#let him protecc

[bitimdrake]

number one gotham rogue who should get to become a consistent good guy is killer croc. i am not taking feedback at this time.

[misericordiis]

“They call me the devil. But who made me so?” From Princess Anthy :3

meme.

🌙 𝑻𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑬𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑴𝒐𝒐𝒏

@evincere

He says nothing, only marks her movement and with a diffident eye. Marks the pallor of her skin: the wan, dull appearance of a one-luminous complexion that betrays how long it really had been since she’d seen the sun. But nothing can mute the bright gold of her eyes, which flash fierce and feral with her desperation. Still the brightest thing in this room full of dust and decay, exceeding the brilliance of mirrors greyed with a heavy film of disuse. Cobwebs adorn so many forgotten corners. It’s fitting, for a forgotten princess.

Caleb watches her pace in her newest dress that can only be a hand me down from her aunt, the Regent Queen: an ill-fitting, moth-eaten bodice and trailing skirts with already-frayed hems that drag upon the unswept floor, kicking up dust where it had settled between the crevices of the cobblestone. She looks like a madwoman of yore, one of those termagants that end up locked away in towers at the end of morality plays. He wonders to himself if that isn’t by design, that it’s the fate the princess’ guardians have in mind for her.

He wants to say something. Offer words of consolation or comfort to soothe the fury he knows is borne of a fear of an uncertain future; of a birthright wrested from her innocent and impotent hands; of an injustice for which there seems no recourse to find recompense. But Caleb is a soldier. Nothing more. His knowledge lies in sworddancing and warfare, not in statecraft or politicking, nor easement or encouragement. He cannot understand why the princess has been cloistered away like a vestal, nor can he hope to. He can only understand what he can do for her with the power heaven has blessed him with. Whatever that may be.

He looks at his hands, calloused and worn and hardly the delicate hands of a worthy sort of gentleman. Or a prince, for that matter. These are hands that do not deserve to touch the rotting hem of her dress, and yet, with it, he reaches for her hand. Grasps it gently, like one might a tender dove. He sinks down upon a knee. Holds his hand to his heart in a gesture of supplication and reverence both to the only person on earth that might command the loyalty of his unwavering heart, his tireless body, his eternal soul. “I could take you away.” His voice is nothing but resolute, hopeful. The words offered like a promise. A vow. “This is your home, I know. You have obligations to your bloodline, and to your people. But what good are you imprisoned here, without even the light of day? If flowers need the sun to grow, how much more do princesses?” 

He’s clumsy with his words. Bites his lip as if in chastisement of such a blunder. What would a gallant say? He certainly couldn’t even conceptualize the weave of words he’d want to say. So he could only continue with the unadorned honesty of his heart. “You deserve a life that is yours, to live of your own accord, just as much as anyone else does. You deserve a happiness unfettered by obligation or provocation. You deserve a contentment you will never find in the blighted silence of this obscure tower. But let me promise my life to the devotion of this, of protecting the life you ought to have. Of protecting you.”

His thumb sweeps across the ridge of her knuckles. A cursory gesture, a prelude to the press of his lips there. “Let me swear this to you. That every vow I make will honor and exalt you. Let me be your knight, and you will command my heart for as long as it has strength to beat, in this lifetime and the world after. I'll swear it if you let me, princess. So, let me."

[franespace]

mhcrny:

PROTECC HIMMMMMMMMMM

no, he will protecc you

[livingadoubledlife]

simplybutters replied to your post “Gather up for the Butters Protection Squad @angelusmori”

"Oh gosh...why?"

     “Why not?”