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caxde · 2 years ago

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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 · 1 year ago

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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.

♔♕♔

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queen-of-reptiles · 1 year ago

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𝙷𝙰𝙼𝙼𝙴𝚁 𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴

description: In which dagný's girlfriend surprises her with a sudden move and wonders how she didn't pick up on all the hints previously

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dagný brynjarsdóttir x female reader

disclaimer: this is all fiction! Do not take any of this seriously, i am in no way saying Dagny is bi-sexual!

warnings: language, bad google translation, cuteness and so much fluff - so much

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y/n just posted

liked by, dagnybrynjars, alexandraj18, and 198, 390 others

y/n blár hefur alltaf verið minn litur, hver vissi að tárin væri það líka?

blue has always been my colour, who knew claret was too?

view 6283 comments

username1: JESUSSSSSSS 😍😍😍😍😍

username2: HOW????? 🔥🔥

username3: I feel like she is too hot to be a footballer?!?!?!!! 😱

username4: UGGHHHHHH 🔥🔥🔥

dagnybrynjars: Ég er heppin kona 😍😍

i'm a lucky woman

y/n: Ég er heppnari elskan 😘

I am luckier baby

clarewheeler: OMG!

y/n: hehe my new fav dress!

karen_holmgaard: I don't blame you! Beautiful!

y/n: xoxo

alexandraj18: móðir! 🔥🥺

mother!

y/n: barnið mitt! 😊

child of mine!

dagnybrynjars: okkar!

of ours

y/n: okkar, afsakið elskan 😚😚

of ours, apologies baby

username5: omg this is so cute! ☺️

username6: what did they say???

username5: Alex called y/n mother and y/n called her 'child of mine' and dagny corrected her saying 'of ours' and y/n responded with 'of ours of sorry baby!'

username6: omg they are the cutest!!!!

username7: AWWWWWWWW 🥹🥹🥹

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y/n just posted on their story

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dagnybrynjars just posted on her story

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y/n just posted on their close friends story

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y/n just posted

liked by, mackenziearnold, dagnybrynjars and 203, 822 others

y/n hammer time!

(Vil taka það fram að ég á mjög erfitt með að vera DIY kærasta.)

(Would like to point out I am very much struggling being a DIY girlfriend.)

view 6088 comments

username1: I love her so much 🥺🥺

username2: I am loving all of her west ham puns atm!! 😂

username3: RIGHT?! but they are making me wonder...

username4: omg do you think?? 😶😶

username5: HAHAHAHA

dagnybrynjars: þú gerðir frábært starf elskan! ❤️

you did a wonderful job baby!

y/n: Ég grét þrisvar og fékk mér tveggja tíma lúr - bölvaðu aukaæfingunni þinni! Elska þig tho! ❤️

I cried three times and had a two hour nap - curse your extra training session! love you tho!

mackenziearnold: DIY SOS - proud of you!

y/n: awwww thanks Mac! ☺️

hawacissoko23: Go on y/n!! Stick it to the mrs! 👏

y/n: no ring no Mrs ! 🤷‍♀️

kirstysmith.11: @dagnybrynjars

dagnybrynjars: not mrs yet... 😏

username6: 😱😱😱

username7: omg omg OMGOMG

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Dagny waited for their new arrivals with the rest of the girls, some of them were passing a ball between them while Dagny watched her phone, confused her girlfriend hadn't texted her.

A vibration makes the skipper look down and Dagny sighs when she sees it is just a new post from West Ham women, welcoming their new signing.

Flicking her phone open, Dagny lets out a call of shock at her girlfriend's face staring back at her, Mackenzie laughs, having known about the transfer and spins her skipper to face her girlfriend.

y/n was lent against the tunnel entrance, the new signings of Riko already talking to others with her translator. y/n looked fantastic in the hammer's shirt and Dagny could feel the breath leave her.

How hadn't she known, how hadn't she'd guessed? All the hints obvious now, her Hammer puns, her change in colour for her wardrobe.

"Ertu búin að ná þér, ástin mín?" y/n asked her girlfriend with a chuckle.

caught up have you, my love?

"Ég er þvílíkur hálfviti." Dagny gasps.

I am such an idiot

"Hálfvitinn minn." y/n hums making Dagny smile softly.

my idiot

The skipper sighs at her girlfriend and moves forward the two meeting in a soft kiss, still aware they were in public. The sound of gagging echoes.

The two pull away and turn to the team who are all mock gagging and y/n rolls her eyes before Mackenzie grins widely and runs at her happily.

"Macca!" y/n laughs as the woman scoops her up tightly and spins.

"Skipper's mrs!" Mackenzie yells and there is an echo of laughter.

"No ring no mrs!" y/n yells back as she is finally placed back on her feet the rest of the team coming to greet her.

Dagny only smiles softly at her lover before the group are called away ready for training.

"You're here." Dagny hums as she takes her girlfriend's hand softly.

"I'm here." y/n reassures as they join the group.

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y/n just posted

liked by hawacissoko23, mackenziearnold and 218, 276 others

tagged dagnybrynjars

y/n think she finally caught on...

view 12, 281 comments

username1: COME ON YOU IRONS ⚒️⚒️⚒️

username2: so excited to have her omggggg!!!

username3: allll the puns make sense now! 😂

username4: how did we not see the hints???? 🤨

dagnybrynjars: Took me a while, but I'm there!

y/n: xoxo

mackenziearnold: I KNEW ABOUT IT HA 😁😁

kirstysmith.11: So did I kenzie, you're not special

mackenziearnold: :(

username5: AGHHHHHHHH ❤️❤️❤️

username6: she does look good in claret tbf

username7: HOT! 😛

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dagnybrynjars just posted

liked by y/n, alexandraj18 and 289, 182 others

tagged y/n

dagnybrynjars she does look good in claret

view 10, 222 comments

username1: 🥹🥹🥹🥹

username2: Yes she does...

mackenziearnold: you two are so cute it makes me feel sick!

kirstysmith.11: icky

y/n: you want me to hand out receipts ??? 🤨

mackenziearnold: omg you guys are so cute! 😅

kirtsysmith.11: I agree so cuteeee! 😊

y/n: that's what I thought 😏

username3: hahahahahahahahah 😂😂

westhamwomen: Happy to have you y/n!!

y/n: ❤️

dagnybrynjars: happy to have her too honestly!

username4: I love her so much omg!! 🥺

username5: I miss her already (everton fan here!) 😭

username6: I know she was so lovely and so good! We are going to go down without her! 😭

username7: she's a snake for leaving Everton honestly 🖕🖕

username8: why???? because she wanted to be with her girlfriend of 8 years? because she was offered a massive contract with West Ham for great money and better exposure?? She gave six years to Everton, she is allowed to move! 🙄

username9: 👏👏👏

username10: loving the fact this is black and white lmao 🤣

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END

love this woman

AND LOVE THIS FCKING TEAM xoxox

Queenie xx

#social media woso #woso #woso x reader #woso x y/n #woso soccer #woso community #west ham women #everton women #dagny brynjarsdottir #dagny brynjarsdottir x y/n #dagny brynjarsdottir x reader #dagny brynjarsdottir imagine #mackenzie arnold #kirsty smith #hawa cissoko

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hanasnx · 2 years ago

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"the angel in the garden."

MINORS DNI 18+

series chapter two | chapter three | chapter four WC: 5k | CHARACTERS: hayden christensen x f!reader

SUMMARY: hayden is the gardener to the grounds of the estate you reside. the wayward home for girls is meant to straighten you out, however hayden has other plans for you. NOTES: inspired by virgin territory, hayden’s character lorenzo di lamberti in virgin territory, & pride and prejudice. both movies’ settings 1400-1700 esque WARNINGS: f!reader | eventual smut | friends to lovers | mild sexism of time period | mild religious themes | y/n used

PREVIOUSLY: hayden had come across your abandoned flats and let you know to pick them up. after seeing he’d left them out for you, a part of you wondered if he’d done that to avoid seeing you. that night, your ill-timed back talk to mrs. daulta made her insist you bring the gardener his dinner, and a dread set in at the thought of seeing him. His quarters came into view, and your eyes glued to the spot he’d left your shoes from before. There was a fire going inside that you could see through the hazy windows, and you upped the steps. You couldn’t face him. You set the tray down onto the floor where he had left your flats, and you returned to the dinner hall.

“Oh, wouldn’t it be a dream?” Marguerite exclaimed as she clasped your hands. “I can’t believe Lord Devereux is throwing such a party!” Her noises of excitement delighted you, and she twirled the room. “I finally have reason to wear my favorite— you know the blue one?” Grinning from ear to ear as she fell onto the bed.

“The blue one? I was partial to the red, with the long bow on the back,” you said, sitting down opposite to her on the edge of the mattress. She glanced up at you through her brows.

“You can wear that one if you’d like,”

“I haven’t decided,”

“Oh, I’m so excited, (y/n)!” She rolled over, and crept to you on her knees so she could gather your hands in hers again, shaking them.

At mealtime, the headmaster had announced the informal ball as a test. An opportunity for the girls to show what they’d learned, socialize and hear about the world around them. It was also thought of as a reward. In the back of your mind, you suspected that this was a good time for the staff to rifle through the rooms again, check for contraband and the like, the act disguised as “tidying the rooms.”

You shared Marguerite’s enthusiasm nonetheless, encouraging her to be giddy. You laughed when she threw her arms around you and hugged you tightly.

Carriages were arriving at the front, and it was nearly time to depart for the gathering. You and your sisters had spent time preparing each other, helping get dressed and borrowing clothes. You’d enjoyed watching your sisters dance with each other to help everyone remember how to. Marguerite had been kind enough to fix your hair for you, the top half pinned up in a ponytail, cascading down the rest of your mane. Your bangs framed your face flatteringly, thanks to Marguerite’s curlers. The color of the dress was a forest green, long sleeved. The informal setting didn’t require a fancy dress code, and you liked the comfort this garment possessed. Marguerite’s baby blue dress was layered, with a white sash she’d been lended, trailing down to her feet. Her sleeves were puffed, and she scolded you every time you messed with their shape. Her hair was down, and curled in perfect circlets.

Your fear that your bedroom would be rifled through, caused you to collect Hayden’s clothes from underneath your mattress. The commotion distracted your peers— including your roommate— from noticing you slip outside to the gardener’s quarters. Twilight was upon you, and you had yet to tell if the gardener was home so you intended to leave them at the door like you’d done the dinner tray, and he’d done your shoes. You knelt, and before your hands released the pile, Hayden opened the door.

It startled you, and you jumped up. Wide eyes met his, which were scanning your frame.

“I saw you walk up,” he said, and you heard a breathlessness in his voice.

“Do you spy on me, gardener?”

“It was a coincidence.” he insisted, twitching in a minute shrug. “I suppose you were the one that left my tray at the door. By the time I noticed, it was cold.”

You hadn’t meant that to happen. “I apologize.”

“You could’ve knocked.”

“I could’ve.”

“Next time, knock.” You wrinkled your nose at the demand, reminding you of how your headmaster and mistresses beat into your head to listen to a man, and to those older than you.

“I’ll do as I please, gardener,” You shoved his clothes into his abdomen, and he caught them. You turned to leave, and a hand grabbed hold of your upper arm. Curiously, you followed the grip to its owner.

His mouth opened to say something, eyes traveling over your dress and your hair, the instinct to compliment you could not leave his lips. Instead, correcting you again. “It’s Hayden,”

“I know,” You tugged your arm from his grasp and moved to step down. As though you suddenly felt self conscious over how you spoke to him, you glanced behind you, your expression softening, “Hayden,”

Regardless of the time you told him it was inappropriate to refer to him by his first name, you could do it when you were alone, if it meant saving him from that disheartened expression he wore when you called him what he was. A gardener.

Marguerite held your hand in hers, the lace glove catching on your skin uncomfortably, but you let her lead you to the front of the crowd. Those around you clapped and cheered for the line in the center of this great hall, dancing in step with the song. You didn’t know this dance, you weren’t well versed like your sisters. “Sister (y/n), isn’t it stunning?” She grinned at the settings, clasping her hands to her chest, and then grabbing hold of you to bring you to her side. “I have to find a dance partner,” She disappeared back into the throng before you even had a chance to speak. Taking in the sights, you walked. There were grand candle chandeliers, and open-aired wooden bleachers arranged for the guests to sit and mingle, somewhere to drink their wine and gossip. More civil ladies of society wore feathers in their hair, with fabrics of mixed colors in their dresses. You wondered why Marguerite didn’t wear one of hers.

The band played a merry tune, picking up the pace of the dancers, and you saw Marguerite being dragged to the floor by a willing partner, and you shared a smile with her when she made it.

Her giddiness caused you to wish you had a partner, or to have the strength to ask for one. Instead, you melted into the crowd, settling your back against the wall. Perhaps the reason for Marguerite’s outgoing nature today was because of this opportunity. It was few and far in between that parties like this occurred. It meant no difference to you.

“It’s my welcoming party and I still have wallflowers,” A voice sounded to your left, and you straightened off the surface, facing him.

“Lord Devereux,” you greeted, curtsying. He bowed to you in acknowledgement. The Lord was much older than you, with a widow’s peak shaped receding hairline. However, his smile was kind, and crows feet of age at his eyes.

“You and I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting,” He rounded you and as he viewed his surroundings, you turned with him.

“No, my Lord, we haven’t. I’m (y/n) (l/n),”

That same smile would not leave his features. “A pleasure, miss (l/n),”

You knew you should say that the pleasure was all yours, instead you stayed silent. If you were lucky he’d rejoin his party. Not that he was unpleasant to be around, you’d rather be alone with your thoughts.

“Are you to dance?”

You raised your brows at him, “No, sir, I haven’t found the right partner yet.”

He hummed, his fist meeting his chin. “That is troubling.”

“Very much so,”

You tensed as he approached you, standing to your side as he examined the specimens his party had to offer. “Him?” His hand leveled with your vision, pointing to a drunkard who swayed in his seat.

“No,”

“What about him? Does he suit you?” An officer in uniform stood positively erect, jaw held high over his peers. The look of him displeased you.

“No, sir,”

“If you approached him I bet he’d ask you to dance,” One last point to a man with red hair who gazed at the group he mingled in with a glint in his eye. You recognized it to be intrigue, and your curiosity questioned what they could be talking about to act so enthralled.

But, you could not overcome your bashfulness. “No, sir, but I thank you for your help,”

The Lord had expected you to smile by now, and he faced you, inhaling through his nose sharply. “Then all hope is truly lost.” he humored, and his expression conveyed pity. “Take care, my dear, I’m sure you’ll find your prince soon. Until then, I should like to see more of you.” A good natured pat on your shoulder, and he excused himself from the conversation. A breath of relief, and you returned to the wall, toying with the hem of your sleeve.

“You spoke with him? What was it like?” Marguerite asked in wonder. The two of you had taken refuge underneath the open-aired stands. Sitting against the wood supports with your legs propped up, you were opposite each other. The cover of darkness allowing you to spy on the guests of the party.

“He tried to find me a dance partner,” you replied, shrugging. A coy curl to your lips only added to her interest.

“Was he successful?”

“Of course not, you know how repulsive I can be.”

She giggled, nudging your knee, “Oh, stop it, (y/n),”

“He’s charming, I’ll give him that, but he couldn’t hold my attention.”

“No, I’m sure he couldn’t.” she agreed, shaking her head with a knowing smile. “I’m surprised he didn’t ask you to dance.”

“He’s so tall I can’t imagine he’d want to. Leap at the wrong time and the rest of his hair’d catch fire on the chandelier—“

Marguerite’s mouth fell open, and she went to cover it to muffle her surprised laughter as you snickered. However, at the familiar voice of someone else coming into ear shot, the two of you shushed the other.

“… He couldn’t have,” One of your sister’s spoke to Anastasia in disbelief, and you and Marguerite locked eyes while you eavesdropped.

“We did!” she interjected, and grinned at her companion.

“What about the Earl?”

Anastasia waved her hand, “What he doesn’t know won’t kill him,” Both Marguerite’s and your eyes widened at each other to hear her say that. So, there really was an Earl, and she supposedly cared not for his affections.

“Still, Anastasia… the gardener?”

You looked through the stands at Anastasia. What about the gardener?

“It was just a kiss!” she defended, grabbing hold of the hands of girls on either side of her. “Besides, I didn’t even want it, really. He came onto me,” She shrugged her shoulder, releasing them to twirl in place. “Oh, but it was magical anyways…” she sighed.

Marguerite watched you cautiously. It was clear to her how your demeanor changed, how this affected you, how your smile faded. Your vision was unfaltering, staring at Anastasia as the gears in your head turned.

It shouldn’t upset you, but it did. How despairing it was to be right. The suspicions you had were confirmed. Hayden did think she was beautiful, beautiful enough to confess his feelings with a kiss. A kiss she didn’t even want. Was she to toy with him? As she’s toying with this northern Earl? Your eyebrows knit together, pivoting your head to stare at your wringing fingers in your lap. Marguerite leaned over to rest her gloved hand over yours.

The contact didn’t register with you, the conversations around you blurring together as you retreated within yourself to think. Your jealousy toward Anastasia reared its ugly head, and you still had yet to even formally meet her.

Of course he kissed her.

It drowned out Marguerite calling out to you.

The evening was over for you, and you escaped the bleachers in a hurry, hiking up your skirt so you could rush out of the building for some fresh air.

You laid in bed in your nightgown, unmoving. Mind was running a thousand miles a minute, the pit in your stomach practically painful. Marguerite had propped herself up on her elbow behind you, her nimble hand coming to stroke your hair soothingly. “You haven’t said much since the party. We can talk about anything,” she reassured you, her soft voice was barely above a whisper, and you hugged yourself tighter.

“There’s too much going on in my head.”

“You can relieve yourself by spitting some of it out,”

“I can’t,”

“You can. I can keep any secrets you have, my dear (y/n),”

“I… did something- that I wasn’t supposed to- with- the gardener,” your sentence was cracked and awkward as you struggled to gather your thoughts.

