattpad a long time ago who has the same user)
@lxvvie - This creator creates the best fucking characterization I've ever read, LIKE HELLO?! Horangi is so accurate and her version of König is too. I love it, I'm eating her content up.
@rustic-guitar-notes - This creator I wanted tag this Creator so bad on this creator list because I feel like they're so underappreciated and their works are so good, LIKE IT'S ALWAYS THE UNDERAPPRECIATED WORKS THAT ARE SO GOOD THEY MAKE YOU FEEL WHAT YOU NEED AND WANT TO FEEL.
@icarustypicalfall - This creator is mutuals with almost every single one of my fave mutuals and that's how I found them. MY GOD THE RUDY AND ALEJANDRO CONTENT?? I'M EATING THAT SHIT UP.
@skeletalgoats - This creator IS SO FREAKING UNDERATED, I FOUND MYSELF BINGING THIER WORKS AND IT IS SO GOOD AND YOU KNOW WHAT'S THE BEST THING? THEY HAVE MULTIPLE WORKS ON ROACH. Istg y'all, WE NEED MORE OF ROACH.
@ghosts-cyphera - This creator, HELLO MISS MA'AM? THE PS!GHOST AU?!?! SHE GOT ME THINKING OF IT ALL THE TIME NOW LIKE WHAT DOES SHE PUT IN HER WRITING TO MAKE IT SO GOOD. First of all I'm in love with her version of Ghost because he's just so fucking caring despite the sexual themes, SHE MANAGED TO MAKE A PORNSTAR AU WITH DOMESTIC AND ROMANTIC ASPECTS WITHOUT MAKING IT FEEL SHALLOW AND SUPERFICIAL, LIKE HOW? What kind of food are y'all eating to create the content you guys feed us readers with?
@halcyone-of-the-sea - This creator has their own aesthetic and vibe when it comes to the writing. OMG I CAN'T EVEN BEGIN WITH THE WRITING STYLE, IT'S SO GOOD AND DETAILED. NOT MENTION SHE HAS QUITE A LOT OF POPULAR WORKS THAT I BINGED LIKE THERE WAS NO TOMORROW.
@azereus - This creator, I CAN'T EVEN LIKE WHY SO CRIMINALLY UNDERATED? THEIR WRITING IS LITERALLY SO GOOD AND DESERVES SO MUCH BETTER THAN THE ATTENTION IT'S GETTING. NOT ONLY THAT BUT I'VE READ THEIR WORK OVER AND OVER AGAIN.
@peachesofteal - This creator, OH MY FUCKING GOD, THE WRITING IS A GODSEND. I FINISHED HER WHOLE SERIES "LIGHT ON" IN LESS THAN AN HOUR AND NOW I'M CRAVING MORE. HOLY SHIT IT WAS SO FUCKING GOOD. "MY GIRLS"?!?! GOT ME SO BAD, MY FUCKING HEART IS EXPLODING.
@drop-cherries - this creator brought me back on this list. You all must be saying "Lia you haven't updated this is so long, it must be some scrumptious ass work you've seen". DAMN WELL IT'S GOOD, got me in my feels and everything, needed that domestic life with Simon after so much nsfw content, I need breaks too y'all. Although I did like that one nsfw post earlier, if you saw that, no you didn't :). They are so criminally underrated too so go check them out, from one creator to another, they seem so freaking talented and I love using my platform to help you guys reach other creators too, who hardly get enough attention for something they worked hard on :>
TLOU Creators
@elliesbelle - This creator is top of this list for a reason, their content is the most scrumptious, drama-filled fanfics I have ever read. And yes I'm referring to their series "Nobody Compares To You". I can't even begin to say how much I love this creator, if I wasn't broke then I'd would've already tipped them. I personally think she captures Ellie's personality well. I appreciate a writer who implements shit that happen in her life into her stories. (Despite that, the amount of things happening in their love life is also some complicated shit that I love hearing updates from. Love ya belle <3) Me reading the belle's fanfic at 3am knowing damn well I have school the next day
@lovelettersfromluna - This creator is another amazing writer and holy hell are her works so good, like the length and writing style is just perfect. It's so compact yet it's not too long, add me on your ma'am taglist, please 🥺 <3
@seattlesellie - This creator, I just love her writing style especially with the knight!Ellie fic. Not to mention all the Abby content <3
@callmelola111 - This creator is another person to go to when looking for top tier Ellie fanfics, definitely worth the read on her works.
