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victoria-werke-0000 · 1 year

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Mopedrally, Uddevalla, 1958 by Mats Peterson Via Flickr: Mopeder från vänster till höger: Victoria Vicky III, King nr 53 L, Puch MS 50 L, King nr 42 L, Fram nr 42, Fram nr 42 L, Rex Rexoped, Svalan Svalette 5 K, Crescent 2000, ???. This image is in a non‐sRGB (Adobe RGB) color space. You will need software that supports color management in order to see the correct colors. The Flickr and Firefox Android apps are two examples of software that currently don’t support color management. The Chrome Android app supports it, although it seems to force conversion to sRGB. Från digitaltmuseum.se/011014315430/mopedrally-uddevalla-den-1...

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caxde · 1 year

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roses and dandelions | steve harrington x reader

summary you're Hopper's daughter as soon as you could you moved fram from Hawkins, some years later you come back to teach at the High School, and you find Steve Harrington has become the new History teacher.

word count: 5.4k

warnings fem!reader, fluff (like a lot of it), comfort, mutual pining, yearning etc, slowburn bestfriends to lovers, idiots in love!!!. teacher!steve AU!!!!, english is not my first language so I apologise if there’s some mistakes, not proof read!!

Steve loved his job.

And for once he was actually proud of what he was doing, and what he had become. He had managed to get into collage, and worked his way through it, managing to get the top marks in his degree, turns out that if he was actually passionate in what was thought, he had no problem in keeping attention. He would be lying to himself if he didn’t acknowledge that his end goal was not where he was, but it turns out he was content with it. A quiet life, back in Hawkins, in a house of his own, teaching History to high schoolers. They weren’t the little nuggets that he had aimed for, but regardless, he enjoyed the occasional connection with an abnormally curious mind.

He liked it. The quiet, the normalness, the stillness almost.

It also made him giggle, being called Mr.Harrington. It seems like the walls of the Hawkins’ High School had seen the evolution, from posh-boy Stevie, King-Steve, loverboy-Steve, nice-Steve to finally years later, Mr.Harrington. He remembers writing it on his first day on the chalkboard and not being able to stop smiling to himself. He had made it, it wasn’t inherited, it wasn’t gifted, he had accomplished it himself.

So on days like this, early January, where the coldness seemed to drain the morale, he stuck into that thought.

He taught his classes for today, and was hanging back in his classroom for a bit, grading some work from his senior class. His radio hummed soft music as he concentrated, hand on his chin that played absentmindedly with his short 3 day beard. He was interrupted as he heard a loud thump on the other side of the wall.

Funny enough, you were there.

Surrounded by empty canvases, you were struggling to make the room feel better. You had worked in so many artists' workshops that you had certain habits that were hard to break. You needed a space dedicated in its entirety to paint, and you had spent the last hour organizing it. Half empty bottles were up to the front, the first three always had to be the three primary colours, yellow, blue and red. Followed by white and black. Then came the secondary ones, and the tertiary colours. The paintbrushes that could be saved and weren’t to badly beat layed bristles up in a jar. You only had acrylics and you had made a mental note to ask permission to get some oils next. However, the canvases couldn’t stop hitting the floor every time you tried to reorganize them. So you were exhausted and piled them on the ground by shape. Deciding to reorganize the high tables. You knocked one of the stools into the ground.

A loud thump.

“You okay?” Even if his tone of voice didn’t make it obvious the fact that he had rushed over, seeing his glasses sliding down his nose did. Once you turned around and actually connected the voice to his face a little upside down smile appeared in his lips, while you nodded and looked at the ground. A faint blush appears on your cheeks.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it Harrington.” You scoffed as you bent down again to pick the fallen piece of furniture.

“I didn’t know you were back in town…” He whispered as he came closer to you, standing in front of you, watching you closely as you relocated the stool.

“Well, I got maybe a little too many calls from Principal Higgins, about how they had nobody to come and ‘save the arts’ and bla bla bla… So… yeah.” You tried to explain without getting into too much detail, eyeing the classroom that was in truely a deprovable state. “And I don’t know where to actually put the tables so it makes sense.” He hides a smile as he scratches the back of his neck, looking around.

“I’ll help.” He says as he starts heading into one of the high tables.

“You don’t have to.” You tell him as you grab a sheet of paper and start sketching a quick idea of the distribution, the pencil always rests on your right ear.

“I know. But if you actually give me an excuse to stop grading papers, you would actually be doing me a favour.” He says in a happy tone, as he rests his forearms on top of the table where your paper rested, his eyes looking deep into yours as you concentrated. His face relaxed as he watched you, and if he was being sincere, it didn’t surprise him.

“Okay, if I’m your excuse… Guess you can.” You answered absentmindedly, as your whole focus was on making sure that the little game of tetris made sense on the paper.

As you started moving boxes around, Steve’s head had a million questions that he couldn’t help but ask. He was shocked to see you again, and if you’re honest, you were quite embarrassed to be back here again.

“So what about New York?” He asked cheerfully, and regretted it when he saw how your mouth slightly opened and your eyes flinched at that.

“Well, New York will wait… I hope.” You whisper the final part, but he hears it nonetheless.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-” You had to interrupt him. You could tell he was about to rumble away as he always did when he tried to fix things that remained unfixable.

“It’s alright Harrington. It’s just, that way” You point before getting more in depth, your voice rising above the squeals the tables make. “I’ve worked so hard, y’know? And I finally had, like my own space at a gallery and even if my work wasn't gonna be there, MoMa called back about the job interview and… I don’t know. I’ve still got the place in the gallery but now they won’t actually give me a space until late May…” You rumble away as the table is finally in its right place. “I just thought I had finally made it, I think…”

“You have. You’ve just got to wait now.” He reassures as he starts pushing the next table, his eyes had not left your face while you rumbled away, his full attention laid on you.

“I hate waiting.” You replay as the room finally is in shape. He pulls up the canvases and gives you a questioning look. “Between the cabinet and the wall there.” You point out, eyeing the whole room.

“I remember. You were always so…”

“Careful now.” You tease him as he tries to find a word to end his sentence.

“Impulsive?” You laughed as you crossed your arms, and he gave you a soft smile. You looked at him for once. It had been about five years since you left for New York, and yet he still looked the same. His hair had grown a bit, but it remained as messy as it always did. The glasses and bear were a new addition, one that made you get lost in him for a bit longer than you did before. You smile softly as you remember how many times you told him how good he’d look with a beard and he proves you right.

“Hey!” You scream back at him, as you both giggle and laugh. “You did overthink a lot.” That makes him chuckle as his arms crossed in front of his chest, and your eyes inevitably focus on his upper arms a bit.

“Still do, H '' He says, using the old nickname he once gave you. “You still make people call you that?”

“Miss.H?” You ask him, as you clean your things up, putting them neatly into your backpack so you can head back home. “Yeah, Hopper is way too close to dad.”

“Figured.” He smiles, an upside down smile that makes something deep inside you flutter ever so slightly. “You still in the cabin?”

“Yeah, he left for Cali with Joyce, and I just sorta bought it from him, you know… A big atelier…” He laughed softly with you, his face softening as he fixated on your movements.

“See, you might like being back.” He teases as he fixes his eyeglasses.

“Don’t push it Harrington.”

“Mr.Harrington now.” He finishes, making you both laugh.

January flew by.

And with it, your new routine settled quickly. You woke up with not that much time to spare before having to get the car to get in actual time to your first class. Funny enough, teaching wasn’t as bad as you remembered. Granted, the last time you taught you had spoiled upper-east side kids that thought that making an abstract painting was simply spilling paint into a big canvas, devoid of meaning. It deeply infuriated you.

Thankfully, this time around the kids seemed to actually be interested, and to actually want to learn what you tried to convey.

However, on this February morning, everything was going exactly as it wasn’t supposed to. To make matters worse, your car had given up and was now refusing to turn on. Frustrated and about to give up, you decide to call for help.

You were whispering to yourself, pickuppickuppickup, as the tones of the phone answered you.

“Good morning.” You struggled to hide a groan at his happy tone.

“Help?” You asked as your voice croaked, it being your first word of the day, besides a series of curses dedicated to your car.

“What do you need, H?” Steve's voice sounded worried now, and you scoffed in an attempt to make him relax.

“My stupid car has died. Can you come pick me up? Please? I’ll buy you dinner if you wanna, as a thank you.” You explain yourself as you hit the floor with your heavy boots. He could hear you doing so, just as you could hear him smile.

“Are you bribing me, bub?” He asks. You can feel your face warming up as you register the stupid pet name.

“Only if it is working.” You declare, receiving nothing but silence. “Is it working?”

“On my way.” He says before he hangs up.

Truth be told, you didn’t have to wait that long, but still, you managed to get lost in some sketches as you waited. So, when Steve found you, curled up on your house steps, head focused on whatever you were doodling, he could help but smile at you. Soft, kind and adoring smile. He stopped the car, and opened the door for you, a smirk on his face as you told him good morning stevie.

“You know, you’re the only one allowed to call me that.” He teases as he starts the car back up.

“Course I am.” You tease him back, slapping your thigh as a distraction from your yawning.

“Did you eat?” He asks, his eyes didn’t leave the road often, but he couldn’t help himself. You were on the passenger seat, hair falling in a calculated mess, and you scratching your eye made him melt a bit on the inside. So as soon as you shake your head no, he reaches on the center console, and gives you a little mug. You chuckle at that. “It’s coffee.” He explains. “I’ve got a croissant in my bag, you can have it.” He tells you, as your cheeks warm up, a pinkish tone invading them.

“You take your mugs into school?” You tease him as a way to say thank you. Taking it to your lips, leaning your head back as soon as you drink it.

“Yeah, you know… trying to take the plastic use down.” He explains, as he reaches for the same mug, your hands touching for a second. An electric feeling invading your skin for a moment. You watch him closely as his lips hit the white porcelain, you feel your lips tingle a bit. He looks closely at you as he hits a red light, handing the mug back at you. “Seriously, eat the croissant.” He insists, as you can’t hide your blushing skin anymore, and this time he does notice it, a smile appearing on his face.

“O-kay, but you’ll eat half of it, ‘kay?” You try to reason with him, as he tilts your head at you, a mocking stare. “C’mon, you know I don’t eat that much.” He nodded as his left hand changed the car gear.

“You’ll have to feed me though” He teased as his hands were now occupied, his face concentrated once again, as he closed distance with the school. He thinks you won’t, because if he’s honest, it will make him just as nervous as it will make you, having your hand that close to his lips. Not really sure what was going on, but you were in no rush to find out, you just enjoyed it. So his eyes opened a bit as he heard the cracking of the baked pastry on your hand. His head slightly turned to you as his eyes don’t leave the road. Your heart beating a bit harder as you closed distance, his lips kissing your fingers as he bites down.

When the car stops you share a look. An intimate moment while you too share the improvised breakfast, enjoying the stillness of this moment, the quiet and the sense of familiarity it itself held. You knew as much as he did, that you wished you could just stay there.

Two weeks had passed, and it became a routine.

He’d come and pick you up, he’ll bring two mugs of coffee, and you’d have some sort of quick breakfast for you both to eat on your way. You’d do your classes, he’d do his, and at the end of the day, he’d let you home and wish you a good night with a soft blink.

And with it, came two things.

Feelings that were left in the unknown, and a swarm of students that had seen you come together and started speculating about your relationship. That last part made you smile to yourself every time you overheard them speculate.

“Bethany saw them arriving together” “Trevor said he saw miss.H give mr.Harrington a kiss on the cheek.” “They left together yesterday”.

You told Steve about it as soon as you heard, and he laughed as hard as you did. So you did some pantomimes in front of some students, like a little inside joke. But if he was to be honest with himself, he liked messing with you. He likes spending time with you, and if it served him as an excuse to touch your hand, or let his hand rest on the small of your back more often, he was more than happy to do so. And then again, the same could be said by you. You probably didn’t need to touch his upper arm as often as you did, or tease him as much as you did, but still, you did because you liked his presence.

The last Period of the week came around, senior class. You knew you weren’t supposed to have favourites, but then again, you liked that they actually were curious about the world and asked all the right things.

You had some objects in each table and a simple phrase written on the blackboard. choose one.

They slowly did, as they came in, the usual hello miss.h! was followed by a chorus of what is this? that made you giggle inside. In one of the tables were some postcards, the following one had a collection of letters (with the signature hidden), the other one had some pictures of landscapes, and the final one had a lot of pictures that you had taken.

As all of your students had one in each hand, you placed yourself in the middle, all eyes on you, and a murmuring silence with unparalleled attention.

“Hello” You chirped happily, this might be your favourite assignment to date. “So, I’ll go straight to it, that okay?” You asked as you watched for your students to nod or say something, which they did. “Alright, so. You have different objects in your hands, and I’ll give you a month where you can work in this classroom and at your houses, okay? You’ll need to come up with a painting, sculpture, drawing… I don't care as long as it is original, inspired by what you are holding. I don’t care if the only thing that you produce is as big as a pencil sharpener, or as big as you are. I want you to actually be moved by what you produced, and to register the process. In other words, don’t get too stressed by the ending product, and just enjoy the process. Okay? We’ll work here and I’ll be here for any questions or anything you need, but, if you could actually you know, work? That would be lovely.” You heard your students giggle at that, and you smiled proudly at them, clapping your hands as you finished explaining the assignment. “Okay, let’s put on some music, yeah?” They all cheered happily as they headed for the stereo.

You truly didn’t need to stress with them. You knew what they were about to do, so you went back to the tables and gathered what they hadn’t selected, handling it all with care. And your heart stopped when you reached the letters and found the old post.it that Steve had once wrote. “I know I won’t remember in the morning, but I also know I won’t even shut up about that kiss” Embarrassed with that memory you held it in your hand as some of your students huddled to you.

“Miss.H?” The shortest of the three asked for your attention, and your slightly blushed cheeks looked up rapidly at them.

“Ye- Yes?” You muttered as you composed yourself.

“Will you do the assignment with us, like last time?” She asked again, and you smiled at them, a soft chuckle escaping your lips.

“Do you guys want me to?” You asked, honesty evident in your voice.

“We love seeing your art, Miss.H.” The taller one now spoke.

“Ah, flattery.” You teased, as they giggled at your answer. “That will take you anywhere with me. Sure.”