“The gardener… (y/n),” Marguerite's voice hardened, “did he kiss you too?”

You turned so you could pivot your head in her direction, “No, no of course not. Nothing like that,” Something like that.

“What then?”

You exhaled, “I can’t say, I worry you’ll get in trouble if anyone finds out what I did, or that you knew.”

She swallowed, and laid down next to you. You raised yourself to blow out the candle.

The skies were particularly gray the next day, and you neglected to return to your spot at the loft window. In that seat you had a nasty habit of watching the gardener as he tended, and you couldn’t bear to see his face.

He’d done nothing wrong, neither had your sister Anastasia— Well, she’d done nothing wrong by you. Her Earl would be a different matter. When your cruel mind involuntarily pictured their kiss, your heart lurched at what could’ve been if you weren’t such a big coward. Clutching the book tighter in your hands, your steps creaked the wood of the boardwalk as you went to the bathhouse. Hot water would relax you, clear your mind, free you from the confines you’ve placed on yourself by comparing every detail between Anastasia and you. You were exhausted, and you had done it to yourself.

You entered, the heavy wooden door echoing through the hall as you shut it, and when you turned to walk down the corridor you collided with something hard. The book dropped to the stone floor, and you regained your footing. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was…” you murmured, combing your hair out of your face to see a glistening chest in front of you. The gardener, fresh from the bathroom, held a towel over his hips. “go… going.” Those intense eyes of his stared you down, and he bent down to retrieve your book. You clenched your jaw, a lump in your throat forming at the sight of him. All day you’ve avoided exactly this. Once he’d straightened, he examined the cover.

“The Decameron? I’ve never heard of this one,” He furrowed his eyebrows at it, like he was unaware of the fact he stood in front of you barely clothed and dripping with water. You averted your gaze, and chewed your lip to save him from responding in anger: “Oh, the gardener can read?”

You flared your nostrils, and said instead, “It’s assigned reading. I’m having a terrible time with it. Now give it back.” You reached for it, but he moved it out of your way.

“Tell me about it,”

Did he exist to torment you? It was growing more difficult by the second to not take out your frustrations on him, the reminder he’d done nothing to wrong you could only rescue him from so much. “I can’t, I’m in a hurry,” You reached for it again, and he pulled it straight out behind him. You met his gaze.

“You know, I miss our little talks, like when you sat by my fire.” He was trying to get under your skin, to provoke more conversation from you, it had almost worked, forcing yourself to ignore the instinct to tell him to shut his trap. Huffing, you remained silent. “What? Now you bite your tongue? Where’s that sharp wit gone?” You channeled your exasperation into fighting him for your book back so you could move on. Rounding him, and he expertly kept it from you. When he held it over your head, you took the bait like a goat-headed ninny and jumped up for it.

“Stop this! You know we can’t talk here,”

As if to confirm your comment, one of your sisters called from down the hall. “Gardener!” The two of you turned your attentions to the noise, and his arm relaxed. While distracted, you snagged the book from his grip. The action caused him to watch you walk away from him. You hugged it to your chest to calm your nerves of the encounter.

All Hayden could think about was how you specified that you couldn’t talk here.

So far, nothing had eased your troubled mind. The bath and the altercation at the bathhouse had worsened you. He had teased you so carelessly. Did he know that you knew? How could he be so playful with you when he had kissed another? Why was he fighting for your time anyway?

Marguerite came back from fetching water. She set the pitcher and bowl at the vanity, and pinned her wild hair back. “I haven’t painted in a while, not since my watercolors were damaged, do you think if I asked the headmaster he might lend me some supplies?”

“I’d say try, but if I were you I’d expect him to assign me extra chores for it.”

She scoffed, “They’re already working me to the bone already,”

They did not treat her kinder than the others just because she was frail. “Who knows? Perhaps luck’ll smile down on you. You deserve some easy chores.”

Marguerite poured the water into the bowl. “I do, don’t I?” she agreed fondly, and cupped the liquid in her hands, squeezing her eyes shut to rinse her face with it. You slumped into the bed, propping your head up onto your palm as your fingers toyed with the sheets.

It was yet another night you anticipated to be sleepless. A movement caught your eye and you jumped up at the sight, “Oh!” Hayden’s cheeky smile greeted you from behind your window panes.

Your sudden noise had startled Marguerite and she halted, turning in your direction, water dripping from her face onto the floor. “What? What?” she asked, blind to what was happening because she couldn’t open her eyes. Rushing her back to the bowl, you fixed her hair over her shoulders.

“Nothing, sister, I scared myself,” you comforted.

“You scared me, (y/n),” she scolded, picking up where she left off rinsing her face. It was a relief she hadn’t spotted him, and the sloshing of water masked the sound of you opening the window to whisper to him.

“What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean? I’m here to talk,” he replied, a mischievous grin adorning his handsome features. It jellied your legs.

You panicked, “So you came here?”

“I came to ask you to walk with me tonight,”

“I…” You glance over your shoulder to see Marguerite flicking the water off her hands, having finished washing her face. “You have to go, she’ll see you,”

Hayden raised further up the vine, and his sudden close proximity made you eye his lips. “I’ll not leave til you agree.” he promised, his voice a sultry tone that made your mouth run dry.

This man was nothing if not persistent, and your incredulous look only spurred him on.

“Fine, fine. After she falls asleep. Go,” Your hands rested atop his shoulders, urging him to climb down and he obeyed. One last flash of his smile, and you closed the windows. Marguerite was patting her face dry, and when she discarded the cloth into the bowl haphazardly, you knew she didn’t suspect anything.

You snuck out after you were sure Marguerite was sound asleep, and you spotted Hayden perched onto your beloved loft seat. At the sight of you, he pushed off, tossing an apple in his hand to catch it.

“Brought you something. A peace offering,” He handed the fruit to you, and answered your quizzical expression. “You’d given me one the other day, figured I should return the favor.” Your countenance shifted, and your fingertips brushed your mouth from the memory.

The indirect kiss. You pressed your lips together, and pocketed the apple. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Walk with me,”

The stroll was quiet. So quiet you were forced to watch your surroundings. It was a lot like the night he’d helped you, what’s more is this is what you yearned for that night. As if the moon had granted your wish, you strode alongside the gardener on route to the pond.

You could not think of what to say.

He didn’t seem to notice. You eyed him curiously, and he reflected your indifference in physicality. The need to know what was going on inside his head propelled you. “Do you ask girls to walk with you at night because you fear the dark?” you questioned, fidgeting with your fingers.

He acknowledged you, “Terrified of it. It’s the only reason I wait for daylight to work in the fields.” You scoffed, and he seemed to take pride in that. But he’d also evaded your question.

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you. I do owe you,” you replied, hoping to drown out the silence with conversation so your mind didn’t constantly remind you of Anastasia and what she’d said about him.

“You do, don’t you?” his tone was sly as he turned, walking backwards in front of you. “You know, you’ve been unbelievably hard to track down.”

“And I’m supposed to make it easy for you?”

“It’d be considerate if you tried.”

Another scoff from you and your lips curled. “Forgive me if it’s been that difficult. I thought something as important as your interest would be in other things.” The snide comment faded his smile, brows furrowing.

“What do you mean by that?”

“From where I stand it looks like I’m not the only one you’ve invited to your private quarters,” The anger within you stirred, manifesting itself into the sentences you wrought. Hayden halted, and since he stood in your way you were forced to stop as well.

“Am I to understand your quarrel with me is based on that?”

You raised your head high, as if to seize any opportunity to look down on him. “I see no other reason why else.”

The accusation left Hayden bewildered, and the overwhelmed gardener glanced away to gather himself. “I didn’t realize you’d jump to conclusions so quickly when you’re so prone to tripping.” his statement humbled you, recalling the scene when he’d caught you staring at him, and in your distraction stumbled upon a raised board. You swallowed, opening your mouth to say something when he interrupted you. “I’m sure you’ll find your way back, (y/n). Good evening,” He nodded his head, and continued onwards to the pond without you.

Your offense was immeasurable. “Pardon me,” you spoke, bunching up your skirt so you could hasten your strides after him. “You drag me outside during the ungodly hours of the night, torment me for days, and now you bid me goodnight?” If you could see his face, you’d deduce his trick on you, his handsome grin stretched onto his lips as he didn’t slow for you.

He hid it well when he called over his shoulder, “There’s nothing further to discuss, my lady. You’re so independent I believed it an insult to ask to escort you back to your room.”

“This could not have been the subject you wished to talk with me about!” The grass was getting longer the further you traveled, brambles catching your skirt that you tugged out of its grips. “The nature of the conversation was to be my opinion of you? How vain.”

“Vain is how you pretend to know everything about me, and you haven’t asked me one question since we spent that night together.” You caught up with him, panting. Once he’d faced you, did you notice the prideful glint in his eye.

It was a vulnerable statement, one that reassessed the way you’ve been treating him so coldly. How controversial compared to the feelings within you that desired nothing other than to be close to him. The gardener had given you every opportunity, and you were so afraid of him you had iced him out.

The two of you exchanged a heated look, and you gulped. It was clear he refused to say anything else until he heard your response to his observation.

You didn’t know what he wanted to hear. What did people always want to hear? Pleasantries, compliments, good stories… You had none of those things, and the realization that you could potentially bore this companion to death arised anxiety in you.

This was the one time you felt ungrateful for being set aside a time to speak for yourself. “How have you been? Since the storm, I mean,”

Hayden raised his brows, looking through them to you. It wasn’t what he was expecting from you. “I’ve been fine, thank you. Lots of work to be done but I’ll never complain about earning good pay. How about you, (y/n)? You haven’t caught anything from the cold, I trust?”

Your mouth was dry and you shook your head. “No, of course not, thanks to you.” Had you expressed enough gratitude to him for conveniencing you then? “Thank you,” you hasted to say, the addition awkward.

The small smile you receiving in return made it worth it. “It was my pleasure,” He began to walk, slower this time. You heard your heart in your chest, idling behind him for a second.

“The pleasure is all mine,” you whispered, and came to his side to stroll alongside.

“At first I thought I had offended you, but I realized that was not the case,” he confided, side eyeing you, the grass crunching underneath his boots.

“You mean because of the lack of propriety? Changing in front of a man I barely know?” Needless to say you were amused by his notion. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

“You’ve a much sharper tongue against those that have offended you.” His hands came to clasp behind his back, and the trail of the pond met your feet, guiding the pair of you.

“I daresay I’m losing my touch then,”

He laughed at your joke and it surprised you.

“No, I know I didn’t offend you.”

“What effect did you have on me then, g—“ The habit to call him his profession died, and you corrected yourself because you were alone with him. “—Hayden?”

“I think I scared you,”

It struck you, and you tensed.

He continued on, “Of course I’d noticed how afraid you were to approach me before, but it carried on even after I thought we had a perfect reason to be closer. I was confused, that you didn’t come to me more often after that.”

“You mean you expected my friendship because you did me a service?”

“I mean, I hoped for your friendship because you felt the same connection I did,” His deduction sent your stomach into a frenzy of butterflies, but they were weighed down with the miserable pit inside that carried the knowledge: he had kissed Anastasia. These words should be for her. “I thought, perhaps, you were afraid that I would not be open to you so I made a great fool out of myself in hopes it’d remind you of my humanity. To draw you back to me so I could gain your trust.”

His words had fallen on your deaf ears, and when something certain shined through, you called upon that. “And what is my trust to you? What value could you have in my friendship?”

The puzzled expression he wore remained as he scratched the back of his neck. Your suspicious nature had always been hard for people to get around, and it seemed Hayden was running into the same trouble. “Do you find me repulsive?”

“Not at all,”

“Do you take joy in watching me evade your obstacles?”

“No,”

“Then,” He clapped his hands together, and grinned at you. “it’s settled! You should have no problem accepting my friendship—“ he rambled, ignoring your protests. He picked up his pace along the trail, going off of it.

“— What? Hayden—!”

“—I’ll be back tomorrow for another stroll, and wear something pretty, I have something planned for us.” He escaped, taking advantage of the environment and his exceptionally long legs to outrun you.

“‘Planned’?”

“Don’t forget! Same time tomorrow!” Near the pond is where you stayed, watching him leave you.

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runawaymun · 7 months ago

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20 Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by: @zealouswerewolfcollector @melestasflight & @niennawept - thanks guys!!!!

Under the cut for length.

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

43 total. 26 on my reg runawaymun account, and 17 spicy works under spicy_runawaymun.

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count?

466,324. Geez.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently just Tolkien. Mostly focusing on early third age and late second age. I used to write for Stargate and Doctor Who but that was like ten years ago.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

To Partake - 842 kudos - Longfic in progress. Elrond/Celebrimbor set in the second age, based loosely off The Rings of Power but it's really gone off the rails now because I didn't like some choices in the show and am trying to fix them haha. Show knowledge is honestly not needed because I stop following it after like the seventh chapter. Mostly an Elrond character study disguised as porn.

And the Stars Shine the Same - 695 kudos - Longfic, complete. a look at early third age Rivendell as told by two kids from proto-Rohan who get adopted into Elrond's family out of harsh and traumatic circumstances.

Beneath a Boundless Sky - 520 kudos - longfic and in progress. Sequel to above. Much wider scope. Dealing with the politics of proto-Rohan and exploring Fram's rise to power, while also keeping a firm focus on Elrond, his relationship with Maglor, and his relationship with his family. Oh yeah, and there's an eldritch monster in the mix (one that isn't Elrond that is!)

A Gown Spun from Starlight - 400 kudos - Thranduil x Reader insert oneshot. Mostly fluff.

Supine - 358 kudos - exploratory kidnap fam multi shot. Mostly Maedhros-centric.

Tinúvion - 289 kudos - Oneshot. Elrond and Sauron meet and hiss at each other and fight over Gil-Galad for 1972 words. Sauron shits his pants. Transitive property Luthien-Elrond.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes! Sometimes often my spoons are low so I am not always as fast as I like. But I endeavor to respond to everybody!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Ohhhhh. Let me think, here. Probably That We Are Still - in which Elrond has a foresight nightmare about Cel's death and they have sex about it, which fixes nothing.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Most of them have happy endings, because I love happy endings and I've written a good deal of fluff! I think And the Stars Shine the Same has the happiest/most satisfying ending, though. But it's an unfair comparison because it's a longfic. But Never Doubt I Love (Russingon) has a happy/bittersweet ending that's one of my favs. And Equinox (Elrond and Lindir's first meeting) is just pure sugar haha.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not that I recall, honestly. Hopefully it stays that way. I've gotten one or two slightly homophobic comments but I believe the commenter meant well. It was a weird experience.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes! I find exploring how characters are sexual really really fascinating. It's like a microcosm of everything -- of their relationships, of their trauma, of their securities and insecurities. It's so interesting and fun! And especially the journeys that characters can take sexually, learning to open up and explore :) it's very rewarding. All of that is over on my spicy account. It's nearly exclusively Celrond but there's a few others in there.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I've written a few, but none on AO3. My favorite was one I wrote a long time ago where SG-1 (Stargate SG-1) got into a tangled up mission with the Eleventh Doctor and River. I also do a lot of daydreaming and play in my free time imagining my OCs from my original works winding up in middle earth. :)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I am aware of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I've had someone offer but if it wound up happening, I wasn't tagged, so I am not sure! But receiving the offer was very nice <3

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not any of the ones posted to AO3, but @the-commonplace-book and I have collaborated on a lot of work together! I'm always open to collaboration. It's so much fun.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

CELROND CELROND CELROND. Though Brimbrond is becoming a close contender now!

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

All of them, really. I try not to doubt I will finish things and just trust my process. I am a naturally slow writer who's a perfectionist and tends to hop from project to project, which is why I focus myself on one or two longfics at most, and I just let the others percolate in outline form until I finish something. I used to not finish things ever and it drove me crazy, so I try my best to stay focused so that things will always get finished in their due time.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Prose. Action and horror. Long character arcs -- especially the unfolding of characters who are recovering from traumatic experiences. I have a pattern haha.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Descriptions of settings and characters (I know what they look like in my head and have to actively remind myself that this image isn't downloaded into someone's brain). Politics and schemes. And IMO I am not good at twisty plots. I tend to write pretty linear progressions with few unexpected surprises.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic.

I like peppering individual words here and there, or perhaps small phrases. Pet names, absolutely. But nothing more than that. IMO adding in language can really help ground a story in the worldbuilding.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Funnily enough, Tolkien. When I was a kid I set out to rewrite the entire books just from Merry and Pippin's perspectives. I did not get very far.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

I think it's honest to god And the Stars Shine the Same. I am obviously fond of To Partake, but Stars just is in its own special category for me. It came to me at the exact right time in my life when I really needed it. It's a very personal story, and it revived my love of writing and reminded me why I liked doing it.

I am rather late to this and I am not sure who has been tagged and who hasn't, so forgive me if I tag someone who has already done this! But no pressure tags for: @emyn-arnens @jaz-the-bard @lordgrimwing @greyjedijaneite @maglor-my-beloved and whomever else would like to participate!

#20 questions for fic writers

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 6 months ago

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By: Rachel Poser

Published: May 4, 2024

Ibram X. Kendi has a notebook that prompts him, on every other page, to write down “Things to be grateful for.” There are many things he might put under that heading. First and foremost, his wife and two daughters, and his health, having made it through Stage 4 colon cancer in his 30s — a diagnosis with a 12 percent survival rate. Tenure at Boston University, where Martin Luther King Jr. earned his doctorate in theology. A National Book Award, and a MacArthur “genius” grant for “transforming how many people understand, discuss and attempt to redress America’s longstanding racial challenges.” Then there were the millions of people who bought “How to Be an Antiracist,” the first of five of his books to take the No. 1 spot on the New York Times best-seller list. But he was particularly grateful to the readers who wrote to him to say his work changed them for the better.