@clemellie - This creator AND WRITING TLOU SMUT IS A MATCH MADE IN HEAVEN OH MY GOD, first of all, the characterization of both Ellie and Abby are so top tier then there's the ungodly toe curling smut. She is worth the fucking read every time.
@papipedroo - This creator has made a a series on Joel Miller x Reader angst AND I CAN'T EVEN BEGIN TO SAY HOW GOOD IT WAS. THEY GOT ME CRYING AT 7 IN THE MORNING. I also adore the writing style and pacing, I genuinely could not wait for the next part because I NEED Joel to grovel. I DON'T EVEN CRUSH ON JOEL MILLER AND THEY GOT ME HOOKED SO BAD.
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multifandon-simp · 5 days
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I really love any and all stories in which the prefect confuses (and potentially traumatizes) the Twst cast with knowledge from our world, maybe it's because of my obsession with cultural differences and confusing people but idk.
Anyway I wish there were more of them because it's just such a fun idea. But I never saw the fanfics discuss the topic of hunting and burning witches at stake, and I'm just like ?????
Because I would love to tell them about it and watch the horror on their faces. It's payback for all the shit I've been put through at NRC (especially by Crowley) and there's nothing you can do about it.
Oh headmage do you have any new tasks for me?
Well how would you like to hear about the cruel reality of the medieval times and peoples attitude towards witchcraft for most of history in return?
I'm begging on my knees if someone who can write sees this, please please write it I need it in my life.
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phantomsghoulette · 10 months
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Kingdom of Heaven STORY IDEA
This post goes out to all the Kingdom of Heaven fans that write ffs, especially about our King - Baldwin IV
Now this idea may not be historically correct but I still need someone to make a story out of it. I'm talking A LONG ASS story with many chapters because I'm somehow a hopeless romantic when it comes to Baldwin.
So here's the story:
(Please use Y/N for Tiberias' daughter and not some name)
We start off long before Baldwin was born, when Tiberias and his wife arrive in the Kingdom of Heaven. Later on they have a daughter together, around the same time Baldwin was born. Tiberias already has a close relationship with the royal family at this time because of his wise knight shit. At some point Tiberias' wife dies and he has to raise their daughter on his own and he starts taking her to the palace where her and young Baldwin would often play together and develope a friendship. At some point Baldwin's illness is discovered. The priests and higher ranked people try to find a wife for him asap in order to keep the bloodline but every woman kindly rejects, scared of the illness so they just accept Baldwin's lonely fate. His illness is slowly taking over his body and Tiberia's daughter decides to take care of him, not being scared of him no matter how disfigured he looks. But when Baldwin notices that he's slowly developing feelings for her and that his face looks more and more sinister and his limbs are slowly becoming useless, he becomes kinda distant because he's scared to confess his feelings.
Remember that scene in the movie when Baldwin asks Balian to marry Sybilla? That's when he confesses his feelings. So let's imagine Tiberias' daughter is there too and when the men are done talking Baldwin sends off Balian and Tiberias but wants Y/N to stay. "No, Y/N. Not you. I need to talk to you. Stay... please." Or something like that. And we all know that Baldwin knew that Jerusalem was doomed because of his sister and that's why his confession goes something like:
"You know there is one more thing I could have done to save Jerusalem and its people... and I'm now regretting that I haven't done this."
