#my-pen

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BBC Merlin. You deserved a better ending.

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Happy Lesbian Day, you lovely fantasy babes

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Marguerite de Bressieux: Rapist Hunter

This is the story of 15th century legend, Marguerite de Bressieux, The Black Knight Who Hunted Rapists, told by Rejected Princesses:

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Aaaaaaand Someone already reposted my pic with a vomit emoji to make fun of me for being trans. Remember how I keep saying that terfs transphobia and racists have a hold on your aesthetic/core communities and y’all did nothing??????

Remember that????

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Hello everyone! My name is Fable. It’s nice to meet you!

Yes this is actually me, the person behind the blog.

They/them/she/her Royal highness

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The witch-in-the-mountain, they of many faces, the one who became a dragon.

They used to have a name, but that was burned out of them long ago.

An aesthetic moodboard for one of my OCs, the witch-in-the-mountain. It you’d like to read their stories they can be found here, here, and here. Or just click of the “shifterwitch” tag on this post.

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View from the Tower

The view is my favorite part.

There is benefit, as well, in the absence of people. While I’m alone in my tower, I don’t fret over the nuances of social interaction, or the affects and reactions that hang on my every word as a princess. People are hard to understand.

Mother hid me away in this lone tower deep in the woods to protect me from the plague. The country needs assurance of a future, and i am that embodied. So here I am kept.

It is also to hide me from the disapproving eyes of the court. They are not fond of a bearded and hairy princess. They wanted a prince to fight in their wars and steal the hearts of the ladies and sire many children. I am not that royal. Mother understands this, and she supports my desires to live as I wish, but sends me away often so the court is not constantly reminded of their hatred for me. I am safer for it i suppose. But it does mean my returns are met with fresh bigotry each time.

Bigotry and the plague combined have me very inclined to stay in this old column of stone.

I go on a walk every day through this forest i call my home. I know it’s fruits and game and medicines. I am entertained by the lives of the animals i watch. I love to sing with the birds as I gather flowers or hunt for berries.

I am entertained in the tower as well! There’s a library with books on magic and herbalism and stories of all sorts; romance and drama and heists and adventure. I don’t hope for an adventure of my own, but I do hold hope for love.

There’s a lot i love about my quiet lonely life. But the view is my favorite. From my tower in the woods I can see for miles and miles. The sparkling edge of the sea, the forests in all its autumn splendor, even the faint outline of my home castle. The citadel that houses my mother and her court, spires surrounded by wall after wall, a city full of bustle and thousands of people going about their lives.

I hope they stay safe.

I look to that faint outline everyday, my braid hanging out the window, and I pray they survive this.

I can’t be the only one left. I just can’t.

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Theres something so incredibly romantic about the prince whisking you away from the ball to show you his favorite spot in the castle. A quiet balcony overlooking a star filled pond. A bench in a secret garden, walled in by blooming hedges. A vine covered square, full of mirrors. A location that houses his most alone moments, quiet and precious breaths unmonitored, where he doesn’t have to be a prince.

Here, in this world, he can bow before you and fix your slipper. Just a man who loves you. And glass reflecting the moonlight.