These days, he could use the reminder. Four years have gone by since George Floyd was murdered on the pavement near Cup Foods in Minneapolis, sparking the racial “reckoning” that made Kendi a household name. Many people, Kendi among them, believe that reckoning is long over. State legislatures have pushed through harsh antiprotest measures. Conservative-led campaigns against teaching Black history and against diversity, equity and inclusion programs are underway. Last June, the Supreme Court struck down affirmative action in college admissions. And Donald Trump is once again the Republican nominee for president, promising to root out “the radical-left thugs that live like vermin within the confines of our country.”

Kendi has become a prime target of this backlash. Books of his have been banned from schools in some districts, and his name is a kind of profanity among conservatives who believe racism is mostly a problem of the past. Though legions of readers continue to celebrate Kendi as a courageous and groundbreaking thinker, for many others he has become a symbol of everything that’s wrong in racial discourse today. Even many allies in the fight for racial justice dismiss his brand of antiracism as unworkable, wrongheaded or counterproductive. “The vast majority of my critics,” Kendi told me last year, “either haven’t read my work or willfully misrepresent it.”

Criticism of Kendi only grew in September, when he made the “painful decision” to lay off more than half the staff of the research center he runs at Boston University. The Center for Antiracist Research, which Kendi founded during the 2020 protests to tackle “seemingly intractable problems of racial inequity and injustice,” raised an enormous sum of $55 million, and the news of its downsizing led to a storm of questions. False rumors began circulating that Kendi had stolen funds, and the university announced it would investigate after former employees accused him of mismanagement and secrecy.

The controversy quickly ballooned into a national news story, fueled in large part by right-wing media, which was all too happy to speculate about “missing funds” and condemn Kendi — and the broader racial-justice movement — as a fraud. On Fox News, the conservative activist Christopher Rufo told the host John Roberts that the center’s “failure” was “poetic justice.” “This is a symbol of where we have come since 2020 and why that movement is really floundering today,” he said. In early October, a podcast affiliated with the Manhattan Institute, the conservative think tank where Rufo works, jubilantly released an episode titled “The End of Ibram X. Kendi?”

In December, I met Kendi at the Center for Antiracist Research, which was by then mostly empty, though I caught signs of its former life: Space heaters sat idly under desks, and Post-it notes lingered around the edges of unplugged monitors. On the frame of one cleared-out cubicle, a sticker in the shape of Earth read “Be the change.” Kendi welcomed me into his office in a pink shirt and a periwinkle blazer with a handkerchief tucked neatly in its pocket. He was calm on the surface, but he seemed to me, as he often did during the conversations we’d had since the layoffs, to be holding himself taut, like a tensile substance under enormous strain. The furor over the center, he said, was a measure of how desperate many people were to damage his reputation: “If this had happened at another center, it would either not have been a story or a one-day story.”

In “How to Be an Antiracist,” his best-known book, Kendi challenges readers to evaluate themselves by their racial impact, by whether their actions advance or impede the cause of racial equality. “There is no neutrality in the racial struggle,” he writes. “The question for each of us is: What side of history will we stand on?” This question evinces Kendi’s confidence that ideas and policies can be dependably sorted into one of two categories: racist or antiracist.

Kendi is a vegan, a tall man with a gentle, serious nature. “He’ll laugh at a joke — he’ll never crack one,” Kellie Carter Jackson, the chair of the Africana studies department at Wellesley and someone who has known Kendi for years, told me. He considers himself an “introvert and loner” who was chased down by the spotlight and is now caught in its glare. “I don’t know of anybody more ill suited for fame than Ibram Kendi,” said Stefan Bradley, a longtime friend and professor of Black studies at Amherst. There is a corniness to Kendi that’s endearing, like his use of the gratitude notebook — a thick, pastel-colored pad with gold spiral binding — or the fact that his phone email signature is “Sent from Typoville aka my iPhone.” Though he is always soft-spoken, volume sometimes seems to be a gauge of how comfortable he feels. The first time I met him in person, he greeted me so quietly that I worried my recorder wouldn’t pick up his voice.

Kendi had hired a pair of crisis-P.R. consultants to help him manage the fallout from the layoffs, a controversy that he believed had fed into dangerous, racist stories about Black leaders, and about him in particular. In the fun-house mirror of conservative media, Kendi has long loomed as an antiwhite extremist trying to get rich by sowing racial division. Kendi told me he received regular threats; he allowed me to come to the center only on the condition that I not reveal its location. “When it comes to the white supremacists who are the greatest domestic terrorist threat of our time, I am one of their chief enemies,” he told me.

Boston University had recently released the results of its audit, which found “no issues” with how the center’s finances were handled. The center’s problem, Kendi told me, was more banal: Most of its money was in its endowment or restricted to specific uses, and after the high of 2020, donations had crashed. “At our current rate, we were going to run out in two years,” he said. “That was what ultimately led us to feel like we needed to make a major change.” The center’s new model would fund nine-month academic fellowships rather than a large full-time staff. Though inquiries into the center’s grant-management practices and workplace culture were continuing, Kendi was confident that they would absolve him, too. In the media, he’d dismissed the complaints about his leadership as “unfair,” “unfounded,” “vague,” “meanspirited” and an attempt to “settle old scores.”

In the fall, when I began talking to former employees and faculty — most of whom asked for anonymity because they remain at Boston University or signed severance agreements that included nondisparagement language — it was clear that many of them felt caught in a bind. They could already see that the story of the center’s dysfunction was being used to undermine the racial-justice movement, but they were frustrated to watch Kendi play down the problems and cast their concerns as spiteful or even racist. They felt that what they experienced at the center was now playing out in public: Kendi’s tendency to see their constructive feedback as hostile. “He doesn’t trust anybody,” one person told me. “He doesn’t let anyone in.”

To Kendi, attacks from those who claim to be allies, like attacks from political enemies, are to be expected. In his books, Kendi argues that history is not an arc bending toward justice but a war of “dueling” forces — racist and antiracist — that each escalate their response when the other advances. In the years since 2020, he believes, the country has entered a predictable period of retrenchment, when the force of racism is ascendant and the racial progress of the last several decades is under threat. To defend antiracism, to defend himself, he would simply have to fight harder.

Not so long ago, Kendi thought he saw a new world coming into being. “We are living in the midst of an antiracist revolution,” he wrote in September 2020 in an Atlantic cover story headlined, “Is This the Beginning of the End for American Racism?” Nearly 20 percent of Americans were saying that “race relations” was the most urgent problem facing the nation — more than at any point since 1968 — and many of them were turning to Kendi to figure out what to do about it. They were buying his memoir and manifesto, “How to Be an Antiracist,” much of which he wrote while undergoing chemotherapy. “This was perhaps the last thing he was going to write,” Chris Jackson, Kendi’s editor, told me. “There was no cynicism in the writing of it.” (Jackson was the editor of a 2021 book based on The 1619 Project, which originated in this magazine in 2019; Kendi contributed a chapter to that book.)

Kendi confesses in the introduction that he “used to be racist most of the time.” The year 1994, when he turned 12, marked three decades since the United States outlawed discrimination on the basis of race. Then why, Kendi wondered as an adolescent, were so many Black people out of work, impoverished or incarcerated? The problem, he concluded, must be Black people themselves. Not Black people like his parents, God-loving professionals who had saved enough to buy a home in Jamaica, Queens, and who never let their two sons forget the importance of education and hard work. But they were the exception. In high school, Kendi competed in an oratory contest in which he gave voice to many of the anti-Black stereotypes circulating in the ’90s — that Black youths were violent, unstudious, unmotivated. “They think it’s OK to be the most feared in our society,” he proclaimed. “They think it’s OK not to think!” Kendi also turned these ideas on himself, believing that he was a “subpar student” because of his race.

Kendi’s mind began to change when he arrived on the campus of Florida A&M, one of the largest historically Black universities in the country, in the fall of 2000 to study sports journalism. “I had never seen so many Black people together with positive motives,” he wrote at the time. Kendi was disengaged for most of high school, as concerned with his clothes as his grades. His friends at the university teased him for joining a modeling troupe and preening before parties, particularly because once he got to them he was too shy to talk to anyone. “He would come out, and you could smell the cologne from down the hall,” Grady Tripp, Kendi’s housemate, told me. But experimenting with his style, for Kendi, was part of trying on new ideas. For a while, he wore honey-colored contact lenses that turned his irises an off-putting shade of orange; he got rid of them once he decided they were a rejection of blackness, like Malcolm X’s straightening his hair with lye.

Over long hours spent reading alone in the library, Kendi found his way to some unlikely conclusions. In “How to Be an Antiracist,” he describes bursting into his housemate’s room to declare that he had “figured white people out.” “They are aliens,” he said. Kendi had gone searching for answers in conspiracy theories and Nation of Islam theology that cast whites as a “devil race” bred by an evil Black scientist to conquer the planet. “Europeans are simply a different breed of human,” he wrote in a column for the student newspaper in 2003. They are “socialized to be aggressive” and have used “the AIDS virus and cloning” to dominate the world’s peoples. Recently, the column has circulated on right-wing social media as evidence of Kendi’s antiwhite extremism, which frustrates him because it’s in his own memoir as an example of just how lost he had become.

Kendi went on to earn a Ph.D. in African American studies from Temple University. The founder of his department was Molefi Kete Asante, an Afrocentrist who has called on the descendants of enslaved people to embrace traditional African dress, languages and religions. Kendi eventually changed his middle name to Xolani, meaning “peace” in Zulu; at their wedding, he and his wife, Sadiqa, adopted the last name Kendi, meaning “loved one” in Meru. Kendi has called Asante “profoundly antiracist,” but Kendi remained an idiosyncratic thinker who did not consider himself a part of just one scholarly tradition; he knew early on that he wanted to write for the public. In a 2019 interview, when asked about his intellectual lineage, Kendi named W.E.B. Du Bois, Ida B. Wells and Malcolm X.

Kendi became part of a cohort of Black writers, among them Nikole Hannah-Jones and Ta-Nehisi Coates, who, through the sunset of the Obama presidency and the red dawn of the MAGA movement, argued that anti-Blackness remains a major force shaping American politics. They helped popularize the longstanding idea that racism in the United States is systemic — that the country’s laws and institutions perpetuate Black disadvantage despite a pledge of equal treatment. The Civil Rights Act of 1964 ended de jure white supremacy, but President Lyndon B. Johnson, who signed it into law, acknowledged that it wouldn’t uproot a racial caste system grown over centuries.

“The next and the more profound stage of the battle for civil rights,” he said, would be to achieve “not just equality as a right and a theory but equality as a fact.” Kendi and others wrote bracingly about the failure of that promise. Far from economic redress, Black Americans were met with continued discrimination in every realm of life, while being told the country was now “colorblind.” Kendi and others argued that remedying the impact of hundreds of years of subjugation would require policies that recognize, rather than ignore, that legacy, such as affirmative action and reparations.

Far too many Americans, Kendi felt, still thought of racism as conscious prejudice, so conversations got stuck in cul-de-sacs of denial, in which people protested that they were “not racist” because they harbored no anti-Black animus. To convey this, he landed on the binary that would become his most famous and perhaps most controversial idea. “There is no such thing as a not-racist idea” or a “race-neutral policy,” he wrote in “How to Be an Antiracist,” published in 2019. “The opposite of ‘racist’ isn’t ‘not racist.’ It is ‘antiracist.’”

Black activists have long used the word “antiracist” to describe active resistance to white supremacy, but “How to Be an Antiracist” catapulted the term into the American lexicon, in much the same way that Sheryl Sandberg turned “Lean In” into a mantra. After George Floyd’s death, the book sold out on Amazon, which was “unheard-of,” Kendi said. Media coverage of Kendi in those days made him sound nearly superhuman. In a GQ profile, for example, the novelist ZZ Packer describes Kendi as a “preternaturally wise” Buddha-like figure, “the antiracist guru of our time” with a “Jedi-like prowess for recognizing and neutralizing the racism pervading our society.”

During the summer of 2020, Kendi sometimes appeared onstage or onscreen alongside Robin DiAngelo, the educator whose book “White Fragility” was also a No. 1 best seller. Kendi and DiAngelo write less about the workings of systemic racism than the ideas and psychological defenses that cause people to deny their complicity in it. They share a belief in what Kendi calls “individual transformation for societal transformation.” When Kendi took over Selena Gomez’s Instagram, for example, he urged her 180 million followers to “1. Acknowledge your racism,” “2. Confess your racist ideas” and “3. Define racism and antiracism.” Then they would be ready for Steps 4 and 5, identifying and working to change racist policies.

Kendi and DiAngelo’s talk of confession — antiracism as a kind of conversion experience — inspired many people and disturbed others. By focusing so much on personal growth, critics said, they made it easy for self-help to take the place of organizing, for a conflict over the policing of Black communities, and by extension their material conditions, to become a fight not over policy but over etiquette — which words to use, whether to say “Black Lives Matter” or “All Lives Matter.” Many allies felt that Kendi and DiAngelo were merely helping white people alleviate their guilt.

They also questioned Kendi’s willingness to turn his philosophy into a brand. Following the success of “How to Be an Antiracist,” he released a deck of “antiracist” conversation-starter cards, an “antiracist” journal with prompts for self-reflection and a children’s book, “Antiracist Baby.” Christine Platt, an author and advocate who worked with Kendi at American University, recently co-wrote a novel that features a Kendi-like figure — a “soft-spoken” author named Dr. Braxton Walsh Jr., whose book “Woke Yet?” becomes a viral phenomenon. “White folks post about it on social media all the time,” rants De’Andrea, one of the main characters. “Wake up and get your copy today! Only nineteen ninety-nine plus shipping and handling.”

Those who thought of him as a self-help guru, Kendi felt, simply hadn’t read his work. Like most scholars of race, Kendi believes that Blackness is a fiction born of colonial powers’ self-interest, not just ignorance or hate, meaning that combating racism today requires upending the economic and political structures that propagate it. But Kendi doesn’t like the term “systemic racism” because it turns racism into a “hidden and unknowable” force for which there’s no one to blame, so he prefers to talk about “racist policies.”

In The Atlantic, he warned against the country going down a path of symbolic change where “monuments to racism are dismantled, but Americans shrink from the awesome task of reshaping the country with antiracist policies,” like Medicare for All, need-based school funding and reparations. Changing policy was exactly what he aimed to do at Boston University. During the protests, in the summer of 2020, the university named Kendi the Andrew W. Mellon professor of the humanities, a chair previously held by the Nobel Peace Prize winner Elie Wiesel, and announced the creation of a center on campus to put his ideas into action. Donations came pouring in, led by an anonymous $25 million gift and a $10 million gift from the Twitter founder Jack Dorsey, which the provost said would give Kendi “the resources to launch the center like a rocket ship.”

Kendi started the center from his home in Boston, while Sadiqa, a pediatric E.R. doctor, came and went from the hospital in full protective gear. Kendi ran a research center as part of his old job at American University, but he felt unable to make a meaningful impact because the resources were modest and he was diagnosed with cancer just four months after its founding. Now, granted tens of millions of dollars to enact his most ambitious ideas, Kendi was determined to create an organization that could be a real engine of progress. “We’ve got to build an infrastructure to match what the right has created,” he later told a co-worker. “We’ve got to build something equally powerful.”

Kendi’s two centers were part of a wave of racial-justice spaces being founded at universities, like the Thurgood Marshall Civil Rights Center at Howard or the Ida B. Wells Just Data Lab at Princeton, that pledged to work in partnership with activists and community groups to achieve social change. Kendi envisioned an organization that supported people of color in campaigning for policies that would concretely improve their lives.

To reflect that mission, he designed a structure with four “pillars” or offices: Research, Policy, Narrative and Advocacy. He recruited data scientists, policy analysts, organizers and educators and brought in faculty members working on race from across the university. They set up a model-legislation unit, which would draft sample bills and public-comment notes; an amicus-brief practice, which would target court cases in which race was being overlooked as an issue; and a grant process to fund research on racism by interdisciplinary teams elsewhere at the university, among other programs. Kendi also struck up a partnership with The Boston Globe to revive The Emancipator, a storied abolitionist newspaper. “It was a really exciting time,” he told me.

That summer, however, Kendi found himself on the defensive beyond Boston as Republican book-banning campaigns revved up. On Fox News, Tucker Carlson denounced “How to Be an Antiracist” as “poisonous,” plucking out Kendi’s summary of the case for race-conscious policymaking, which sounded particularly maladroit when taken out of context: “The only remedy to racist discrimination is antiracist discrimination,” Carlson read in mock disbelief. “In other words, his book against racism promotes racism.” This was around the same time that Rufo, the conservative activist, started to position Kendi as a leading proponent of critical race theory, a school of thought, Rufo told The New Yorker, that he discovered by hunting through the footnotes of “How to Be an Antiracist.”

Critical race theorists were a group of legal scholars in the 1970s and ’80s who documented ways that the American legal framework of racial equality was nevertheless producing unequal treatment. They elaborated the idea of systemic racism and the critique of “colorblindness” that inform much of the writing of Kendi’s cohort. Rufo wrote on Twitter that his goal was to change the meaning of the term “critical race theory” — to “turn it toxic” by putting “all of the various cultural insanities under that brand category.” In his attacks on Kendi, Rufo also amplified the left’s critique of Kendi’s corporate-friendliness, caricaturing Kendi as a grifter out to enrich himself by raking in speaking fees. The number of threatening messages Kendi received began to rise. “I don’t feel safe anywhere,” Kendi later told a colleague. “I’m constantly looking over my shoulder.”

By the time the academic year began, in the fall of 2021, Kendi decided to take extraordinary measures. Before the center began in-person work that September, Kendi sent the staff an email about “security protocols,” instructing them to conceal the location of the center even from other Boston University faculty members and students. “It is critical to not share the address of the center with anyone or bring anyone to the center,” Kendi wrote. The email included a mock script to be used in the event of an inquiry about the center’s location, which ended abruptly with, “I gotta go.”