Y/N: "And that would be?"
Baldwin: "Making you my wife"
And then he goes on with his cheesy romantic medieval confession. And Y/N confesses too bla bla bla and she then even takes off his mask and kisses him on the corner of his lips (one side of his mouth wasn't that damaged, remember?).
On his death day she takes care of his wounds one last time.
Make their last conversation HEARTWRENCHING. I WANNA CRY.
After his death Y/N seeks comfort in her father. Make it a wholesome daughter - father relationship (idk how to do that because I never had a father lmaoooo)
How the story ends is for you to decide. Maybe Y/N goes to Cyprus with Tiberias because she cannot take it to watch the Kingdom fall that Baldwin created and led with so much love and respect for the people.
You can also add some suggestive themes. For example Baldwin dreaming about getting intimate with Y/N because he's just that touch-deprived.
So yeah if anyone would be willing to take on this idea - you're more than welcome to do so and I'd DEFINITELY read it. I personally am not good at writing GOOD stories because English isn't my first language and I would ruin the story by using "basic" English. And since Kingdom of Heaven takes place during medieval times you need to write such stories in "fancy" English.
Anyways. I had to get this off my semi-autistic mind or else I would have gone CRAZY.
I just hope this post reaches the right people🙏
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oyster-sauce-tart · 5 months
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twst yuu crossovers
i don’t really interact with twst content much (i don’t even play the game anymore haha,,,) but the thing my mind has always come back to is Yuu fics
those ones where they insert a type of yuu into twst which changes dynamics and creates similar yet different situations in the story 
my favorites are crossover yuus where the Yuu has come from a different media source 
i remember this one acc where their whole thing was creating these types of crossovers aaaa i miss them idk where they are now ( ;∀;) 
crossovers: genshin impact, pokemon go, enstars
disclaimers: small little hcs on the matter, not very long, mention of death in enstars but only for one line it's not important
TWST x GENSHIN IMPACT 
Yuu the Diviner 🔮
A Yuu who loves to travel! Originally hailing from Inazuma, they wish to travel across Teyvat after the Soukoku Degree was finally lifted. 
As their title implies they’re not just a traveler, they’re a diviner! They get in touch with the magic of fortune telling and deities to improve their alignment and spiritual energy 
especially after they spent so many years lost in their mind with their vision taken away 
luckily there are not many language barriers! Inazuman and Japanese are very similar how neat! As for the writing… hm…
Given that they are from the equivalent of medieval times, the Headmage doesn’t quite trust them to take care of things… more so Deuce and Ace have become the “caretakers” than Yuu themselves. 
especially since Yuu’s traveler instinct keeps making them run into danger like a MANIAC!!! 
♥️ “Kantosukei!!! Are you trying to die???” 
🔮 “Ehe~” 
♥️ “EHE TE NANDAYO??” 
TWST x POKÉMON GO 
Yuu the Researcher 📝
A Pokémon researcher who travels around to explore the wonders of Pokémon! 
Other researchers and the students of NRC when they get over find them a bit distant and rough around the edges 
Yuu cares about all types of creatures greatly and has always been a bit iffy when they talk about their past 
as for the pokémon, they brought the pokémon. 
the ENTIRE NEARLY 200 INVENTORY OF THEM
do not mess with them.
you will not win.
TWST x ENSTARS 
Yuu the Idol 💫
 Even with all the eccentric yet uncooperative students, the weird Headmage, and the Overblots popping up like gophers in a field…
No one is quite prepared for the magicless idol who seems even more eccentric than anyone in the school!! 
Like… why are you quoting all these philosophical books no one’s heard of??? Dovestsky?? Art of War??? What are those…? 
I-Is this a sixteen-year-old idol or a person who’s been through war?
… 
WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE’S BEEN AN ACTUAL WAR?? 
oh metaphorically… 
… 
PEOPLE DIED?? 
