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sethjarvy · 2 years

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wake up babe new incredibly heart warming article about antti raanta droppped

article under the cut :)

NEW YORK — All around Antti Raanta was chaos and pressure and tension and screaming fans and thunderous music and flashing lights.

There was 3:44 left in the third period of a playoff game at Madison Square Garden, with his Carolina Hurricanes down a goal and on the verge of dropping to 0-4 on the road in this postseason. Raanta had just swallowed up an Artemi Panarin wrist shot to keep his guys within striking distance, and the last television timeout of the game allowed him a brief respite — a chance to take a breath, to push out the noise, to center himself, to brace himself.

Instead, Raanta looked up at the scoreboard, and the most peculiar thought hit him.

Hey! It’s Dancin’ Larry!

“You just get a little smile on your face,” Raanta said. “It was my first time playing against the Rangers in this building. So it was kind of funny, remembering all those TV timeout things. You just look around and you’re kind of like, ‘Hey, this is awesome.’”

Raanta was smiling as he said that, of course. Seems like he’s always smiling. That’s who Raanta is — the happy wanderer, the joyful journeyman. He’s the guy who spent his rookie season cracking up his teammates in Chicago with tales of his misadventures in the Finnish army, sending Patrick Sharp into hysterics as he described the time he got his entire squadron “killed” when he got lost on a training mission with a very real rocket-launcher strapped to his back. He’s the guy who had the Coyotes howling as he harped on the scorpion infestation that eventually drove him and his wife from his first home in Arizona. A big, boisterous personality with a big, boisterous voice, Raanta’s always been everyone’s favorite teammate.

But now, at 33 years old, he’s finally becoming something more.

Leaning against a wall outside the visitor’s dressing room at the Garden on Monday afternoon, Raanta was trying to put it all in perspective — the early brilliance and ugly breakup in Chicago, the fun but ultimately unfulfilling years as Henrik Lundqvist’s backup in New York, the endless string of injuries in Arizona, the flirtation with retirement last spring, and now his unlikely ascendance to Conn Smythe candidate in the wake of Frederik Andersen’s lower-body injury suffered a month ago.

After all this time, after all these teams, after all those rehabs, after all the games he watched from the back of the bench or on a stool by the Zamboni entrance as a permanent backup, Raanta finally is having his moment. Through nine playoff games, he has posted a .939 save percentage, trailing only Dallas’ Jake Oettinger and St. Louis’ Jordan Binnington. He has saved 8.91 goals above expected, trailing only Oettinger, Edmonton’s Mike Smith and the Rangers’ Igor Shesterkin. He’s playing like he always knew he could, but never thought he’d get the chance.

In true Raanta fashion, he’s savoring every minute of it. And yes, that includes checking which celebrities are sitting rinkside at the Garden.

Hey, it’s David Harbour!

“You just have to enjoy it,” Raanta said. “This is what you dream of. You want to play these games and you kind of want to see that you can do the job.”

Raanta turned 33 two weeks ago. This birthday was a bit more festive than the last.

A year ago, hard as it is to envision, Raanta had lost his smile, and was losing his will to keep battling through the injuries that had derailed his career. He chuckles a bit now as he lists the various ailments that plagued his four seasons in Arizona, almost amused by how unlucky he was. But there was nothing funny about it at the time. He got rear-ended on the highway by an SUV going 40 or 50 mph and suffered whiplash. He had groin issues. Hip problems. Blew out his knee. He played just 12 games in 2018-19 in the first year of the biggest contract of his career. He played just 12 games again last season, the final year of that deal.

The last straw last season was a seemingly innocuous groin tweak that he thought was nothing. He went for an MRI and he was told he’d miss at least three weeks. “You’ll miss at least three weeks” had been the story of Raanta’s career, and he was just ready to be done with it all.

Hockey is fun. Perpetual rehab is not.

“I’m like, ‘This is not happening,’” he said. “That’s when I almost lost the passion for the hockey. When the season was over, I was like, ‘I don’t know if I want to do it anymore.’”

But it gnawed at Raanta that he knew he could do the job, if his body would allow, if his coaches would allow. He was brilliant as Corey Crawford’s backup in Chicago, but Blackhawks coach Joel Quenneville fell in love with Scott Darling’s size and Raanta had to watch as a frustrated Black Ace as Darling, not Raanta, came to the rescue in the first round of the 2015 playoffs against Nashville. He knew he’d never supplant Lundqvist in New York, but he soaked up all he could from one of the best goalies of all time and made the most of his limited playing time. Arizona was his chance to be a No. 1, but the injuries got in the way and he lost the job to Darcy Kuemper.

Yet every time Raanta got a chance, he ran with it. Since his rookie season of 2013-14, among goalies with at least 100 starts, only Ben Bishop (.921) and Juuse Saros (.920) have a higher save percentage than Raanta’s .919. Raanta is tied with Crawford, Andrei Vasilevskiy and Tuukka Rask, and just ahead of Carey Price, Roberto Luongo and Kuemper.

That’s lofty company. And that just bothered him all the more when he considered the incomplete nature of his career.

“I think that’s the worst part,” he said. “Obviously, when you get hurt, it’s always tough, and it doesn’t matter if your numbers are good or bad. But I think it’s a little bit more frustrating when you know that you can play at a high level.”

So when Raanta’s agent, Kevin Epp, called him up in mid-June and said there was interest, the goalie perked up a bit. When Epp told him Carolina was one of those teams, suddenly he was smiling again.

“That’s a really good team, and they’ve been in the playoffs and they’re so close to getting to the end,” Raanta said. “I was thinking, ‘man, if they really want me, that’s something I really want to do.’ After that, the switch just turns in your head and now I’m going to do whatever I can to get there and do my best.”

But once again, Raanta found himself as the backup, playing just 28 games to Andersen’s 52. This time, however, it was the other guy who got injured, as Andersen suffered a lower-body injury making a save against Colorado on April 16. Suddenly, Carolina’s Stanley Cup hopes rested on Raanta’s shoulders.

Eight days later, Raanta hurt himself again, leaving early in a 5-2 win against the Islanders. For once, though, the hockey gods were with him. It turned out to be nothing major. And he hasn’t relinquished the net since.

“He’s been great all year, actually,” Sebastian Aho said. “Freddie played a little bit more than him in the regular season, and maybe Freddie got more attention. But every time (Raanta) was in, he was great for us. We’ve been very fortunate to have very good goalies all year, and I’m not surprised the level he’s playing now. The team has a lot of confidence in him.”

The old saying is that goalies need to have a short-term memory. That’s not entirely accurate. They don’t need to forget goals, they need to withstand them, to survive them, to bounce back from them. That’s where Raanta’s relentlessly upbeat attitude comes into play. In Game 3, former teammate Chris Kreider beat Raanta from a sharp angle, top-shelf on the far side. It was an absolutely sick shot, perfectly placed and nearly impossible to expect. But Raanta was mad at himself, all the same. For about four seconds.

He got over it — hey, giving up a goal is nothing compared with losing your job, or blowing out your knee, or getting rear-ended on the highway — and stopped the last 15 shots he faced, keeping Carolina in it and only getting beaten because Shesterkin was a little bit better on this day.

“You would never know he’s in his first playoffs,” said teammate Seth Jarvis, who is in his own first playoffs. “He’s just super relaxed and calm and collected.”

Raanta has won the Stanley Cup before. We should probably point that out.

But he hasn’t won the Stanley Cup. Raanta was the primary regular-season backup goaltender for the eventual 2015 Stanley Cup champion Blackhawks. He had been relegated to third-string with Darling’s ascendance by the end of the season, and didn’t dress in the playoffs. It ended badly, with Raanta telling a Finnish newspaper that he was so bitter about his situation that he was openly rooting for the Blackhawks to get swept in the first round by Nashville so he could just go home. Raanta later said his words were misconstrued, and that he was just trying to be emotionally honest about how difficult it was to watch his team play without him, and that his frustrations lasted for maybe a day, and that he thoroughly enjoyed the whole postseason ride with his teammates, even as a Black Ace.

But the damage was done. The Blackhawks ended up leaving Raanta’s name off the Stanley Cup — unusual given he was the backup for most of the regular season — and petitioning instead to have Daniel Carcillo (who didn’t play in the playoffs) and Joakim Nordstrom (who got in just three games). The team said Raanta’s comments had nothing to do with it, but regardless, there were some hard feelings on both sides. Raanta was traded to the Rangers 12 days after the Blackhawks won the Stanley Cup.

Still, Raanta looks back at his time in Chicago with fondness, and with gratitude. He learned lessons from that team’s three-time champion core that he’s using in Carolina today.

“It was great,” he said. “You were able to see what it takes to get to the finish line, looking at (Jonathan) Toews and (Patrick) Kane and those guys and what it takes. You get to see the confidence in that group. They already had won a couple times. And it was just like, it didn’t matter if we lost a game or whatever happened, it was just, ‘Let’s go to the next one.’ It was awesome to be a part of it. And it gave me a little more hunger, also. Because in your head, you want to win the Stanley Cup when you’re actually playing. That’s the motivation.”

There’s another bit of motivation looming. Andersen participated in Monday’s practice, and is getting closer to returning. Hurricanes coach Rod Brind’Amour won’t give a timetable for Andersen’s return, and won’t say what he’ll do in net once he does return.

But after finally getting to play a month of hockey as an undisputed No. 1 goaltender, is it time for Raanta to start looking over his shoulder again?

Raanta smiled at the question. Of course, he did.

“It’s about staying in the moment and not worrying about what’s happening outside, or even inside, the team,” he said. “You have pretty much one of the top goalies in the league sidelined right now. So you know whenever Freddie is healthy and feels good, you have to do the job and try to keep the net. You never know what happens the next day. So I’m just trying to enjoy the moment.”

And if there’s one thing Raanta’s better at than stopping pucks, it’s enjoying the moment. No matter how harrowing and pressure-packed it is.

“We’re in the playoffs, we’re in the second round, so the stakes are pretty high,” he said. “And before the game, you get little butterflies. If you don’t have that, if you just go out like it’s just one game and you just go play, I feel like you don’t get your best out of it. You have to get that good type of feeling before the game. For me, it’s not nervousness, but just a little goosebumps. You want that. That’s what gets you going. That means you’re enjoying it.