Though such precautions felt necessary to Kendi, they were met with incredulity and frustration by some employees who were starting to question his leadership. Problems emerged within the first six months, according to more than a dozen staff and faculty members I interviewed. Some told me they had gone to the center because they considered Kendi a visionary; others had reservations about or flat-out disagreements with his work but believed he had brought much-needed attention to issues they cared about. They would be able to find common ground, they thought. They were ready for some chaos as they tried to spin up a new organization remotely, but they quickly ran into difficulty as they tried to execute some of Kendi’s plans.

Kendi emphasizes in his books that policies alone are the cause of racial disparities today. In “Stamped From the Beginning,” his 2016 history of anti-Black ideas from the 15th century to the Obama presidency — which won the National Book Award and was recently made into a Netflix documentary that made the Oscar shortlist — Kendi writes that blaming Black people for their own oppression, by implying that Black people or Black culture are inferior or pathological, was one of the oldest cons in America. He had witnessed it again during the early days of the pandemic, when the numbers suggested that Black people were dying from Covid faster than every racial group save Native Americans. Some pundits speculated about the “soul food” diet or posited that Black communities weren’t taking the virus seriously, even though a Pew survey found that Black respondents were most likely to view the coronavirus as a major threat.

Kendi wanted the center to build “the nation’s largest online collection” of racial data to track disparities like this one and do analytical work to understand each policy responsible. In the case of Covid, for example, Black Americans are disproportionately likely to work in low-income essential jobs, to live in crowded conditions and to lack access to high-quality insurance or medical care. The center might research these conditions and propose targeted interventions, like changes to Medicaid coverage, or more transformative measures, like a universal basic income. One faculty member involved told me that she was “initially incredibly enthusiastic” about the idea. “It seemed like an opportunity to do rigorous, well-funded social-science research that would be aimed at real policy change on issues that I cared about,” she told me.

Like Kendi, his staff believed that historical oppression and ongoing discrimination explained why Black Americans fared comparatively poorly on so many measures of well-being, from education to wealth to longevity, and that centuries of injustice demanded a sweeping policy response to remedy. But understanding that past and present racism is the underlying cause of Black disadvantage is different from the work of assessing its role in any single policy, let alone figuring out how to change the policy to eliminate it. That takes careful analysis. “You have to have specificity,” the faculty member said, “or you can’t measure.”

Kendi pushed back at staff members who argued that the center should constrain its focus. There were plenty of academic centers and researchers that tracked data on racial disparities in one policy area or another, he said; he wanted to convene that pre-existing data, bringing it together in one place for easy access by the public. In a 2022 meeting, when the team tried to get a better sense of his vision, Kendi told them that he wanted a guy at a barbershop or a bar to be able to “pull up the numbers.” To many employees with data or policy backgrounds, what Kendi wanted didn’t seem feasible; at worst, they thought, it risked simply replicating others’ work or creating a mess of sloppily merged data, connected to too many policies for their small team to track rigorously. In the midst of the pandemic, the center struggled to hire a director of research who might have been able to mediate the dispute.

In November, a confidential complaint was filed with the university administration raising concerns about Kendi’s leadership. The anonymous employee told a university compliance officer that Kendi ran the center with “hypercontrol” and created an environment of ��silence and secrecy” that was causing low morale and high turnover, claiming that “when Dr. Kendi is questioned, the narrative becomes that the employee must be the one with the ‘problem.’” The employee warned the university that the situation “is potentially going to blow up.”

One of Kendi’s refrains is that being antiracist demands self-criticism. “If I share an idea that people don’t understand, I’m to blame,” he told an interviewer in 2019. “I’m always to blame.” Kendi told me that his most productive conversations with critics of his ideas often happened in private, including one with a prominent Black thinker who inspired him to make a change in the revised edition of “How to Be an Antiracist.” “This person talked about how the goal should not just be equity,” Kendi said. “The goal should not be the same percentage of Black people being killed by police as white people. The goal should be no one being killed by police.” But some Black scholars, as the right-wing backlash strengthened, debated whether to make their criticisms in public. The philosopher Charles Mills, after listening to a graduate-student presentation about Kendi and DiAngelo at a conference in 2021, asked the presenter: “Are their views now sufficiently influential, or perhaps sufficiently harmful, that we should make them a part of the target?”

Kendi was frustrated to be constantly lumped in with DiAngelo, whose ideas diverge from his in important ways. DiAngelo considers “white identity” to be “inherently racist,” while Kendi argues that anyone, including Black people, can be racist or antiracist. That puts him at odds with an understanding — common in the academy and the racial-justice movement — that Black people can’t be racist because racism is a system of power relations, and that Black people as a group don’t have the structural means to enforce their prejudice; this notion is often phrased as a formula, that racism is “prejudice plus power.”

Kendi thinks of “racist” not as a pejorative but as a simple word of description. His reigning metaphor is the sticker. Racist and antiracist are “peelable name tags,” Kendi writes; they describe not who we are but who we are being in any particular moment. He says he opposes the censoriousness that has become the sharp edge of identity politics, because he doesn’t regard shame as a useful social tool. But he has no intention of taking the moral sting out of “racist” completely. “I wouldn’t say that a person is not being condemned when they’re being called a racist,” he told Ezra Klein in a 2019 interview.

Rather than replacing one definition of racism with another, Kendi is really joining two senses into one. For much of the 20th century, the white mainstream considered racism a personal moral issue, while Black civil rights activists, among others, argued that it’s also structural and systemic. In his definition, Kendi aims to connect the individual to the system. A “racist,” he writes, is “one who is expressing an idea of racial hierarchy, or through actions or inaction is supporting a policy that leads to racial inequity or injustice.”

Kendi’s focus on outcomes is not new. For decades, civil rights activists have brought lawsuits based on the legal theory of “disparate impact,” which holds that unequal outcomes prove that certain practices (by, for example, an employer or a landlord) are racially discriminatory, without evidence of malicious intent. Kendi’s definition urges us to perform this sort of disparate-impact analysis all the time. In Politico in 2020, Kendi proposed the creation of a federal agency that would clear every new policy — local, state or federal — to ensure that it wouldn’t increase racial disparities. But as his team at the center knew well, policies can have complicated effects. Let’s say that a local environmental policy would improve the air quality in Black neighborhoods near factories but would also lead to hundreds of lost jobs and worsen the area’s racial wealth gap. Should it be cleared? Is such a policy racist or antiracist?

The question is made even trickier by the fact that the racial impact of many policies might not become clear until years later. The legacy of desegregation, for example, shows that even a profoundly antiracist policy can be turned against itself in its implementation. This is what the term “systemic racism” captures that can be lost in Kendi’s translation of “racist policies.”

In “Stamped From the Beginning,” Kendi writes that “racist policy is the cause of racial disparities in this country and the world at large.” Mary Pattillo, a sociologist at Northwestern, told me that Kendi’s focus on race didn’t fully capture the complexity of social life — the roles of class, culture, religion, community. “No one variable alone explains anything,” she said. But she thought there was value in simplifying. She understood Kendi not as an official making policy but as a thought leader making a “defensible, succinct provocation.” “We live in a country whose ideology is very individualistic, so the standard response to any failure is individual blame,” she said. “Those of us who do recognize the importance of policies, laws and so on have to always push so hard against that that we have to make statements like the one that Kendi is making.”

I came to think, after months of talking to Kendi, that this was the key to understanding him — to remember that he is trying to push so hard against that. To shove back the anti-Black stereotypes he documented in “Stamped From the Beginning,” the racist ideas that poisoned his own mind and sense of self-worth. His aim, at every turn, is to blame the policies that create unequal conditions and not the people enduring them. But Kendi is so consumed by combating the racist notion of Black inferiority that some of what he says in response is overstated, circular or uncareful, creating an easy target for his critics and discomfiting his allies. Conservatives were far from the only ones alarmed, for example, by his proposal for a constitutional amendment to appoint a panel of racism “experts” with the power to discipline public officials for “racist ideas.” (Kendi told me he modeled this proposal on European countries like Germany, where the bar for hate speech is much lower.)

Some of Kendi’s ideas are softer than they appear at first. Kendi told me that people who believe that his binary applies to “everything” are misreading him. Though he writes that “there is no such thing as a not-racist idea, only racist ideas and antiracist ideas,” he says he never meant that sentence to apply to the whole universe of ideas, only to ideas about race. When I asked him whether the environmental policy above would be racist or antiracist based on his definition, he qualified that “policies can be like people, both racist and antiracist,” and went on: “By improving the air quality in Black neighborhoods near factories, the policy is being antiracist. By exacerbating the area’s racial wealth gap, the policy is being racist.” Many of his critics might find this a more reasonable position, but it also leads to a question about how useful or powerful a dichotomy it is in the end.

Kendi wanted to remain open to criticism, but so much of what he encountered was racist mockery, lies, professional jealousy, misreadings and threats. “I have thought many times about exiting my vocation as a scholar who studies racism,” he wrote in the revised edition of “How to Be an Antiracist.” “After the experience of the last three years, it does not feel safe for me to be publicly self-reflective or self-critical. It feels dangerous for me to be vulnerable.” Though he commits to doing so anyway, the onslaught brought on by celebrity seemed to cause Kendi’s introversion to harden into distrust. “Fame can be defeating and depleting,” Stefan Bradley, Kendi’s friend, told me. “Every word he puts into the atmosphere will be chopped up a hundred different ways, and that takes a toll on somebody’s mental health.” Bradley continued: “I think that if he were a lesser spirit, he would have been destroyed.”

That Kendi felt under siege became clear to Yanique Redwood when she started her job at the Center for Antiracist Research. Redwood had met Kendi once, in 2017, and she remembered him as soft-spoken but burning with big, exciting ideas. In the fall of 2021, when she interviewed to be the center’s executive director, Kendi told her he felt as though he was failing. Fund-raising while also running the center was too much for one person, and he wanted Redwood, a Caribbean American health and racial-equity researcher who had spent nearly a decade running a small foundation, to take over internal operations. Redwood was prepared to find some disorder, but the state of the center’s finances was a mess unlike any she had ever seen. “Nothing was in place,” she said. “It was unbelievable that an institution like that, with so much spotlight on it, just did not have systems. I understood why I was being brought in.”

Before starting, she conducted a round of entry interviews with faculty and staff members, and by her 27th and last conversation, she was exhausted from absorbing their frustration. “There’s something really wrong here,” she told Kendi. Much of the staff was relieved when Redwood was hired. There had been widespread confusion as employees were asked to do “damage control” by performing jobs for which they weren’t hired, or even qualified. “Everyone was overwhelmed,” Redwood told me. “There were too many promises being made to funders. Products were being promised that could never be delivered.”

Redwood designed a process to help get researchers going on pilot projects tracking disparities relating to felony murder, the health and social safety net, reparations and student-debt forgiveness. She wanted to share some takeaways from her round of entry interviews with the staff, in a tactful and encouraging way, to start the work of repairing the center’s culture, but Kendi worried that whatever she wrote might leak. A reporter from a conservative media outlet was reaching out to former employees, asking about problems at the center. “This media storm was coming,” Redwood told me. “It was brewing.”

Employees said Kendi’s fear of leaks slowed the work and created confusion and unease. The first time Rachael DeCruz, the head of the Advocacy office, asked Kendi about the center’s finances to help her budget, in 2021, he reacted “bizarrely,” she told me. “Why do you need that information?” he asked. (Kendi denies that this conversation took place. DeCruz says that after asking repeatedly, she received the information about six months later.) The threat of outside scrutiny exacerbated what employees described as Kendi’s tendency to withhold information to avoid interpersonal conflict. “He doesn’t understand people, how to nurture them, how to make them want to do their best work,” Redwood told me. “It’s not his strength, not even a little bit.”

During her entry interviews, Redwood asked each employee what the organization’s values were, and many of them responded by saying something along the lines of “I’ve been wondering that myself.” She encouraged Kendi to hold a retreat to talk through the mission as a group. Kendi was hesitant because he found work retreats “uncomfortable” — “sitting in a room with a large group of people all day long is exhausting for me,” he told me — but he committed to holding one anyway and solicited staff comments on a document he wrote laying out his theory of social change and the center’s role in it. “I was happy to receive all this great feedback,” he wrote to Redwood. “I think the changes will make the document much stronger and clearer.”

On a spring day in 2022, the staff met at a conference center a half-hour’s drive from campus. The day’s agenda, though couched in the gentle jargon of nonprofits, contained hints of the mood: The organizers on staff had scheduled time for an acknowledgment of the center’s growing pains, for a “healing justice moment” and for a period of “wicked questions” when concerns or challenges could be raised. At the start of the day, Naima Wong, an outside facilitator, encouraged the staff not to hold back. “We’re here to really get into this,” she said.

Late in the afternoon, when it was time to wrap up, the group assembled at tables arranged in a circle. Saida Grundy, a sociologist, was seated across from Kendi. She had never been on board with Kendi’s understanding of racism, subscribing instead to the “power plus prejudice” view. Grundy had forwarded Kendi’s email about security to colleagues with the note “The paranoia is INSANE.” “Ibram is so lily-livered he probably jumps when the biscuit tin pops,” she told me. Grundy was the one who, back in November, had made the anonymous complaint, in which some charges carried a hint of paranoia of her own, like the idea that Kendi “despises academia” and had “gotten satisfaction out of pulling academics out of their own research.” She had accused the center of being an exploitative workplace and, after having conflict with her supervisor, had already mostly stepped back from her role. Grundy had told the compliance office that the center might explode, and now she was ready to blow it up herself.

Her voice raised, Grundy laid out an indictment of the document Kendi wrote. “This is a mile wide and an inch deep,” she said. She argued that the center needed to be more specific about its goals; “fighting racism” was such a broad mission that it felt cynically strategic, allowing the center to take in money for all sorts of projects. “If there is a grant for antiracism on Jupiter, great,” she said. “We do extraterrestrial antiracism.” Grundy, unlike most of the staff, thought the center should become a resource for university faculty members and students; her parents were Black student activists in the 1970s, and she believed that real change starts where you are. “If you lined up 99 Black students at B.U.,” she said, “99 will tell you the center’s made no difference to their experience.”

When she finished speaking, the room was silent. Several people were crying. Dawna Johnson, the center’s financial director at the time, called it an “explosion.” “People didn’t know what to say after that,” she said. “It just left you so unhappy and uptight.” Kendi, his face inscrutable behind a Covid mask, said nothing, and the facilitator wrapped up the session. “Scholars who study the experience of Black leaders find that the No.1 racist challenge Black leaders face is contested authority, even from other Black leaders and staff,” he wrote to me later. I asked him what he remembered from that day. “It’s almost like trying to remember a day in which you were really happy, but then something horrible happened at the end,” he told me. “It’s hard to remember anything else other than that horrible thing.”

Grundy had admittedly come in hot, many staff members agreed, but it didn’t seem to matter how they couched their concerns. Employees continued to push to make sure that the center’s research projects were both rigorous and responsive to community needs, but the issues they raised in response to Kendi’s “theory of change” document never seemed to get fully resolved. “He’s communicating one thing,” one person said. “Behind the curtain, he’s behaving a very different kind of way.” Redwood and several others said that if someone was too persistent about a concern, Kendi would slow or stop his communication with that person. “If someone disagrees or someone is being vocal, you can’t just get rid of them,” she wanted to tell him. “Like, this is how you breed distrust.”

Redwood ultimately decided that Kendi wasn’t interested in building consensus around a shared mission. “Only he had the ideas,” she said. “We were there to execute on his ideas.” Redwood resigned in October 2022.

In a memo to The Times, Kendi disputed many of the staff’s recollections of his leadership. “This is not me, and anyone close to me, who has worked with me for a long time, knows that I’m open to constructive criticism as a writer and a thinker and a leader,” he wrote. Many progressive advocacy groups, Kendi pointed out, have been torn apart by internal clashes in recent years, conflicts that he said were driven by employees who “care more about performing their radicalism” than working to “improve the lives of everyday people.” “Former employees constantly deauthorized me as the director of the center — not because they were against hierarchy — but to assume authority for themselves,” he wrote.

Even before Redwood’s departure, Kendi told me, he realized the center was in financial trouble. He was far from the only nonprofit leader caught short as funding for racial-justice work collapsed after 2020. Funders that doused organizations with cash in the wake of George Floyd’s murder proved unwilling or unable to sustain their commitment, and layoffs were taking place across the sector, even at large nonprofits like the Chan-Zuckerberg Initiative. The center had gone from raising $40 million in 2020 to a fraction of that — $420,000 — the next year.

In June 2023, after he went on parental leave, Kendi approached university leaders with the idea of switching to a fellowship model, which could adjust its number of awards to fluctuations in fund-raising. He told the staff only that he would be announcing some major changes when he returned from leave. Dawna Johnson, who succeeded Redwood as executive director, was left to manage a staff frustrated by being kept in the dark. “I think the staff thought I knew more than I actually did, as far as what the future of the center was,” she told me. “He’s like, Just don’t spend money, essentially, which is kind of difficult in an organization that needs to move forward.” (Kendi denies that he said anything like this to Johnson, who remains in her role today.)

Kendi spent the next three months taking care of his newborn daughter, Imara, and his wife, who was diagnosed with Stage 4 breast cancer while pregnant. In his absence, at another staff retreat, four employees stood up and spoke in turn about the problems at the center. Much of the staff had just learned that the center agreed to partner with the D.E.I. arm of the consulting company Deloitte, which does work for the police and prisons, on designing an antiracism training for corporate workplaces. “Why wasn’t this shared with the broader staff sooner, as a potential high-risk partnership that could impact the relationships we are forging with movement leaders?” one person said. “Why are we contemplating this partnership that arguably goes against our values?”