💫 “Oh please, Ace, that’s nothing compared to what went on with the other units at SS…” 
♥️ “W-what happened at SS…?” 
💫 “Well the story first starts at the old age of idols with this guy named…” 
WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS IDOL???? 
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Ty for reading <3 please reblog, reply, or even send an ask to show your support I would greatly appreciate it!
Feel free to read my carrd to keep track of requests or masterlists! 
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Pedro memes pt 4
previously, on "Puddles has a problem": ✨part 1✨ ✨part 2✨ ✨part 3✨
I'm not sure what happened, but this one is Javi heavy lol
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I present to you the ✨Javi-tachi collection✨
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@tightjeansjavi hahahaha
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idk why I have so many medieval themed memes. that one's gonna be for my therapist to dissect hahahaa
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there's lore for this one. suffer as I have suffered.
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*~yOuR tOnE sEeMs ReAlLy PoInTeD rIgHt NoW~*
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EDIT: I FEEL LIKE SUCH AN ASS I FORGOT TO FUCKING TAG @pedropascalito FOR CREDIT OF WHERE I GOT THE STILLS FOR THIS I'M SORRY :( PLZ DON'T HATE MEEEEEE ILY
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hahaha I'm sorry Pedro I'm rly rly sorry
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RIP to a real one
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stop playin w me, im fuckin unstable lmao
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Miller Bros together, for the fic writers puttin in the work lately on this duo (@thetriumphantpanda , @strang3lov3 , & @pascalsbby)
here's a bonus that I encourage y'all to recklessly drop into people's inboxes! gift somebody w a visit from the Pedro fairy and spread good vibes :) and tag me if you want so I can see how far our little Pedro fairy travels!
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hello, new followers.
I do post memes (now), but I mostly post fic stuff. If that interests you at all, you can check out my masterlist.
catch ya later, ♥Puddles♥
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tagging at random bc Tumblr is a piece of shit, but it's mostly the fic writers who write such amazing shit that got me making these memes in the first place bc my brain HAD TO DO SOMETHING WITH THE FEELINGS after reading their work: @toxicanonymity @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @toomanystoriessolittletime @talaok @atticrissfinch @chloeangelic @cavillscurls @joelscruff @tieronecrush @worhols @northernbluess @netherfeildren @gracieispunk @darkroastjoel @jksprincess10 @jrrmint @walkintotheriveranddisappear @wannab-urs @frannyzooey @ezrasbirdie @fuckyeahdindjarin @psychedelic-ink @atinylittlepain @swiftispunk @the-ginger-hedge-witch @bageldaddy
ty all for the wonderful stories you share w us! and for inspiring some of us to write our own shit :)
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kozh-lucium · 5 months
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Warning, a rant of BG3 fandom (and of astarion)
BG3 and Astarion stans TM (not normal fans, mind you) made me realize I'm too old for fandom like...this.
Idk if I'm just unlucky or something like that, but the amount of people who equates "nuance" with "let's go full genocide bcs it's fun and to troll wyll/karlach" is too damn high.
Aaaand not surprising, almost all of them are astarion stans tm. Look, I'm not saying all of astarion fans are like this, but forgive me for getting more and more uncomfortable with how some people are acting. So apparently I am not allowed to complain about how astarion keeps being a dick in act 1, but they're allowed to hate karlach and wyll so much because they're "goody two shoes"?
Sorry, it sounds like hypocrisy.
Just the other day i had a fight with several people, over discussion of Gandrel (the gur we met in the swamp). It's crazy for me how they feel the need to invent ridiculous just to justify killing him. I can respect if the reson if "It's more pragmatic" (I mean, i still disagree since we can just lie to him), I even respect more when someone said "lol i did it because I'm an astarion simp, I'll do whatever he ask me to". But to say that gandrel is an amoral character who needs to die because he will make a deal with the hag just to find astarion? Or that he doesn't have proof that astarion is hurting people?
Are these people serious??