“Great!” They cheered as they went back to their table, stopping suddenly when the door opened and Steve stood there.

You looked at him, forgetting for a second how good he looked today. That stupid blue shirt hugged his arms a bit too well, and the maroon pants complimented his thighs in a way that made your blood rush a bit too much. He had his 3 day beard again, and he just stood there, reclining his body onto your classroom threshold, asking with his look for a quick conversation. You walked over as you heard the girls chattering amongst themselves.

“What do you need?” You asked, a bit too casually, forgetting that you were actually the teachers and not just some friends in a bar.

“I told you this morning that my class had a test last period.” He sounded a little pissed off. And his eyebrow furrowed, as your hand reached your forehead, an apologetic look on your eyes.

“Shit, I forgot.” You whispered. Steve seemed to forget about it for a second, as he saw the little post-it in your hand. Grabbing your hand in a swift motion and opening it up. Your face was now as red as the new paint you bought.

You could see him reading the note and a smile appeared as he looked you up and down. He did remember writing it, years ago, on the night you left to New York. On the night he had been brave and told you everything he meant to tell you before. He had forgotten all about the test for a second.

“You still have this?” He asks, not really believing that you would still save such a silly bit of paper. Waving it in front of your face, his eyes seemed brighter all of a sudden

“Yeah…” You were in a loss for words, too embarrassed to actually say anything. He forgot for a moment that you were not alone, as he placed it back on the palm of your hand, and tucked a flock of hair behind your ear, his thumb slightly caressing your cheek, carefully, leaving a tray of warmth and goosebumps, in both your face and his fingers. “I’ll turn the music off.” You whisper, as your eyes get lost in his, momentarily getting lost on his pinkish lips.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah…” He whispered, lost on you. “Do you have plans tomorrow?” He had decided to be brave again.

“No.”

“Wanna get dinner tomorrow night?” He asks, his eyes shine at you, as you smile brighter.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Great, then it's a date…” He said as he left, his eyes had shined as he looked back at your lips, and you didn’t quite believe it. A stupid daze evident on your face.

Robin had just got off the phone with Steve when you called, so her immediate reaction was to laugh when she saw your number, and you were left shocked about her laughing.

“What are you laughing for?” You demanded, a hint of anxiety evident in your voice.

“Loverboy just called me.” She laughed as she spoke.

“Steve?”

“Mmh.” She affirmed.

“Shit.” You both laughed at that, your hand reaching your forehead. “He told you already?” She made the same sound again, and you sighed as a response. “What did he say?”

“Oh, you know, that he had finally asked you out. And I just scolded him for not doing it sooner… I mean, I love you, but hearing you wailing about him for the last five years…”

“I didn’t wail…” You try to no avail to convince her, but she just scoffs at you. “Maybe a little.”

“Come on, you both have been in love with each other for so long… Just get on your nice dress, the black one, get a good coat and be ready, it’ll go fine.” She calmed you down, knowing exactly that that’s why you called, she wasted no time.

“I love you Robs.” You told her, with a wide smile on your face.

“I know, now, go. Don’t use me as an excuse.”

“Kay, bye.”

“Bye, lovergirl.” She giggles as she hangs up. Leaving you in the quiet of the cabin.

You did enjoy the silence, the quiet of the woods that surrendered you, but still, you opted to put on some music, just something to ease your brain from overrunning. Once again, Bowie’s voice filled the space, making it all easier, from dressing yourself up, to doing your hair, applying some makeup, and yes, taking a shot of your fathers hidden whiskey to ease the nerves.

He told you he’d pick you up, so the only thing left to do was wait.

You didn’t have to wait long anyway.

Though he wasn’t used to the feeling, he could recognise the nervousness energy that his body emanated.

Which is why he had called Robin in the first place, he wasn’t sure if he should wear the button down, the sweater… He was in a crisis, and obviously Robin had laughed her ass off. The only thing she had told him was to not shave, and he didn’t quite believe her when she told him that you had always liked how he looked with one.

So with five minutes to spare, he was in his backyard, well, not technically, he was invading Mss.Jackson’s so he could steal your favourite flower. Stupid as it may be, he’d known that it would make you smile, and Steve would make anything to see you smile again.

And he knew it was cheesy and a cliché, but as soon as he laid eyes on you, his heart seemed to skip a beat. Your body looked splendid with that little black dress, your legs covered with warm tights, and a coat that kept you warm. The thing that drove him crazier, was how your lips were now blood red, curling upwards as you locked eyes with him.

Then again, yours did the same.

You couldn’t help but take a second, just a moment to memorize him. Standing against his car, face slightly buried inside a small bouquet of wild flowers. Roses and dandelions. As stupid as it was, it made you feel heard and seen, him remembering that this combination was your favourite, not only that but, his white knit jumper made him look softer, it seemed to be a gateway to the old Steve. The one that had been in love with you and told you so before you left, the one you kissed as a final goodbye, the same one that left the note that you still carried on your wallet.

The date had passed by too fast. A conversation that didn’t ever end, not really, not even now, when the slight buzz of the wine was beginning to wear off, and you were standing up, outside your little house, smoking as you avoided saying goodbye.

“I truely can’t believe you smoke that crap.” He teases again, smiling down at you.

“Hey, sue me, I like them better than Newport’s.” You tease back, your eyes looking at the flowers that were still on his hand. He laughs at that, and a wisp of courage invades you for a second. “Do you want to come in? Put the flowers away?” You ask, softly, embarrassed about the fact that your skin is bright pink as you ask that, your hand scratching your upper arm. But the smile on his face relaxes you.

“I’d love to.” He admits, as he follows you inside. He watches you closely as the familiarity invades you. As soon as you open the door, you hang your coat on the hanger on the wall. Letting your cigarette rest softly in between your darken lips, he is mesmerized by you, and the easiness that you seem to radiate as you put your hair up. He chuckles as he sees you move so gracefully.

“What?” You ask, a soft tone accompanied by a shy smile comes out, looking up to his eyes, he seems to melt away once again.

“Nothing.” He laughs at your raised eyebrows. “You smoke inside now?” He teases, as he finally takes a look around.

“Steve, honey… I’m an artist and now a teacher… Yeah, I smoke inside.” You mock him a bit, and it makes the both of you try to stifle a chuckle to no success. The way your voice had said honey rings in his ears for a while.

He looks lost at the little cabin, afraid to even ask, he decides to just follow you around. You head into the little kitchen, opening the fridge and taking out a half empty bottle of white wine, a soft questioning look that is answered by a nod from him, you reach for two glasses, and you can’t help your lips from curling upwards as you see him getting a little empty glass jar and fills it up with water, letting the roses and dandelions rest there. You clink your glasses together before taking a sip, a stupid grin in both your faces. He looks around, the question evident in his expression.

“You wanna see the um… atelier?” You asks as you take another sip. He has become lost in you, and just nods as he follows you.

He’s mesmerized as soon as the light comes on. A neat mess in front of him, and your moving in the space with such grace he can’t tell what he likes better. You spinning around in your short dress or the colorfull paintings behind you.

He steps closer to you, your head slightly rested against your glass as you eye a canvas that hasn’t been finished yet, the one he presume you’ve been woring on before he came. He wasn’t wrong in that, just as he isn’t wrong in assuming that you’ve just had a revelation about it.

“Wanna tell me about it?” He asks, a whisper of a voice escaping his lips as he reclains against a wooden panel that was set up by two very unstable stools.

“S’nothing.” You mumbels as your eyebrows furrows a bit more, his silence lets you know he doesn’t believe you, though his titled head would have told you the same if you had looked at him. “Just, I thought that I was painting something else, now I see I wasn’t” You mutter, aware that it doesn’t make that much sense.

“I’m not sure I follow you, H” He says in return, wine going down his throat.

“Hold on.” You say, as you move closer to him.

His hearts beats faster for a second as he sees your decision in his eyes, confusing him in thinking that you were going to make a move, surprised when he sees you catch a small brush and the straight bottle of red paint. He watches you closely, and he can’t help himself but mutter “You’ll get your dress stained.”

“Yeah, maybe.” You smile, dropping the painton the floor, he watches closely as your hands reach over for an old overshired button up, you putt it on quickly, his mouth opens a little too much when he sees you taking the dress off, kicking it of the ground to him. “Good reflexes” You tease as he catches it on his free hand.

He’s brain can’t quiet compute the information. You look way too good right now. The look of determination on your eyes as you stare at the canvas, your tangled or maybe intricate would be a better word for the state of your bun, with flyaways framing your hair. Your legs still in the black tights, but thanks to that little wardrove change, he can now see the very beginning of your legs, and he is mesmerized for a little too long, not being able to focus on what you were actually doing, since his whole attention is set on the way you move, your presence, you.

Once you turn back to him, the roles diverse for a second. Maybe a bit more. He crouches forward, and you’re the one left starring. He had taken his jumper at some point, and he was now left with a tight grey shirt, his arms in full display, and with them so were his veins, that now appeared as he was holding the wine in one hand, and your dress in the other. Maybe what you liked best was the look of recognition on his eyes as he started at the canvas.

“Is that?”

“Yeah, you.” You finish, as he finally turns around. Even with your arms crossed against your chest, the distance between the both of you was small. If you or him made one step, not only your feet would be touching, but so will be your chest, you’d share the same air. And the electricity of the whole night seemed to be building up, your chest raising faster and faster as you looked up at him. Aware of him, close enough to see his freckles, to count them even if you fancied.

And just like if lighting had struck, he took a step forward, as soon as his glass reached the impromptu table and his body collapsed into yours, his eyes closed, waiting for your lips to touch, wich they did. Immediately, with a necessity that seemed to come from far before. His hands dropping your dress on the floor fastly as they traveled to your cheeks, pushing in closer to you, as your fingers found the back of his neck, grabbing his hair instictibly, needing him like air, or like water. A soft moan escaping your lips as he pressed harder into you, his hands travelling to your back, he needed you just as much as you needed him.

His belt was starting to bother him, and you were starting to feel the tingle between your legs, and you knew you had to stop, because if you didn’t, you would never want him to leave again.

As he pulled away you knew he had thought the same. Touching his forehead with yours as your fingers found its way to one another, intertwined.

“That was…”

“Yeah.” You agreed with him. “Stay?”

As his lips kissed the tip of your nose, you felt safe in his arms.

“I’m never leaving.” He reassured you.

if you enjoyed (i I really hope you did), please reblog! i promise it makes a difference

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helplesslyblue77 · 9 months

Text

Snow White Lily

first story in the ‘fairy tales with a twist’ series i’ve started(because i like creating more work for myself...)

Pairing: Step Dad!Bang Chan x Reader

Word Count: 12.6k(it got out of hand...)

Warnings: Smut, like not in full but its still there. bad parental figures, slight mommy issues, reader has some self esteem issues, also...this story has so much crying, like seriosly.

Summary: “Years ago, your father had died and your mother had remarried. You never liked your step father, simply because he was not your real father, and you made no secret of your dislike. Many years later, your mother died and your step father became the temporary reigning monarch. You vowed the feelings you were feeling were anger, but when you fall prey to a mysterious curse you realize maybe those feelings weren't hatred after all…”

Notes: soooooo...sorry this took so long. i was originally planing to post it on the 22nd but my computer died and like a fucking moron i forgot the charger...so yeah, so sorry about that. also Reader is more than legal. i ignored the traditional marriage laws of ‘yee olden days’ in favor of not being icky. her and Chan have a age gap of about seven or eight years or so.(side note but saw the barbie movie and fucking loved it, ‘im just ken’ has been stuck in my head for days now...)

♔♕♔

Let me tell you a story dear reader. A story of love, of loss, and all that is forbidden. Let me tell you of a beautiful princess who befell a dreadful curse. Let me tell you the story of Snow White. Now you may be thinking to yourself, dear reader, “But that is ever so common. How dreadfully boring.” I beg you not to jump to such conclusions, for everything you think you know about this lovely tale is, in fact false, and the real story will only be revealed today. So I urge you to sit back and listen to my voice as I weave you a fantastical story.

Once upon a time in a kingdom far far away lived a young woman of only sixteen. She was as beautiful, as she was kind, a true princess in her own right. Her loving father, the benevolent king of the land, doted on her. Her mother, a woman of extraordinary beauty but unpleasant disposition, could not touch her as long as the king treasured her. And thus the princess was raised with love from her father and cold indifference from her mother. Each day she became more beautiful.

Her hair grew long and luscious, her eyes bright with knowledge, and her body grew curves as she matured. As she grew, her thirst for knowledge also grew. Much to the queen's disapproval the king allowed her to take up such thoroughly un-princess-like activities as horseback riding. The queen disproved, but to her satisfaction, the princess also enjoyed activities like embroidery and fashion, so the queen let her wild activities continue. But alas, as our princess turned upon her seventeenth year, her father the king fell deathly ill. Our heroine could only stand by and weep as her beloved father took his last breaths, as the spirits accepted him gracefully into the world of the dead.

Ragged sobs tore through your throat. Your father's hand lay on your own, still warm even though life had drained from his body only moments before. The soft silk of the king's grand bed accepted your tears wholeheartedly, soothing your wet cheeks and stinging eyes. The bed held so many memories for you. Memories of you curled up against your father's warm body as he told you story after story, all in an effort to lure you into a deep and peaceful sleep. Memories of crying in his arms as he stroked your hair and comforted you with sweet reassurances. The realization sank in that he would never embrace or gaze upon you again.

It took a long time for your tears to stop. The palace staff let you stay at the bed, even as your father's cold dead body was removed from the silken sheets, and life in the palace resumed. Only when the golden hour sunlight poured through the stained glass windows, painting the red silk sheets and the golden bed frame dazzling colors, did you lift your tearstained face from the bed and drag yourself to your feet. You stumbled out of the king's chambers, your bare feet making barely a sound as you walked listlessly down the large corridor with the heavy stares of your ancestors weighing on your back. Your hair hung unstyled around your shoulders, your cheeks were smeared with tears and your eyes red and puffy. You were clothed only in a thin nightgown and normally you would have been scandalized. It was highly improper for a princess to wander about in her underclothes, but you were so wrought with grief you could not even bring yourself to feel shame.

Your maids were waiting for you as you dragged open the heavy doors to your chambers. You felt their pitying stares on you but for once they didn't say a word about your disheveled state, only drawing you a bath and slipping away as silent as ghosts.