Kendi, who identifies as a police and prison abolitionist, suggested that donations from corporations could be seen as a “form of reparations,” and he stressed to me that the Deloitte agreement “allowed us to control the products from design to delivery.” He once again dismissed the critics at the retreat as “performative radicals” of the sort that have been “causing all kinds of havoc in Black-led social justice organizations for years, claiming that they are against hierarchy when they really are against being directed by a Black person.” He thought they were being hypocritical in objecting to the Deloitte partnership because they “do not object to personally having profiles on social media corporations that platform copaganda, or buying goods from retailers employing incarcerated labor in their supply chains, or using technology from corporations providing carceral states with technologies of surveillance.”

When I asked the employees about this, one of them called Kendi’s comments about hypocrisy a “deflection tactic.” She stressed that the staff was not making a demand but asking for an open dialogue — or at least a clearly articulated rationale — about decisions that affected them. His response fit a clear pattern, they thought, of believing that employees were trying to undermine him when they really just cared about the work. “I understand he’s coming from a place of trauma,” another told me. “He’s criticized unfairly and through a racist lens constantly. I do understand it. But then to distort that into an inability to receive feedback that’s going to ensure the success and usefulness of the center — that’s where it becomes a problem.”

In September, Kendi fired 19 of the center’s 36 employees in a series of Zoom meetings. Many told me they could understand the layoffs given the financial climate, but to change the model from an ambitious organization that had pledged to drive social change to one that handed out academic fellowships felt like a betrayal of the mission. The abruptness of the decision forced the staff to scramble to find other homes for projects, including a research program supporting Boston-area organizers on a campaign to challenge family policing in schools, for which they were in the midst of sensitive interviews with affected parents and caregivers. Breaking promises they’d made to grass-roots partners was what bothered her team most, said DeCruz, the head of the Advocacy office, because equitable and sustained relationships between communities and advocates build a strong network — a movement aligned on its goals. Pulling out damaged those relationships.

Though some staff members told me they appreciated Kendi — “My life forever, forever changed because I worked for someone who pushed me to envision what’s possible,” one said — many others had become darkly cynical about him. The most vocal among them was Grundy, who took to Twitter calling Kendi a “grifter” and fueling the rumor that he might have stolen funds. Redwood tried to have empathy. She imagined what it must be like to be constantly attacked — to have your intelligence insulted, your motives questioned. “I wonder if some of the secrecy and paranoid behavior came about as a result of that,” she told me. “I have no idea, and I had to just eventually stop trying to figure it out and just move on, because I couldn’t understand how the person I met when he was at American, when I sat down with him for lunch, the person who appeared to be so humble, so committed — and I still think he is committed — could be the person that I worked for. It is not something that I have ever been able to understand.”

Several people stressed to me that Kendi’s weaknesses as a leader were not as important as the larger forces that surrounded his leadership — the opportunism of white-led institutions, the boom and bust of trend-chasing nonprofit funding, the commodification of Black thought and activism. I asked Boston University to comment on a complaint I heard from the staff, that its administration had failed to provide adequate oversight. “Boston University provided significant financial and administrative support to Dr. Kendi and the center. Dr. Kendi did not always accept the support,” a spokesperson wrote. “In hindsight, and with the fuller knowledge of the organizational problems that arose, the university should have done more to insist on additional oversight.”

The spokesperson also said that the decision to end the center’s projects was Kendi’s choice. “Several different models were discussed with Dr. Kendi, including bringing many of the projects to completion over the next two years and lessening the impact on staff,” he wrote. “However, Dr. Kendi’s preference was to terminate the ongoing projects and ask the funders to repurpose the funds for his new endeavor.” (In a written response, Kendi accused the interim university administration of trying to undermine the center’s work. “The center has faced more oversight and scrutiny than every other center at B.U. from the Office of Research and this interim B.U. administration,” he wrote. “I’m disappointed that this interim B.U. administration is giving The Times a version of events that doesn’t reconcile with the facts.”)

The last time I saw Kendi in person was in January, when he came to New York to promote his newest book, a young readers’ adaptation of Zora Neale Hurston’s “Barracoon,” based on her 1927 interviews with Cudjo Lewis, one of the last survivors of the Middle Passage from Africa. That night, Kendi was doing an event at an independent bookstore in Brooklyn Heights, where the streets were salt-streaked after a light snowstorm and white string lights glowed on a tree outside. One of the three personal-security officers he brought with him — bearded Black men in black peacoats and dress pants, fitted with earpieces — was checking bags at the door.

Kendi was standing by a wall of books in a teal blazer, his pocket square in place. For a while, he said, he stopped doing many public events because of his security concerns, but he realized it had contributed to his feeling alienated and embattled. “Not doing live book signings prevented me from engaging with the people who were reading and appreciating my work,” he told me later. Going on tour again had “helped tremendously,” he said. But he didn’t want to be away from home long while Sadiqa was in treatment. “It’s incredibly difficult to witness someone you care about deeply facing so much pain and loss,” he said. “I’d much rather just be the one facing that pain.”

Boston University had cleared him and the center of grant mismanagement, but he was still waiting for Korn Ferry, the management consulting firm hired by the administration, to finish its culture inquiry, and he continued to attribute any dysfunction at the center to the hardships of the pandemic and employees who repeatedly contested his leadership. He was coordinating with the university on the center’s next phase, he said, but the work that felt most meaningful to him at the moment was “getting back to my roots as a writer.” He was at work on his next big project, a contemporary political history.

Kendi has spun out 13 books since “How to Be an Antiracist” in 2019, 10 of which are adaptations of his or others’ work for children. Since becoming a father, he told me, it has become even more important to him to reach young readers — particularly Black kids like him who may have internalized racist ideas about themselves. Earlier that day, Kendi spoke to 250 kids at a middle school elsewhere in Brooklyn, taking questions from a panel of seventh and eighth graders. “Barracoon” was the latest in a series of books he was adapting by Hurston, the Harlem Renaissance ethnographer he has called the “greatest antiracist novelist of the interwar era.” “I wanted it to read like a grandparent sharing their difficult life story with care and love to their grandchild,” Kendi wrote on Instagram.

During the talk, Kendi told the audience that there are some Black people who, from the way they maneuver in the world, you can tell are spiritual maroons. “This is the person who truly is living and navigating from the standpoint of a freedom,” he said. “They’re unafraid or not worried at all about the white gaze. They’re operating and navigating the world based on their own destiny, based on what they want.” Hurston, who traveled throughout the South, Jamaica and Haiti collecting folklore from the descendants of slaves, was one of those people, Kendi said.

Listening to him, I wondered how often he felt like one of them, too. I got the impression that Kendi spent a lot of time in his head, in that defensive pose, anticipating or parrying attacks from his critics. When I asked him later where he and Sadiqa had gone on vacation over the New Year holiday, he declined even to name the country for fear that “bad-faith people” would try to figure out where they had stayed and how much their hotel room cost. I told him it seemed as though he devoted a lot of thought to how something he said or did could be used against him by the least generous person on the internet. “I certainly don’t want to provide fodder for it,” he told me.

Kendi is right that there’s a mess of misinformation about what he believes. He has become a cipher for the unfinished national conversation about the post-George Floyd moment — the outrage and wild hope of the protests, the reactionary anger, the disillusionment. In tying together racism’s two senses — the personal and the systemic — Kendi has helped many more Americans understand that they are responsible not only for the ideas in their heads but also for the impact they have on the world. But this gap between intention and action, so core to his thinking, is where all the hard work takes place, DeCruz told me. That’s where organizing and movement-building happens, where you practice the kind of world you want to live in. “Having a shared language is important,” she said, but “it’s just the first step.”

#Christopher F. Rufo #Christopher Rufo #Ibram X. Kendi #Henry Rogers #antiracism #antiracism as religion #systemic racism #diversity equity and inclusion #diversity #equity #inclusion #DEI #DEI must die #religion is a mental illness

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evereinefaust · 1 year ago

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. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 ࿐ྂ

Pairing: Male Monarch X afab!Reader

Sypnosis: The monarch didn't know how grave the consequences of his decisions would lead to. He only realized that after dying at the hands of the emperor and returning in time...

Word Count: 3,053

“They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, but my heart just became numb.”

The young princess of Avillon exhaled, returning her melancholic gaze toward the scenery outside her window. The weather was beautiful — white clouds floating across the light blue skies, the warm rays of the sun pouring over the small kingdom and its people — yet, no matter how lively and cheerful the day appears to be, Princess (Y/n) retained her somber expression even today.

It's already been a month since her older brother, the reigning monarch of Avillon, took the majority of the kingdom's exceptional knights to deal with the outside dispute that may harm the continent and its people. She knew that it is inevitable for him to leave as he is the sole lord of the knightage and Avillon's best military strategist. Yet... no matter how much she convinces herself that everything would be fine, she can't stop her heart from churning in pain upon remembering him.

"Princess, aren't you gonna eat? It's way past lunchtime and you haven't eaten yet. I'm worried that this might deteriorate your health," Lyn expressed, frowning as she carefully sauntered over the (h/c)-haired royalty sitting by the window sill. "Rouin will scold you if you keep doing this."

"Then let him be," the royalty huffed, aggravated by the nagging of her subjects. "If I feel famished, I'll eat. If he doesn't want that, then he eats for me."

"You know that I can't let you do such things, now, Your Highness?"

(Y/n) flinched at the new voice. She could hear shuffling and a set of heavy footsteps coming in close to her. However, she refused to face the person. An evident scowl was plastered on her face, leaning forward towards the transparent glass with her palm covering half of her cheeks. Rouin's image was reflected in the window, yet the stubborn princess still refused even look at him through the reflection.

Seeing the way she's behaving, the royal adviser let out a sigh of exasperation. He glanced at Lyn and gestured to her that he will handle the princess from now on. The pink-haired elf understood and briefly bowed in the princess's direction before she quietly left the room. Now that the only individuals in the princess' quarters were her and him, the atmosphere turned tense.

"What do you need, Rouin? I believe my brother instructed you to handle all the national affairs in his stead; there's no need for me to interfere, right?" She spat, not even caring to hide the annoyance and anger in her tone.

"Your Highness, you know that you can't continue acting like that," Rouin countered, his tone gentle and calm in contrast to hers. "What would Lord think if he sees you in this state after he returned from his endeavor? Do you think that he would be happy if his younger sister began neglecting her health?"

"TSK...! WHAT DO YOU KNOW?!" she snapped, standing abruptly from her seat and glaring hard at the older male.

This sudden outburst from her caught Rouin off-guard. He stared at his mistress with nervous sweat trickling down his face. Her teeth gritted together, both fists clenched tightly by her side, a deep crease in between her furrowed eyebrows, trembling body, and (e/c) orbs containing deep frustrations. This was the first time that he had seen a princess like this.

"You don't know much about what I feel so don't you even dare assume! Worry? Fear? I get that my brother's careful that he won't be taken advantage of! I know that he has Fram, Johan, and the others protecting him! I know all of that so I don't have to worry, right?!" The young royalty continued, rage filling her up that she can't compose herself anymore. "I know all of that so don't you dare tell me how and what to feel! And don't you dare even guilt-trip me by mentioning my brother."

"I... I sincerely apologize, Your Highness. I swear that it won't happen again..." it took Rouin a moment before he was able to compose himself from her words. He had his head hung low, out of shame and guilt.

"Good. Now get out," venom dripped from the cold order while her gaze didn't fail to pierce through him.

"Understood."

At that command, the royal adviser took his leave. Once more, the princess of Avillon was in the middle of her spacious yet silent bedroom. The heavy atmosphere from earlier hadn't dissipated yet, and her unexpected outrage instantly took a toll on her. (Y/n) collapsed onto the tiled floor, her heartbeat racing and face covered with sweat. She stared at her trembling hands, spotting red nail marks on her palm. Soon, her quivering lips elicit a small hiccup, then a choked sob, before fully breaking down crying.

"I'm lonely... I'm sad... I missed you, big brother... I can't take this loneliness anymore. Please... hurry home."

"S-sir Rouin... Is Her Highness alright? I heard her shouting earlier," a maid approached the gray-haired adviser, concern etched on her face for whatever had transpired in the princess' chambers.

Rouin pursed his lips, his half-lidded eyes failed to meet with the maid's worried gaze. "It's nothing... I just made a blunder and angered the princess."

"O-oh... Is she alright? How about you, Sir?"

"I'm alright. And as for the princess..." his gray-blue orbs stared remorsefully at the closed double doors. "It's probably better if we don't disturb Her Highness later on. Only serve her when she calls on you. Understood?"

"H-huh?" The maid blinked, baffled by his words. Nevertheless, despite not knowing the reason behind his words, she still bowed her head in compliance. "Understood."

𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝟐𝟐𝟏

𝐓𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫,

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫? 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐀𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐮𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐲. 𝐀𝐥𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐮𝐩𝐬𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫, 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬. 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞. 𝐈 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧.

𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐝,

𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 (𝐘/𝐧) 𝐨𝐟 𝐀𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐧

𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝟐𝟐𝟏

𝐓𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫,

𝐎𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐈 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝, 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫. 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭. 𝐀𝐥𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐥 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐞, 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞. 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐈 𝐚𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈'𝐦 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝. 𝐈'𝐦 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫; 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝'𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭. 𝐈𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐨, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰? 𝐈𝐟 𝐈'𝐯𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝'𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥! 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐈 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬!

𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐝,

𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 (𝐘/𝐧) 𝐨𝐟 𝐀𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐧

𝐓𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝟐𝟐𝟏

𝐓𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫,

𝐈𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞? 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬? 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐲. 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭… 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐈 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝'𝐯𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠. 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰? 𝐈𝐟 𝐌𝐮 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐮𝐬, 𝐈 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞. 𝐍𝐨 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞. 𝐁𝐮𝐭, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰? 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞. 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭��𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡. 𝐍𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐲, 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐧, 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭? 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫… 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝.

𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐝,

𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 (𝐘/𝐧) 𝐨𝐟 𝐀𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐧

"How is my sister, Mu?"

"I apologize, Master. It seems that the princess' health isn't been the best recently," the spirit shook her head, dejected. "She's been in low spirits ever since you left to handle the Empire's assault on the western and eastern continent and hasn't been herself since. I'm afraid that she's completely missing your presence."

"I see..." a certain raven-haired lord sighed, waving his hand dismissively. "I appreciate your report, Mu. Please continue to observe Princess (Y/n) and how she's doing. If possible, have Lyn or Rouin handle her. I don't want her to stay depressed because of me."

"Yes, Master."

"Your Highness, was that Mu you were talking with earlier?" Johan curiously asked, entering the room the young ruler was currently in. "Ah! There's also the report regarding the other nation's reply to the proposed alliance."

"Thanks, Johan," the ravenette simpered as he collected the papers. "And yes, that was Mu. I was just asking about my sister."

"You mean Princess (Y/n)?" The young ruler nodded.

"It seemed that I didn't take into account my younger sister's condition before I left to battle the Empire," onyx hues contained regret and sadness, a hint of guilt lingering in the young monarch's voice. Picking up the papers, he let his hands caress the rough texture. "I've always fought for my ideals and wanted the world to be a better place for everyone to live in. And when I learned about the Empire's plan on conquering each country, I was afraid for my sister's well-being."

"I understood very well of Your Highness' feelings. After all, she's your only family left, right?"

"That's right. And because of the thought of her being taken away if our country were to be seized by the Empire, it seems that I was blinded by simply fighting back to ensure that it wouldn't happen. Although everything seems to fall smoothly into the plan, I did forget one important variable."

"It concerns the princess, right, Lord?"

"Yes," the man let out a dejected sigh. "How could I, her older brother and her remaining family, fail to act as one for her? I was too focused on my duty as Avillon's ruler that I disregarded my sister's feelings."

"I'm sure that you didn't mean to hurt Her Highness' feelings, Milord. Though considering your relationship with her, your actions did lack sincerity," Johan expressed, watching over his lord with worry etched on his face. "It's almost been a month since we've traveled far from Avillon. All she knows is that you left with the knights. She was left alone in the citadel without knowing why her brother left and if he was going to return safely. If I were Princess (Y/n), I would grow anxious as each day passed. Especially when I'm not with the only person I hold dearest."

"I know..."

The young lord of Avillon felt his heart racing inside his chest. He wasn't ignorant of the feeling, yet, he wasn't pleased by experiencing it either. This feeling wasn't brought about by fighting or the fear of failure. He was quite confident with his skills as a strategist and the skills of his knights. No; this anxiety and heartache were because of a certain person — his little sister.

The ravenette sat idly by the desk, paperwork scattered on the wood that is all related to their all-out counterattack against the Empire. The room was silent, Johan seemingly left after their earlier conversation, leaving the young man to deal with his thoughts alone. He knew that everything he did was for the sake of the world, and most importantly, for his sister. However, it appeared that he didn't consider his sister and focused only on the battle ahead. He had failed to act like her older brother.

"Hah... I can't believe that I'm still foolish. I just hope that you can endure it for longer, (Y/n). I promise that your older brother will be by your side once everything is over."

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝐄𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝟏𝟏𝟎𝟑𝟕

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐆𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐬 𝐄𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞, 𝐄𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐊𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐡, 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐥. 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐡. 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞'𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐀𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐧.

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟, 𝐄𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐊𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧. 𝐘𝐞𝐭, 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐮𝐧𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝.

After the knights defeated the bandits lingering in the Nibelon woodlands, the monarch of Avillon issued a command to return to their borders. The knights, with the addition of the newly recruited Schneider, followed their leader as they returned home at night from their tiring journey.

"Announcing the safe return of our Lord, His Highness, and the knights!"

The vociferous voice echoed throughout the citadel, announcing the success and return of their leader. Everyone present in the grand hallway instantly shifted their attention toward the double doors as they opened. And as on instinct, every subject bowed down in respect as a young man with hair as black as coal and eyes an onyx hue strode inside with his men trailing behind.

Upon arriving at the doors to his throne room, the young lord saw a familiar man. With his record book still in his hold, Rouin dipped his head in reverence to his master, glad to see him safe and sound. The young monarch sported a small smile, a spirited gleam appearing in his eyes upon seeing the adviser.

"Welcome home, Your Highness. The mission was a success, I see."

"Thank you, Rouin," he nodded. "How is my sister?"