“And I’m enjoying it.”

#antti raanta #canes #SO happy for him you don't even know #the part about him saying he wanted the h*wks to get swept even though he was the backup goalie 💀

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adarkrainbow · 1 year

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Folklore and fairy tales ask game (Dark Rainbow Edition)

So @themousefromfantasyland tagged me with this game. Let’s do it!

1) Did you grow up with any fun folk beliefs/customs/superstitions?

Let’s see... I was raised in a Catholic ground - not that my family is particularly religious, but I was in a Catholic town, in a Catholic school, and went through all the Catholic catechism - which actually led me to become heavily interest in the topics of hell and demons as a kid (which might not have been the actual intention). I grew up with Greek mythology however. My mother never read me fairy tales as a kid, she read me Greek myths. Which is why I know it by heart and keep getting mad at Greek myth mistakes on my main blog X) I also grew up with a lot of “fae” stuff before fae was a thing. The Pierre Dubois Encyclopedias and Brian Froud’ Faeries book were some of my favorite childhood books, and shaped heavily how I perceive the fair folk.

2) What is one of you favourite romantic fairy tales?

None! I don’t know if it is because I’m asexual, but I never cared about romantic stories. They never interested me. I get in fairy tales for the magic and the monsters, not the love story :p

3) What is one of your favourite non-romantic fairy tales?

I am not a “pick a favourite” guy when it comes to fairy tales.

4) Did you grow up hearing or reading folktales?

As I said before, I grew up with Greek mythology and some faerie folklore. I did read fairy tales as a kid, but I never was very interested with them and they never took a big part of my life. I only got interested in them later.

5) Did you have a favourite folktale as a kid?

Nope.

6) Do you have a favourite book with folklore or folk/fairy tales?

I have tons of books and I love each of them as if it was my child.

7) What is one of your favourite folkloric creatures?

Again, not a “one favourite” guy. I’m an all-lover.

8) Is there a specific fairy tale you dislike?

A group of fairy tales rather... Andersen’s fairy tales. Don’t get me wrong I enjoy some of them : the Little Mermaid or the Snow Queen... I enjoy the more “folkloric” fairy tales I guess. Because the other fairy tales of Andersen... feel too literary. Which can surprise you, given I enjoy the French fairytales which by definition are literary - but unlike these fairy tales that still reused or reinvented folkloric motifs, Andersen sometimes goes too much into his own personal inventions to the point of emptying the fairy tales of the marvel they feel are “fairy tales”. So while I can enjoy them as stories, I can’t enjoy them as “fairy tales”. They fit rather this other genre we have in France “le conte philosophique” which can be translated as either “philosophical tale” or “philosophical fairytale” (despite having no fairies in it). But yeah I don’t think all of Andernsen’s so called “fairytales” deserve to be fairytales. But that’s just me.

9) Is there a particular culture’s folklore you know most about?

A hard question... I know a lot of mythologies. Greek, Roman, Norse, Japanese, Vodou... I know a lot about “Catholic folklore” (because there is a Catholic folklore). I have a lot of interest in all fae stuff, which did led me to becoming quite knowledgeable about British folklore (and Pratchett’s books helped). I studied for a very long time ghosts, hauntings and related topics ; studied also a lot of vampire folklore. And while I wish I could tell you I know French folklore, thanks to me being French, the truth is I only know about the folklore of some specific French regions (like Bretagne) because as it turns out French is VERY rich in folklore and each regions has its specifities.

OH! And urban legends. I’m a geek for urban legends. A new folklore, but one still.

10) Is there a particular culture’s folklore you’d like to know more about?

I am always up to learn more.

11) Have a bit of folklore trivia you’d like to share?

In Southern France if I recall correctly, there’s a type of witches known as “masques” (literaly “masks”) who are said to enter in houses at night by squeezing themselves through the keyhole of the door. To avoid that, you must put your underwear over the keyhole. I’m not making that up.

12) Do you have any media about folklore to rec?

Too much and not enough? I can’t answer on the spot.

13) Do you have a folklore rant you’re holding in? (Let It Out)

Not really. Except maybe stop doing the deer-headed wendigo? It looks cool but it was a picture created for a specific movie, and it has no relationship to the original legends of the wendigo. (I talked about it in a post of mine over on my main blog, “Cold Winter: Wendigo”).

14) If you could change something about a specific fairy tale what would it be?

I won’t answer that because it would be rewriting a fairy tale, and that’s something I will probably do in the future :p

15) Got any burning folklore questions?

Nope.

16) What’s a folktale you used to love but grew out of?

... I don’t think I have?

17) Do you prefer fairy tales, fables, legends or myths?

You’d have to define the difference between legend and myths because despite all the scholars going “It’s not the same thing”, in effect the two are often identical? I definitively prefer myths and legends, number 1, followed by fairy tales, number 2. And fables come on 3, they’re my less favorites - too preachy, too simple, not enough depth and nuance (unlike the fairy tales which can be preachy but will have a complexity one is always able to explore).

18) Do you care about the distinction between literary fairy tales and folk fairy tales?

As a consumer of fairy tales, no, I love them both equally and don’t mind seeing them mingle. As a student of French literature, yes, because this is a knowledge that has been lost on popular culture and to truly understand the fairy tales (individually and as a whole) this distinction NEEDS to be made.

19) If you could own any object from folklore, what would it be?

A magic wand/wizard’s staff, a crystal ball to see things from afar OR this magic mirror that can answer your questions.

20) If you met a talking animal would you prefer it to be an enchanted human, a disguised spirit or simply a gifted animal?

An enchanted human, to relate more to it. If it is a disguised spirit, it can easily become a worrying and creepy thing ; and if it is just an animal that can talk... well as much as I love animals, I also know them enough to realize that maybe we don’t want to hear all they have to say. (I’m mostly thinking about cats. My cats would probably roast me to death if they could speak).

21) For the multi-linguals: do you like the term “fairy tales” or do you prefer what they are called in your other language(s)?

Lucky for you: I AM FRENCH! WE INVENTED THE TERM FAIRY TALE! *evil laugh* Sorry Germans, but this is because of us that märchen is not known about X) We set the trend, we own the fashion X)

#question #ask game #folklore #fairy tales #folklore and fairy tales ask game

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themousefromfantasyland · 3 years

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Fairy Tale Laws: How Fairy Tales and their Worldbuilding work

Who follows me knows I'm mega into mythology and folklore. One of my favorite pieces of folklore and fantasy literature is the Fairy Tale. Since I was a child I was always draw to the magical world of Disney films and their darker literary counterparts.

I love fairy tales, yet in my opinion they continue to be one of the more misunderstood and neglected genres out there.

So, as a Disney fan and avid fairy tale reader, in this essay I show how the genre itself generally works and which principles rule their whimsical world

Fairy Tales, Myths and Fables

The thing that fairy tales, myths and fables have in common is that they all find their origins in the oral tradition.

They were fantastical tales, not told specifically for children but deeply enjoyed by them, that were transmitted through generations.

Both fairy tales and myths don't follow real world logic, instead following their own dream-like logic, in a sequence of weird and fantastical events, that are magical and intriguing to the listener, but essentially normal to the in-universe characters.

Often than not there aren't any explanations of why these events happen and their impact of those in-universe societies, they just happen. Animals talk, mythical creatures live along with human societies just fine, inanimated objects come to life, people seem to turn into animals all the time, etc, and nothing of that seem to ever change the status quo.

The thing that differentiate the fairy tale from the myth, is that the myth is supposed to have happened in our world, but in a far off past. They are supposed to explain how our world came to be, and they have a very strong religious importance. The fairy tale on the other hand is not supposed to be took seriously. It's a fun story that the older generation tell to the younger generation. It can pass deeply important life or religious values, but that's not their main point. They are fairy tales, not fables.

The point of the fable is to transmit a moral. The point of a fairy tale is to transport the listener into a fantastical journey.

Fairy Tales vs. Oral Stories

Although many folk stories became immortal fairy tales, not all fairy tales came from oral tradition. Actually, some can be traced back to specific authors.

The Little Mermaid, the Ugly Duckling and the Steadfast Tin Soldier are all considered immortal fairy tales, yet they were all created by famous danish writer Hans Christian Andersen. A lot of his stories are authoral, and all are considered true fairy tales.

The term "Fairy Tales" actually comes from the french "conte de fées" and was coined in the 17th century by Marie-Catherine Le Jumel de Barneville, Baroness d'Aulnoy, the Madame d'Aulnoy, a french writer who wrote about a world where love and happiness came to heroines after overcoming great obstacles.

These stories arise from the Préciosité, a French literary style in the 17th century, from "les précieuses", intellectual, witty and educated women who frequented the salon of Catherine de Vivonne, marquise de Rambouillet. Themes presented in these stories are the ideals of feminine elegance, etiquette and courtly Platonic love, all hugely popular with female audiences, but scorned by men.

Telling fairy tales was a popular préciosité parlor game, and they should be told as if spontaneously, even though they all were carefully prepared. This style served as influence for Charles Perrault and Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve.

Villeneuve herself was the original author of Beauty and the Beast, and although the story is heavily inspired by older legends like Cupid and Psyche, it still is an authoral story.

Even the Brothers Grimm and Charles Perrault, who were famous for being collectors of tales from oral tradition, gave their own twists and embellishments to their tales. For example, in many Cinderella tellings it's her mother's ghost who helps her. The Fairy Godmother is Perrault's invention.

So more than been just stories from the oral tradition, fairy tales as a literary genre are the reinvention of the old tropes found in the folk stories under a more sophisticated polish, for a new public.

Fairy Tale as a literary genre

In a way I consider the Fairy Tale a sibling genre to Magical Realism. As TV Tropes puts:

"In Magic Realism, events just happen, as in dreams. [...] Magical realism is a story that takes place in a realistic setting that is recognizable as the historical past or present. It overlaps with Mundane Fantastic. It has a connection to surrealism, dream logic, and poetry."

Both use a surreal, almost poetic internal logic with little to no explanation. Magical Realism is the occurrence of a fantastical event in a realistic setting, in a fusion between the mundane and the magical world.