With heavy hands, you rid yourself of your only garment and slipped into the water. The pink rose petals danced across the ripples your body made as you submerged yourself completely. You closed your eyes and felt the heavy hand of despair settle over you. Tear after silent tear slipped down your cheeks, dripping into the water below. Maybe, if you continued to cry like this the gods would take pity on your sorry state and let you simply slip away, let go of this painful life and join your father in the afterlife. Such thoughts were unbecoming of a princess, but you had never been a perfect princess anyway. Too unattractive, too outspoken, nothing like your composed mother, the epitome of a perfect queen. As beautiful as a statue carved in ice and as cold as one as well.

You knew these thoughts, these ugly self-deprecating thoughts, were not true. But with your father's passing all your insecurities were rearing their ugly heads quite akin to a many-headed monster, dead set on devouring you and only you. You closed your eyes and ever so slowly let yourself sink down until your chin was barely brushing the water. You let the comfort of the water envelope you like the warmth your father had given you, the warmth your mother would never give you. And with one last tear, you rose from the bath, water cascading off your body, and came to a grim realization.

From this day on, you were on your own. And even as the room filled with people, your maids dressing you carefully, even as the mellow chatter filled the room, you had never felt quite so alone.

The next day your maids prepared you for the funeral. As they slipped the black dress over your head, pulled your hair into a modest bun and painted your face just enough to be suitable for such an occasion you desperately held back your tears. It was no such time for your sadness, you are a princess and to reassure your people you must look only appropriately distraught. There would be no breakdowns, no hysterical crying and screaming, none of the sort. As the maids slipped your black veil over your head and handed you the black lace fan, you take a deep breath, and shove your feelings into a deep well, one covered in moss and ivy, simply for another day.

A sea of black greets you as you exit the castle, the air filled with the cries of thousands. The day is gray as if even mother nature is distraught. Gaunt faces torn with sadness, the silent tears of men and women, the loud cries of children who are too young to understand but sense the forlorn atmosphere and respond. You take your place on the open carriage, your father's casket laying only a few feet away from you. The casket is grand, black with gold embellishments, but you can't bring yourself to look at it. It makes it all too real. Your mother steps into the carriage, her beautiful face pulled into its usual frozen expression. Her cold gaze drags over you, and you ignore her as she tuts disapprovingly but says no more. Even she can hold her tongue when she needs to.

The carriage starts its long trek to the royal cemetery, and you feel every rock as it bumps slowly across the road. You watch faces flash by, each hollow with a sadness you feel in your core. The ride to the cemetery is excruciating, as the sky starts to rain, big droplets that splash against the casket, and down your face. You're thankful, as it masks your tears.

The ceremony is grim, and mostly a blur. You watch as a little girl comes forward, and with small hands gently places a single white lily on the casket. More children follow, and soon the dark top of the casket was blanketed in white. Your tears are falling more frequently now, your hat and veil long gone. But these tears, instead of being pure despair, are also interspersed with gratitude. Gratitude for your kind maids, who treated you with such gentle warmth, gratitude for the looks of kindness and understanding you received from your subjects. As you finally leave the cemetery you turn back, laying eyes one final time on the grim black coffin covered in pure white lilies. Your father's favorite flowers were lilies.

The following weeks are a blur. The world seems to continue even as you morn, and you do your best to continue along with it. Your deep loneliness is pushed to the back of your mind and you soon begin to forget it. Months pass, and soon, your eighteenth birthday approaches. You find yourself engaged to a truly dreadful man, but per your mother's request, you are unable to do a thing about it. And then one day, your life changes forever.

The royal dining room is large, with high arching ceilings letting a draft permeate through the space. A huge crystal chandelier hangs in the center of the room, filling the large space with shadowy candlelight. Of all of the many rooms in the palace, this one has become one of your least favorites.

The large marble table is laden with food, untouched at the moment and the servants bustle around, serving wine and tidying various lighting fixtures around the room. Your mother, the star of the show, is late. You bristle, as she can't even show courtesy as the host of this sham of a party. Your mother has never been your favorite person, and as long as you have known her, those cold eyes, so dead of feeling, have always scared you.

The large doors slammed open and in waltzed your mother, her head held high. Your eyes narrow as you take in the full picture, the man escorting her to her place. He looks young, maybe eight or nine years your senior, and very handsome. With dark black hair and broad shoulders, he supported your mother as she walked across the room, pulling out the chair for her like a gentleman. Twinkling brown eyes and a sweet smile. Just your mother's type. Anger sang in your veins. How dare she bring in a cheap boy toy so soon after your father's passing. The man tried to send you a smile, but you turned, ignoring him. Your mother’s cold voice echoed in the grand hall.

“Darling, please welcome your new father.”

She didn't ask for your opinion, she simply barged ahead as she always did, as if you didn't matter. It angered you beyond belief, but it also made you feel so insignificant like you were nothing and if you simply went to sleep and never woke up, the world would continue around you, not even stopping to mourn. The room was dead silent as it awaited your response, eyes bearing down upon you. Your mother's cold expectant ones, the knowing eyes of the servants, the eyes of this new man. Emotions roiled in your gut and you stood suddenly, rattling the crockery on the table. You could tell your face was a mess, and you felt the tears start to slip down your cheeks as you ran from the room.

You heard voices fade away as you slammed the door behind you. The worried voice of the young man and your mother's cold reply.

“Is she feeling quite well? Was it something I did?”

“Don't mind her foolishness, she is simply a child.”

You fled down the hall, your skirts a whirl around your legs as you ran from the suffocating room. You were not a child, and most definitely not foolish, you seethed to yourself as you yanked open the doors to your chambers.

But as you entered your room, all the explosive anger drained out of you, leaving only cold acceptance and resentment. It was childish, you mused as your stomach growled in hunger. You crashed face-first on your bed, your hair falling from its updo and pooling messily around your shoulders.

Your mind was a mess, greatly resembling a dark and stormy ocean, a rocky shore tossed by tumultuous waves. Emotions raced through you, too fast to truly catalog. Angry thoughts of your mother's disrespect for your father's name. How could she bring this young handsome boy toy to the castle, so soon after your father's death? And to introduce him as your father? You vowed to never accept this man, to snub him at every turn and refuse to acknowledge him as your father.

(Somewhere, deep in your subconscious, you felt the vile monster of jealousy rear its head and stomp its many feet threateningly. You were jealous, jealous of your mother's goddess-like beauty, jealous of her power, and most of all, you wished the unnamed man could have been yours instead.)

♔♕♔

On that fateful day, the day your mother got remarried, you were notably absent. Your maids had searched and searched your usual hiding spots, but you were nowhere to be found. You were, in fact, in a very unprincesslike position, thrown over two bales of hay, your body bared to the heavy air of the stable. You lost your innocence to the handsome stable boy as wedding bells filled the air. And as you felt ecstasy, gripping the stable boy's broad shoulders, you couldn't really say you were sorry. At the moment at least. The lasting consequences were a bit of an inconvenience. The absence of such a notable figure, the daughter of the bride at that, sent scandalized whispers spreading around the castle.

“The Princess did not show her face at her mother's wedding.”

“She must not accept this new man.”

The rumors didn't bother you but what did bother you was your mother's response or rather lack thereof. There was only a slight tick in her perfectly arched eyebrows as she looked down at you, picking at her long scarlet nails. You met her gaze head-on, never one to show fear to a predator. She looked over at you, taking note of your disheveled appearance, the bits of hay tangled in your long hair, the red marks scattered across your neck, and shook her head.

She tutted disapprovingly. “Darling, if you must partake in those kinds of…” She paused, raising a perfect eyebrow delicately, “Activities…try to restrain yourself when you have official duties.”

You felt like stomping the ground, no matter how childish it was. Your mother always made you feel like this. Like a small, insignificant child, wandering about the world in dumb confusion, and not a fully grown adult woman. You opened your mouth to protest, but your mother waved a hand, dismissing you. You turned, your shoes pattering on the marble floor. You had just reached the door when she spoke last time.

“And for god’s sake, clean yourself up.”

You slammed the door behind you and made the long trek back down the twisting halls and into your chambers.

All through the short and unpleasant meeting you had avoided meeting the eyes of your new ‘father’, but if you had dared to look, you would have noticed the pangs of hurt and disappointment flashing through his dark eyes.

♔♕♔

Over the next few months, you did your best to avoid your new ‘father’. And soon, he gave up his little attempts to get to know you and treated you with the exhaustion of a man who accepted the fact that he was not wanted. Infuriatingly, he was never disrespectful of you, never treated you with contempt, and oh, how it angered you. It was hard to justify your hate when he was such a nice person. And so, a year passed, and then, only a few months before your nineteenth birthday, your mother died.

It was a carriage accident. She was on the way to a friend's house when the carriage was struck by lightning and thrown, burning, off the side of a cliff. It was a fitting end for your mother, fiery and dramatic.

It was sudden, and in your opinion a much-needed breath of fresh air. Maybe you were a truly vile person for thinking this, but your mother had never truly loved you, and you most definitely had returned that hatred. But she was your mother, so even though you loathed it, you couldn't stop the few tears that fell at the funeral.

Later that night, you go through your mother’s belongings and find a stack of leather journals, her personal diaries. Unsure of whether you want to know what these bound confessionals hold you let them sit untouched for a few hours. Finally, overcome with curiosity you open the volume marked with the earliest date and begin to read. As you read her diaries you let yourself cry in earnest. Your mother was a pitiful person, obsessed with beauty to a fault, and it in the end had doomed her, doomed her to a life of marriage to a man she didn't love, not allowed to love who she truly loved. Thinking back to the funeral you did notice the familiar and yet strange woman mourning your mother from the background. A friend your mother had called on at indecent times of the night. The pieces were beginning to fit together. You wanted to hate her, you really did, but as you read of her heartache, you felt yourself sympathizing with her. You hated that feeling, so you buried it deep in your heart, and burned the remainder of her diaries. As you watched the smoke billow into the air, you cried, your tears watering the vines choking your throat.

You watched in grim acceptance as Chan, your ‘father’, accepted the position of temporary monarch, at least until you got married. Truthfully, although you glared fiercely at him, you didn't mind. Being a monarch was a responsibility you were not willing and not ready to shoulder, and Chan was a fair, level-headed person. Those exact qualities were something you despised in him. It was hard to hate a man who was so easygoing and intelligent. But you hated him, you were certain of it. Every thought of him was accompanied by a pounding in your heart like the drumbeat of soldiers marching to war. When you laid eyes on him your body would flush with anger, your fists trembling and your breathing choking you with hatred. If this terrifying feeling was not hatred, you could not tell what it was. And you didn't know if you wanted to know.

♔♕♔

For the next several years, you settled into an uneasy peace, interspersed with dramatic fiery fights that left you running away from it all, on your favorite horse, and disappearing for hours on end. You would always ignore Chan’s worried face when you got back, intent on hating him.

You embroidered, chatted with your friends, rode your horse about the pastures, and begrudgingly met with your dreadful fiance. And just like that, four long years had passed and you were nearing your twenty-fourth birthday when Chan summoned you into his study.

You hated his study, hated how cozy he had made it with warm red curtains and dark cherry wood surfaces, hated the faint smell of woodfire, and Chan's deep musky scent that made you heat up with what you were sure was anger. You avoided this room of the castle at all costs, but even you could not ignore a direct summons, so you stood before him, avoiding his eyes.

“Name, please sit.”

He waved his hand and you wanted to refuse, but you valued your comfort over your stubborn nature so you sat across from him on the red satin couch, munching away at a few biscuits and avoiding his eyes. You watch Chan’s hands as he places you a cup of tea in front of you, and pours his own. You take a deep breath, the sweet scent of jasmine, your favorite tea, filling your nostrils. Chan sighed, the breath gusting out from between his plump lips as he spoke.

“I hear you did not attend your usual meeting with your fiance.” You do your best to portray your annoyance with your face as you speak, still not meeting his eyes.

“Lord Brandish is dreadfully boring and dull, I just could not stand to speak with him again.”

Chan sighs a sigh of frustration, one that only you can manage to pull out of his mouth, and sets his teacup down on the wooden surface of the table. He looks at you and you hate the disappointment leaking from his eyes.

“Name, you are nearing your twenty-fourth year already, soon it will be time for you to get married and take over rulership of this kingdom.”

You hate how level-headed and smart he sounds, and how in comparison you sound like a dumb immature child. What makes it worse is the way he handles you, so patient even after you treated him with such disrespect. You slam your tea cup on the table, the hot tea sloshing over your fingers. You hiss at the burn and Chan rushes to your side, his strong hands grasping your own.

“Name are you alright? Does it hurt?”

His hands are big, much bigger than your own, and the comforting warmth envelopes you, spreading from your hands all throughout your body. The warmth scares you, but in a moment of weakness, you let him caress your hands gently, smoothing ointment onto the burns. It takes a moment, but Chan meets your eyes, perhaps wondering why you haven't yanked your hands away and stormed off. You find yourself wondering the same thing and hurriedly yank them away, settling as far away from him as you can. He seems to sink in on himself, returning to his seat and clearing his throat.

“As I was saying, you cannot miss these appointments, they are vital to your future relationship with your fiance…”

He continues on, and you tune him out, your anger slowly building. How dare he, who is he to command you like this? As usual, anger is your first reaction, and you brandish it both as a shield and a sword.

“I refuse to go.”

Chan stops, his eyes meeting your own, and waves his hand around.

“Name, you're being childish. You must continue to go—”

You interrupt, your heart beating in your ears.

“I refuse!”

You hate your fiance, hate his crude remarks, his overall poor attitude, and the way his slimy hands feel up your thighs at every opportunity. Lord Brandish is a truly vile man, but of course, he puts on his mask, playing the part of the perfect gentleman in front of Chan and your servants.

Lord Brandish appeared to them a perfect man, as handsome as he was kind, and they simply could not understand your animosity towards him. And to you, you would never tell. The mere thought made you feel pathetic, running to your ‘father’, admitting you could not solve all your problems on your own. It felt like weakness, and you hated weakness. So you bottled it up and did your best to treat him with absolute contempt, hoping maybe, he would just refuse to marry you. Sadly, that day had not come.

Chan threw his hands up in exasperation, as you continued on. Your voice trembled embarrassingly as you jumped to your feet.

“Who are you, how can you make me go?”