It's extra ironic how one of them just before this claim that I imposed modern morality for finding their action to be not neutral, and that faerun being medieval dark fantasy setting is suppsed to be more lenient to evil actions, elyet in the same breath accusing an NPC as amoral for trying to strike a deal with the hag, enought that it's okay to kill him.
For some reason, to them, not liking evil run meams you're media illiterate and can't handle nuance.
Look, i can't handle it, i wouldn't enjoy witcher 2 writing and def. will stake astarion the first chance i got.
Sorry for the long rant. I'm super cranky right now. I hate edgelords like them.
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rebelsandtherest · 1 year
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ok so i’m going to preface this ask by saying that the name alfred is given to the first born males on my dads side, so it’s a name near and dear to my heart, that said, there’s an angle i’ve never (or in all likelihood missed) seen between alfred and arthur. and i crave your opinions.
growing up i knew that the name alfred became popular in the victorian period since the english started looking into history and saw king alfred and decided he was pretty great. so i wonder how arthur felt, to see and hear his estranged sons name so often. of course he’s glad that his country’s putting some respect on king alfred, but i can see him calling someone named alfred by their last name to avoid saying it out loud. “alfred, lord tennyson.” “who?” “lord tennyson.” “not a fan.” the man’s conflicted and petty.
or it could be the opposite, it could remind him why he chose the name to begin with. imagine him overhearing a man in a pub proudly boasting about how fast his little alfie is growing, showing off a picture he keeps of the lad. and arthur can’t help but smile to himself and feel a wee bit envious. a few situations like that, and he’s tentatively writing formal letters that go unanswered. a few decades and a great rapprochement later he can finally say alfred out loud without tasting bile.
or he could be so far up his own ass that he doesn’t even notice the trend in names. idk. definitely drunkenly hums ‘what’s it all about (alfie)’ in the 60s.
Ooooh man this is a good question! Thanks for sending in the ask.
This became an immensely long reply with a bad history lesson included (because I'm relying on my ADHD memory and hoping it doesn't scramble itself between my brain and the keyboard), so... sorry about the length.
Anyway.
I think the Victorian revival of "Alfred" as a name would have affected Arthur in a few ways, but within his context, I imagine that those moments would be relative sporadic.
So a few things:
First: The name itself is Anglo Saxon—the original ash (Æ) was replaced with an A to fit contemporary English spelling, and it would have been pronounced a little different obviously, but it is remarkably unchanged for an early medieval name over 1000 years old. So Arthur is probably used to hearing the name at least once in a blue moon, and I doubt anyone was much confused when he gave the name—even if it wasn't in vogue at the time—to his firstborn.
Second: The Victorian age for Arthur was absolutely chock-full of wars, particularly wars overseas. Victoria was called empress for a reason, because she had a penchant for stealing other people's land and sovereignty. So whether Arthur was enthused by the nonstop action or not (I'd wager he was, most of the time), he was incredibly preoccupied and probably didn't have time to mope about his son, so if the name ever made Arthur think about Alfred, it would be a short-lived reverie.
Third: The Victorian era was a historically interesting time for UK-US international relations. Your average USA citizen probably didn't spare much thought for English subjects an ocean away, but, on the whole, white Americans remained enamored with England as the "mother land", were keen on trans-Atlantic commerce, and eager to prove themselves as equals to their allies in Europe. This didn't exactly work.
Even so, Britain and the USA continued to host a bizarre mix of cultural proximity and mutual contempt. Bad blood had gone stale by the beginning of Victoria's reign, but stale blood bred an enduring sense of pettiness, especially on the British side. Though the two nations' diplomatic and economic relationships were strong and well-maintained, events like the USA's rather embarrassing showing at the 1851 Great Exhibition in London were devoured by the British public in a feeding frenzy of schadenfreude that solidified a kind of national desire to dunk on Americans whenever possible.