Fairy Tales are similar because they often deal with very domestic topics and subjects. The protagonists often are normal people with very mundane goals. They don't want to save the world, they want to save themselves and their loved ones.

Cinderella and Snow White for example, are more concerned with escaping from their abusive families than being cultural or legendary heroes like in the myths. Hansel and Gretel are trying not to die from starvation, and Red Riding Hood is trying to visit her sick grandmother. Regardless of class status, these are people with their own problems that find in the fantastical events a escape from them, or a even worse danger.

This is not a universal rule, as some characters are more heroic and there's more in stake, but generally the heroes are domestic heroes and it's only their lives that are in stake.

The difference between the Magic Realism and the Fairy Tale, is that while in the Magic Realism you can easily point where the realistic setting ends and the magical one begins, the fairy tale goes even further, and the lines between the worlds are way more muddled.

Worldbuilding in Fairy Tales

Now, that's the most important part. Fairy Tales are a sub-genre to Fantasy, but while in the other genres the magic world is described in the minimal details, often with rich details about the in-universe cultures and their rules, the Fairy Tale maintain the magic world as vague as possible. That's because it uses what I call "soft-worldbuilding".

Part of the appeal of the fairy tale is to transport the reader in a fantastical journey, but in order to do that they use as little details possible, allowing the reader to try to fill in the gaps. That's in order to avoid the magic world of feeling too real or too close to reality. The reader needs to have a sense of wonder and intrigue, and if you started to describe your world in all its details, it will become too grounded, and the wonder and the intrigue will be lost.

Said that, you need some basic rules, otherwise everything will be incredibly incoherent. You reader needs to understand how the magic world works and their rules, but they also need to be slightly lost, discovering all the details along the way and be amazed by them, lost in a mystery that they will never find all the answers.

To illustrate this, look at the differences between the Middle-earth and Narnia. One is a standard fantasy world, the other is a fairy tale world. J.R.R. Tolkien drew inspiration from the epics, C.S. Lewis drew inspiration from fairy tales and childhood stories.

The Middle-earth is grounded on its own rules, with their own races, cultures, languages and myths. Narnia is a playground were everything magical is allowed. Greek mythology creatures? Okay. Roman gods? Okay. Father Christmas? Okay. Jesus? Of course!

One is worried about all the small details, the other wants everything as vague and simple as possible, as to ensure the wonder and the intrigue will never be lost the reader.

When you're dealing with a fairy tale world you have way more freedom than the standard fantasy world. You don't need to think too deeply in the details. You can use the Rule of Funny and the Rule of Cool as much as you want, as long as it's minimal consistent and coherent

Fairy Tale Laws

This are some basic rules and principles that I believe rule over the fairy tale genre

Establish rules of how the world works. Keep it consistent and coherent. That's your base

Not every fantastical event needs a deep explanation, and magic is not allowed as an universal explanation

Keep it simple. Don't worry too much about the small details.

You don't want your world to be too grounded in reality. A little escapism is key

Poetic logic and surrealism reigns

Have fun with all the weird and magical things that crowded your world. "Rule of Cool" and "Rule of Funny" reign

Never reveal too much to your reader. They need to constantly feel as if there is something more happening off the limits of your story

Domestic heroes (As Narnia and the old dragon slayer stories show, this is not an universal rule)

The overall tone can be darker and edgier, softer and lighter, or somewhere in the middle

#fairy tales #fantasy literature #writers on tumblr #worldbuilding

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megsironthrone · 3 years

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Meg's Game of Tales: Tale 13

*Familiar Characters are NOT mine! The original tale of "The Snow Queen" was written by Hans Christian Andersen! As the story is actually 7 parts, I took inspiration from one particular part and a little from the Snow Queen episodes of OUAT.*

Warnings: The Snow Queen AU, magic. I think that's it.

Pairings: Jon Snow x fem!reader

Jon stifled a laugh as Arya glared at Theon defiantly. "You're lying! The Snow Queen doesn't take naughty children! Besides, I'm too old for children's stories. There's no such thing." For years, Theon liked to tease the younger Stark children with stories of the Snow Queen to scare them. It was only a story and Theon had changed it. Still, the real story was one of Jon's favorites. He had no idea that everything he thought he knew about the story was going to change.

*time skip*

The wind howled outside and the cold seeped through the stone walls of the holdfast. Even the fire roaring in the fireplace could only shut out the chill so much. It was the worst winter storm in years. "The Snow Queen is certainly angered tonight," Jon thought to himself then laughed, "It's a story, Jon. Nothing more."

He stopped at the mirror to check his face for injuries. Robb had gotten a bit aggressive during training as he was irritated at the prospect of having to remain indoors. When Jon gazed in the mirror, his brow furrowed. The mirror was cloudy. He used the sleeve of his tunic to wipe down the glass, jumping when he saw the reflection of a woman in the mirror. Jon whipped his head around to see an empty room behind. When he turned back, the reflection was gone.

As the dark-haired young man leaned closer to the mirror, he felt a chill run up his spine. Not the chill of a man suffering in the cold, but the chill of man who was frightened of something that had not even occurred yet. Cracks began to form in the mirror and an almost ethereal voice spoke. "You will see. You will be shown the true nature of people. You will see how they truly are and how they truly fell. And then you shall come to me. You shall rule by my side forever."

The mirror suddenly shattered, sending shards of glass flying at Jon's face. Jon closed his eyes, prepared to feel the stinging cuts, but none came. When he opened his eyes, the mirror was back to normal. There were no cracks to be seen and even the cloudiness was gone. Jon was confused, but shrugged it off after a moment. He went to bed feeling as though someone was watching him.

The next morning, Jon made his way down to breakfast with his family and stopped short. When he gazed upon the faces of everyone but the youngest Starks, he recoiled in disgust. They were themselves, but their eyes were almost demonic, dark and menacing. Their mouths were twisted in feral grins, showing razor sharp teeth. The sight was horrifying. But that wasn't the worst of it.

With their mouths, the family wished him a good morning, but that wasn't all Jon heard. It was if they were speaking in his head. He could feel hatred and malice pouring from them, weighing him down until he could bear it no more. Without even attempting to eat, Jon fled back to his chambers. Every person he passed shared the same terrifying face and same oozing hatred. It was too much. As soon as he was safely in his chambers, Jon slammed the door and barred it. No one was getting to him until he was prepared to leave.

In the back of his mind, Jon remembered the eerie voice from the night before, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He had to leave. Suddenly, as if summoned, the voice spoke again. "I know, young Snow. It hurts. People often hide themselves, but they cannot hide from me. I can help you. I would accept you no matter what." Jon glance over at the mirror to find the same woman staring back at him.

"Y-You're the Snow Queen. The stories said you could use mirrors." The woman chuckled lightly. "I suppose you could call me that, though I prefer Y/N. As I said, come to me, Jon and I will be there for you. Forever." Jon's brows furrowed. "Why?" You let out a sigh and explained that you, although powerful, were lonely. "You aren't afraid of snow or the power it possesses. You could easily be my king, if that is what you wish. You need only follow the brightest star and you will find me. Or remain forever plagued by the demons that pretend to love you."

Now, Jon wasn't a coward by any means, but his visions that morning had shaken him to his very core. Not to mention, his curiosity was piqued. After all why should a powerful being such as you take such an interest in him? He glanced back at your figure in the mirror. You were watching him struggle to make up his mind. After a moment, you sighed. "As I said, the choice is yours. But understand this, I cannot always control what the snow does. It is ruled by my emotions. The longer I wait for your answer, the worse the storm becomes." Before Jon could reply, you disappeared.

True to your word, the storm outside kicked up, harsh winds accompanying the bitter cold as more and more snow began to fall. If it continued too long, Jon wouldn't even be able to leave the castle if he wanted to. Still, he couldn't just up and leave. Could he? Would it even be worth it? He could die before he even walked ten miles. As if in answer to his worries, a particular hard wind blew nearly breaking the glass of his window.

"Alright. I get it. Hurry up," he muttered to himself. It really shouldn't have been such a difficult decision. He should stay with his family. Jon knew that. But at the same time, he couldn't live with seeing them like that every day for the rest of his life. And you were offering him the chance of adventure. Of being something greater than what he was. With that in mind, he glance back at the glass.

"Are you there?" Your vision appeared once more and you smiled, as if you had been just sitting around waiting. "I will find you." Your smile grew and the storm outside began to quiet down. "Then follow the star until you find my castle. It looks to be made of ice. I will look after you on your journey." Once more, Jon was left alone with his thoughts.

The young man quickly threw some things in to a pack, grabbed his sword and snuck out of the castle. The journey was long and hard as he navigated his way through the snow and ice, passed all manner of creatures and more demon-looking people. But even as he trekked through the nasty weather, Jon didn't feel cold or frightened. He knew he should be. After all, snow was beautiful, but deadly. That was its nature. Perhaps he didn't feel afraid because you were watching over him as you said you would.

Jon lost count of how many days he traveled before he finally came upon your castle. It was just as you'd said. White and shining, like ice. It wasn't until he climbing the steps that Jon felt anything even close to fear. Still he kept on. He was too close to turn back now. When he reached the doors, they opened like magic.

Jon wasn't sure how he knew where to go, but he entered the castle and made his way to where he was certain you were. The castle, despite being one of the Snow Queen, felt warm and welcoming. Jon felt at home. So much so that he simply knew just where to go. Sure enough, another set of doors opened to reveal a throne room. You were perched on a throne of what looked like ice or glass and you smiled upon seeing him enter.

He watched as you rose from your seat and made your way down to him. You stopped right in front of him and gazed into his dark eyes. "Why me?" he asked quietly and you chuckled, "Because you believed. No matter what you told others, you always believed I wasn't some story. And now, we shall rule the winter together. Welcome, Jon Snow, my new Snow King."

(a/n: Here you are! Tale 13! We've got 5 more to go!)