You could see he was finally losing his patience as he stood as well, his hands waving annoyed patterns in the air.

“Name, I don't understand why you can't just listen to me for once!”

You are yelling by now, your usual defense mechanism, anger, spewing out of your painted lips like knives, flying at their target and embedding themselves deep in his chest.

“I can't! I won't!”

Your words are basically nonsense, the emotions you had buried deep in your heart, all those tears you had refused to let fall, years and years of loneliness and resentment crawling their way out of your heart. Akin to ugly black vines, the leaves long withered, and dead, weaving their way up your body, tearing through your internal organs, and exploding out of your mouth in ugly sobs. You bite the sobs back, they were a weakness.

Anger is burning in Chan's eyes. The two of you had indeed had fights before, but for some reason, this particular fight felt different. There was a quality in the air, floating around the two of you like a deadly wind, disturbing everything it touches. You were basically in hysterics by now, hands clutching and tearing at your necklace, and it was no longer about the conversation, no longer about Lord Brandish. This was about something much deeper, something darker, something you weren't ready to talk about yet.

The vines were back, tearing at your throat and teeth, and in a moment of weakness, you let them out. All your resentment tearing out of your mouth in three final words.

“I hate you.”

They were words you had never dared to say, never quite believed, and the moment they left you, the moment you looked up and saw his face, the anger melted out of you and you burst into tears. It was all too much, the pain on his face, the way he stumbled back slightly, the way his hand trembled as he reached for you. The tears were still burning a hot path down your cheeks, staining the collar of your dress dark with water. You felt pathetic and small, and most of all, you knew at that moment that you didn't hate Chan. You thought it would feel good to finally say those words out loud, that it would feel like a relief. Instead, the feeling that ran through you was regret. The vines that had poured out of your mouth were suffocating you, and all you wanted to do was cry and cry until it all went away.

You were still so young, so immature, and you felt so, so regretful. You were drowning in your tears, you were suffocating in your clothes and you just wished it would all go away.

Warm arms enveloped you, pulling you into a hard chest, caressing your hair roughly. You began to cry harder, the words coming out jumbled and croaky.

“Chan, I apologize. I never meant it, I just—”

His deep voice interrupted your choked apologies, his hands rubbing soothing circles in your back.

“Shhh, I know. I know.”

His kindness, his ever-present kindness, just made your tears fall faster, your hands knotting in the back of his shirt.

“You are just so kind, and I was so horrible to you and I apologize—”

He just stroked your back soothingly, murmured nothing into your hair, and let you cry, years' worth of emotions wetting the thin fabric of his undershirt. It felt good to cry, and those horrible dead vines wrapped around your throat slowly loosened, falling gently around your shoulders, and turning a brilliant vibrant green. Leaves sprouted and you cried and cried, until the sun sank below the distant hills, and you found yourself still laying in his arms, embraced on the floor. It had been so long since you had felt a touch of comfort, and you would have compared it to the times your father had held you like this, but for some strange reason, it didn't quite feel like that.

It felt comforting of course, but you also felt strange. Your cheeks flushed pink, your heart pounding against your ribcage. You had always assumed this strange feeling was rage, but maybe…

You hurriedly put a stop to that line of thought. For now, you should do your best to make it up to Chan and enjoy your time with your ‘father’.

♔♕♔

Over the next few weeks, you spent more and more time with Chan. The two of you would eat each meal together, and you found that he was actually very pleasant company. You found he shared your love of horse riding and promptly planned a picnic. The servants cooed over your relationship, most of them just grateful you were both happy, although you had heard strange whispers and giggles from the maids every time you interacted. You asked them, but they had just giggled and ran off. It was strange but you were too happy to dwell on it as you anticipated your picnic.

It was a beautiful day for a picnic, the sun smiling down and the wind tossing your hair around your head gracefully. Your favorite horse, Pearlie whinnied and reared playfully into the air as you stroked her pure white coat.

Pearlie was a beautiful white mare, gifted to you on your fifteenth birthday by your father. You took one look at her pure white coat and promptly named her Pearlie. Your father had dissolved in laughter and patted your head reassuringly.

Pearlie was docile and playful, and you adored her with your entire being. Her long white main blew gently in the wind, the sun bouncing off her gold embroidered saddle and almost blinding you. You patted her reassuringly.

“Just wait a minute more Pearlie, it's almost time.”

A cough sounded behind you and you whip around, your eyes coming to rest on Chan. Your breath caught in your throat. He looks positively radiant, clothed in a thin white shirt and tight black pants, his hand grabbing the reins of a gorgeous black stallion. His brown curls blew gently in the breeze, he smiled at you, his dimples peeking out. You felt your heart heating up and again, your heart beating insistently in your chest, bumping against your ribcage and begging to be let out, if only to jump into his arms. Much like you wanted to do. A flash of gold caught your eyes and you looked down, blushing as naked flesh graced your eyes. The front of his shirt was undone, and a bit of fair peck peaked out at you. A golden pendant hung around his neck, swaying gently as he walked, drawing your eyes towards its golden glow and the swaths of skin available for your eyes to devour. You hurriedly yanked your eyes away and mounted your horse. Chan joined you, pulling his black stallion up next to yours. He smiled and your heart felt like it would simply rip from your chest and leave you cold and dead.

“Ready to depart?”

You managed a nod and urged Pearlie into a trot. You let the wind cool your heated cheeks, let it caress your face and toss your hair, and all too soon, you had arrived at your destination.

The lake was special, a spot you had discovered one day, running from your mother's wrath. The sunlight bounced off the pure blue surface, and the trees around it were such vibrant greens, rivaled only by the bright wildflowers littering the ground. The air was warm, and butterflies scattered as you dropped to the ground, Chan following suit.

He let out a noise of amazement. “This place is extraordinary.”

You smiled, happy that he thought so too. “Isn't it? It's my special place.”

You were busy laying out the blanket and missed the look he sent you, so full of happiness tinged only with a slight flavor of longing.

You plopped down on the blanket, and he joined you, laying out the spread of treats. Small bite-size sandwiches, little cakes and pies, and a large pitcher of iced jasmine tea. It made your mouth water and you delicately picked up a small raspberry pie, taking a bite. Your teeth sank into the flaky pie crust, the slightly tart filling making your taste buds sing in delight. You let out a moan of satisfaction as you finished the treat, reaching for another as Chan laughed.

“You like raspberries?”

You nod, your mouth full, and swallow a delicious bite. “The kitchen really outdid itself.” It is a picturesque afternoon, and in no time at all the large spread of food is long gone and the both of you are laying back, letting the breeze play gently with your clothes and gazing into the pure blue sky. Birdsong fills the air, and you can see butterflies darting around from flower to flower, never stopping for too long. Faintly, you think you can hear bees buzzing in the distance, and sure enough, across the lake, you spot a bees nest, hundreds of bees buzzing around it, little soldiers devoted to their work. The smell of nature fills your nostrils, wispy clouds arching gracefully and the sun blazing a path across the blue, blue sky.

Chan breaks the peaceful silence, clearing his throat before speaking. “I am really glad we could do this.”

You nod, turning your body to face him, your arm squishing uncomfortably below your side. He looks positively radiant beside you, beaming at you, his dimples doing horrible things to your heart. You cough and reply. “I'm sorry, I was stubborn.”

Chan sits up, waving his hand in protest. “No, Name I didn't mean—”

You sit up as well, your hair falling around your shoulders and tickling your bare skin. It all just feels so carefree, you feel a smile carving its way across your face.

“I know, Chan. I know how kind and forgiving you are.” You take a deep breath, stealing yourself to let your emotions show. “I should have noticed earlier. I took my irrational anger out on you and I apologize.”

You're not used to apologizing, and you know your dialogue sounds stiff and formal, but you can't quite think of another way to get it out.

Chan moves to protest, but in a moment of ill-advised boldness, you place a finger gently on his plump lips, bringing his words to a sharp halt.

“Chan. Let me apologize for this at least.”

He nods, and your hand falls reluctantly from his lips, finger hot from the contact. You're left looking at him, your eyes staring deep into his own deep brown ones and falling down, down, down. The world around you disappears, the birdsong fading away to nothing until all you can see is his face, highlighted by the sinking sun, his tousled brown hair, and those disastrous dimples disappearing as his smile fades, his eyes dipping from your own to focus on your lips. You're frozen in time, filled with a longing you finally understand. Those symptoms you for so long assumed were hatred were in fact desire. You long for his touch, for his warmth, and shamefully, for his love. The metaphorical vines curled lovingly around your neck begin to bloom, white lilies falling from their stems and plopping into your lap. The sun suddenly seems to shine just a little brighter, the leaves seem a more vibrant green, and the birdsong returns, louder and more beautiful than ever. You are floating, dancing in your happiness, the relief of realization rendering your body light, and now you're soaring, dancing on the cloud tops, but then, you fall. The guilt pours in, guilt over your love, your love of your mother's husband, a man who probably still devoted himself to her, even in her passing. And you know you could never compare to your mother, her beautiful face still etched in your mind, her cold expression glaring at you from her perch on the wall, her face immortalized in a royal portrait, frame made of solid gold. And you know, that you can never have this man, the man you want and have wanted for longer than you were willing to admit to yourself. And with that, the sun sinks below the hills, and the vibrant colors leak out of your surroundings. You break eye contact, turning away and standing up.

Chan jumps to his feet. “Time to go?”

You nod, forcing a smile, and grip Pearlies reins in your hand. You turn, away from Chan and gaze out over the lake. This spot will be forever intertwined with bittersweet memories, a place where you came to realize your unrequited, very forbidden love. A heavy warm hand lands on your shoulder and you turn, Chan's worried face greeting your own. You find yourself mesmerized by his lips as he speaks.

“Name, are you alright?” He scratched the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically and adorably shy. You took a deep breath and put on a smile. “I'm fine Chan, just a little tired.”

He looked at you for a moment, his eyes studying your face, and you did your best not to feel a little self-conscious. But then, he was done and you turned away, mounting Pearlie as he jumped atop his black steed, and you set off back to the castle.

The ride back was silent, the orange glow of the sunset bathing the hills in fire, and the fireflies had come out to play. It was a beautiful scene, but you couldn't bring yourself out of your somber mood and the two of you rode home in tense silence.

♔♕♔

Later that night, as your maids bustled about, lighting the lanterns one by one until the room was bathed in candlelight, you noticed the strange new addition to the room. A large mirror. Your head maid noticed where your eyes were going and helpfully chimed in.

“Was your mother”s, she left it to you.”

You frowned. It didn't look like anything your mother would own. It was old, the glass slightly foggy and no matter how you strained your eyes, you could not make out a reflection. The rim of the mirror was gaudy, gold with inlaid jewels, and for some reason, as you stared at it you got the unpleasant sensation of eyes on you, watching you as you crept closer.

You stretched a shaking hand out, and just as your fingers brushed against the surface, the fog within the mirror began to swirl violently. You jumped, pulling the offending hand back and clutching it to your chest as the fog congealed, coming together until a face was visible. You looked away hurriedly. It wasn't as if the face was ugly, no, you would rather describe it as unnerving. It was a woman, her face what you could only call perfection, and it was a woman who you knew far too well. Your mother's perfect face stared back at you, immortalized inside this strange mirror even as her corpse rotted in the graveyard far from the castle. The maids were gone now, and as you stepped closer to the mirror a breeze came in through your open window, ruffling your silk nightgown and tossing your hair. The woman in the mirror spoke first, but the voice that exited its perfectly painted mouth was not your mother’s, no, it was a strange amalgamation of voices, male and female, blending together in a truly unpleasant way.

“You must be my new master.”

The face in the mirror moved as it spoke, almost as if your mother was here in front of you again, and you hated it. You responded, trying to hastily tidy your unruly hair. You always felt so small next to your mother, so small and unattractive.

“Your master?”

The face in the mirror never changed, no emotion ever crossed its stone-cold face and the longer you stared at it the more dazed you felt, as if a heavy fog was suddenly blanketing your mind. The world seemed to fade away and all you could see was the mirror. The mirror spoke again, its words cutting like ice, pulling your insecurities out of your mind and weaponizing them against you.

“You can be the object of his affection.”

Every emotion was heightened, and you felt tears prick at the corner of your eyes as a sudden and intense desperation enveloped you and you rushed forward, gripping the sides of the mirror.

“Tell me! Tell me this instant!”

Your voice sounded desperate even to your ears but for some reason you didn't care. The mirror’s perfect face curved into a stunning smile, as its ruby lips parted one final time, and a poem fell from them.

You repeat the first line of the poem as you exit the castle, your heels clicking much too loudly on the cobblestone path.

“Enter the woods, under moonlight so bright…” You lift your eyes to the sky and breathe in relief as the moon decides to peek out from behind the clouds, lighting the path in front of you.

You were always told never to enter the woods, and you hear the words echoing in the back of your mind, but the strange fog in your brain quickly blankets it, and you step off the cobblestones and onto the well-worn path into the woods. You reach into your pocket, pulling out a compass as you recite the next few lines in the poem.

“A choice will be yours, surrender tonight, Walk to the north, not south or not west.” The woods are dark, the trees foreboding, their branches reaching desperately toward the moonlight. It's silent, unnervingly silent as you walk off the beaten path, your shoes touching damp grass, padding softly across its surface, and leaving crushed beaten grass in your wake. Not a sound crosses your lips, as you walk on, through the large trunks of huge black trees. You look at the little paper where you hastily scrawled the mirror's words, and read the next line.

“Until in a grove, she grants your request…”

Sure enough, ahead of you, your eyes catch on a break in the trees. The dark trees gave way to green moss and stones, and the moonlight poured into the clearing, illuminating the strange statue in the center. It's made of a peculiar black stone and almost shines by itself. It's big, much taller than you and the edges are rough, like it was hastily carved. It mesmerizes you, as you stare deep into the black interior you suddenly feel the urge to touch it. You move your hand, almost in a trance, and brush the rough surface. The surface is smooth, and ice cold, and as your fingers leave its surface it begins to melt away slowly, black goo melting off its surface and sizzling into the ground. The goo swirls, and the ground below it seems to melt away until a shining glass statue is revealed. The statue is large, almost your height, and of a woman. Her face is covered with a strange mask, round and smooth and without any features at all, her hair cascades down her shoulders, reaching all the way to the ground. She is clothed in a skin-tight gown, with a revealing slit up the side. Her feet are bare upon the grass. In her hand, she holds a single object, a shining golden apple. The paper in your hand flutters to the ground, long forgotten as you stare wide-eyed at the apple. Its shimmering surface mesmerizes you and you find yourself reaching out, and gripping its smooth surface in your hand.