"Her Highness, Princess (Y/n), is well. She is currently in her chambers," the older of the two reported.

"I see," the monarch's face contained something unexplainable as he glanced down at his folded arms. "Well, I think I need a little break from our mission. Rouin, do you mind if you handle the rest?"

"Of course not, Your Highness. Please rest well," the man regarded, bowing down once more as the ravenette royalty left.

"I won't repeat the same mistake. (Y/n), I'm sorry for my actions in my past life... On top of that, I didn't fulfill my promise of returning to you. But this time will be different. I swear that it will never happen again."

The door to the princess' quarters creaked open as a certain person entered her abode. The room was dimly lit; only the moonlight seeping through the large windows and the flickering of the candelabra by the bedside table were the lights available. The young lord of Avillon quietly walked over to his sister by the windowsill. Her upper body was slouched on the sill as she wrapped her arms around her head. In this position, the princess appeared so serene and heavenly while sleeping. Such a rare picture to behold.

A bittersweet smile soon appeared on his lips, taking a seat next to his little sister to observe her closely. Removing his cloak, the ravenette carefully put the material over the petite frame of his sister. His heart began to speed up, pain and longing eventually running in his system. The male pursed his lips, thin eyebrows scrunched together at the thought of his past life. He, who was confident enough to fight against the empire, met his pitiful end at the hands of Emperor Kartis. Not only that he failed as a leader, but he also failed as an older brother.

"I'm sorry for putting you through this, (Y/n)," he murmured, gently caressing his sister's soft (h/c) locks. Sadness glazed over his moist orbs, the tears threatening to burst through any minute. "I'm sorry... for failing you and everyone else..."

Those were the words that he wanted to impart to every one of his allies. From his original knights — Fram, Johan, Charlotte, and Mikhail — to his recruits — Schneider, Zaira, Helga, Olivia, and Astrid — and lastly, to his allies from every nation. Those are the words that contained the burden of being a Returner; the burden of knowing what is to come. Yet, no matter what might happen in the future, he knows now that he shouldn't disregard his little sister, no matter what.

"Mhm... Hm...? Big... brother?" Slowly waking up from her slumber, Princess (Y/n) opened her lids and revealed (e/c) orbs staring back at his onyx ones. The girl yawned, lifting her head so that she could fully face the male. "You're...back...?"

"Yes. I'm back," he answered, smiling ever so softly at her. The hand on her hair remained, and she took this opportunity to slide it down to her cheeks. "Were you lonely without me, sis?"

"Mhm~ I was," she meekly nodded, leaning against his palm while both of her hands held his. Her half-lidded eyes contained sweet longing and happiness. "Welcome home, big brother~"

Her innocent smile and her bright and dazzling appearance were like the sun on his darkest days. Never once did she fail to become his emotional support — always staying by his side no matter what may happen. She remained the same even in this timeline. And he had hoped, that she will always be the same. Avillon's reigning monarch leaned forward, his eyes closed as he planted a chaste and sweet kiss on the princess' forehead. The very sign of protection and adoration.

"I have returned to you, my precious little princess."

#lord of heroes #fanfic #fanfiction #alternate universe #oneshot #angst #fluff #one shot #x reader #reader insert #male monarch #male lord #tragedy

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sinterblackwell · 2 years ago

Text

kay’s favorite reads of 2022

and now we're finally here for my personal best reads of 2022!! there’s still so many other books i’d have loved to mention previous to this post or as a bonus, but that would have ruined the fun of the challenge that was compiling only a select few titles. i could always write another post in the future but for now, here were the top top top books that absolutely stole my heart, or just affected me so hugely i couldn’t imagine not having them on this list.

here’s to a hopefully good year and i hope i could find even more stellar reads in 2023 that could potentially change my life as these ones did :’)

warning: again….very long lol

but first…��.

honorable mentions:

- the bright lands by john fram

“I texted you Sunday night because I thought I could learn to be like you.”

this book not making it to the top 10 breaks my heart just a little because it was one of my first reads of this year and i was absolutely convinced by the end it would be on my top reads list. and it still is, it…..just so happens i read a lot more books after this one that climbed up the ranks :’) but i still wanted to showcase this story here.

joel & dylan’s sibling relationship was one of the highlights of this book for me, among other things, as you would see here and here.

but yeah, i found the last quarter of it to be absolutely epic. to have found out that some other readers had mixed feelings about how chaotic it got, it makes me love it even more because it was an Experience™️; one that had me all in due to the slow & haunting nature the story had for the first half and then it all builds up to quite a cataclysmic & emotional finale.

if you want to hear more of my thoughts about this story, here’s my review for it (x). it’s one of my favorites that i’ve written :’)

- summer sons by lee mandelo

After midnight on a pitch-dark stretch of road, tasting the finer edge of human fragility in the glare of wrong-way headlights, though—there death was a pressure on the sides of the neck, gripping where the pulse beat hardest.

a southern gothic horror that also happened to be another one of my first reads of the year!! the writing pulled me in completely but most importantly of all, it was andrew’s pov that really swept me away, just as well as the relationships he shared with characters such as eddie & sam.

this was a read that i picked up sometime late last year but was hit with a case of right book, wrong time. i was really excited to pick it up in the beginning of this year for its second try and the timing worked out perfectly, thank the gods. again, the writing was absolutely incredible and i loved how the author explored the grief of losing someone who was everything to you in all ways that are undefined, and the missing fractures that come with what was left unspoken.

andrew was so lost in that grief and in his haunting that the moments where other characters pushed him to anger or just to feel something were very intense and so so well-done. i always knew if this story didn't make it to my top 10 that it would have its place as an honorable mention and so here we are :')

- headcase (necessary evils, #4) by onley james

“You like this, like being my sole focus. It’s okay. I like that you like it. If you don’t want to admit it, if your pride is too great, then I can take the choice away from you, if that’s what you want. Slide that cuff back on your wrist and I’ll give you what you want.”

fun fact: this book is my most surprising read of 2022. i didn’t list it in this post because i wanted to have it stand on its own here where it belongs. i also genuinely think if it wasn't for my #10 pick, it even could've made it to my top 10, i am that obsessed with this title.

i did not expect to love this as much as i did, coming in with low expectations since some other reviewers expressed their apathy/dislike for the story. this just goes to show that you can always turn to reviews if you want, but always take them with a grain of salt or otherwise you’ll have missed out on a potential gem, just as this title is to me.

this book is worthy of an entire post on its own, i simply couldn’t get enough of it. asa & zane had me obsessed when i first read their story back in august and to this day, i still am absolutely invested in their dynamic. i loved asa’s character and i loved zane’s own connection to the mystery that’s at the center of the story, which was pretty traumatic, and it made all the events of the plot hit really hard.

i also discovered a whole different side to myself that i didn’t know existed until reading this book so that was definitely something to be reckoned with.

- henry hamlet’s heart by rhiannon wilde

For an immeasurable stretch of time, we’re not Lennon and Hamlet, or two people who want each other, or two people at all.

There’s never been a proper membrane separating us the way it does other people; we’re connected, and it runs so deep. I know, from how much this hurts.

i remember this book just being one of the best ya books i’ve ever read. it’s a story i’d love for a lot of teenagers to read, whether it’s in australia or all across the world, this story is for the youth.

the author’s writing style made it so that i was genuinely enthralled with henry’s pov and the friends & family he holds close, most notably lennon. there were so many scenes i loved and quotes i highlighted, it was just such a soft & hard-hitting book that i remember when placing it on my bookshelf after finishing it, my heart literally felt heavy because i experienced so much with these characters and i didn’t want to let this story go. i never will.

- the child thief by brom

“DEVILS, DEVILS, DEVILS FOREVER!”

note: the writing in this at times was weird, i have to admit. the way the author would include strange descriptions of women’s bodies left me feeling uncertain of what i was supposed to do with it; very reminiscent of some of stephen king’s books lol, but…..

outside of that, this book was just a complete mindfuck as a dark peter pan retelling that was all about these lost kids and their leader who was equally as lost but carried a magic inside him that could sweep you away. despite having read so few, i love love stories that are like a mix of horror & fantasy because the way the scales go from left to right so often, it makes the book that much more captivating and i enjoyed how much adventure there was to find in here.

there was a lot of grit & darkness to be seen in the violence these characters engage in and the traumas they’ve all endured. i think what makes that quote i inserted so special is that **SPOILER** it was the final words of one of these devils, aka peter’s lost children, who absolutely worshipped him despite all his faults, simply because he gave them this escape from their own damaged home life. this devil gives his life for peter and that was the problem, that was something that nick, one of our main characters, absolutely loathed peter for because they deserved better than this, they deserved better than to have to lose their life in some fucked up blaze of glory.

nick as a main character was such a brilliant pov to read from, and very ironically, too, because he strongly reminded me of paul adams from alex north’s the shadows—aka a character i absolutely despise. the good thing with nick is that even in his attitude that he knows better than all of peter’s other kids, he still has his own kind of naivety and is clearly struggling when it came to the relationship he had with his mom and all the anger he’s festered up because of the harsh life he was dealt with and is being thrust into further. he felt very relatable and brings peter down to earth at times, even as he butts heads with other characters. his commentary on the book added to the humor that was very present throughout, which was partly what made this book so fun to read at times.

this story was such a wild mix of different things: horror vs. fantasy, humor vs. somber; dark vs. light; adventure vs. violence. there’s so much magic but it’s all taking place in a crumbling Neverland and we watch as these characters navigate their toes between both worlds and battle their own demons, even if it means fighting with each other. the last quarter of this book was what solidified my big feelings for the story and so yeah :’)

now!! here we go for the winners (hehe 🤭) who made it to my top 10!! 🎉

10. the awakening (lore & lust, #3) by karla nikole

“There isn’t anyone else, sunshine. Only you.”

it is with sinking silence that i express that my feelings for this series have been dampened a little over time and so i can’t quite honestly say that i’m still as obsessed with it as i was all those months ago (exhibit a). the reason why i made the choice to include it in here and not in my honorable mentions (as was briefly toyed around with) was because despite how much or how little my feelings have changed over the course of time, i’ll always remember my excitement about this book, jae & jun’s story, specifically.

i was absolutely enthralled with this author’s version of vampires of different ranks and the way they navigated society as they found love and created families and shared business ideas as some oversaw their realms. i was obsessed with the writing, and how lyrical and sophisticated it sounded—almost too sophisticated when i think back to it, but it was still all together really charming. something i loved about jae & jun’s story was that that fancy charm was still there but both characters shared this dry humor and they had such an easy chemistry that had me smile so much. i loved how even in a story that was going to be focusing strictly on these two relatively new characters, i personally had no qualms with it because i loved the way these two interacted so much, and getting to learn all i could about them was fantastic.

the dominican representation with jun will always mean the world to me because it feels rare enough as it is in the publishing industry to see dominican characters as the leads but in a fantasy?? it was everything. it was everything to learn about how closely jun held onto his heritage because it reminded him of all the good moments with his mom, helping to alleviate the bad that came with being raised by his abusive & patronizing father. i appreciate how the author went about carefully exploring the trauma that came with being raised in such a strict household, and how that affected jun's perception of the bonds that are held so highly in vampiric society. jae's pov was such a breath of fresh of air in his own well of sarcasm and genuine wonder, so enlightening as someone who works in the medical field and who has his own revelations to be absolutely mystified with.

i stated in my goodreads review for this book how the more of the story i read, the more it felt like it was being written for a very specific audience and that audience was me, and that was just really cool. there were secrets that were unfolded and tensions to pave over, but also such sweet & heavy moments that made my heart ache a lot throughout the course of the story. just like with game changer by rachel reid, i constantly found myself coming back to this story in the midst of reading other books because i was just so charmed by jae & jun, they were so memorable. feelings may have dimmed on the entire series as a whole but these two were a heartstopper, and a power couple in their own right, i'll never forget them.

9. with a vengeance by freydís moon

I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die.

this was my first read from this author, and it completely changed everything for me. i think, having read headcase by onley james previous to this story, i knew very well what i was getting into regarding how dark the romance would be and that i may actually be into it, so to have had this book actually end up in my top favorites of the year feels astronomical.

it wasn't just being obsessed with kye and eli's dynamic, and how much chemistry they had with each other (which is pretty vital in all romances, so i'm being repetitive here but still); i really fell in love with the author's writing here. i love how you can describe it as a southern gothic horror of its own, because of how vivid & dark the atmosphere was in the muggy swamps of louisiana.

i love how being that this is a villain origin story, the villian was someone who absolutely stole the stage and who had so much heart and fiery anger inside them. i mentioned in this post that moon has such a brilliant way of writing these stories where it's all about reclamation, it's all about gaining back agency in your own body and of your future. the symbolization with death in this story is a heady one (absolutely obsessed with the quote i inserted above), and kye wanting so much to just be gone, only to revive with such a powerful force left me floored.

i'm really thrilled that i found this story when i did, and i wish so much that more people can get into it and see how brilliant the book is, because it really is; it's life changing.

8. the hacienda by isabel cañas

"There is only One who decides who burns and who does not . . . Let His will be done."

my words can never be enough to fully express how much i love how this story made me feel. the closest that i can give is this quote by alexis henderson from a goodreads interview when she was questioned about what kind of horror she’s into, and she listed the hacienda as one of her recommendations:

"To me, a book that is truly frightening is one that evokes the senses and explores the complexity of fear. If a book can make me feel not just afraid—but disgusted, dread-filled, shocked, psychologically, or even existentially disturbed—that makes it all the more frightening. That’s a book that will get under my skin and haunt me long after I’ve finished reading."

the atmosphere of this house that beatriz moves into was so creepy that it genuinely did evoke a sense of fear in me. i loved her & andrés’ pov, for their fear felt so vivid that i couldn’t help but be afraid for what they were going through. i wouldn’t say the story is very slow but it really gets to you with how hauntingly beautiful & creepy the writing is, and it all builds up to quite an explosive ending.

the forbidden romance, too, added a nice touch that i was absolutely obsessed with, adding to the tension that was already stacking up quite a bit in this novel. i loved what @/perpetualpages from booktube said in one of their monthly wrap-ups about this story so if you’d like to see it to get the full scope of how amazing this story is, here’s a link of their own review.

overall, the fact that this story was so fucking close to winning “best horror” in the 2022 goodreads choice awards and still lost (and to a book i have never even heard of until then 😵‍💫) is one of the worst heartbreaks i faced this year, but well….it was best horror to me :’)

7. bellamy (sons of the fallen, #5) by jaclyn osborn

“We were enemies, yet each time we met over this past year, I just wanted to pull you close. You became the one thing in this world I didn’t want to hurt. But villains never get their happy endings. Or so I thought.”

it was knowing phoenix as the enemy since the first book and then finding out he & bellamy were meant to be together, and it was a complete storm after that. i’ve talked about these two so much on here, i just…bellamy & phoenix were a true force to be reckoned with. i wish i hadn’t spoiled it for anyone of their connection because now if any of you were interested enough to pick up the series from the start, the surprise element of this reveal wouldn’t hit as hard.

this is one of those times where i genuinely wish i could wipe my memory of it and get to relive their love story again because it truly was epic. the buildup to their story was books in the making and the author crafted it so well with raising the emotional stakes of it all, starting in castor and then electrifying their connection in daman & gray's stories, it was....everything. also just plain iconic because out of all the brothers, for bellamy to be the one to fall in love with a demon……very in-character for him, honestly :’)

but really, yeah i just think it was absolutely brilliant what the author did with these two, and i loved how in the knowledge of this fated mate bond that is the center of each romance in this series, it felt much more serious in the context of bellamy & phoenix because while yes, they're soulmates, they still had that choice when they fell in love with each other. this bond was what made it difficult for them to be kept apart but they had to navigate the trouble with being on opposite sides in this war against humanity. once they spent that time together and they just fit immediately......it was like a wall of emotions flooded out between them, like there was that spark and it suddenly turned into a fiery showstopper. i don't know how best to word it but it was something bellamy and phoenix said here:

bellamy: Our fated mate bond went deep, but I felt a shift inside me… like I was beginning to choose him rather than merely follow a destined path.

phoenix: “Fate brought us together, but I stand here because I want to be. I choose you, Bellamy. I always will.”

yeah, they're one of my most favorite pairings ever.

+ alastair (sons of the fallen, #7) by jaclyn osborn

i am not, in fact, cheating by doing this because both bellamy & alastair are part of the same series and so they both count as one. while i loved the romance in bellamy & phoenix's story, though, i wanted to also mention how much the brotherly relationship between the Nephilim brothers means to me and alastair's story, the finale of this entire fantasy series, is the best example of showcasing it.

it was the ultimate tearjerker when seeing how much these brothers aren't just risking it all for romantic love, but they're also fighting to be by each other's side. they've been through so much together and they've lived so many centuries back to back. while they have their fun and tease each other a lot, they face moments where they witness each other fall in this book here and through alastair's pov, it was heartbreaking.

i talk about it more at length in my goodreads review here but this entire series will always have a special place in my heart for a multitude of reasons and the song i inserted above--"brother"--is the best symbol of them, and partly what made me further grow attached to all these characters,so i'm really sad to be seeing them go. the reveal that there will be a companion novel released in february with each couple getting their own short story makes me feel so lucky and i'm just so happy for the author because i can tell how clearly the sons of the fallen universe means to her.

her author's note at the end made me emotional because there's so much that a reader doesn't know behind the scenes and for her to open up about what writing these characters have done for her and her relationship to writing, it made my connection to the series that much stronger because i could see all that she had put into it and what more she will be adding to it in the future, all with fresher eyes.

(p.s. this book gets special bonus points because simon actually has a role in the story!! who would've thought?? this is a grudge i held privately to myself for a while with only one rant about it (x), but something actually came out of it!! would've still loved to see more of simon in the other books tho)

6. moth (monstrous, #5) by lily mayne

I’d been convinced I’d be alone forever, never getting to experience any kind of intimacy like this.