#meg's game of tales #game of thrones #fairytale au #the snow queen au #jon snow #jon snow x reader #jon x reader

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psychedellic-phase · 4 years

Text

Fifteen (pt 9)

A/N: it’s reader backstory time! This part also includes season 6 spoilers :) xx

word count: 4.0k

tw: mentions of violence, abuse, cursing, other criminal minds stuff!

masterlist:

The beginning of letter #8 was scribbled out, like you’d written but decided the words weren’t quite right. Spencer tried to look through the black ink lines to see what you wrote, but most of it was smudged from tears.

“This was the night everything changed, Spencer. This was the beginning of the end, but at the time it just felt like the beginning. It was a little over a year ago, sorry for skipping some of the middle. I could’ve written a 5,000 page novel about every little moment I had with you. If I had the time, I would. I’d write about every date night, every bouquet of roses, every case you held my hand through. I thought about writing about a lot more of the ‘happy’ parts, but they would’ve just been fun, little, anecdotes and made my heart hurt more. I decided on only highlighting the important parts, not that the happy parts were unimportant. I think they may be the most important, they’re the only things that kept me going at the end. Those parts gave me hope that maybe one day we’d get back to those people. But we didn’t and those people are long gone. Now all the bad memories outweigh the good ones. I need you to see the ugly parts. I always showed you those, and you still told me they were beautiful in some way.

“Everything is a masterpiece if you look at it in the right way”

So here’s the ugly Spence, any clue how to make this beautiful? How do I make this a ‘masterpiece’? Because I don’t know.

Before I start, I want you to put on some regular clothes and pack up the box and put it in your car. Remember how in the first letter I said you’d need to go somewhere? This is that letter. So get in your crappy car that brought us together and drive to the place where it all started to fall apart: Meridian Hill Park.”

Spencer stopped reading and did as you asked. He took the sweatshirt off and hung it in his closet in a place he’d see it everyday. He didn’t really own any ‘regular clothes’ so he ended up in slacks and a dress shirt, his version of regular. He grabbed the box and the last of the coffee in a to-go mug and got in the car. He slipped the disc from letter 2 in and listened to Stacy’s Mom on a low volume. Between that and the snow, he felt like you were right there with him.

When he got to the park, he sat in his car for a moment and reopened the letter.

“There? Good. The bench we sat at is next to the blue bird bath and under that huge oak tree. Go sit at it.”

Spencer got out of the car, now wearing a heavy wool coat and scarf, and made his way to that spot. After most of your dates you’d go for a stroll around that park and always end up at that exact bench. You’d talk for hours, or sometimes you’d people watch. Either way, that bench became another one of your places. He set the box down on his left, the spot where you usually sat, and kept reading.

“That particular night was in December, during that weird week in between Christmas and New Years when time doesn’t feel real and the world is almost at a stand still. (My favorite week of the year) I had begged you to go to the movies with me. I dragged you to see Frozen.

“Frozen?” You said, crinkling your nose, “Out of all the movies?”

I laughed and told you that I needed to see it because Mia had and already loved it. I think I said something like, “If I’m going to be her cool Aunt we have to see it.”

And you agreed, because you’d do anything for me. You always would. So two thirty-somethings went to see a six o’clock showing of Frozen on a Tuesday. We looked ridiculous; your messenger bag was overflowing with snacks and we were the only people there without a child.

I loved it though, and you did too. When the movie was over we sat in the lobby at a table and I finished my slurpee as you told me about the real story of Frozen.

“It’s loosely based on ‘The Snow Queen’ by Hans Christian Andersen from 1845. They both have a snow Queen, reindeer, trolls, frozen hearts, and snow creatures, but that’s where the similarities end. In the original story there is a horrible magic mirror and,” You finally paused to breathe, “ROBBERS!”

I laughed, “Aren’t all fairytales actually awful? We’ve just disney-ified them for kids?”

You nodded, “Most fairy tales in their original form were gruesome to the extreme. In Cinderella, the step-sisters had their feet mutilated to fit into the shoe.”

I yawned, “That’s why I always stuck to Pixar.”

We laughed and threw away our million candy wrappers. As we were leaving I saw a photo booth, one of those old one’s like I went in with all my high school boyfriends. I pulled you over to it and you grimaced, “It’s a small space CRAWLING with germs Y/N!” you whined to me, “Do you know how many people have been in there?”

I rolled my eyes, “It’ll take thirty seconds and I will sanitize after!”

I tugged your arm in and we both barely fit in the booth. You pulled me onto your lap and four poses later we had two photo strips covered in pictures of you kissing my cheek and us smiling. That’s your momento for this letter.”

Spencer reached in and grabbed the photo strip delicately between his fingers. It was one of those tacky ones that looked like a roll of film and all the pictures were in black and white. The first one was the two of you smiling as wide as you could, the second you stuck your tongue out and Spencer scrunched up his nose, for the third he kissed your cheek, and the last one you turned your head to meet him. His heart softened for a moment, remembering how soft and sweet your kisses were. They were usually delicate, like you were kissing the finest of china. Or they were intense, like you were drowning and he was coming up for air. He felt warm, despite the snow falling all around him.

“This is my copy. We printed two. I don’t know where yours is, I just hope it isn’t in the trash. I know it’s another photograph; you just got one of those from JJ’s wedding. But I love photographs. I have a million of you and I. I always used to shove my phone in your face and you’d block it with your hands. I haven’t been able to bring myself to delete them yet. I just love pictures. They capture moments, the good and the bad. Sometimes the only thing that can get the feelings across is a photo, so here’s four.

I remember sticking them in my purse as we walked out of the theater hand in hand and found ourselves in this park. I love it when the cherry blossom’s bloom, but they weren’t blooming. We found our way to this exact bench that you’re sitting on right now. I think it has the best view of the fountain. You put your arm around me and I snuggled into you. You were trying to talk about work; something about Rossi and Gideon? I didn’t know. I was so tired, I couldn’t even focus. I remember just staring at the dry fountain; they turn it off when the weather gets too cold.

“Don’t you agree?” You said, but I didn’t register it, “Y/N?”

I looked up at you and blinked a few times. I sat up and moved myself off of you, “What? Sorry about that I—“ my own yawn interrupted me, “I’m just really tired.”

You looked at me so concerned. Your pretty, honey brown eyes always could see right through me.

“Tired? But we went to sleep at ten last night, you should’ve had at least seven hours.”

I just shrugged and you raised your eyebrows at me, waiting for me to spill.

“I couldn’t fall asleep the last few nights.”

I avoided your prying gaze that felt red hot on my skin even in the freezing air and played with the locket around my neck, as I usually do when I’m nervous.

“Y/N,” You said and grabbed my two hands to make me look at you. I looked you straight in the eyes.

“Talk to me.”

I sighed, “No.”

“No?” You looked offended, I don’t blame you.

“No,” I said plainly. It looked like I was picking a fight, but I wasn’t. I just wasn’t ready to tell you. It’s so weird, we had spent over two years together by then, and I still couldn’t tell you. I don’t know why. It wasn’t you. You make me feel comfortable and safe. I think talking about it made it more real for me, you know? And I just didn’t want it to be real.

“Is it the nightmares? Are they back again?”

I just nodded. Of course you knew, you always knew.

“Y/N, we’ve been through this. You have to talk about them.”

I groaned and you dropped my hands to run yours through your hair. Frustrated is how you felt in that moment, and I don’t blame you. I was mad at myself too.

“I know! But can’t I just not want to talk about it?”

You stood up and paced in front of me, “You have to talk to someone! Even if it isn’t me.”

“That’s the thing! I don’t trust anyone except you with it!”

You sounded defeated, “Then why don’t you tell me? You haven’t slept, Y/N. You need to take care of yourself. I can’t just sit back and watch you do this to yourself. It’s not healthy.”

That isn’t the last time I heard you say that, but it was the first. That became your favorite phrase at the end. “It’s not healthy,” as if you’re the judge of what’s healthy and not.

My heart ached at the sight of you; purple scarf disheveled and your eye bags a similar color. Your hair was tousled from running your hands through it and you looked like you might cry. I patted the seat next to me so you would sit down and then before I could even think them, the words were tumbling out of my mouth. Every. Damn. Detail.”

He remembered it so clearly, as if it were yesterday. The cold air bit at your skin causing you to shiver and pull your coat tighter. The only warmth either of you felt was what was radiating off the other. It wasn’t much.

“It’s the nightmare, like the nightmare. The same one from Jacksonville. It just won’t go away. I wake up sweaty and disoriented and I can’t breathe.”

Silence came. How hadn't he heard you wake up the last few nights? Why didn’t he notice? He silently scolded himself while watching your feet draw little shapes in the snow. The flakes landed on your hair perfectly and the light made you look like you had a halo. An angel. His angel.

You got yourself together and back tracked, “Do you know what I did before the BAU Spence?”

He thought for a moment and realized he didn’t. He had no idea. It was a strange feeling. He knew the last four or so years of your life so well. He spent two and some change of them with you, together, but he knew little about you before then. He knew about your family and your childhood, but that was it. Your early twenties were a secret.

“No, I don’t,” He croaked, running his hands nervously down his pants, as if they were sweaty, “Rossi just called you one day and the next you were here.”

You sighed and didn’t dare look at him, “I worked with Organized Crime in California. With the Bratva.”

“The russian mafia?” His voice went high, like it always did when he was confused.

“Let me start at the beginning,” You took a deep breath and held it for a moment, “I went to school, got my criminal justice degree, you know the usual stuff. I worked on various other criminal psychology and forensic degrees and certs until I turned twenty-three.”

“So you could join the bureau,” he finished your sentence.

You pursed your lips and nodded, “Yeah, it was my life long dream. So I joined at 23, found myself in organized crimes twenty weeks later. I was on the fast track. Not as fast as you of course,” You smiled and bumped your shoulder with his, earning a warm smile that made you feel more comfortable.

“I worked various cases for a year or two. Low level stuff, you know? Until they actually needed me.”

He was nervous to hear it now, half regretting asking, and half celebrating the fact that you’d share your deepest darkest with him.

“You know like in old movies when the gangster has a pretty girl in a skimpy dress on his lap? And she pretends to know nothing about what he does? Yeah that was me. Turns out I was the right age and type for Alexei. So there I was. Twenty-five. Had no idea what I was doing, going undercover.”