It's cold, and as you bring it to your lips, you have the vaguest feeling of foreboding. In the back of your disordered mind, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Chan, screaming at you to stop, to put the apple back and turn, leaving the woods for good. But the mirror's promise echoes in your mind and you open your mouth, taking a single bite of the apple. The skin is thin, the flesh just the right amount of sweet and tart. The apple is delicious, and as you chew it, you suddenly hunger desperately for more. Your gaze zeros in on the apple and you bring it to your lips again, but just like that, it slips from your hand. You look around in confusion, only for your vision to start to fade around the edges, your hands are suddenly limp and as your consciousness fades, you have one clear realization.

“I should have never listened to that mirror.”

The last sensation you feel is the soft grass beneath your legs, as you fall gently to the ground, and slip into a dark, dreamless sleep.

♔♕♔

Something was wrong. Chan could feel it, even as the clock ticked on endlessly, as the words scrawled on documents began to blur over, as you waltzed through his mind, your smile consuming his every thought. It was unhealthy, and so, so wrong. This woman, this young, beautiful, and when he had enjoyed the chance to know you, kind woman was someone he could never even touch. This woman who he lived too close to, was a woman forever out of his desperate hands, a woman he could never have, never kiss. The thought killed him. And that was why Chan took the long journey to your room, down the dark empty halls, past the portraits that judged his every move, and knocked quietly on your door. It was late, he knew that. Much too late for him to be visiting you, and Chan felt his face heating up as he realized how improper it looked. Him, a young man, visiting a young woman in the dead of night. But, he reassured himself as he stood in front of your door, his first thoughts had been innocent, a desire to talk to you, to laugh with you, even if his later thoughts had turned less proper.

The silence worried him, and he knocked again, harder. The door cracked open, light pouring into the dark hallway and Chan frowned. You were up? At this hour? He realized how hypocritical that sounded, here he was, awake and trying to visit you, but in his defense, he hadn't been thinking of anything besides your smile. The smile he had glimpsed this afternoon, shining like the sun after rainfall. Chan had thought he might die. You looked radiant among the flowers, a forest fairy masquerading as a human, a being so perfect and radiant he might die if he dared to lay a hand on her skin. He truly wondered if he had died and gone to heaven. Your smile was like the sun peeking its way from behind the clouds after a storm, the storm of your hatred. Chan never wanted to be on the receiving end of your hatred ever again.

He pushed the door cautiously, and peaked around it, taking in the fully lit candles and the strange mirror standing in the corner of the room. He stepped inside, taking the opportunity to look around your room, usually a forbidden place for him. Your room was large, with high sloping ceilings giving it a breezy feel. Your window was open, curtains flapping in the wind, and the moonlight poured into the room, illuminating the white sheets on your bed.

Your perfectly made bed. Your dreadfully empty bed.

Chan ran to the window, his heart pounding in his chest. What was going on, where had you gone at this late hour? He feared the worst, even as he leaned out the window, and spotted the imprints in the grass. Footsteps. His body froze, ice water coating his insides and dread in his thoughts. Where could you be going at such a late hour. He prayed you had not headed into the woods. The woods were home to many things, some good, some terrifying, and the thoughts of what could happen to you turned his mind to stone. You were the woman he loved above all else, he could not let you die. Chan knew it was illogical. He should have waited until morning, gathered an armed search team, and departed into the woods, but he could not help the way he ran down the stairs, and flung open the castle doors, running barefoot into the woods.

Alas, his searching was for nothing, because as he stumbled back in the morning, sleep deprived and emotional, he still had not found you.

♔♕♔

And thus, six uneasy days passed. Chan pulled together a search team. He insisted on coming along, even if the head butler protested, and the team of strong volunteers turned the woods upside down in search of you. Night after sleepless night passed, and the dark circles under Chan’s eyes grew and grew. The servants whispered, their concern for their employers spread to the townsfolk and finally on the morning of the seventh day, they received a tip from a huntsman. A tip that told of a woman, asleep in a glass coffin, deep in the woods.

Armed with this information, they stumbled through the woods, exhausted men led by their relentless king, a man driven by a love he didn't even realize. And as the sun set on the seventh day, Chan found you.

The clearing was bathed in the rays of the dying sun, the light illuminating the intricate glass coffin taking up the center of the clearing. And laid in that coffin, still as death was you, still clothed in your white nightgown, hands crossed gently over your chest, holding a perfectly preserved golden apple. Chan feared the worst, stumbling to the coffin with a cry and throwing it open. His hands desperately felt for a pulse. Fear poured over his heart, as he felt nothing…

…a pulse, faint but definitely there. Chan collapsed to his knees, his head falling against the edge of the coffin, his hands desperately clutching the glass sides, and cried.

And that's how the rest of the search team found him, crouched against the glass coffin, tears streaming down his cheeks, knees grass-stained and dirty, looking nothing like the king he was, only a man brought to the ground with relief.

They moved you to the castle, careful not to disturb you, and laid you to rest in your bed. Only then did Chan allow himself to sleep, although his dreams were nightmares, plagued with you, encased in glass, dead to this world. He awoke the next morning and rushed to you, certain you were awake but when he arrived in your room, took in your form, now changed into a white silk nightgown, still fast asleep. The maids shook their heads, and he rushed to your side, desperately calling your name. He tried and tried, but you remained as silent as death, faint pulse the only evidence that you were even alive, and he finally collapsed, sinking into a chair the maids had provided and taking your cold hand in his own. He took you in, your hair, now washed courtesy of the maids, fanning around your head, your eyes closed, lashes kissing your cheeks, your pretty mouth, open slightly as you breathe. Your skin was cold to the touch, and you made barely a sound in the room, cold and silent as death.

Cold and silent as your mother had been.

Chan was never in love with your mother, and in turn, she had never loved him. It had been like a contract for her, to hide her secret lover from the public. She said lover, but Chan was not sure your mother could truly love anymore if the way she treated you was any indication.

Chan still remembered the day the queen had shown up to his small house, in all her royal glory, and asked him to marry her. He had agreed, if only to support his siblings, and moved into the castle. He remembered the day he had met you, a woman so beautiful and full of life, so bright as she glared at him, so angry as she ignored him, such an opposite of the woman he married. He had admired you since the day he met you, your glowing beauty seemed to light up the room, your smile like the sun after a rainy day. Even your anger was vibrant, so much better than your mother's cold treatment of all living things. But soon he hungered for more. He longed to be on the receiving end of your smiles, to no longer be subject to your hatred. And then, one day, his wish had come true. After years and years of receiving your glares, one of your brilliant smiles had been reserved specifically for him. Not for the stable boy you favored, not for the new butler who the maids gossiped about, not even for your gossipy friends who smirked in his direction, no, this smile was reserved simply for him. It was karma, he decided, that the night after he received such a privilege, you disappeared for seven days, and then refused to wake up.

Chan brought your ice-cold hand to his lips and pressed one gentle kiss upon your soft skin. Tears fell silently down his cheeks and dropped onto your hand. Chan prayed your fingers would twitch, that your eyes would flutter, and then open slowly, that your skin would warm and the color would return to your cheeks, but alas, no such thing happened. Your eyes remained closed, your skin remained cold, and the only thing he felt was a tap on his shoulder. The doctor had arrived.

♔♕♔

The only sound in the room was the flip of paper, the rustling of pages turning. Chan glanced up from his book, hoping that your eyes would open, but alas you remained as still as ever. The doctor had come and gone, unable to do a thing, and the maids, having grown tired of his constant staring, had provided him with some books to occupy his mind, at least until the next doctor came to visit. Much to his chagrin, he had found himself being sucked into the world of the characters. He found himself sympathizing more and more with the main character, a man who was in love with a woman he could not have. He turned the pages eagerly, absorbed every word, and found the world melting away. He understood John, the main character in the novel, as he pinned over Elain, the young woman he loved and soon the characters were no longer John and Elaine, but they became Chan and you, and he imagined every interaction as you and him. It helped him escape, helped him hold hope that one day you would wake up and interact with him again.

The book had a happy ending. John and Elaine got married and moved into John's large house together. Chan felt satisfied as he put down the book, leaning back in his chair. He could picture your wedding. You would look stunning in white, just as you looked now. And he would watch you walk down the aisle, smiling from ear to ear. Your vows would be exchanged, and you would retreat to the wedding bedroom. Chan felt his cheeks heat up, but he continued with his fantasy even as he glanced around nervously. There you lay, asleep and peaceful on the bed. He could not dare to do such a thing in front of your sleeping form, so he stood up and turned the chair around. It was much better to face a wall and do such a thing as touch himself thinking of you, right in front of your sleeping face. He still felt like a degenerate as he imagined the scene.

You would tease him, you liked to tease. He could imagine it now, your first layer of skirts falling gently to the floor, leaving you only in your thin underlayer. He could see your nipples, perky and rubbing against the fabric.

Chan gulped, palming himself slightly over his pants. It was embarrassing how quickly he rose to hardness, over a simple fantasy.

You would let the last layer fall, and sit on the bed, your perfect body on display for his greedy eyes. He watched as you smirked, spreading your legs and bearing your core for his eyes. Chan gulps as you beckon him forward, falling to his knees before your core.

The Chan in reality refuses to actually pull himself out of his pants, electing instead to press harder, his palm doing its best in the circumstances as he falls back into his fantasy.

You grip his hair, smirking down at him, and with enough force to startle, shove his face into your—

A knock sounds on the door, interrupting his dirty fantasies and Chan hurriedly does his best to hide his hardness, pulling himself as the maids lead the next doctor in. If they notice his disheveled appearance and how the chair is now facing the wall, they don't say a thing.

♔♕♔

For the next few days, the castle was abuzz with worry. The news spread fast, and soon villagers were lining up with gifts. Everything from jewelry to a bouquet of wildflowers given to him by a small girl, who sobbed and asked if the princess would wake up. Chan did his best to reassure her, even if on the inside he felt like crying.

He summoned every doctor he could, but none of them seemed to have an answer. You seemed to be stuck in time. You didn't need to eat, or drink, and you didn't change one bit, from the moment they found you laying inside that glass coffin, deep in the woods. Hours turned to days and you didn't wake up. Chan despaired. He posted desperate notices around the kingdom, begging for any information regarding endless sleep. He tried any and every doctor he could, he prayed to any god available, but alas, nothing.

Days turned to weeks, and the word seemed to move on around him, even as you slept, so beautiful but so lifeless, and even as Chan despaired. He did his best and ran the kingdom like he was supposed to, but everyone could tell his heart wasn't in it. His eyes looked glazed and distant, and he spent all his free time sitting by your bed, holding your hand. The villagers and nobles cooed at his dedication, calling it the love story of the century, but the servants did their best to keep the rumors from him. A month passed, and Chan feared you would never wake again. He was so close to giving up, when one day, a strange woman entered the palace, and with her dirty robes, she brought his hope.

The woman appeared old, but with witches, you could never be so sure. She smiled at Chan, looking calm and complacent, a sharp difference from Chan’s harried look. She was wearing a long red dress, a woolen cloak covering most of her body. When she first appeared, it had been covered in mud, but between the time she had entered the door and Chan had brought her to your room, the cloak looked brand new.

Chan spoke first. “Do you think you can help her? She won't wake up and I don't know what to do anymore—”

The witch raised a manicured finger, and Chan stopped talking, effectively shushed. The witch spoke, and her voice echoed in your large chambers, years younger than her appearance.

“I'll see what I can do.”

Chan blinked, and when he looked back at her, she had de-aged, looking closer to thirty than ninety. Her blond hair, cut in a sharp bob at her chin, peaked out from her hood as she smiled at him. Witches and their disguises. Her blue eyes lined heavily with black, took in the situation and Chan watched nervously as she walked to the bed where you lay, still as cold and silent as ever before. She looked at you for a second, her eyes scanning your features, frozen in time before her eyes moved to the golden apple, sitting inconspicuously on your small bedside table. Chan frowned as she picked it up, turning it around in her hands, her nails filed to lethal sharp points, and painted a dangerous red. He had never given the apple much thought, too concerned with your state, but as she turned it around he noticed the one, small bite, perfectly preserved, on one side.

Chan can't help himself, he rushes forward.

“Is that what it is? Is she poisoned? Is she never going to…”

He can't bear to say it and lets the sentence trail off. The witch stares at him for a moment, chewing something in her mouth, before she takes pity on his sorry state and sets the apple down, turning to him.

“Yes, cursed apple. But…”

She turns and walks to the strange mirror that had been sitting in the corner of your room. Chan watches in horror as she lifts a pointy heeled shoe, and gracefully kicks the mirror. The surface shatters, the pieces clattering to the ground like rainfall, and Chan opens his mouth to protest but shuts it as he watches.

The pieces have risen in the air, distorting and twisting until they crash to the earth, and with a strange howl, one that sounds a lot like despair and fills his soul with sadness, they vanish. The room seems automatically lighter, like a disturbing presence has been removed from the room, and Chan suddenly felt a bit more optimistic. The witch turned to him with a sigh, tossing the apple in the air. Chan watched it spin, slightly mesmerized.

“Alright, it seems like that vile mirror convinced your lover to depart into the woods and eat this apple.”

Chan frowned, questions spilling from his mouth.

“How did the mirror do that? What kind of mirror was it and why would it do that? Also—”

The witch held up a hand, silencing him as the apple spins in the air again, coming to rest in her manicured hand.

“It's a cursed mirror. A vile human soul, doomed to trick unsuspecting people into death.”

How did such a thing end up in your possession? He can only imagine the horrible thoughts it must have put into your head. Chan’s horror must show on his face because she chuckles a little as she continues.

“It must have played on her insecurities, impersonated a person she feared or respected, and convinced her to go into the woods.”

The witch moved over to the window as she spoke, and drew her arm back, and with all her might, threw the golden apple into the sunlight. It spuns in the air for a moment, before it exploded with a bang, disappearing into thin air. Chan staired. The witch laughed.