And then he’d appeared, bluntly but gently telling me that he wanted me just as I was. Even after seeing the monstrous parts of me. He’d still wanted me.

…..“I love you.”

for a good couple of days or so, i was really wrestling with whether or not i should actually put moth & charlie's story above the league of gentlewomen witches. the force of their love and their entire book just became a whole comfort its own, one that was filled with a lot of sad reveals and long treks across the Wastes where the pair connected in a way that i could've never expected.

moth had spent so much of his life as a half-monster being shunned by both humans & monsters alike and to actually get to hear from him more often than wyn, edin, aury, and gloam in their own books was one of the best writing decisions ever. meeting him in the rycke, there was some mystery to him due to a grudge another character had against him and his unknown origins. to officially meet him in his own story and see charlie coax moth out of his shell with his gentle & compassionate nature was such an emotional journey, and i just loved how we got to learn a lot about charlie as well after briefly meeting him as hunter's best friend in edin. the pair of them in this book and in all those bonus short stories on the author's website made me grow an attachment that is hard to rub off and i don't think it ever can, with a monstrous christmas in the camp the ultimate cherry on top.

the romance was absolutely gripping, and so was the plot as we actually get to visit the cities that the military have taken control of in light of the monsters tearing through the fold that led into the human world. it was because of this book that i really got a sense of where the overarching plot might be for this entire series and it had me more excited for what's to come next for all these characters. at the end, another thing i was left most excited with was getting to potentially see moth visit the monster world for the first time, a place he was never able to before due to how shunned he was but now with charlie and monsters like wyn & gloam by his side, he'll hopefully get to learn even more about where he came from and where he could go from now. charlie is such a huge comfort character so i'm also looking forward to getting to hear more of his wit and charm that had other characters already taken by him and even the ice queen moth himself. i'll be rereading this story quite a bit in the meantime and i'll continue to for a long while, which is something i'll always appreciate.

5. the league of gentlewomen witches (dangerous damsels, #2) by india holton

Witch and pirate danced through like shadows in the lamplight, portending night, leaving everyone blinking and enchanted.

in the simplest words, this book made me really happy. that's why it naturally made its way to the #5 spot.

some of the books on this list did the same thing, yes, but what made this one stand out was just that it was such pure fun. the adventures these characters get into are ridiculous as hell and the humor was absolutely unbelievable, and i had such a memorable time with every second of it.

i absolutely loved charlotte's character; i loved seeing her get to tap into her magic in a way that she never got to before, but in this story she lets it go free and she experiences such wonderful joy. her relationship with alex was so good, i loved loved loved their banter and how much they just fit, just like cecilia & ned in the wisteria society of lady scoundrels; except with alex & charlotte, it was like were like on a whole other level, i was absolutely enamored with the way they were so taken in by each other.

this is one of those comfort books that is genuinely a comfort in all the ways it made me smile & laugh as i enjoyed these characters' deadpan humor and their expertise in criminal activity & making their afternoon tea. it was incredibly romantic in all the best ways and had a main character like charlotte who stole the spotlight in more ways than she believes herself, the literary heroines she speaks so often paling by comparison, as is just my personal opinion. she deserves the world and she gets it.

this entire ensemble cast gets their fun and holds the spotlight and i'm absolutely geeked over the next book that's to come in this series so i can see them all again. they're just....everything.

4. ocean’s echo by everina maxwell

Tennal’s mind was the mirrored universe itself.

it's hard to really put into words why this book is so high up on this list. i really liked winter's orbit last year and was so genuinely excited for this companion novel that is set in the same universe but follows very different characters. sci-fi isn't a genre i read that often but when i do, the titles under that belt always tend to stick to me somehow and in this one, i just loved the world that the author was building here in the cosmos.

i loved how plot-heavy this book is and yet the characters are what majorly push the narrative as tennal & surit's voices really take the story to new heights. their bond is one that has a bunch of twists & turns and seeing the way they grow closer & closer over time, in a way that you wouldn't expect, i was obsessed with how well they came to understand each other. tennal's character, specifically, i resonated with a lot in a way that felt reminscent of mickey in icebreaker by a.l. graziadei, as i also talk about in this post. their personalities are very different but the feelings i have for these two characters is so strong that seeing the journeys they go through in their own books was similar in its brilliance.

in tennal's case, his self-destructive nature and the way it was so hard to predict what he'd do next made me think about how other readers might hold him at fault in the beginning, which is kinda understandable. for me, though, i just found him to be a really well-crafted character who had a lot of charm to him and was intelligent in a way that could easily get looked over because of superficial impressions. surit's character was also someone who really added to this story in a way where his analytical mind helped me in taking a step back and understanding what was going on.

both voices were pivotal to my enjoyment of the story and as much trouble as i have talking about the why, my conversations with a friend who loved this book just as much as me were one of the best things about my whole reading experience and for that, that's why i listed it so high. between winter's orbit & ocean's echo, the fact that the latter evokes stronger feelings for me for unexplained reasons also plays an important factor.

i've been babbling so much on here, so let's crack on now that we're at the top 3 :')

3. the winners (beartown, #3) by fredrik backman

Look up at the roof. Only you and me on the planet. We’re alone. No one’s going to hurt us.

i always knew this series would end up in my 'best of' list because the way that fredik backman writes is so completely heartwrenching but comforting as well. reading this final book here, though, i was left feeling quite a bit empty.

with such a large cast of characters, you would think quite a few might fall under my radar but i can never forget any one of them. yeah, there were some standouts over others but each & every voice in this series--in this small town called Beartown and even another town called Hed--they all added so much to what made such an emotional reading journey for me and i wouldn't trade it for the world. seeing all the good & bad of what ice hockey means to these characters and what they mean to each other was amazing, and the big kicker with this finale here was some of the new characters we meet--matteo, ruth, and mumble--who....are connected to the first book in a way that reshaped everything i thought already knew up to this point in the series.

there's so many decisions made in these books here that force you to trash any black & white thinking because backman captures the faults & hopes of humanity so carefully in his hands and he creates characters with so much dimension to them that makes it sometimes easy to hate them but in other cases, hard to as well--it's all about perspective, you see, and every reader's thoughts are subjective depending on our own personal experiences. the experiences of these characters are all laid out on the table here and it's up to us as the readers to decide how we'll take them. with whatever choice we make, these characters have lived while others have lost and the best thing that i could do at this moment right here is carry the memories of them for the rest of my life, to be honest.

they mean that much to me and i want the best for them, even in the knowledge that there's still probably more sad moments to come--we just won't be there to see it any longer. such a heartwrenching story, as said earlier, but it was really funny, too, because that's just like all humans. you can cry one minute and then laugh the next, you can feel bitter about some things while wrestling with the joy that some of these characters have.

this book was a lot :')

2. echo by thomas olde heuvelt

“When I smile, you don’t have to be scared of me, okay?”

i just loved sam & nick so much. this was what i would describe as a cosmic horror, with the mountains being an entity that really made my skin crawl in all the intense scenes of terror that these characters face. i loved the way that the author began the story and jumped between two different timelines that added to the impact of the horror, and i loved loved the ending. i don't have much of a review up for this book on goodreads and it's haunting me greatly, especially because i still have a hard time talking about it now. it was just incredible, i had a memorable time with it.

as compensation for my short thoughts, here’s a post that shares how amazing some of the writing was 🙇🏽‍♀️

the fact that it was my #1 read for so long (i read this back in march) only to then got beaten by a hairsbreadth of a second by the title that's up next will always get to me because it was so close. but second place really isn't terrible in the grand scheme of things so here we are.

1. stars (executive power, #2) by tal bauer

This is the land where all things die. Where everything ends.

just like bellamy & phoenix were books in the making in sons of the fallen, this #1 spot here was a whole series in the making, starting from all the way back when i first picked up bauer's enemies of the state. this story was worthy of tal bauer getting the "best new author" title and "best director" in the book oscars, but i had to play fair and as a reward, i got tal bauer to beat thomas olde heuvelt for best read of 2022 so that has to be something.

this high honor is all because of sasha & sergey, and it's because of how chaotic things got in this finale here. i can pinpoint the exact moment that i knew this book would be top favorite read of the year, but i can't and won't sell it out because it was so epic, i wish other readers could be curious enough to dive into this series to see what i was talking about.

it's all about the secrets that these characters hold, that their governments keep close to their chests, and it puts others at risk in a way that was a complete mindfuck but was handled so brilliantly by the legend tal bauer himself. i just love how genre-breaking this story was--it's a romance but it can also be called a horror at some point; it's a sci-fi but it's a mystery as well with thrilling elements. it's hard to pinpoint where exactly this story straggles the line and i enjoyed every moment of it.

i enjoyed how much sasha & sergey waxed poetic of each other and how this duology was for them. i loved how we got to see some of our favorite characters from the entire executive saga return back in their own povs to provide context in moments where sasha & sergey couldn't. i loved the way the author explored sasha's love for space, and how that love was connected to sergey in a way that made me, an aro, fall further in love with the soulmate trope. i just....love how all out this author went with this story here; the writing was beyond the beyond, and it got so sad at times, and i appreciated all of it. the ending made me emotional because this was it as far as i was aware, and it had been such a long run in this saga.

first with the executive office series and then here with executive power, it was epic as hell, i will never get enough of it. i'll never get enough of the author, who next to freydís moon, was my best new author as he contributed to what made this reading year so impactful for me. i had read most of his entire backlist all in the span of two weeks in october and then further more in early december, which is just mind-boggling to me because i have never experienced this with an author before. before tal bauer, i had read the most books from rick riordan himself because of the entire percy jackson universe but here, it was more than just one universe, there were so many books!!

stars wasn't even my last tal bauer read but it is my most favorite and the enormity of it will never be lost on me. i don't ever want it to.

and that's a wrap!! happy new year, everyone :')

#❣️#I DID IT #happy new year everyone 🙇🏽‍♀️#i copy & pasted all of this on google docs and it came up to like 11-12 pages so it’s practically a whole book collection of its own :’)#still had a lot of fun #booklr #Spotify

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buckybarnesfanfic · 2 years ago

Text

A Christmas morning chaos

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Summary: Mornings with Bucky Barnes are always an adventure. But what happens when you go to your parents house for Christmas and that adventure follows you there too..

Warnings: Pure fluff, little accident.

Note: It is Christmas so what better than some fluf and christmas joy with our darling Bucky. Also i wanna say Merry Christmas to all and i hope everyone is doing amazingand having a great time. Love you guys so muchand a huge thank you for supporting meit means the world to me. So happy holidays and i hope you enjoy this one.

A sweet smell caught your attention and it made you smile. You could recognise that smell everywhere. It was your mothers freshbaked cinammon rolls. Only the slight smell of them was bringing you straight back to your childhood and the smile you had everytime you smelled and tasted them. You rolled to your side searching for Bucky but the only thing you found was a cold side and an empty space beside you. Your smile faded after the realisation of your boyfriends absense but you knew he was an earlybird. A really really morning person, which is the exact opposite of you. You loved and cherised your sleep and if you were lucky sometimes you succesed to drag Bucky back to bed with you for so cuddles stopping him for his morning run with Steve. You missed him so you decided to get up and get ready for the day. So kicking the covers off of you you get out of bed and go to the bathroom to brush your teeth and brush that wild hair of yours. After that you went to your closet to pick your outfit. As you oppened the closet you found all your old clothes witch for a second confused you. You shooke your head laughing reminding yourself that yoy were at your parents house and for a momment you thought to wear something from there to show Bucky your previous style but the momment you eye caught a glimpse of Buckys red henley it was endgame. All thought of wearing your old clothes went down the drain as oyu grabbed his shirt putting it over your head wearing it as a dress as it was way too big on you, so you skipped the search for shorts. After you got ready you grabbed your phone to text Bucky so you could go together for breakfast. He was probably on his morning run by the lake so you figured he would be hungry. You started typing but stopped mid sentence when you heard his voise coming from downstairs. You figured he would have been back from his tun so you left the room and followed his voice to find him down in the kitchen. And what you found was without a doubt the most heart warming sight to see but you didnt want to interupt so you hid behind the stairs and just watch. It seems that today your boyfriend didnt go for his usual run instead he was in the kitchen with your mother. You knew she was an earlybird herself so it doesnt suprise you to see her awake and baking. Bucky on the other hand was a sight to see. He had flour and sugar spread all over his apron ans somehow frosting in the tip of his nose and his cheeck. He looked so cute and adorable i could melt on the spot. You watched the two of them carefully not to make any noise and were so happy to see them getting along. You had that fear when you first started dating Bucky and when your parents told you to come over for christmas you were a little nervous. But seeing your mom with Bucky changed your mind and eased your nerves as that was proof enough taht they loved him and have welcomed him in the family. You smiled as that was a big step for you and your relationship. You snapped out of your thoughts when you heard a loud thud coming from the kitchen. Quickly you run but stop in your tracks and cover your mouth to stop yourself from laughing loud when you see Bucky on the floor covered with bubbles laughing and your mother trying to help him up but failing cause she was laughing so hard herself. You immidietly pulled out your phone and snapped a couple of pictures that were definetly gonna be frammed and rapped up as christmas preesents when you were interupted by your fathers voice calling you.

- What is all that noise y/n?

You whispered

- Mom and Bucky are cooking together.

You pointed with your finger at the situation and your dad couldnt contain his laugh so he bursted out laughing making both my mother and Bucky tyrn their heads and look at us.

- Morning guys anyone hungry?

My mom said with a smile gesturing at the table as she went to grab the plates and the coffe.

- Morning mom

I said and hugged her before going to Bucky who was up and kinda embarresed at the whole situation.

- Morning baby

I said kissinf him lightly.

- Morning doll

He said kissing me back and hugging me making me all wet with water and soap.

- Ah Bucky you are gonna make me all wet.

I said laughing. He laughed back and smirked hugging me tighter and then letting go as we both go to sit at the kitchen table.

- So i see you two had an eventfull morning

My dad said picking up hie fork to eat one of the fresh baked cinammon rolls.

- At least they turned out great.

He gestures to the cinammon rolls and smiles.

- Mister yln im very sorry for the mess and the noise

Bucky said blushing.

- Nonsense. Dont listen to him, we had so mucjh fun today. Isnt right Bucky ?

My mom asked Bucky smilling to him to calm him down.

- It is true we had an amazing time. Im putting the accident in the fun too

- What happened though?

You asked smirking dying to find out.

- Bucky darling wanna do the honour of telling that story?

My mothers says and knowing her she is doing him a favour cause of she tells the story there would be a lottt of embaresment. She laughed a little and continued eating her breakfast and everyone eyes lands to Bucky to tell the story. Bucky takes a few deep brreaths preparing himself and starts telling the story.

- So long story short we had just glazed the cinammon rolls and i was washing the dishes while yoyr mom was cleaning the counter when i slipped on some spilled frosting and i tripped. That resulted to me falling on my but with dish soap and water all over me.

- And some nice bubbles on your head.

I completed him laughing softly.

- And some of that yes

He said laughing while putting some glaze on my nose.

- So a skilled assasin as yourself got tricked by a little frosting, taht is a sight to see

My father tells and Bucky feels his cheeks getting hotter by the minute.

- Dad come on stop teasing Bucky please

You said clearing your throat and yoyr dad got the point and smiled at you.

- Oh fine! Cant a man say a joke around here

He said drinking his coffee but winking at you. The breakfast continiued smoothly with some small talk about the activities on the calendar that we hace to do today. About an hour after the plates where empty and everyone was ready to get up. Dad sat up first and as he was leavinf he turned back and said

- Dont break anything while cleaning this time

He laughed out loud annd left. We all laughed after taht and got reader to clean the table. Bucly leans to yoy and whispers

- Your dad is something else

- You havent see half of it

You smirked at winked at him laughing to your self blowing a kiss to Bucky and getting started to clean.

#marvel #bucky #buckybarnes #reader'#fanfic #buckyxreader #romance #tumblr #christmas #fluff #love #family #vacations #fun

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mrs-hatake · 4 years ago

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can’t decide if i love yandere eren or submissive mommy kink obsessed eren more

#hmmm #the lack of those fanfiction set in the anime time fram is sad #eren x reader

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yup-thats-me · 3 years ago

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Take care of you || Keanu Reeves x fem!reader

pairing: Keanu Reeves x fem!reader

warnings: periods nothing major, mentions of blacking out. Just fluff

summary: you're on your period and Keanu's there to help you through it

a/n: guess who's on her period? me ): anyways hope you enjoy!

masterlist

Keanu was shocked to say the least when he saw you laying on the living room floor, your body seeEmingly limp. Rushing to your side, he knelt down beside you.

"My love, you alright?" His face full of concern. You lifted your face from the wooden floor to look at him. Your face dull, the bright in your (e/c), that Keanu adored, non-existent. Oh he knew the look. You're on your period.

"I hate being a woman", you croaked. "It's so hard being a woman." He gave you a light smile before wrapping his hands around your fram, pulling you in for an embrace. He kissed the top of your head, rocking to side to side. "I know baby. I know," he whispered.

Keanu knew your periods were hard. The cramps were so bad that one time, you blacked out from the pain. From then on, he made it his responsibility to take care of you whenever your week arrived. But, he didn't know that today was the day as he had left the house before you woke up, having to go to the studio for filming.

You two stayed there for a minute before Keanu spoke up. "How about this? You watch a movie or anything you like and I'll make a quick round to the grocery store and get everything you need?" He suggested.

You looked at him in awe. He always knew ways to cheer you up whenever you're down. Smiling at him, you nodded your head.

He stood up and gestured for you to get up as well. "I feel like I'll die if I stand up", you whined. He chuckled at you. He scooped down again, lifting you up bridal-style and walked towards the couch before the tv screen. You gave ot a surprised yelp at his action, giggling at him.

He sat you down on the couch, and handed you the remote. You pouted, a sign that you wanted him to pick you a movie. Chuckling, he shook his head at your childish nature, the one he grew to love more and more. "What do you wanna watch?"