While Brits still relish dunking on Americans, the early Victorian need to put America down as an economic and cultural peer began to shift, at least in some ways, in the second half of the 19th century. The American Civil War devastated the English economy, particularly of the northern half of the country which depended immensely on American cotton to fuel its textile industry. The entire war, its fallout, and notably the end of slavery in the USA, were all topics that British citizens would have seen daily in their newspapers, a source of interest and immense anxiety. By this point, Britain as a whole had forcibly been made aware of how, like it or not, the state of the USA's government and economy affected their daily life in ways too large to ignore.
Whilst America quite literally murdered itself over the problems it'd decided to ignore for a century, Britain and Europe were all deep in the industrial revolution—hell, it started in England, hence the textile mills. England and the young German Confederation were both heavy hitters in the game, and improvements to seafaring technology as well as Britain's relentless expansion across the globe was continuously bringing in new wares from all around the world for European industrialists to copy and mass produce. European trade and industrial competition was booming.
Meanwhile, America remained intensely focused on itself, and understandably so. With the absolute disaster of Reconstruction, westward expansion, industrial revolution, and lest we forget, a bloody parade of genocides and land wars, the USA had plenty to be worried about within its own (expanding) borders. It was not isolationist in the true sense, but was not exactly competing for European attention at the same levels at it had earlier in the century.
However, when the USA eventually gathered itself to take more of an international presence, it would do so in a way that would take the entire world by storm. The sheer speed, size, and production volume of American industries began to challenge their European competitors. If you were white and well-connected or just immensely lucky, this was the age when the American Dream was born. The US military had undergone immense expansion since the Civil War, and they went from having a young navy only just big enough to form a blockade to having a navy large enough to send a top-of-the-line fleet around the world with literally no other purpose but to flex in front of their allies (and enemies) not even 50 years later.
.....This has been a very long winded way to explain that, while the Victorian Era was the heyday of Arthur's imperialist dreams and victories, it was also the very nascent stages of Alfred coming into his own and more or less forcing himself back into dear old dad's life. Coming hot on the heels of Victoria, The American Gilded Age, the Progressive Era, and the Great Rapprochement were all just around the corner. These shifts of history—to say nothing of the quickly-approaching storm clouds of World War—would bring father and son back together and force them to mend their relationship, at least as much as they could.
I think, in the early Victorian age, when 'Alfred' came into vogue after so many centuries, a part of Arthur would hear it with a sinking feeling in his gut, because he was certainly old enough to have seen the future on the horizon. Maybe it wasn't clear, or concrete, maybe he couldn't put it into words. But he would know, in some instinctual sense, that Alfred's star was rising in more ways than one, and that he'd would need to brace himself and his empire for whatever came next. So sometimes, when he heard the name, some indistinct prophecies would flash before his mind's eye, filling him with ominous dread that he couldn't have named.
Sometimes, if he'd been drinking or just in a sentimental mood, he would hear the name and reminisce on both the King Ælfred, and the golden son who bore his name. He would wax poetic about his firstborn and all that he'd accomplished in his life—daring even, perhaps for the first time in his life, to praise Alfred's tenacity, conviction, and strength during his fight for independence. He would of course be mortified by the drunken memory the next day.
Sometimes, it takes him off guard and he turns his head, fully expecting Alfred himself—a toddler, a child, a teenager, a young man—to step through the door and greet him. It lasts only moments, and the empty feeling that follows usually sends Arthur directly into some mentally or physically taxing task, to avoid uncomfortable emotions.
But I think more than anything, the re-emergence of the name would make Arthur feel old. So very, very old, when he continuously, despite repeated embarrassments, pronounces the name in the way he learned as a boy, with the long-i ash sound that his people forgot to pronounce somewhere along the last century or ten. The very same pronunciation mistake he couldn't seem to stop making all those years ago, when Alfred was small, still learning English and fully convinced a boy could have two versions of a name.