“Like Emily did with Doyle,” he said.

You nodded, “Like Emily and Doyle. That’s part of why we got along so well, we both had similar experiences. She knew what the long haul was like.”

“How long were you under?” Spencer whispered.

“Sixteen months.”

His eyes went wide, “Sixteen?”

“Yup,” you popped the ‘p’.

“That’s a long time.”

“You don’t become a mafia kingpin’s girlfriend overnight, Reid.”

He laughed. You didn’t.

“See you guys do the short stints. A night, maybe a day or so. It’s different. It’s draining. Constantly worrying about knowing the details of my cover while also not losing myself in the process. Sometimes I couldn’t tell where the cover ended and I started. I was paranoid, looking over my shoulder constantly. If they knew who I was, I’d get killed instantly.”

He stiffened next to you, but you carried on.

“And you can’t break character. You have to do whatever they want. I had to be his girlfriend. I had to pretend to love him. You know how tiring that is? Pretending to be in love with a man you’re trying to take down? Pretending to like what he likes? Pretending to want to be a part of the sick shit they did?”

He sighed, “You had to do everything he wanted.”

His heart sank and he suddenly felt angry. He needed to punch this guy in the face.

“Everything,” You practically spit out, venom dripping from the words, “And Alexei’s favorite pastime was killing people who he thought were disloyal. He’d switch it up. Some days he liked to make them suffer, others it was one between the eyes and out. He liked to make me watch. He liked hurting the dancers too. They had a club, they always have a damn club, and those girls were the only friends I had for months. He liked to hurt them too, defile them. ‘Ruin them’ he’d say.”

Spencer’s arm reached around you now. The cold was getting to both of you, but you didn’t budge from the bench. You didn’t curl into him for safety. You just stared at the snow.

“He liked when it hurt. He liked to throw things at me. Bruise me. Pull my hair. God I hated it,” your voice was a mere whisper now. Spencer’s grip around you tightened with every word. He wanted to protect you. He always wanted to protect you.

“Shh, it’s okay,” He mumbled into your hair. A few frozen tears dripped down your cheeks. You sat like that, silently sobbing while remembering what had happened to you. What you’d seen.

“What happened to him?”

You took a shaky breath, “I begged them to let me out. We had enough. I had stacks and stacks of pictures and evidence. But they didn’t let me. My awful handler would always say ‘just a few more days, Y/N, just a few.’ Then that would become another month. The job only needed eight months. I was there double that. Finally, they did the raid. I got kudos and congratulations. A promotion and a couple extra bucks, as if that would take away what I had been through. I wasn’t myself anymore.”

You took a thick swallow, finding it hard to breathe, “So I quit.”

Spencer held you still, not moving a muscle.

“I quit. I gave up my dream. I moved back to Connecticut. I made coffee at Starbucks for $7.25 an hour. I read. I went on trips and vacations. I needed to find myself again. Then one day you guys stumbled into them and Rossi called me since I knew first hand how they worked. That was all I needed. A taste of it again, and I was all in. So a week later I showed up, Rossi raving about my ‘ability to get information out of people.’ I developed the skill to survive, Spence.”

You turned into him now, head on his chest.

“So the nightmares are those memories. The girl’s faces. The young kids who messed up jobs. They’re hurting and I can’t save them. That’s the nightmare.”

You sat in silence, letting the words hang in the air between you. You were tired and spent, leaning your full body weight into him. He was just trying to relax and keep calm. He was pissed, and a little bit was directed at you.

“I’m so sorry Y/N, but thank you for telling me,” His voice was low and raspy, his head spinning. For just over two years he had been your person. Your rock. And he didn’t know this about you? Why couldn’t you tell him? He told you all of his dirty secrets; his dad, the kidnapping, the drugs, and you ‘couldn’t tell him?’ Why?

“That’s why I was so scared when Emily ‘died.’” You used air quotes around the last word, “Her nightmare came true.”

“Yours won’t.”

You sniffled and rubbed your ice cold nose, “I know. You guys keep me safe.”

You looked up at him, falling into his big doe eyes. They were hurt and twisty, but full of love. And you looked at him like he was everything in the world. In that moment, he was.

He treated you differently after that night. He was always kind and gentle, but he approached you with a new sense of care. He didn’t mean for it to happen, it just did. Someone finally understood you, and it felt so good. But one thing always bothered him, why did you wait so long to tell him? He didn’t think he’d ever know.

“I loved you and trusted you enough to lay it all out for you, and you took it all in. You told me you wouldn’t let it change anything, but it did. I thought it changed us for the better. Maybe it didn’t, I’m still not sure. You told me it made me stronger, more resilient. It made you love me more, if that was even possible. It made me human. You told me Ernest Hemingway once said “The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.” You said I was strong at those broken places.

So that’s what this photostrip is to me. It’s the day I officially took all of my walls down and showed you the parts of me that aren’t pretty, and you didn’t run away. You stayed and kissed me on that freezing cold park bench and warmed me up with a hug I never wanted to leave. I thought after that it would take something much greater than you or I to break this apart, like divine intervention. We were impenetrable, but then again, so was the Titanic.

That night I didn’t have any nightmares. I didn’t have a bad one until a few weeks ago. I missed having you next to me during it. You were right, talking about it does help. I’ll find someone out here to talk to, I promise.

That night, all the walls were finally down. I think that was my fatal mistake, if only I kept them up a little while longer.

So look at us, all young and innocent before the world left us jaded and hurt. I miss your cheek kisses and the way your hands feel snaking around my waist. I miss your fact dumps and the way you feel like home. Thank you for taking me at my worst, loving me, and leaving me better than I was when you got there. Just like being under, it’s now hard for me to tell where I end and you begin. So many parts of you became parts of me. I’ll have to work on finding myself again, and this time I won’t do it over grande java-chip frappucinos, I’ll do it over case files. I’m finally done running away.”

Spencer’s throat was dry and his palms were so sweaty the ink was bleeding underneath his fingers. How was he sweating when it was barely ten degrees outside? He put the letter and photo strip back in the box and stuffed it in the passenger seat of his car before walking back into the park.

The fountain was off again, but he remembered what it looked like running. He walked the same paths you had walked with him a million times. He never wanted to walk them alone. He wondered if Seattle had any nice parks like this for you to walk through. He hoped you were close to Pike Place Market so you could order a coffee at the first ever Starbucks. He hoped you were happy.

He remembered the way the park looked in the summertime, all lush, green grass and kid’s playing. He remembered the picnic you went on when the blanket flew away. He remembered kissing you under huge trees and feeding birds. As he walked around, he could almost see it, shadows of the people you used to be.

He walked for maybe an hour before retreating back to his crappy car and crying for a moment. He didn’t turn the music back on as he drove home. He just thought of the way your body racked with tears at the nightmares and how he could always calm you down, almost instantly. He wondered who would see you through the nightmares now? They’re too hard to do alone.

He didn’t remember when he got home, seemingly having driven on auto-pilot the whole time. When he got back inside he dropped the box and made a beeline for where his copy of your photo strip was, on one of his many shelves covered in books. He grabbed the book he had started six months ago. It was a gift from Rossi and he only read half of it, a rarity for him. When he got halfway through, everything happened and he couldn’t bring himself to open the book up anymore. He rifled through the pages of ‘What to Expect When You’re Expecting’ and found the photo strip where it was acting as a bookmark on the page where he had left off. He took it out and slammed the book closed, not wanting to read any of the words, even by accident.

He took the strip over and compared it to yours. His was worn and bent and the shiny photo paper had dulled from the many pages he had stuck it between. Yours was in perfect condition, still shiny and even a little sticky, like it hadn’t been touched. He stared at them, wondering what your life would be now if you could’ve held onto the people in that photo booth. There were so many what-ifs, he didn’t even know where to begin. He knew he couldn’t just leave it at these letters, he needed more. He needed to see you and he fully intended on breaking your ground rules, but not until he was finished. He walked back to the box with newfound vigor, and grabbed #9.

PART 10!

taglist: @l0ve-0f-my-life @aperrywilliams @helloniallslovelies @random-ravings

@ajwantsapancake @andiebeaword @boiled-onionrings @frnks-stuff @icantevenanymore1 @mellifluouswildbluebells @rottenearly @sammypotato67 @blushingwueen @peaxhyjaes @justanotherfangurlz @juniorgman187 @mbowles23-blog @blameitonthenight @goldentournesol

(i think some tags aren’t working so if anyone knows how to fix that pls lmk :)

#spencer reid #spencer x you #spencer #spencer reid fic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut #dr spencer reid #reid #reid x you #reid fic #cm fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fic

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smalltownfae · 3 years

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5, 8, 14 and 26 📖

First of all, thank you for the asks <3

5. What was your relationship with books like as a child?

Maybe way too obsessive. I was one of those kids that was always with a book and I used the library a lot. I also read in the car, which until this day my mom blames my bad eyesight on (that and the tv).I also read at family gatherings, at the dinner table, while watching tv... you get it XD I reread Brothers Grimm and Andersen Fairy tales a lot, but also some bible stories for kids that I absorbed as if it were fairy tales because they were similar XD I was really into fantasy, but also dramatic adventures that involved orphans and/or thieves for some reason. When later in life I read "The Thief Lord" by Cornelia Funke my first thought was that I would have absolutely loved it in 4th grade because it had all the elements I loved then, including the setting - which was Venice and that was my favorite city at the time and I am yet to visit ;-;

8. Do you prefer to read first person or third person?

First person. I know that is uncommon, but I love getting into the mind of a single character and get to know them really well. I also like how unreliable it is because we are just seeing that one perspective and I like to think how other characters would be without that influence. Usually first person narratives are also more character focused while third person is used more often for plot driven stories (from my experience) and we all know I love character building most of all. I also heard people say first person is used more often in YA and I guess that is true and those tend to be plot driven so... I am not sure about that. The YA I like is usually first person and has good enough character building too.

14. What is your favourite children’s book?

You know it's "Howl's Moving Castle" by Diana Wynne Jones XD Unless that doesn't count as children's since I have seen it categorized as YA. If it doesn't count the answer is harder and I have no idea which one is my favorite at the moment.