“That apple,” She said, dusting her hands of imaginary dirt. “Is a cursed item. It's the usual thing,”

The witch held up two fingers, and pitched her voice, mimicking someone. “Cursed to sleep until she receives true loves kiss,’ it's so cliche but some witches still rely on the old stuff—”

“True love’s kiss?”

The witch looked at him like he was stupid. “Yes, true love's kiss. Should be easy for you.”

She pulled the hood of her cloak up, and Chan watched as wrinkles grew on her fair skin, her hair turned a dark gray, and she aged about fifty years. Her voice was still clear and young when she spoke. “Unfortunately, I have to go.” she waved an old wrinkled hand and smirked at him. “Good luck.”

And with that, she was gone, like she was never even there, leaving Chan to deal with the bombshell of a declaration she dropped on his head.

Chan deliberated long and hard about this dilemma, his brain in conflict with his heart, worry constantly etched across his handsome face. He knew his kiss would work, he loved you more than he thought he had loved anything before. But as much as he longed to press his lips to yours, he was too afraid of the consequences, afraid of what would happen when his kiss worked and you opened your eyes. Afraid of the disdain that would cross your face once you realize your stepfather had inappropriate feelings for you. The thought of your face carved into a mask of disgust made his heart ache desperately in his chest, but he would rather live a life with your hatred than live a life without you entirely.

He sank into the chair beside your bed and turned his eyes on your still form. You were so beautiful, but silent and cold as a statue and Chan longed for anything, your laughter, your screams, even your sobs, anything but this cold shell of a woman laying deathly still on the bed. Your lips, slightly parted in sleep, taunted him. Blushed a pretty pink, curved and sultry and teasing him even now. You were a temptress incarnate, and Chan would do his best to resist your charms until the very end. You were carefree, wild and the exact opposite of your mother, and as a result you had no shortage of admirers. Your fiance, who in Chan's opinion was a jerk, the stable boy, a handsome new butler, a young lord at a ball. And some of them, you favored them back, disappearing off for secret trists that your mother had scoffed at and Chan wished desperately that he was one of those men you snuck off with. He still remembered the fateful time he had accidentally heard you, panted moans and pretty cries painting a forbidden picture. You sounded so beautiful, and Chan had longed desperately that he was the one teasing those sounds out of you, not some upstart young lord. He was ashamed at the way he leaned against the wall, guiltily listening to your symphony of sounds, unable to bring himself to leave until you reached your high, sneaking off to take care of himself. It was a shameful memory, one he blushed at even now, even as he desperately prayed to any god available, and leaned forward, pressing his lips to your own in a chaste kiss. A kiss so full of longing, a forbidden taste of something he could only pine for, a woman constantly out of his reach.

♔♕♔

The world was a sea of black. It stretched forever, all you could see. Your body felt weightless, and you blinked, looking around for something, anything. But there was nothing. You faintly remembered an apple, a mirror, and then the sensation of falling, but your memory after that was blank. You decided to walk forward, looking for anything. Your feet made no sound as you pattered across the nothingness, and after what seemed like only a few minutes, your vision began to waver. You felt a creeping sensation on your back, and a voice you could not hear urged you to run, run away from the thing behind you. You knew subconsciously that if it caught you, you would never wake up. And so you ran.

You flew, your desire to wake propelling your feet, even as your throat begged for water and your legs burned. Somewhere in the distance, you saw light, and in front of that light, a figure. A familiar figure, a figure of a man you loved with all your heart. You ran and ran, and the Chan in the distance held out a hand that you longed to grab. Your feet moved impossibly faster, and you practically flew towards him, even as the sound of slithering behind you grew louder, the creeping sensation sending shivers up your spine. And as you came into the light, as you grabbed his bigger hand in your own, as he pulled you into a warm hug, the world around you faded. The strange dreamscape blurred, and you opened your eyes to the familiar colors of the ceiling, in your private chambers. You blinked, and looked around, your eyes catching on the figure seated beside your bed. Chan looked haggard, his eyes were highlighted by dark circles and his hair was a mess, but the relief in his eyes trumped it all. Your mouth felt dry as you opened it to speak.

“I'm hungry.”

You watched in confusion as tears slipped from Chan's eyes, and he tackled you on the bed, hugging you tight to his chest. You fell back against the bed, your back hitting the silky covers as pounds of muscle crashed onto you, suffocating you in his embrace. You melted into it, albeit a little confused, and stoked his large back as he cried into your nightgown. Your voice cracked as you spoke again.

“What's wrong?”

The door crashed open, and your head maid and bedroom maids crashed into the room. As soon as they lay eyes on you they were running to the bed, tears running down their faces. You were beyond confused but no one bothered to answer your questions. It took a long time for everyone to stop crying, and the maids promptly heard your complaint and brought you a bowl of warm soup and bread. Chan, still sniffling, sat in the chair by your bed and looked deliciously disheveled and desperate. You munched happily on your food as the castle staff piled into your room, and answered their questions.

Chan asked the first question.

“Why did you go into the woods?”

You remembered the thoughts that had sent you into the woods, and now that you thought back on them it seemed oftly extreme. It seemed the mirror might have been the cause of them. You chewed thoughtfully as you answered.

“This strange mirror, it told me I could be beautiful…”

You play with your spoon, a little ashamed and blushing deeply as you continue.

“I was a little erratic, I am in love with this man and so I listened to the mirror’s rambles, even if they were irrational.”

You're too focused on your embarrassment to notice the giggles and looks traded among the staff, the way your stepfather's shoulders sink slightly, his disappointed gaze. Because he could never imagine that you love him, you must be in love with some young lord, a man who doesn't deserve your love, who could never give you what you want. He shook his head, putting a stop to that presumptuous line of thought. He knows you deserve someone younger than him, unmarried and full of youthful energy to match your carefree spirit.

You keep glancing at Chan out of the corner of your eye, looking for any change in his expression, and you watch in delight as his shoulders sink, and his face darkens. You feel a flicker of hope spark in your chest, small and pathetic, but there nonetheless. You decide to test the waters a little. Clasping your hands together, you keep your eye on Chan as you speak.

“I'm just so in love, I think of him every day, and I long to spend the rest of my life with him.”

You feel a little bad as you watch Chan’s face fall, watch his hands clenched in his lap. The small flame in your heart sputters and grows, roaring to life and heating your heart in a joyful fire. You are now sure he loves you back. He sends you a strained smile, trying to be encouraging.

“That's, um, wonderful!” The servants giggle behind him, trading secret smiles hidden behind their hands.

“So, when will I meet this wonderful man?” The emphasis on wonderful makes you want to laugh, and you choke back your giggles as you continue.

“You know him.” Confusion flashes across his face. “I do?” The staff is muffling laughter behind their hands, but Chan remains ever oblivious. You smirk. “Yes, very well.”

You think he might be the only person in the room, stuffed to the brim with castle staff, that hasn't gotten it. His brow furrows as he thinks. “Is it Lord Brandish?” You emphatically shake your head. He frowns. “I really can't think of anyone else…”

Your head butler coughed, running a hand through his perfectly combed silver hair. His voice is resigned as he speaks.

“It's you, sire.”

The room is dead silent. Chan stands, his eyes wide as he turns to the head butler. “Really?” The butler nods, and Chan turns again, tripping over the leg of the chair and crashing onto the bed, narrowly avoiding your soup. Your head maid rescues the food from your lap and you grin as Chan blushes, pulling himself into a sitting position. His voice is uncharacteristically shy as he speaks.

“Is it really me?” Your beaming as you nod and a hopeful smile lights up his handsome face. You throw the covers off your legs and stand, your feet hitting the soft carpet with a thud.

Chan takes your hand in his own, and bows before you, bringing his full lips to it. Your heart pounds as he presses a delicate kiss to it. He straightens to his full height “I love you more than you can imagine.” Someone coos in the background, but all you can see is the handsome man in front of you, your hand still clasped in his. He drops your hand, and you feel his hand heavy on your waist, his other hand coming up to caress your jaw, tilting your head up. His voice is so soft as he speaks.

“When I looked into your eyes, my heart felt like it would escape my chest and run into your arms.” Your own heart feels the same, and you wonder if you might die. He's closer to you now, and all you can see is him. Around you, the servants begin to creep out giggling and smiling as they leave. The door shuts behind the last of them but neither of you notice, too caught up in each other's eyes. His voice is raspy now, and his gaze drops to your lips, darting back up to your eyes and back down. “At that moment… I knew I loved you.”

He's so cheesy, and if any other man was saying such sugar-coated words, you would laugh in his face. But when Chan says it, your heart pounds in your chest and your cheeks burn with the fire of your heart. You suppose everything is different with him. His breath hits your lips, intermixing with your own as he comes ever closer. His voice is a whisper when he speaks.

“Can I kiss you?” You smile, your hand winding around to grip his shoulders, as you reply. “Please kiss me.”

And so he does.

♔♕♔

Your wedding is a joyous occasion, the townspeople clap happily, and as you kiss your new husband, under a rain of lilies, clutching the precious flower in your hands, you think back on what an odd set of events had preceded it. To think, in a way, you had your mother to thank for your husband. After all, it was she who brought Chan into your life, her death that had indirectly caused the two of you to have an opportunity to become closer and her magic mirror that pushed you to go trecking into the woods in the first place. And as the joyous wedding bells rang through the air, as you and Chan boarded the carriage and sat side by side, your head on his shoulder as the driver whipped the horses into a trot, you found it in yourself to be thankful to her. For although she had caused you a great deal of pain, in the end it had shaped you into the person you were today, a person full of flaws, yes, but those flaws just made you human.

“Why are you so quiet. Having second thoughts?”

You giggled, and snuggled closer into your husband's strong embrace. “I would never.” You replied, and tilted your head up for a kiss.

And as your lips locked, and you drove off into the sunset, you were sure this was the happiest you had been in your whole life, but you knew, there were only happy days to come.

♔♕♔

taglist: @angieknght, @moasworld, @lofasofabread, @smhlino, @elizalabs3, @orrrgannnic

#bang chan #bang chan x reader #chan smut #skz #skz smut #stray kids #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz x you #bang chan x you #mariannacrxss

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camille-lachenille · 4 months

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End of the Year Fic Rec

I was tagged by @echo-bleu and @dreamingthroughthenoise and it was very difficult to select only five fics for each category but here's my Must Read fanfics list, mostly Silmarillion but with a few LotR and one Hobbit. Also, I cheated at some point so you have one more fic rec as a treat

Recommend up to 5 series or multi-chapter fics from 2023 that everyone should read (multi-year WIPs count, if the last update was in 2023).

We will make this place our home by @leucisticpuffin

Summary: Elrond and Elros are sent to live with their distant cousins in a house that is crumbling slowly to pieces. They aren't especially happy about this. For Maedhros and Maglor, the twins are a rare chance to start living again.

Why you should read it: This is a whimsical, heartwarming yet bittersweet at times story about finding one’s place in a new world and what makes a family, grappling with the ghosts of the past and the pain of being a child left behind. Also the most exquisitely written modern AU (the style is just chef's kiss!) I’ve read so far, 100% recommend it!

Maglor is an Eldritch Horror by @thescrapwitch

Summary: After thousands of years singing to the sea, Maglor has become something strange and terrifying. But he still loves his family, and his family still loves him.

Why you should read it: Sometimes, family is a Half-Elf, his wife, their children, a shy and whimsical bard and the Eldritch kidnap grandfather who haunts the house; or how to write slightly creepy fluff. This series is pure heartwarming material and giving Elrond the happiness he desserves.

The Day the Horse-Lord wed the Lady of the Seas by @colinnoahmayhare (rated M)

Summary: After the War of the Ring, Lothíriel, Princess of Dol Amroth, finds herself at the receiving end of the search for peace and prosperity by being used as a pawn in an alliance made between kings and princes. Married to the King of the Riddermark, Éomer, she has to navigate being a foreigner in a foreign country, being a Queen to a King, and to learn to live and love with a man she hardly knows.

Why you should read it: This story is an intricate, gut wrenching exploration of what happens in Rohan after the War of the Ring, featuring delightful worldbuilding, lots of politics, revenge and honour. Now with Familial TraumaTM and Couple AngstTM for extra flavour!

And the Stars Shine the Same by @runawaymun (rated M)

Summary: After the Éothéod revolt against the Wainriders, the northern tribes seek to form strong alliances with their neighbors. Lord Frumgar tasks his son Fram to lead the delegation to Imladris. With him, he brings gold, fine horses, and two young thralls chosen by his father to be given to Lord Elrond himself. Elrond is conflicted to say the least.

Why you should read it: Do you like pre-canon Third Age history? Do you like worldbuilding about a few names from the Appendixes of LotR? Do you like found family and Good Dad Elrond? Do you like complex characters learning how to live with their traumas? This story is for you! (Just mind the warnings in the tags)

The ghost you dress up as (knows how to haunt) by @deadqueernoldor (rated M)

Summary: Maedhros was not the first Finwëan to be captured and taken to Angband, nor did he remain there the longest. Ranyatinwë, twin of Caranthir, was the first.

Why you should read it: Tinwë is such a complex character, 50% spite and 50% trauma, and this whole story is so, so promising already! (Really, you should read all the Strength of our Bonds series for extra unhinged, spiteful and unrepentant kinslayer Tinwë. I support women’s rights but in Tinwë’s case I firmly support women’s wrongs). This is pure post-Angband angstfest and dysfunctional siblings caring for each other in their weird way. If angst can be a comfort story, I found it.

Recommend up to 5 single chapter fics/one-shots (long or short) from 2023 that everyone should read.

Life in Miniature by @thescrapwitch

Summary: Turgon uses his hobby of building cities to recreate Gondolin, this time on a much smaller scale.

Why you should read it: For re-embodied Finwëan rebuilding their relationships as they work together on a miniature city; a heartwarming and really nice metaphor.

Hearth Fire by @dreamingthroughthenoise

Summary: Findis and Feanor speak before the Flight of the Noldor and share in their grief the best they can.

Why you should read it: Because there are so few stories centered around Findis and her feelings about her family and this one is so interesting and well written. Also, Findis is my Blorbo and everyone should read about her until they're consumed by the Blorbo.

your veins are empty of dust by @echo-bleu

Summary: Anairë finds her late one day in her workshop, surrounded by slabs of stone larger than her. Nerdanel is hammering forcefully at one of them, the barest hints of an elven shape already taking form in the marble. Bitter, stinging tears run down her cheeks and into her collar, and her arms ache with exhaustion.