The same pronunciation that, even today, would make Alfred's head twitch up, looking for his father.
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like-sands-of-time · 7 months
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All right heres the thing that's been bugging me since I watched season four.
I love morgana in season one. I find her introduction absolutely fascinating. She feels like a very important character, but we don't know how yet. I love that we see her picking fights with Uther from the first, for it to all culminate in her attempting to kill him by the first season finale, all in a way that is so believable and sympathetic to me (and Merlin) that I was honestly hoping Merlin would just, slip on one of those hills and watch her kill him, because we now know three characters who wouldnt mourn the loss of the king. Who are angry at him for the unforgivable things he's done even recently. At that point arthur is most willing to work with magic and common men, and morgana (with Merlin) have had a clear impact on his growth as a man. I love that.
I... Don't see the rest of the shows arc (s3 and on) as believable for who she was then. I'm sorry but either she was caring about the citizens of Camelot and their suffering, or it was all a lie, that doesn't go away just because you're angry at one guy. I'll leave that alone, it's for another time. BUT. even if they wanted to show that dragons have free will and could befriend who they wished, regardless of dragon blood, I still don't think the entirety of that season makes any sense.
Why would Merlin have hatched the egg right then if he wasn't willing or able to raise the hatchling? They said multiple times the egg would last. And if Kilgharrah wasn't willing to raise the egg why did he convince Merlin to do it. It what world would the characters of Kilgharrah and Merlin as we know them at this point just leave an infant dragon to do it's own thing anyway? Let alone go work with a sorceress they believe to be evil consumed. That.... Doesn't make sense. Not even in a tragic but realistic way, it just simply doesn't make sense to me. Merlin could have safely put the egg where Kilgharrah used to be imprisoned if no one visits there, or Kilgharrah could have found another cave or safe place to keep it. Those make sense. Hatching it only to both leave and forget about the child doesn't really make sense for either of them?
The writers wanted morgana to have a dragon ally, be an equal to Merlin visually in their ultimate fight, and I get it....... but make Aithusa choosing morgana make sense. Develop their relationship in any way..? And while we're at it make morgana trying repeatedly to kill Arthur make any sense because it the show I watched I never saw any reason for her to want anything other than 1) uther dead and 2) magic free in Camelot once more. MAKE IT MAKE SENSE. You can't have characters just Do Things because you want them to happen lmao that's not how people work.
This show loves to tell me instead of showing me. I know what they want me to think because they make it glaringly freaking obvious but I'm sorry .. you have to actually develop character arcs or relationships (whether it's between a dragon and the main villain, or Arthur and Guinevere, because sunbursts and cute music isn't doing anything for me lol. They didn't even develop lance either. She had two love interests shown to us and we just have to use our imagination I guess.
Idk, write morgana to be the darkest, cruellest, most insane bitch you want that's fine with me. It's all medieval fanfiction but ... It has to be plausible. Give me any reason at all why bbc morgana hated Arthur or Camelot or Gwen or anything. Do tragic, do.. "she was always meant to be against him" if you must, but also? It's all fanfiction so have morgana being Arthurs sorceress .. powerful just like Merlin but in her own way and they're both loyal to Arthur.
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hero-israel · 8 months
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https://www.tumblr.com/her-moth/726167324355444736/from-saids-invention-memory-and-place-2000?source=share
I’ve become interested in the figure of Edward Said, a Palestinian-American academic and activist who more or less coined the terms/studies/activism/etc of Orientalism and Post-Colonialism, both terms I find deeply important and which I apply to my leftist Zionism, something I’m sure he and his followers would strongly oppose. On that topic, I’m looking into some of his anti-Zionist (though I’m sure it’s more nuanced than that) work, both to broaden my perspective and because I’m much more willing to listen to a Palestinian who lived in historical Palestine before and after Israel’s establishment as opposed to a modern Westerner. I’ll admit, he has plenty of valid critiques of Zionism and movements he associates with it, though there are of course elements I disagree with. One point he made that really bothered me however (shown in the above linked screenshot) is, while comparing European Jewish Zionists to the Crusaders (partially valid but for the most part 😬) and the medieval European imagined environment of the land Jesus lived and died in as “denatured Palestine”; “after hundreds of years of living in Europe Zionist Jews could still feel that Palestine had stood in time and was theirs, again despite millennia of history and the presence of actual inhabitants.”