26. A book you studied in school and ended up loving?

I live in Portugal and the books in our school program that hasn't been updated in decades are, quite frankly, shit. I guess I liked "A Menina do Mar" by Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen well enough. I read that in 3rd grade I think. But even that, I prefer other books by the author like "A Floresta" and "A Fada Oriana". I don't think any have been translated to other languages....

#book asks #asks #books

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eternal-servants-of-old · 3 years

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Blog Update:

“I do not know I ever made this post or not, and forgot, but I want all my followers to know, that I am going to redo my blog. I just mean, that I’ll be making it with a new muse page, getting rid of only one muse, that being little John, my oc, and adding four muses on here as well, that are canon. Along with finally making another muse’s bio as well. If you would like to see the muses going to be added on this blog, then go to keep reading to see the icons and names.“ “Also I am making my deadline to finish everything on October before Halloween. So I can get my butt up and running with writing this stuff in. As well as make it in time for some good old halloween post, and rps. Gotta love them. Okay on to the muses!“

Yan: I just need to make his bio, cause I got some icons for him already. Fun Fact: When I first started out on this blog I used to rp him for a while, but, due to people only using him for shipping I stopped by deleting his bio and old tag as well as his old post. I got burned out with everyone shipping with him, that I never rp’ed the things I would have liked. Examples being his struggles of the man who raised him dying, failing in protecting him, and the fear of being unheard by his current master if he suggest anything to them if it means there safety above all else. You have no idea how much I adore Yan, and I really hate I didn’t set my foot down with how bad the shipping got. So I’m bring him back.

Cu Alter: Okay this one I always wanted to do, because I think his character is interesting, and it saddens me, to me at least, that we don’t have a lot of Cu Rp’ers out there for everyone in the RPC. Not only that I had a fear if I ever picked him up someone’s whos name I will not say, might attack me for it. Well I am going to risk it, and if drama happens because of one person, then know I will make my post with a drama tag, and address anything I might be attacked for or about. And if it gets real bad just no anon for a while. That’s really it. Alter is awesome, and fuck anyone who would attack another person for wanting to rp him.

Andersen (Adult Form): This was another one I was scared to do, because I mean look at him! He’s a hot, grumpy old man, that will shit talk you for free, and my all time favorite fgo character. I know people are going to want to ship with him, but if anyone of y’all read my DGW bio for him he is sex repulsed, and might only be with those who views themselves as monsters. So no smut will ever happen with him. Plus I am going to do what ever I want with him, since he is the best there is. So you will all get more facts I know about him from me. (Please god just make him in game already!)

?????? Archer: Okay I will admit this one is really horrible of me, but I can not say who this is. But will give out hints. Mostly because I have been in the fandom for so long, that if you say you are picking up a certain servant, from a certain place, then you will be asked questioned about if you read about the servant in question is from, and if you say no. Then sorry to say, then you are given hate messages, until you do or leave, due to all the hate. To answer this right now, no I have not yet, but I am planning on reading there tale soon. Mostly because they shocked me on how relatable they are. So much so that they became one of the many archers I like, and thinking about grailing. Not only that but I never really was a hardcore fan of the VC or the roles he did. Heck I didn’t cared enough about the VC all that much. So much so that I didn’t care about the mini drama happening around the VC at the time, which I believe was in the year in 2018? I can not say what it was, but it’s really wild, and funny to me. Because they had to say sorry at a anime concert for one of the character’s they voice to a crowed of people. XD

Maximillian: This man right here .Right here is a OC I made a while back and would like to use him. He is pretty much a gambler who has a odd uncle like vibe to him, and I rp’ed him in private with a friend, and they tell me that, “He is pretty much everyone’s dad even if he is so young.” And really that’s the best I can describe him, and explain why I want to make him a master or staff member.

So that is everyone. This will take a lot of time, and I hope to reach the deadline and promote my blog again. until then. That is what I am doing, and I hope you are patient with me until then.

#dash #mun post #blog update

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fictionadventurer · 3 years

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Top 5 books/songs/moments from last year?

Books (for the sake of variety, I’m limiting it to the top 5 rereads. Mostly rereads that gave me better appreciation of the book.)

1. Northanger Abbey. I’ve always liked this book, but last year’s reread showed me there was more character depth and writing skill in here than I ever imagined.

2. The Hobbit. Reread made me appreciate the characters more (Beorn!!!!), but it especially made me love just how different Middle Earth feels in this book. Far more mysterious and whimsical, with its more fae-like elves and unexplained bear shapeshifters and such.

3. The King of Attolia/A Conspiracy of Kings. These were great on first read. On second read, I was finally able to understand them well enough to see just how brilliant they are.

4. Valiant by Sarah McGuire. I’ve always considered this one of my favorite fairy tale retellings. When I started reading it, I wondered why. Those first few chapters are so dull. But once the giants came on the scene, the rest of the story was gripping and it cemented its position on the favorites list.

5. Rapunzel Let Down by Regina Doman. I appreciated this book on first read, but found lots of things implausible. But on reread, I was able to appreciate just how brilliant a lot of the story is. (That scene where he’s in a moonlit cell, unaware of the danger she’s in, but desperately praying for her he knows not why--literary genius). If only it ended before the final act. That last section makes the villains far too over-the-top.

Bonus: Matched by Ally Condie. Reread made me more aware of the weaknesses of the story and central romance. But I was impressed with the eerily plausible worldbuilding.

Songs

1. “Hard to Forget” by Sam Hunt. It’s got a very weird sound, but for some reason, I found it irresistibly catchy.

2. “Starting Over” by Chris Stapleton. Not a favorite, just a song that’s always on that’s good enough to listen to when it’s on.

3. “Gloom, Despair, and Agony on Me”. Only the first two lines. My dad remembered it from Hee Haw and I heard him sing it when the shutdowns first started happening. It became a private joke and I sang it a lot throughout the year, for obvious reasons.

4. “The Dance” by Garth Brooks. I became aware of just how perfect this song is for one set of my characters, and I listened to it a lot when I felt like angsting over them.

5. “The Little Drummer Boy” by Carrie Underwood and Isaiah Fisher. This has always been one of my least favorite carols. Turns out that all it needed was an adorable little boy to lisp his way through half of it (Pa WUM pa pum pum). After that, I wound up finding several versions of the carol I could tolerate.

Moments

1. A drive-through confession experience in the brightest, sunshiniest May day. Afterward, I just sat in my car looking at the ridiculously gorgeous day and feeling at peace.

2. Sitting in my car by a little chapel, reading out of my new book of Andersen fairy tales before going into the chapel to pray. So peaceful and relaxing.

3. New Year’s Eve. Helping my sister clear the snow off a frozen swamp so we could skate on it. Bright sunshine, no wind, wonderfully warm. I skated for hours.

4. My nephew reacting to his new jack-in-the-box. He was so excited! I never quite understood the point of that toy until I saw that and someone pointed out it’s just peekaboo-in-a-box, and since that’s the best game ever to my nephew, it's the perfect toy!

5. Getting to eat the best omelet ever in a little cafe. I hope that restaurant is open again, because I have been craving that specific omelet for weeks.

#thanks for the ask!#ask games #answered asks #thebirdandhersong

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the-golden-ghost · 3 years

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I saw this earlier and then deadass forgot to do it until right now but

catch-up meme ⭐

tagged by: the esteemed @dying-suffering-french-stalkers

last song: I actually don’t remember and have no way to look it up

last movie: It was 30,000 Leagues Under the Sea, which is a modern-day adaptation of the book 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea by Jules Verne. I use the term “adaptation” very loosely and I also use the term “movie” very loosely. It was really neither, more like a steaming pile of hot garbage. The one good thing I can say about it is that it ended eventually

currently reading:

The Complete Works of Hans Christian Andersen: I re-read this like every year, I’m a big fan of old Danish fairy tales and am also a huge nerd

The Fur Country - Jules Verne: It’s about some people trying to pass the 70th parallel north in Canada. It’s... okay, not outstanding so far, there’s a large group so it doesn’t have quite the found family dynamics that I tend to associate with Verne, and the trials are more irl but so far the stakes haven’t gotten that high (I’m about midway through) The one thing that’s interesting is I think it’s the first book I read by him that has a female protagonist and she’s awesome. A scientist in her own right, capable and respected among her peers for her work in naturalism. I get that she’s a bit standard and kind of a genderbend of characters like Pierre Aronnax, but when you consider I don’t think I’ve EVER read a book from this era that featured a woman scientist I think it’s neat.

The Red Fairy Book - Andrew Lang: A Blast From the Past. The OG Jack and the Beanstalk? It’s in this one baybeee

Voyage of the Dawn Treader - C.S. Lewis: One of my 3 favorite Sailing Adventure Books from childhood and also one of the more fucked up installments of the Narnia series. This one features a whole realm where nightmares come to life and kill you.

Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen: I always wanted to read this cause it’s a Classic but I’m actually super bored with it, unfortunately. The hype is lost on me.

Origin - Dan Brown: I actually liked the Da Vinci Code and Angels and Demons, and Inferno was on Thin Fucking Ice but I didn’t hate it, but this one so far just kinda sucks. It’s BORING. It’s just been Professor Langdon walking around a museum for 100 pages while they hype up this “world changing announcement!!!11!” that’s gonna destroy religion or some shit. I wish they’d get to the goddamn point

Time and Chance - Sharon Kay Penman: If you liked the Lion in Winter then... this is what came BEFORE all that. It’s about the Thomas Becket fiasco and boy is it something else. Actually it genuinely isn’t bad, I like Penman’s historical fiction.

currently watching: I guess “watching” is an overstatement because I’ve basically been procrastinating and going “Oh I intend to watch that” about a million different installments in the Lupin franchise and then I go and don’t. I finished the Part II dub, that’s where I’m at. Everything else I’m like “I’m gonna watch it!” *doesn’t watch it*

currently craving: Peach rings kinda. I mean I have some with me for once so I could indulge at any time

tagging: YOU

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kkintle · 3 years

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Fairy Tales by Hans Christian Andersen; Quotes

The heart is on the left side also in emperors.