The body is only barely sketched, but the face is already chiselled, smooth curves and angular cheekbones.

Fëanáro emerges out of the marble, looking like he’s about to take life.

Why you should read it: For a heartbreaking dive into Nerdanel's grief, her friendship with Anairë and how Nerdanel's art becomes her way to cope with loneliness and grief.

see it fall, child of war by @swanmaids

Summary: Elwing's time runs out.

Why you should read it: Because these may be the 740 most impactful words I've read about Elwing since I discovered the Silm fandom.

soldier keep on marching on (waiting on that morning sun) by songofswiftsunrise

Summary: Boromir lives. The world is the smallest bit brighter for it.

Why you should read it: Do I need a more convincing argument than what the summary says? Boromir lives and everyone is happier. I love a good fix-it and this one is very well written indeed.

Recommend up to 5 fics NOT from 2023 that everyone should read (oldies but goodies.)

The Carpenter’s Son by Zimra (rated M, warning for rape/non-con)

Summary: An untold story of conquered Dor-lómin, in which an Easterling carpenter has a child by his Hadorian slave.

Why you should read it: This story explores in a very interesting way a par of canon that is almost never mentionned (except in the Narn). The main character is attaching and I really cared for her and her son. The hindsights in the slavers' minds are chilling with their realism and this whole story is just so well written. Also, it ends on a note of hope.

And what I am needs no excuses by aurembiaux

Summary: Sam has always been in love with Frodo. It's only that it takes him forty years to realize that he is.

Why you should read it: Probably the most heartwarming and relatable self-discovery story I’ve ever read; set in England from the WWII to the 80’s, with all the social changes that happened in this time period. Featuring Supportive Dad (and Friend) Sam as the main character and a whole bunch of introspection. One of my all time comfort read!

Mark of a Warrior by starryeyedknight

Summary: After the funeral for Theoden, Merry wakes up to a problem experienced by many a young man after a night of heavy drinking. The ink on his arm doesn't appear to be washing off…

Why you should read it: This one shot explores the relationships Merry formed with the RIders of Rohan, the grief he has in common with them and how he found his place amongst the riders, all of this with delightful humour and lightness despite the initial situation.

Dancing with my punchlines by LiveOakWithMoss (rated M)

Summary: In which the sons of Fëanor throw house parties, the beer is terrible, 20-something hipster elves act like their drama is as bad as it is in canon, and macking on cousins is fair game.

Why you should read it: If you like a good old modern AU with tons of drama of various sorts, amazing ace representation and general Finwëans shenanigans, this is the story for you.

Old Maggie Took by @deadqueernoldor

Summary: The headcanon about Maglor, second son of Fëanor, lives hidden in the Shire? Yes.

Why you should read it: My ultimate comfort read series; featuring mouth-watering descriptions of food, kidnadopted fam and Maglor being an overgrown hobbit and trolling everyone in ME and Valinor. This is fluffy, this is silly, this is prefect.

Recommend up to 5 of your own fics (completed or WIP) from 2023 that everyone should read.

Dreams of Doom (rated M, warning for Major Character Death)

Summary: “She runs in the dark, alone. Where her feet carry her, she knows not, and her heart is heavy with dread. Someone - something - is watching her.”

Niënor from the moment she arrives in Brethil to her death.

Why you should read it: Because this fic is my firsborn child and I am insanely proud of it, especially since I went so out of my comfort zone to write it. It features two of my obscure blorbos and I poured my soul into it.

Ice Age(s)

Summary: Ice skating through the ages, from Idril learning with her grandfather to Elrond perpetuating the familial tradition.

Why you should read it: This is a fluffy fic, mostly, and it's also a gift for the amazing @echo-bleu. I also wrote it in a sort of trance in the middle of the night, passed out the moment I posted it and had no memory whatsoever of what I had written upon waking up in the morning, yet I still love this fic dearly.

I never wanted to walk in your steps

Summary: Tilda was ten, the same age Sigrid was at her birth, and her world was collapsing more than when Smaug had destroyed Laketown.

Why you should read it: Because I privately call this fic Hobbit angstfest. I took a sad, doomed ship and asked myself "how can I make it sadder?"

ar ámen apsenë úcaremmar

Summary: Few know of Findis the Faithful, eldest daughter of Finwë, who never lost hope for her family.

Why you should read it: I took my obscure blorbo and set her in a medieval-ish AU. It's sad and a little hopeful too and there's a lot of Quenya interspaced through the story.

Quiet morning in Gondolin

Summary: Idril and Eärendil spend some time together before the city wakes up.

Why you should read it: I'll put the link to the beautiful art that inspired this ficlet and let it speak for me.

And I tag everyone I tagged in this post who hasn’t already done this fics rec tag

#fic recs #tolkien #the silmarillion #the lord of the rings #the hobbit #long post

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snowberry-crostata · 1 year

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I've been spending some time cleaning up and organizing this Imperial Library post about TES conlangs for my own personal use. The amount of love and labor that must have gone into creating the post is astounding, but sadly it looks like the author hasn't logged on in over a year and from their comments they were mostly focused on developing the Elven languages, leaving Nordic sadly unfinished. Now that I've got all their components organized and searchable, I think I'm going to try and continue fleshing it out bit by bit to use in my stories.

Speaking of stories I ended up back on one of my favorite Wikipedia pages today, which is this list of ways that different cultures start and end fairytales, fables, and folk stories. It got me thinking about oral traditions among the Nords and what their story starters and endings would be like. So to practice with the conlang, I decided to tweak some from the Wikipedia list and translate them into Nordic. They're not necessarily word-for-word translations, and I had to invent quite a few verbs and a handful of nouns that weren't in the original post, but I had a lot of fun translating these!

Story Starters:

Listen! Bryla!

Once there was a story… Aan tid valvi tal…

In ancient days… I ald dalgar…

Once there lived a king/queen… Ont fjørvi rik/rika…

In some kingdom, in some land, there lived… I kongerike, i land, fjørvi…

Once there was a truly great friendship… Aan tid valvi thrud sinid...

Back when dragons sang to the skies… Eer herr draker hjoldvir vid va himmlar…

Once there was and once there wasn’t. In long-distant days of yore, when whales roamed the skies, when giants sailed the seas, when Kyne breathed on the mountain, there lived… Ont valvi o ont ejvalvi. I kryssig dalgarva, herr hvalar gandravi va himmlar, herr myrvagandar kjølvi va hafar, herr Kyne vindvir va fjell, fjørvi…

Beyond nine mountains, beyond nine rivers, beyond nine holds, there was… Brir ni fjelle, brir ni stradar, brir ni holdar, valvi…

I remember something my father told me, and that is this:... Ek damvir aanding meja fathir talvir mej, o a vorar her:...

And the endings:

And my tale went from mountain to mountain and I remained with the Companions. O meja tal gangvi fram fjell vid fjell o ek sarvir opp va rolfar.

So at last the tale is finished. Alleid sindi va tal sladvir.

And they lived happily and had many children. O jo veli fjørvi o fyltvi hyra barnar.

And they lived happily until they died. O jo veli fjørvi ere jo offravi.

And for three days they ate and drank and reveled. O fram thri dagar jo matvi o vatravi o lofravi.

And they met at last in the Hall of Shor. O jo sindi finnvi i Sovngarde.

Their grief was ended and they met joyfully. Jora bør sladvir o jo veli fjaldvi.

My tale has finished, it has gone home. Meja tal sladvir, a gangvir heim.

And they have happiness and wealth to this day. O jo fjørvi velle o hyra goll vid her dag.

This is the end; run away with it. Her vora va slad; rurar brir opp a.

If you don’t believe it, find out for yourself. Ef ek ej radvar a, finna ser a.

And I was there too, and drank mead and beer. O ek valvir ott, o vatravir honnung o bjor.

The tale has come to its end, but the story remains. Va tal famvir vid ara slad, ak va tal sarar.

#language #Nords #conlang #my stuff #Skyrim #the elder scrolls

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isa-ghost · 2 months

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Hej halloj! Jag tänkte bara säga att jag tycker att AMFMN är väldigt cool! Och att jag ser fram emot att få läsa mer! (Ingen press såklart!) om det är headcanons, eller kapitel, så är det något jag ser fram emot!

Här är lite tankar: (i kronologisk(?) ordning)

Jag gillade verkligen hur målningen i museet förebådar vad som kommer/kan hända med Philza senare i fic-en!

Det känns som att Phil är på väg ner en väldigt ond spiral där han är rädd för att bli det Ender King vill bli, och det är just det som gör att han hamnar där EnderKing vill ha honom. Det är också hur vi ser honom märka av det i slutet av kap1 och början av kap 2.

Hur Etoiles och Fit inte tänker något om hur Phil beter sig annorlunda först, hur han bara trycker bort allt jobbigt framför alla andra. Det speglar verkligen hur cc!Phil har attityden ”haha funny block game!” (och hur q!phil tänker att han måste bära allt själv).

Phil bara zonar ut och som tas över och börjar analysera hur han skulle kunna slå de runtomkring honom - och han kommer inte ens ihåg det! Det bådar ju gott…

När han bränner sig av vattnet!!! Ahhh! Så snyggt gjort! Det drog in mig typ 10000 gånger starkare! Hur han tvingas komma underfund med att han redan påverkas av Ender King, att det inte bara är något som ligger i framtiden! För med de tidigare tecknen har han kunnat intala sig själv att det inte är på riktigt, men det här… väldigt svårt att intala sig själv att det inte händer när det påverkar en fysiskt på det sättet

Frågelåda:

Har du någon liten detalj som du valt att ha med som är din favorit? Eller något som vi läsare inte förstår har betydelse än, men kommer att få det senare?

Hoppas du har det bra! :)

YESSSS YES YES YES YES YOU GET IT !!

Oh absolutely 100%, a few even.

One of my favorites is ALSO a detail readers won't understand until Chapter 5. The chapter titles. You haven't seen it yet, but when Phil is finally possessed, they'll... change. :)

In-story, my favorite detail is probably all the foreshadowing. I've poured so much into these two chapters it's hilarious. I've foreshadowed the possession, future plot points, future character appearances. Some even on accident. And in future chapters, there will be the reverse: tons of callbacks, especially to Chapter 1 & 2!

I'm also having a blast using canon elements to make things more fucked up. In Chapter 3 we're returning to Missa's shark tank where EK first made himself known, and Chapter 4 is dedicated to Eggza PLUS we'll be returning to the Birdhouse Taiga for Reasons. ;) I love taking seemingly harmless parts of canon and twisting them in ways that make everyone want to kick my ass LOL.

Thank you so much for the question and the rambling!! It's my favorite part of writing so far, watching everyone freak out over it and sharing their thoughts. :D

#AMFMN things #qsmp #qsmp philza #q!philza

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seenthisepisode · 5 months

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early 2021 spn destiel tumblr simulator

canondestiel reblogged castielscock follow

i did NOT have a "destiel goes explicitly romantically both sided canon BUT in spanish and THEN misha collins tries to set things straight while in a middle of a divorce on a thanksgiving day" on my bingo list but here we are i guess?!

#the cw sniper's aim was right between his eyes probably

27 896 notes

slickdean reblogged blowjobdean

WHY LA VERDAD????? NO DESPAIR???? #TheySilencedThem #CoWards

#tinfoil hat and clown shoes stay on honk honk

56 438 notes

endgamehandprint reblogged willowdestiel follow

know your herstory ;)

#he was always on our side!!!!!!

7 843 notes

deancascanon reblogged 11052020

hellerjensenackles

not jensen ackles talking about blue green flannel 😭 go off heller king 😞✊

deanswinchestres-deactivated091

come onn this was on accident and i love the guy but he is at best indifferent to the concept to destile

britneycastiel

he was literally asked for permission to film the confession scene. and he gave his blessing so shut up

castieltops

#destile 😭

#while i think he was maybe not into destiel at the beginning he was an enjoyer of it in the later seasons #because the concept of kissing misha or whatever wasn't scary anymore it was but an everyday routine for him <3 #cockles

6 508 notes

robertsingerhater follow

after years of hatecriming and queerbaiting i am done. i am so officially done. i will never watch another cw show. we shouldn't be giving them any money or recognition. in these few easy steps i will explain how it's best to boycott w*lker and what hashtags to use on twitter on the special time at the special date:

--------------------------Read More---------------------------

4 375 notes

lgbtcasdean reblogged impalasexx

dickstiel

"the original ending was something that i feel would be much better explored in fan fiction anyway" MISHA WHAT DID YOU FUCKING MEAN BY THAT

omegiansensibilities

he also talked about rainbow wings ;_; OH MY GOD what if they are iridescent?!?!?

swiftieenatural follow

IRIDESCENT CAS WINGS ARE NOW CANON TO ME CAN SOMEONE DRAW THIS OMG

12 703 notes

gabrielsamrowena follow

so first they say the bloody handprint was sp8's idea, then they say it was just something that came to them on the spot and then jensen admits it was his idea only to later contradict it and say it was misha's idea???? what is the fucking truth can someone write a tell-all memoir that turns into an hbo documentary already i NEED to know EVERYTHING

5 820 notes

cocklesdreams reblogged mishasjensens

help me and @cockkless were trying to figure it out and we listened to the scene 4647 times and analyzed it frame by fram WHAT DID HE SAY are we hearing things

3 786 notes

hellermishaswift

YOU'RE TELLING ME JENSEN HAS WHAT on his phone???????

#he filmed the scene. he filmed it. he fucking did that. the insane motherfucker did that because he knew. #right? #he had to know that this scene will get buthcered in the end. that the most important stuff won't be in teh final cut #apart from castiel's i love you of course but i guess he might have thought this might be cut too??? #what the absolute hell was going on that set that day

9 364 notes

angelstouch reblogged submissivedeans

there is another online con this weekend and i will be livestreaming it here <333

#but also if they mention the plane accident again i will kms and stop streaming <3 ask destiel questions or else 🔪🔪🔪

5 293 notes

whylamp reblogged milfrowena

samswig follow

do we think that the rogue translator and cw sniper ever explored each oth- [I AM BEING FORCIBLY DRAGGED OUTSIDE] [GUNSHOTS ARE HEARD]

twistanddshouut

no but i bet the no homo intern and the cw twitter intern did tho <3

#if you remember the no homo intern you might be entitled to financial compensation . few people know that :)

75 367 notes

#am i doing it right?#spn #destiel

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ltwilliammowett · 2 years

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The Gjøa

The Gjøa was the first ship to sail through the heavily iced Northwest Passage between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans in Canada's far north.