I agree the terra nullius mindset many Zionists and Zionist allies had (and sometimes still have, about history or the present to justify settlements, war, and discriminational policies) was awful and a horrific and regrettable way to begin Israel, but I really hate how Said just wastes no breath lumping Jews in with powerful European Christians and maybe subtly implying an acceptance that Jews are from there but ultimately just leaving it as “Tough tiddy, you’ve been gone too long, you should’ve stayed in your diaspora forever” with so little consideration that the Jews did not fit in Europe, nor could they survive there, and they needed some place their heritage was. Obviously this is just a manifestation, perhaps inspiration, for the notion that Jews don’t deserve return from diaspora, no matter the cost, but Palestinians do, and this not only a double standard but the first one is apparently the direct cause and justification for the second. Idk, I just wish Said would be a little more considerate or something.
That's the frustrating thing about Said. The man could write, and he would often home in on a decent, poignant comment - and then he would derail it with some ridiculous rabble-rousing bullshit about how Jews were the agents of European imperialism, or how Israel is constantly hoaxing archeology. He tried to pass himself off as a victimized Palestinian refugee, when he was born a privileged American citizen and spent his formative years in Cairo.
The Tumblr post you provided shows Said's frustration that people get so caught up in symbolic mythical Jerusalem that they forget or don't care it's an actual place where people live real lives. And that's a totally fair point! Co-signed! And then he ruins it by whitewashing Jewish history. His perspective that "before the Jews came, there were ACTUAL inhabitants there" is nothing less than a purported anti-colonialist / anti-imperialist giving an implicit endorsement of the Ottoman Empire. Which is less surprising when you remember he also gave EXPLICIT endorsement of the Ottoman Empire.
He was honest enough to admit that his preferred outcome for Palestine would put Jews in danger. I co-sign that too.
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ghouljams · 3 months
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hi its me again. i was reading your medieval!gaz fics and going insane. i think ive really turned into a gaz simp now (which is lowkey funny bc i still know nothing about this man). also i was wondering some of your stuff with him hits me so personally even though your ghost and konig stuff *should* be more attractive to me bc they hit my exact kinks, but i think i finally get it. the way you write gaz is like you took my favorite parts of the romance tropes i used to be really into as a teenager but adapted to mature audiences. idk how to describe it. its like, imagine you really loved strawberry juice as a kid, but when you got older you started to dislike it and when you tried switching to eating real strawberries you realized it tastes bad, then one day you drink a strawberry mojito for the first time and drinking it feels like what drinking strawberry juice felt like as a kid. anyway ilu and i love your gaz <3
I think that's a wonderful description, thank you <3
I love writing for Gaz, I think the romance that he brings to everything is intoxicating. He hits something really specific for me in the way he speaks and carries himself that I don't think any of the other CoD boys have. Writing for Gaz always feels so different from writing for any of the others because I don't have the same bible for him that I do everyone else. He's incredibly adaptable and yet he's always so true to himself, I don't always know how he'll respond to being put in different situations until I'm actually writing it.
Idk why but I always feel like Gaz is underappreciated so when I write for him I want it to be good, and I want it to show a new aspect to love about him. Ghost and Konig yeah I love the kink and I love their general weirdness, but Gaz??? That's my romance partner, that's the man I want to sit across from in a crowded cafe and pretend we're the only two people around while we talk about medieval siege weapons. (a/n I may inject too much of my partner in Gaz's stories...)
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