And as he sat, it occurred to him that maybe the fairy tale had gone into hiding, like the princesses in the old folk tales, and now had to be sought out. If she were found, she would shine with a new splendor, more beautiful than ever before. “Who knows? Maybe she lies hidden (…)

Tragedy was bottled in champagne bottles that start out with a bang, as tragedy should

“He’s sure like a human being, that pixie!” said the old cat. “Just one sweet miaow from the mistress, a miaow about himself, and he immediately changes his mind. She is clever, Madame.” But she wasn’t clever. It was the pixie who was human. If you can’t understand this story, ask about it, but don’t ask the pixie or the Madame.

An actor once told me that when he played a lover he thought about just one person in the audience. He played to her and forgot the rest of the spectators.

“I could have said that better,” thought the critic, but he didn’t say it out loud, and that was already really something.

You can’t learn imagination.” “But what shall I do to make my living by writing?” “Oh, you can manage that by Shrove Tuesday! Become a critic! Knock down the poets. Knock down their writings—that’s just like knocking them. Just don’t be over-awed. Hit at them without ceremony. You’ll get enough dough to support both yourself and a wife!” “You’ve hit upon the very thing!” said the young man, and he knocked down all the poets because he couldn’t become one himself.

When the clock struck five the five senses were there. Sight came as a maker of eye glasses. Hearing was a coppersmith. Smell was selling violets and woodruff. Taste was a cook, and Feeling was a funeral director with mourning crepe hanging down to his heels.

People who are dead can’t walk again, we know that very well, but works of art can haunt. The body was broken, but not the spirit. The spirit of art was spooking, and that was no spoofing matter.

I have something of the poet in me, but not enough. Often when I’m walking the city streets, it seems to me like I’m in a big library. The houses are bookcases and each story a shelf with books. There stands an everyday story. There a good old fashioned comedy. There are scientific works about all kinds of subjects. Here smut and good literature. I can fantasize and philosophize about all that literature.

There’s something of the poet in me, but not enough. Many people have just as much of it as I have and yet don’t carry a sign or a collar with poet written on it. They and I have been given a gift from God, a blessing big enough for oneself, but much too small to be parceled out to others. It comes like a sunbeam and fills your soul and mind. It comes like a waft of flowers, like a melody you know but can’t remember from where.

“People are like milk that curdles. Some become fine cottage cheese and others thin, watered whey. Some people are lucky in everything, always given the place of honor, and never knowing sorrow or want.”

Everyone has his burdens to bear. We’re not alone in it, and there’s a comfort in that.

There was an open casket standing in the middle of the church floor with a dead man in it, soon to be buried. Since he had a clear conscience, Johannes wasn’t afraid at all, and he knew that the dead hurt no one; it’s evil living people who cause harm.

She looked at all the innumerable little stones on the shore; the water had polished them smooth. Glass, iron, stone—everything that was washed up on the beach had been shaped by water, water that was softer still than her white hand. “They roll tirelessly, and so they smooth out the roughness; I’ll be just as tireless! Thank you for your wisdom, you clear rolling waves.

It’s true that the sea is softer than your fine hands and can shape the hard stones, but it doesn’t feel the pain your fingers will feel. It has no heart and doesn’t suffer the dread and terror you must tolerate.

“You can make one up,” said the little boy. “Mother says that everything you look at can become a fairy tale, and that you can get a story from everything you touch.” “But those fairy tales and stories are no good! No, the real ones come by themselves. They knock at my forehead and say, ‘Here I am!’”

Then they did the hardest dance, the one that’s called “stepping out of the dance.”

Here’s my card. I live on the sunny side of the street, and I’m always home when it rains.” And then the shadow went away.

But we can take comfort that the soul is most clever when it’s on its own. The body only dumbs it down.

The air and light were the flower’s lovers, but light was the favorite. It turned to the light, and if that disappeared, it rolled its petals together and slept in the embrace of the air. “It’s light that adorns me,” said the flower. “But the air lets you breathe,” whispered the poet’s voice.

As is the case with anything done thoroughly, the galoshes could only do one thing at a time.

Our greatest sufferings here we don’t impart, You who were alone at last, and often; Know that in life much presses harder on the heart Than all the soil that’s cast upon your coffin.

The little pixie grabbed the wonderful book from the table, put it inside his red cap, and held on to it with both hands. The greatest treasure in the house was saved! Then he ran off, way out onto the roof and up on the chimney, where he sat illuminated by the burning house across the street, and with both hands he held onto his red cap that held the treasure. Now he knew his own heart and knew to whom he really belonged. But when the fire had been extinguished, and he thought about it; well—“I’ll divide myself between them,” he said. “I can’t completely give up the grocer, because of the porridge.” And that was quite human of him! The rest of us go to the grocer too, for the sake of the porridge.

“Come out on the roof, little Rudy,” was one of the first things the cat said, and Rudy understood. “All that about falling is just imagination. You won’t fall if you aren’t afraid of falling. Come on, set one paw like this, and the other like this! Feel your way with your front paws. Use your eyes, and be flexible in your limbs. If there’s a gap, then jump and hold on. That’s what I do.”

When you’re a child and can’t talk yet, you can understand hens and ducks, cats and dogs very well indeed. They are just as easy to understand as father and mother when you are really small. Even grandfather’s cane can whinny and become a horse with a head, legs, and tail. Some children lose this understanding later than others, and people say that those children are slow in developing and are children for an exceedingly long time. People say so many funny things!

(…) but that doesn’t matter because I have gotten this much out of it: things are not distributed quite the way they should be, either for dogs or for people in this world. Not everyone is created to sit on laps or drink milk.

Never think that you will fall, and you’ll manage!”

You have to climb, and you won’t fall down if you believe you won’t.

When you meet someone from your home when you are far away, then you speak to each other like you know each other.

Luck was with him, as it always is for those who believe in themselves and remember that “God gives us the nuts, but he doesn’t crack them open for us.”

Water is so soft and yet so strong. It has a back to bear weight, and a mouth with which to swallow. Gently smiling, softness itself and yet a terror, with shattering strength.

“The world has no more joy to give me.” Words uttered in an abundance of happiness, repeated in a torrent of grief.

“Little Kai is with the Snow Queen and finds everything to his liking. He thinks it’s the best place in the world, but that’s because he has gotten a splinter in his heart and a little chip of glass in his eye. They have to come out first, or he’ll never become human again, and the Snow Queen will keep her power over him.”

He was carrying around some sharp, flat pieces of ice which he positioned in all sorts of ways, trying to make something out of it. It’s like when the rest of us use little wooden pieces and make figures from them. It’s called a tangram. Kai was also making figures and very complicated ones. It was the game of Icy Reason. To his eyes the figures were quite excellent and of the very highest importance. That was because of the bit of glass in his eye!

Then Kai burst into tears. He cried so that the splinter of glass washed out of his eye. He recognized her and cried joy fully, “Gerda! sweet little Gerda! Where have you been so long? And where have I been?” He looked around. “How cold it is here! How big and empty it is!” and he held Gerda tight.

A tail wind for one is head wind for another.

“Cattle die, kinsmen die, one day you die yourself; I know one thing that never dies— the dead man’s reputation.”

In those days the saying was: “The herds know when it’s time to go home and give up grazing, but a foolish man will always forget the size of his stomach.”

They knew that, all right, but do as I say, not as I do! They also knew that “love turns to loathing if you sit too long on someone else’s bench,” but still they stayed. Meat and mead are good things!

“I don’t quite understand it,” said stork mother, “but that’s not my fault. It’s the idea’s fault. But it doesn’t make any difference because I have other things to think about.”

Then they repeated this and wrote it up as a prescription : “Love brings forth life,” but how the whole thing was going to be worked out, they didn’t know.

They say that raindrops hollow out the hard rock. Over time the waves of the sea polish the angular stones until they’re round. The dew of grace that fell over little Helga hollowed out the hardness and rounded the sharpness. But she didn’t recognize that, didn’t know it herself. Does the seed in the earth, when it’s dampened by life-giving moisture and the warm rays of the sun, know that it hides growth and a flower within itself?

“Everyone flies in his own way,” said stork father. “The swans diagonally, the cranes triangularly and the plovers in curves like a snake.”

Better to have something in your tummy when you’re alive than be made a fuss of when you’re dead!

People don’t always go straight to hell, but they can get there the long way around, if they have talent.

Tears of sorrow that a mother cries for her child always reach the child, but they don’t set it free—they only burn and make the torment greater.

“The Portuguese is a gifted speaker,” they said. “We don’t use such great big words, though our sympathy for you is as great. But if we don’t do anything for you, we’ll be quiet about it. We find that the noblest.”

It’s so cold here that the clouds freeze to pieces and fall down in little white patches.” It was snow she meant, but she couldn’t explain it any better.

Oh, to grow, to grow, to become big and old! That’s the only beauty in this world, thought the tree.

“Enjoy your youth!” said the sunbeams. “Enjoy your fresh growth, and the young life that’s in you!” And the wind kissed the tree, and the dew cried tears over it, but the spruce tree didn’t understand.

“Take pleasure in us,” said the air and the sunshine. “Be happy in your fresh youth out in the open air!” But the tree wasn’t happy at all. It grew and grew. Both winter and summer it was green. Dark green it stood there, and people who saw it said, “that’s a lovely tree,” and at Christmas it was cut first. The ax cut deeply through the pith, and the tree fell with a sigh to the earth. It felt a pain and a powerless-ness, and couldn’t think of any joy. It felt saddened to be parted from its home, from the spot where it had grown up. It knew, of course, that it would never again see its dear companions, the small bushes and flowers all around, maybe not even the birds. The departure was not at all pleasant.

“How lovely the world is!” said the caterpillar. “The sun is so warm! Everything is so pleasant. And when I shall one day fall asleep and die, as it’s called, I’ll wake up and be a butterfly!”

“I’ve let myself be taken by surprise,” he said, “so I’d better surprise them too.” And he did. He was gone. Gone all day, gone all night (…)

“The world isn’t so bad after all,” said the dung beetle. “You just have to know how to take it.”

Here he could live, but “living is not enough,” he said. “You must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower!”

The flower understood it in his fashion, as we understand things in ours.