She was a herring jakt built in Norway in 1872. She was 21.3 m long, 6.1 m wide and had a speed of 7 knots. She was built of Norwegian wood and named Gjøa after the wife of the first captain Asbjörn Sexe from Haugesund. She was used as a herring trawler on the south-west coast of Norway until 1885, when she was sold to Captain Hans Christian Johannsen from Tromso, who used her as a seal trawler in the Berents Sea.

The Gjøa (x)

In 1901, the inexperienced Roald Amundsen set out to find a cheap but robust ship with which he could launch his ambitious attempt to cross the Northwest Passage. His choice fell on the small but ice-tested Gjøa. Aware of his inexperience, he hired the previous captain and his own Johannsen and sailed with him on a seal hunt to test the Gjøa. After returning to Tromsø, a paraffin engine was installed at the Tromsø shipyard in the winter of 1901/1902, which powered a small propeller. In addition, the hull was further strengthened against ice pressure and the ship was better insulated. In 1902, the ship went to Trondheim, where a fuel tank was installed and finally transferred to Christiania, where she was equipped for the expedition, so that supplies and spare parts were packed for 5 years. On 16 June 1903, the ship finally set sail for the Davis Strait west of Greenland. The crew consisted of six men: Roald Amundsen as expedition leader, 1st officer Godfred Hansen, as 1st mate Helmer Hanssen, as 2nd mate Anton Lund, as 1st engineer Peder Ristvedt, as 2nd engineer Gustav Juel Wiik and as cook Adolf Henrik Lindstrøm.

The Gjøa (x)

After crossing the North Atlantic, she sailed north along the west coast of Greenland, crossed Baffin Bay at Cape York and entered Lancaster Sound. Ice conditions were good and the ship was able to sail swiftly through the sound and the subsequent Barrow Strait. The pack ice to the north of Prince of Wales Island then prohibited further westward travel, so the Gjøa sailed south through Peel Sound east of Prince of Wales Island to King William Island. In September 1903, ice conditions became increasingly difficult, so wintering took place in a natural harbour on King William Island. In 1904, the ice conditions were far worse than the previous year and so the Gjøa was unable to free herself from the ice that year. The crew used the forced stay to explore the surrounding area.

Gjøa during the wintering 1903-1905 in Gjøahavn, King-William-Island (x)

It was not until 1905 that the voyage continued westwards south of KIng William Island and Victoria Island, reaching the Beaufort Sea north of the mouth of the Mackenzie River. In October 1905, ice slowed down the expedition and made it impossible to continue, and the Gjøa froze them again at Herschel Island. On 11 July 1906, the expedition continued west to the Bering Strait and reached Nome, Alaska on 31 August 1906, crossing the Northwest Passage for the first time and arriving in San Francisco as a hero in October 1906. Amundsen and his crew returned to Norway, only the Gjøa the little hero stayed behind. She was acquired by the Norwegian-American Citizenship there and displayed at the Golden Gate Bridge as a museum ship.

The Gjøa in transit (x)

Gjøa in the Fram museum (x)

In 1972, she was returned to Norway and has since been housed in the Fram Museum in Oslo.

#naval history #gjøa #ships who made history #northwest passage #early 20th century #age of steam

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runawaymun · 7 months

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WIP Poll Sentences Update!!

so re this poll I did a while back, where you guys voted on a WIP for me to work on and then I had to write as many sentences as the poll got notes, here's 81 sentences from the next chapter of Boundless Sky.

Disclaimer: Thane Dickwad has yet to be named, and so he is Thane Dickwad for the purposes of me taking away possible excuses to procrastinate writing. This is a rough draft lmao. I'll comb through some Saxon names and give him a proper name after I'm done suffering over the rough draft.

Disclaimer 2: these are not continuous. This chapter is getting written piecemeal because it's one of those that's giving me a headache. So this is just a bunch of disjointed snippets and sentences, sorry!

quick CW: It's a Fram chapter, so this includes...well the Éothéod of And the Stars Shine the Same. They're kind of their own warning. But this chapter includes depictions of slavery (we've got thralls), and a small amount of violence.

So anyway, here are those 81 sentences (plus a few extra tbh) that you guys made me write! Thank you to everyone who voted and thanks for your patience while I've been wrestling with this chapter!!

Frumgar’s hall was a cavernous longhouse framed in timber and roofed with green sod. Painted pillars stood in rows like sentries guarding the throne and dais at the far end. A huge central fire burned brightly in the great hearth, belching out plumes of smoke up toward the ceiling. In that haze, thralls scurried like ants, laying out long trestle tables for that evening’s feast. Fram and Etheldred walked side-by-side through the fray, past the common space, and through a thick woven curtain into the corridor beyond.

It felt strange and mostly empty — almost ghostly — in comparison to the bustling main room. There were only a few people mulling about between the private rooms. Fram let out a breath, then glanced over at Etheldred to find him moping.

Fram honestly hadn’t even been paying enough attention to notice her. She was standing in the corridor, a cleaning pail at her feet, and with her was one of his father’s bannerman who was looming in the doorway of one of the private rooms, blocking entry.

She was well-behaved. Never stepped out of line. Very good at keeping out of sight. Fram couldn’t think of the last time she’d ever managed to upset a member of the house, not even his mother, so he was left racking his brain about what she could have possibly done to warrant the ire on the bannerman’s face.

“Funny way of looking for you, trying to get into my room,” the thane snapped, and it was more directed at the mouse, who ducked away from him, darting closer to Fram. Her left ear was bright red, likely from a cuff, and that made Fram flash hot. He had no right to go around touching his father’s thralls.

Fram took a step forward, effectively hedging the mouse behind him, and let his gaze drift back to thane. Next to him, Etheldred folded his arms.

“Keep your thralls out of my room.”

Right. That was it. Thane Dickwad, from the Narrows. He had traveled quite a long way to be here, and if Fram remembered rightly, had lost many men in that battle with the orcs that spring when the king had ridden upon Rivendell to retrieve Fram from Lord Elrond. Fram collected himself and stood up a little straighter.

"That’s a mouse. It’s meant to go in your room to keep it tidy. It’s only doing as it’s been told, like all the rest of them. I’ll have my mother inform the household to keep out of your room for the rest of your stay. I apologize,” and that was said with a thin smile that made it clear Fram was not at all sorry, “We are only trying to be good hosts.” He craned his neck, glancing past Dickwad’s shoulder into the chamber, and noted the way he sidestepped to block his line of sight. “Hiding something in there?”

“Of course not,” Dickwad snapped.

“Then you have no reason to get so angry, do you?” Fram replied. Then, he kept his tone cool as he addressed the mouse: “Apologize to Thane Dickwad and let’s go. You’ve wasted plenty of my time already.”

The mouse bowed very low, muttering a panicked I’m sorry. Thane Dickwad just scoffed in disbelief and shoved past them, storming down the corridor and out into the main hall.

Fram let out a sigh of relief. The mouse was still shaking at his side, no doubt waiting to be dismissed. He gestured, indicating that she was free to go, and she was quick to snatch up her cleaning bucket and hurry off, shoulders drawn up to her ears, the bucket clenched in a white-knuckled fist.

“No thanks,” Fram said, tone sour. “Lost my appetite. I’m going to my room.” When Etheldred’s good-natured expression pulled at the edges, Fram took a second to file the sharpness off of his voice before he offered: “See you tonight?”

“Sure,” Etheldred agreed as he started for the door. “Should be fun.”

Fram was in a black mood for the rest of the afternoon. In hindsight, antagonizing his father’s bannermen wasn’t exactly the best way to spend his time. There had probably been a better way to handle that situation with Dickwad and he ought to have been harder on the mouse, he just couldn’t bring himself to. It (she, she) had just been doing her job. He couldn’t fault her for that.

Beyond that, though, it was Thane Dickwad’s reaction to the mouse entering his room that bothered him, and the way he had tried (seemingly without being conscious of it) to block Fram’s view inside. Fram felt sure that if the mouse had interrupted something important, then the thane surely would have said so. But no, he had said she was snooping.

Well, Fram had known her a long time. She kept to herself. She never got into any trouble. There was no way she could have been snooping.

So why was Thane Dickwad so worried about it?

It was likely wounded pride, and nothing else. Most of his father’s bannermen were quick to anger, especially when it came to thralls. Fram could count on one hand the number of men who were not.

He resolved to put it out of his mind and get ready for the feast, lest he spend too long sulking and wind up late for the feast.

As Frumgar got up from the table, the mouse hurried in again to collect his plate. Fram’s mother struck out with her table knife and pinned the mouse’s hand to the table with a sickening crunch of bone.

Fram sat there, stunned, watching as blood bubbled up all over the scrubbed oak board. The thrall’s body had gone rigid, her jaw working, liking she was biting her tongue to keep from crying out.

“It’s polite to go slowly, and to wait and see if anyone has need of you, rather than darting in and out from the table. It’s annoying. We should rename you to gadfly. It seems more apt,” his mother said, in a voice still and cold as a frozen lake. “Do you understand?”

Frantically, the mouse nodded.

Next to her, Faedlimid looked as green as her dress as she sat there, staring at her lap.

“Mother, let her go,” Fram tried.

Instead, she quietly said: “Refill my cup.”

The music from the dance seemed both too loud and somehow fuzzy. Fram couldn’t feel his tongue as he sat there, white knuckled, watching the mouse shakily reach for the jug of mead on the table, lift it, and carefully, carefully pour it into his mother’s glass.

Only when she was finished, and had set the jug aside, did his mother yank the knife out of her hand with another horrible crunch. As soon as she was free, the blonde mouse fled the table, choking on her tears and cradling her hand, and three more of them rushed in with rags to sop up the blood.

Fram watched in disbelief as his mother simply sat back in the chair and drowned herself in her cup, watching his father make his rounds through the room. He looked down at his plate and found the slice of pork he’d been so interested in earlier was flecked with blood. Fram pushed the plate away, sick, and stood from his chair.

“Where are you going?” Faedlimid asked, looking betrayed.

He tried to find a smile for her. “I just need some air. I’ll be back.”

#beneath a boundless sky #fram #faedlimid #wip poll game

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victoria-werke-1953 · 1 year

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flickr

Kedja, rulle, kilrem-, Teknik för alla nr 11, 1953 (1) by Mats Peterson Via Flickr: Från www.veteranmopeder.com/veteranmopeder.nu/tfaartiklar.htm.

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10x2 · 6 months

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1959 "king" (fram king fulda)

#my uploads #cars

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thethirdman8 · 7 months

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#oh lordy #SoundCloud

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sophiebernadotte · 7 days

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H.M. The King's speech at the state banquet in connection with the state visit from the Republic of Finland

Herr Republikens president, Fru Innes-Stubb, Herr talman, Herr statsminister, Statsråd, Excellenser, Mina damer och herrar,

Det är med stor glädje som Drottningen och jag välkomnar Er, Herr president och Fru Innes-Stubb, till Sverige. Traditionen bjuder att den finländska presidenten avlägger sitt första statsbesök i vårt land. Den tycker jag att vi fortsätter värna om – liksom våra nära och goda relationer!

Herr president,

Ni är det sjätte finländska statsöverhuvudet som jag nu har nöjet att möta. Mitt första statsbesök till Finland ägde rum redan år 1974. Som ung Kung hade jag då äran att tas emot av den finländska presidenten, Urho Kekkonen.

Ärade gäster,

I dag står våra länder närmare varandra än någonsin tidigare i modern tid. Vi är geografiskt, historiskt och kulturellt sammanflätade. 600 år av gemensam historia har satt sina spår.

De starka och täta kontakterna mellan Finland och Sverige tar sig uttryck på många olika sätt. Natoprocessen är ett utmärkt exempel på när våra länder samarbetat mycket nära och förtroligt för att slutligen bli fullvärdiga medlemmar i alliansen.

Nu inleds en ny säkerhetspolitisk era efter många år av alliansfrihet. Våra länders relationer fördjupas härmed ytterligare. Det nordiska försvarssamarbetet förstärks också av att hela Norden ingår i Nato. Man får nog gå tillbaka till Kalmarunionen för att hitta så starka band mellan de nordiska länderna.

Vi står också enade i vårt stöd till Ukraina. Rysslands anfallskrig är en stor tragedi och ett hot mot vår frihet och säkerhet. Det fortsatta stödet till Ukraina är avgörande för en fredlig utveckling även i vår region.

Ärade gäster,

Högteknologiska innovationer och vidsträckta skogar – båda viktiga faktorer för en hållbar framtid – förenar Finland och Sverige. Liksom vår vilja att samarbeta kring Arktis och att rädda Östersjöns havsmiljö. Allt detta bottnar i vår kärlek till naturen – till skogen, sjöarna och havet. Tove Jansson sätter ord på denna gemensamma känsla, som även delas av Mumintrollet, i boken ”Kometen kommer.”

”Han tänkte på hur förfärligt mycket han älskade allting, skogen och havet, regnet och vinden, solskenet och gräset och mossan och hur omöjligt det vore att leva utan alltsammans.”

Herr president,

Det finländska folket har mycket att vara stolta över. Och då har jag inte nämnt alla era framgångsrika kompositörer, konstnärer, formgivare, arkitekter och idrottare. Eller att ni är världens lyckligaste folk – för sjunde året i rad! Faktum är att alla nordiska länder befinner sig på topp 10. Det säger väl ändå något om Norden!

Jag skulle även vilja lyfta fram den nyligen genomförda finska presidentvalskampanjen som kännetecknades av god anda och respektfull ton. Här är Ert land en förebild för många andra länder.

Herr president,

Finland har alltid en plats i svenska folkets hjärtan. Vi är grannar, vänner och familj, med så mycket som förenar oss. Låt oss hålla hoppet levande och möta omvärldens utmaningar – tillsammans!

För Er, herr Republikens president, för Republiken Finland, för banden mellan våra länder och folk – då som nu och in i framtiden – föreslår jag en skål.

Speech held by H.M. King Carl XVI Gustaf at the Royal Palace in Stockholm on April 23, 2024.

#swedish royal family #speeches #king carl xvi gustaf #240423

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