“How terribly alone he must have been,” she said. “Terribly alone,” said the tin soldier, “but it’s lovely not being forgotten!”

No, rather with friendly handshakes, and they get bread and pastries from each other because foreign food tastes best.

Harsh words bear harsh fruit. How would this end?

“The less you know, the less you’re burdened,” said Mother Søren.

Embedded in Andersen’s story is a notion that good tales can expose even the storyteller.

#fairy tales #hans christian andersen #fiction #literature #danish literature #quotes

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sharinluna · 5 years

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Love and Producer(MLQC) Lucien Overseas Date Translation

Translation of excerpt from unreleased Lucien date.

This is not a full translation, only some parts.

The translation is based on KR version text. I am not a professional translator and get things wrong. So do not regard this as the actual canon.

I used Yōurán as the name of MC because that is the unofficial default MC’s name in CN version.

I think this date happened before chapter 13, so it can help you understand him better in chapter 13.

Overseas Date

Lucien’s business trips were usually short terms, but this time it seemed that he had to be away for a long time.

Yōurán: Are you going far away this time?

Lucien: Not that far. I am going to the country of The Little Mermaid, one of your favorite fairy tales. But I won’t be home for quite some time. So, could you look after the plants in my home while I’m away?

Yōurán: Do you really think you could entrust them to me?

Lucien: Don't worry. I've left instructions on the flower pot. If you think it's too hard, you can always call me, whether it's about the plants... or you.

He patted my head softly as if he was trying to encourage me.

Lucien: By the time I return, the marguerite daisies will be blooming. When that time comes, we can sit together on the terrace and look at flowers, drink tea, and eat your favorite desert. How about that?

Yōurán: I'd love it. You have to let me know right away when you come back.

Lucien: I promise.

The smiles in his eyes seemed to go deeper. He took my hand and placed the key to his house.

Lucien: Take good care of them while I’m gone.

I held on tight to the key which still held his warmth, and nodded.

Yōurán: I’ll look after them. You take care of yourself too.

Lucien: I will. You take care as well.

I hugged him as a goodbye. He also hugged me in a warm, powerful embrace.

Half a month passed. Every day I got up 30 minutes earlier than my usual time to water Lucien's plants. The marguerite daisies he mentioned were in full bloom, but I could only share the delight with him through a small cellphone screen.

I was working on a project with YBC to run a TV show about Hans Christian Andersen. I decided that I have to go to Denmark for the local shooting. To ensure the quality of the shooting, but there was also a personal reason that I alone knew. I wanted to see him.

After 13 hours of long flight, I arrived in the city that Lucien was staying. After I got off the plane, a cool wind brushed my face. I could tell that the latitude was higher up here. (She’s remarking that Denmark is colder than Loveland city.)

I took out my only jacket that I packed and put it on. After I unpacked my luggage in the hotel I moved straight to shooting. It was important to meet him, but I had to finish my work first. My week here was filled with day after day of busy shooting.

Lucien: Have you been busy lately? You don’t send me pictures of the plants as often.

Yōurán: Yes, a little. But I’m looking after them as best as I can, so don’t worry!

Before I left, I installed a device that would water the plants automatically. Lucien cared a lot about his plants so I must take every measures I can.

Lucien: It’s not the plants I’m worried about. I’m worried about you.

Yōurán: Me? You have nothing to worry about me. I’m perfectly fine and healthy!

Even though I said so, I was feeling dizzy. It seemed like I had a cold.

Lucien: Are you going to keep lying to me? Hmm?

Lucien’s voice was still soft, but I could feel irresistible pressure. I panicked. I thought he saw through my perfect cover.

Yōurán: Why, Why would I lie to you…..

He sighed after listening to my nervous denial. Then in a tone more gentle and more worried, he said.

Lucien: Did you think I wouldn’t know, with how your voice sounds? You tell me every day to look after myself but you don’t keep your own words. What would I learn from this?

Yōurán: No, I took some pills, and I’m fine now!

I sighed in relief when he didn’t seem to realize that I was here. I discreetly changed the subject.

Yōurán: By the way, where is the hydrangea garden that you told me about?

Lucien: They are near my office.

Yōurán: Can you tell me the exact address? I, I was just curious…

Lucien was silent for a moment before answering like he was interested.

Lucien: You really want to know? Are you…

Yōurán: Er… My friend! She wants to go there!

After I gave a sloppy excuse, he sent me the address without questioning me further.

Lucien: If your friend is planning to go there today, maybe we could cross paths.

Yōurán: Oh, are you also going there?

Lucien: Yes. I have someone very important to meet. We’ll talk later. Get some rest. Good night.

After he hung up, I still held on to the receiver. I felt really warm, but I wondered who was his “very important person.”

After I was done with my work, I went to the garden that he told me. Under the sun I could see blue and purple flowers delicately embroidered on a broad grassy field. The scene was identical to the pictures Lucien sent me a few days ago. It was like seeing the flowers with his eyes.

A sudden unexpected rain came and blurred my visions, but I could clearly see the person with his back turned towards me not far away. It was Lucien. Without wasting my time to open my umbrella, I ran to him.

He started to look around when he heard footsteps, but I had already attached myself firmly to his back. Even without seeing, he knew it was me and stroked my hand gently with his fingers. I felt familiar warmth and familiar scent and I could hear his actual voice – not a slightly different sounding voice via phone – the voice that I have missed day and night.

Lucien: The “very important person” that I talked about. It was you.

He wanted to turn around, but I held onto him tighter because I didn’t want him to see my face. I cried softy as I leaned on his broad, warm back. I planned on giving him a ‘coincidental meeting’ with the happiest smile, but tears kept flowing endlessly against my will.

He took my hand to his lips and blew warm breaths, thawing the coldness.

Lucien: Your hands are freezing. Let’s go to my place before your cold gets any worse.

I stayed where I was and shook my head. He didn’t push the matter further and indulged my unreasonable whims, like he always did.

Lucien: I want to hug my little fool too. Please let me look at you. Will it be okay if I do that?

With a sob I slowly let go of him. He pulled me in his arms and covered me with his coat.

Lucien: Next time, don’t use your ‘friend’ as a pretext. If you want to see me, you can say so to me directly.

Yōurán: Okay…

After feeling relieved I felt sudden dizziness, when I came to Lucien was holding onto me tightly. He looked at me with worry in his eyes, and his mouth kept moving. I didn’t hear what he was saying, but I vaguely remembered leaving the hydrangea garden and returning to his place.

When I woke up, the light of dawn was shining through the curtains.

Lucien: Your fever is starting to go down. Thank god. You must be thirsty. Should I get you a glass of water?

I was really thirsty. But I needed him more than I needed a glass of water.

Yōurán: Don't go... Stay by my side... please?

There were so many things I wanted to say, but I couldn't. I wanted to know whether he was doing okay on his own, why he didn't come back to me even after the marguerite daisies bloomed.... I used my feeble strength to hold onto his arm.

He sat by my bedside. He seemed to want to say something, but didn't. When I was about to ask him about that, his hands covered my eyes.

Yōurán: Lucien?

Lucien: Good girl. You need to rest. I promise you that I won't leave your side. You came all this way to see me and you worry that I'll be gone again. Is it because I didn't keep my promise?

I couldn't see his face but I could tell that he was feeling guilty.

Yōurán: I wasn't chastising you, I was just...

My words mumbled into a sob.

Lucien: You have every right and reason to blame me. I am with you now, so don't bear all the pain on your own.

I cried harder as I listened to his words. My voice didn't come out like something was blocking my throat, so I could only shake my head fervently to deny his words.

I wasn't angry that he didn't keep his promise that he'd be back by the time the flowers bloomed. I just wanted to know if he was okay. He kept sending me texts and pictures while he was away, but those little fragments were not enough.

He wiped away my tears, but they kept on flowing as if they forgot how to stop. He seemed at a loss to know what to do, then he leaned in and kissed my tear-stained eyes.

Lucien: Get some sleep and when you get better, I want to visit those places that I sent photos to you.

The hydrangea garden was the same place as yesterday, but it felt like the garden held a new meaning purely from the fact that he was here with me.

Yōurán: Did you go see the little mermaid statue while you were here?

Lucien: No, I did not.

Yōurán: I went there during the shooting, and I felt that the mermaid has a stronger personality than I originally thought.

Lucien: Did something happen there?

Yōurán: No, I just thought that she reacted courageously to the circumstances in the end.

When it came to love, she wasn’t submissive nor yielding. She didn’t surrender and maintained her will and belief even in front of the person she loved.

As if trying to live up to the sad tale, a sudden rain shower poured down upon us.

Although he brought his umbrella, Lucien took off his coat and covered me with it carefully. I held onto his shirt and buried my face on his chest without a thought. I could hear his heart beating faster and faster, like it was trying to get away from something.

When I raised my head up slightly I could see his firmly closed pale lips. His arms held me tighter.

Yōurán: Lucien, are you alright?

Lucien: It’s nothing. Don’t worry about me. I didn’t catch your cold.

He pulled me into his arms as if he didn’t want me to see him in pain. I pushed away from him and touched his sweating hair and pale face.

Yōurán: It’s not nothing! You told me I can tell you everything, but you always hide everything inside your heart! Like now. I don’t even know why you are suffering…

He forced a smile as he watched me pour my heart out. But his smile was much sadder than crying.

Lucien: Is that what you’ve been thinking all along? If that is what makes you anxious, then I promise you, that I will never hide anything from you. All sides of me, even my weakest moments. Could you… accept me like this?

I stood up on my heels to look into his unstable eyes properly and nodded firmly.

Yōurán: Yes, I will! What I like is the entire complete “Lucien.” It doesn’t matter what sides you have.

Saying that, I hugged him strongly. He put his subtly trembling hands around my body and held me tight like he was trying to imprint me into his chest.

He couldn’t yet understand the mermaid’s selfless, brave, devoted love.

(I said selfless, but it more closely means ‘disregarding herself over others’)

But it came to him that he could understand the little mermaid’s last choice.

As long as she wants to embrace all of him gently and warmly, what would it matter if he were to bear the pain that’s added solely from her.

#love and producer #mlqc #mlqc lucien #mlqc translation

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