You thought for a minute before a smug smile spread across you plump lips. "John Wick." Keanu knew you'd choose that. The film was your comfort film and you absolutely loved John. Although Keanu would be ashamed to admit it, he was a bit jealous of John Wick seeing how much you adored him.

Smiling at you, he put on the movie. He turned back again to place a kiss on you're forehead. "I'll be quick". You giggled again. "You better be".

With that, Keanu left you with your movie for the grocery store. As soon as he got in the mall, he made his way to the snacks aisle. He picked out all the thing you love. Chocolates of every kind, Oreos, Nutella, all the sweet goodies. He also picked out a packet of tampon and pads of your favourite brand. He knew you'll need it.

When he laid all his thing on the billing counter, the cashier went wide eyed as she recognised the actor and gave him a wierd look at his choosen things. Keanu was used to this. He'd do anything in the world for the love of his life even if it meant people giving him judgemental looks, or even some snarky remarks. If he needed tampons, he needed tampons. End of discussion.

Keanu was greeted by you belting out the lyrics of Think by Kaledia. He immediately it was the red circle scene. You loved that scene. He smiled at himself, and made his way to the couch where you were. Sitting beside you, the scene was still ongoing, and he knew better than to interrupt you. One time he did, you were mad at him for the next hour. So, he sat there quietly watching you, a smile gracing his pink, thin, lips.

After the scene was done, you paused the movie. Facing Keanu, you smiled at him brightly. He handed you a pack of oreos. You leaped at him full force, he had to act quick to hold you. Of course he held you. He always did.

Thanking him by placing a kiss on his cheeks, you settled down again with the movie this tim, with Keanu. He did got up for a minute to grab you both a bottle of water and a fuzzy blanket. Wrapping you and him in it, you both watched the John Wick trilogy together.

#keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves #keanu x reader #i love keanu #keanu reeves x you #keanu imagine #also period sucks 😔

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dreamescapeswriting · 3 years ago

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Stray Kids Reaction || Glasses On In The Bedroom [M?] [Request]

SKZ X GN!Reader

A/N: I didn’t make it totally smut as I wanted to make it GN so that everyone could enjoy it sweetie, I hope that’s okay! If you would like a full smutty piece feel free to message me with a member and I will get to work on it for you

CHAN:

Ever since the 'Gone Day's shoot when Chan had to wear glasses all day it was all you could picture about him and the images ran through your mind constantly until you finally admitted to him that you found it sexy.

"Chan? You're home early," You laughed as you walked through the front door of your shared apartment to see Chan's shoes were there along with his work bag.

"I thought you and the boys had a late-" You stopped speak as you walked into the living room and saw Chan sitting on the sofa in the same outfit from the video. The bright blue jumper, white and blue shirt and glasses. Even his has was styled the same way and he had the cute freckles on his face, a smile spread over your face as he looked at you.

"You like?" He questioned knowing the answer before you even opened your mouth to speak to him.

"You look so good," You whined as you walked over to him sitting on his lap as you looked down at him biting down on your lip. There was something about seeing him dressed up that turned you on and your mind wouldn't stop wandering.

"You really like them, huh?" You nodded slowly still not being able to take your eyes off him as you ground your hips down against his, smirking as he grew beneath you. He kissed you deeply as he pulled you close to him, the kiss making you feel like your whole body was on fire, he always made you feel as though you were going to burst, one touch and you would be weak at the knees.

"I-Is there a reason you're wearing it?" You asked while twirling a strand of his curled hair around your finger, smirking as he shook his head and leant forward to place a small kiss on your chest.

"No particular reason...I figured a certain someone could use a reward after such a long day at work," He placed another kiss on your neck, leading up under he reached your lips where he waited.

"Kiss me," You begged him, your eyes looking into his pleadingly as he nodded. Swiftly picking you up and wrapping your legs around his waist,

"I think we should take this to our room," He chuckled as he slowly began to walk in the direction of the bedroom while you kissed his neck, leaving small marks up and down his pale skin.

MINHO:

There was one thing that you had always been insecure about in your life and that was the fact that you had to wear glasses. It wasn't a big deal since almost everyone that you knew seemed to wear them but ever since you were younger it had been something that bothered you, always being called "four eyes," or "specy."

"What are you doing?" You giggled as Minho looked down at you, the two of you had stripped one another out of your clothes and he pinned you below him.

"I-I want you to do something for me," You nodded at him, kissing down his jawline as you sat up.

"Whatever you want baby," You cooed as you looked into his eyes, he reached to the side of the bed and pulled your glasses case out of the drawer.

"Please...You look so fucking sexy with them on." He groaned as he kisses your neck while you let out small whines, his free hand travelling down your body to where you needed him the most.

"F-Fine," You whimpered placing them on, he pulled away from your neck and blushed deeply as soon as he saw you.

"So hot," He grunted as he began kissing you hungrily, pulling you closer to him as you let out a squeal.

CHANGBIN:

Changbin knew just how insecure you were about wearing your glasses which was why he decided to wear some around the house, to try and make you see that it wasn't a big deal.

"Baby, it's dumb...I don't need to wear them when I can see perfectly fine without them," You told him as you walked around as if you could see when in reality, everything around you was blurry.

"Tell that to the wall you walked into." He smirked as he placed your frames onto your face, letting your eyes adjust for a second before you looked at him.

"Oh fuck," You whimpered as you finally saw what he was wearing, thick glasses that looked like something everyone wore in 2010.

"Where did you-"

"Swiped them from the stylist room, think it's for a new video shoot." He wiggled the glasses around while you nodded, mouth hanging open a little as you could feel yourself getting turned on from the sight of him.

"Babe?" You didn't answer him with words, you simply pushed him down onto the sofa and knelt down in front of him.

"O-Oh," He stuttered out as he realised what you were doing, running your hands up and down his thighs before unbuttoning the jeans he was wearing. He slowly went to remove the glasses but you stopped every movement you were giving him,

"K-Keep them on." Your eyes were staring up at him and he nodded, sliding them back on as you continued to pump him in your hand.

HYUNJIN:

"How many times do I have to tell you that you look sexy before you finally believe me?" Hyunjin asked sarcastically as you walked around the house attempting to do some housework but he was busy distracting you.

"You have to say that, you're my boyfriend." You complained as you bent down to load the washing machine up, screaming in surprise as Hyunjin knelt behind you, his hands on your waist as he ground himself around you.

"Does it feel like I'm lying to you?" You smirked as you felt what it was he was referring to, his cock hard against your ass. Slowly you began rocking your hips back and glancing over your shoulder at him,

"M-Maybe you need to prove it to me some more," You teased, in one quick moment you were pinned to the floor on your back looking up at Hyunjin as he tore off his clothes, kissing you desperately as his hands wandered down your body.

JISUNG:

Walking onto the set you expected to see the boys dressed up in their God's Menu outfits but instead they were all dressed in different costumes. Chan was dressed as an elderly man, Changbin was a pig/rabbit, and Minho was struggling to change into a princess dress.

"Where's-" You stopped speaking when Jisung walked onto the set, putting on a pair of glasses while he did a small spin.

"How do I look, babe?" Your mouth went dry as you saw him standing in a suit and glasses, something that always made your stomach drop and heart race.

"Babe?" Jisung asked in a panicked tone as you began dragging him by the tie he was wearing towards the bathrooms, locking you both inside and kissing him desperately.

"You like them?" He chuckled as you began opening the shirt he was wearing and running your hands down his abs,

"You look so fucking hot." You whimpered as he picked you up and placed you onto the marble countertop in the bathroom, smirking up at you as you rushed to get your own clothes off, neither of you knowing how much time you had.

"If I'd known glasses did this to you I would have stopped wearing my contacts years ago," He grunted as you pulled him close to you by his belt and began kissing him roughly again.

FELIX:

"I bought Chicken soup and noodles!" Felix called out as he pushed past you in the front entrance of your apartment,

"What...What are you doing here?" You rushed to get the glasses you were wearing off your face and squinted trying to see Felix.

"You said you were sick so I made some soup," You smiled weakly at how thoughtful it was of him even though you lied telling that you were sick.

"Babe?" He questioned as he looked at you,

"Yeah?" You stared at the space where you thought Felix was standing but he stepped directly in front of you,

"You don't have contacts do you?" He smirked as he realised why you told him that you were sick, he knew how much you hated the glasses you had to wear whenever you were out of contacts.

"I hate them," You complained as you took them out from behind your back and slid them on.

"I love them," Felix smirked as he licked his lips, you couldn't tell if he was being overly dramatic or just being nice.

"You're a liar," You mumbled trying to move past him but he took you by the waist and pulled you closer to him.

"Why would I lie about something that makes you so sexy I would take you right here on the floor," A chill ran down your spine as he whispered in your ear with his deep voice, you faced him and he began kissing you desperately, walking you over to the wall and pinning you against it trying to pull your clothes off as fast as possible.

SEUNGMIN:

As soon as the plane touched the tarmac you were waiting for the doors to open, practically sprinting with Seungmin towards a bathroom.

"Why did we run to the-" He had no time to finish his sentence as you slammed your lips against his, biting down on his lip as he realised what was going on.

"The glasses? They really make you this needy?" He laughed softly as he watched you nodding,

"That and the altitude of the plane...It makes anyone needy." You pouted at him as he laughed again, all you wanted was him, all you needed was him with you right now.

"This is a airport bathroom," He reminded you as you began taking off your clothes and his,

"Well spotted, now fuck me." You told him as he shook his head at you, pinning you against the door so that if someone was to walk in they wouldn't get very far.

"If we get caught you can explain it to Chan." He smirked as he began kissing down your chest, putting one of your legs over his shoulder as he looked up at you. No one would have expected this to come from Seungmin of all people but that drove you crazier, he seemed completely innocent until you were alone and then he was a wild animal.

JEONGIN:

Weeks ago you told Jeongin that it turned you on to see him wearing glasses, there was just something about seeing him in them that made you weak at the knees. Maybe it was the reverse Clarke Kent, everyone found superman hot and never Clarke.

"What are you doing?" You laughed as you walked into the kitchen to find Jeongin standing there with some round glasses on his face. He was dressed in a brown vest top, shirt and tie.

"We were filming a skit and I remembered what you said about glasses." He winked at you as he walked towards you, wrapping his hands around your waist and dragging you closer to him.

"S-So you wore them home?" He nodded in answer to your question and you felt a lump build up in your throat as not-so-innocent thoughts began to cloud your judgement.

"How long have we got until you have to take them back?" You questioned as you began kissing down his jawline to his neck, he let out a breathy moan as you reached his weak point.

"W-Whenever I want," He bucked his hips as you got down onto your knees in front of him, looking up at him as you smirked.

"You have the weekend off?" You already knew the answer but you wanted to hear it from him anyway, "Y-Yes." He stuttered out as your hands began to slowly undo his pants, smirking as he blushed deeply from one single touch.

Tagline: @taestannie @minholuvs @sw33tnight @acciocriativity @mwitsmejk @justbangtanthingz

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serenityseventeen · 4 years ago

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Mingyu (김민규):

----------------

“Trust”

After accusations break out that your boyfriend was a bully, you can't do anything but comfort him, and tell him you believe him until the problems get resolved.

boyfriend!Mingyu x reader

-----------------

You shut down your phone after reading the last article about your boyfriend, Mingyu.

Mingyu had many accusations thrown at him, and you figured that he probably had his phone taken away to prevent him from seeing more than he had. In fact, you were pretty sure that all of the members of SEVENTEEN had their devices taken from them.

Mingyu was accused of being a top tier school bully, a bystander who watched a student get bullied, a bully who bullied a disabled student, and a sexual harasser. The last one was just a large mistranslation though, and your boyfriend only made remarks that made the poster uncomfortable.

Of course, since you couldn't contact Mingyu, you began to worry, not knowing how he is. Your heart couldn't rest at all, and you just hoped that his company will take care of it carefully.

A whole long day had passed. You didn't dare to touch your phone and see people slandering your boyfriend and jumping to conclusions. You wanted to stay neutral, but you couldn't think of anything else but him, and about how everything seemed completely false and groundless.

On the second day the scandal broke out, going to sleep that night was hard. You couldn't stop thinking of him. How was your boyfriend? Was he afraid? Nothing was said yet, no statement, and no apology. Since it's already the second day, you were growing somewhat confident that he wasn't apologizing because of his innocence.

The third day arrived with no statement or apology. You couldn't just stay alone in your home, and wait. Your heart couldn't rest at all, not because of the rumors, but because of your boyfriend. You didn't know how he was at all. He must've been so scared, like a caged puppy. That was the image that appeared in your head.

“Y/N... are you here to see Mingyu?” It was Seungcheol who opened the door.

You clenched your fists, nervously, then nodded. The manager had let you inside the building from the back door, a secret place where people could slip in and out if they had the key.

“He's in his room. Hasn't left the bedroom for a while...” Seungcheol let you in and closed the door behind you quickly.

“Did he eat anything?” You asked Seungcheol, as he guided you to Mingyu's room.

“He has, but not as much as he used to. He's just listening to music and staring out the window blankly.” You two reached the door of Mingyu's room, and Seungcheol placed his hand on the doorknob. “I think he's sorry.”

Seungcheol twisted the doorknob and the door opened with a small creak. Seungcheol took his leave as you stepped into the bedroom of your boyfriend, closing the door behind you quietly.

Mingyu was laying down on his bed, facing to the side, staring out the window with headphones in his ears.

You walked to his bed and sat down. You patted his head softly with your comforting, warm hand. Mingyu turned around upon feeling your touch. He took your hands into his, with a gentle and tired look in his eyes.

“Y/N...” Mingyu sat up in his bed, and removed his headphones from his ears.

You wrapped your arms around him, and feeling your comforting arms, he buried his head in your chest. He sniffled, as his tears began to flow into your chest.

“I thought you wouldn't believe me. I thought you didn't come visit me because you believed them.” Mingyu said, amidst his crying.

You patted his back. “I wanted to stay neutral in everything because I don't know anything about your past,” your hands traveled to his hair, and you pat the back of his head. “But I trust you. Now, I just trust you. I trust you with all of my heart, I trust you with everything I have. I'm deciding to trust you all the way through.”

His hair was soft. You moved to a comfortable position while holding him, who was crying like a child. It was indeed like he was a framed person, locked up and finally recieving freedom.

“Thank you.” He said.

“Don't be scared, I'll always be here because I trust you.” You said. Mingyu pulled himself away from your arms and wiped his own tears, hiccuping.

You gave him a smile, despite tears forming in your own eyes. The light was dim, and you could hear pit pats of soft rain hitting the window.

“Why are you crying so much, hm?” You wiped away his tears with your soft hand.

“I was just afriad… I was afriad that you'd leave me without hearing my truth, I was afraid that everything I've worked hard for will be gone in an instant just because a lie covered up my truth.” He hiccuped.

“I'll protect you. I believe in you.” You gave him a soft kiss on his forehead.

At last, he was able to bring a small smile onto his face. His eyes were still red and teary, but his lips held a hopeful smile, as if you just restored all of his faith.

“I really needed you. Thank you for coming.” Mingyu continued to wipe his tears.

You pushed him back down on his bed, and laid beside him, facing each other. You placed a hand on his arm, patting him rhythmically.

“I couldn't believe those accusations. What they said was nothing like you. You're a kind, caring, and loving guy, that's why I love you. That's why I'm putting all of my trust in you.” You brought your hand to his ear and massaged it gently. “You're not a bad guy, right?”

“I don't want to be a bad guy, I never wanted to be a bad guy.” Mingyu replied, hiccuping once again.

You smiled. “Then, I believe you. All we can do right now is wait for the law team to investigate further into these accusations against you. Until then, I'll believe you.”

“Why do you believe me?” He asked with a small and genuine smile of faith.

“I believe you because I love you. Do you not want me to believe you?” Your voice was soft as you brought your hand to carress his cheek.

“No, I'm just so thankful. I feel better and more at rest now. Before, I couldn't even sleep or eat. I couldn't focus on anything because I was afriad of how everyone will turn their back on me if the truth I hold is not told.” Mingyu took your hand off of his cheek and held it tightly. His hiccups had stopped.

“I will never let your truth be blinded.” You replied confidently, smiling to lift up his spirits.

Mingyu smiled, holding your warm hand in his. He kissed your hand gently, holding it tightly. Your mere presence was enough to comfort him. Yet, you bothered to speak such sweet words to him, which made him feel even better. Those genuine words, he couldn't thank you enough for them. He was glad and relieved that you believed him. Mingyu didn't have to be afraid, because now he knew you wouldn't let his side of the story be buried.

With your trust, all of his fears could disappear.

-----------------

-serenityseventeen

a/n: Though a bit late, the whole issue was very very very heartbreaking to me. I stayed neutral throughout, and waited until the statements. I'm very glad I did wait and not jump onto the train of ‘believe the victim first’. Anyways, I'm glad everything was cleared up in the end; Pledis did a great job with handling the situation, compared to how other agencies handled their idols' accusations.

+ it was so hard to find a gif of this dork bc he's always smiling; and if he's not smiling he looks to freaking HAWT

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hongism · 5 years ago

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as you wish - jaehyun smut

pairing: jaehyun x female reader

genre: ceo!jaehyun, assistant!reader, smut, absolute filth guys

word count: 3544

warnings: daddy kink, semi-public smut, choking, thigh riding, facefucking, deepthroating, throat bulging, oral sex: male receiving, oral: female receiving, sir kink, size kink, unprotecc sex, cum eating, cum swallowing, creampie, fingering, filth, absolute filth, fucking filth y'all, corruption kink, overuse of baby girl and princess, possessive!jaehyun, hair pulling, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, dom!jaehyun, sub!reader, teasing, breast play, nipple play, pussy slapping, overstimulation, praise, basically both have a pain kink, reader cries bc jaehyun's big dick is that good, this is not a proper boss assistant relationship like y'all no, but do i care? fuck that no I don't, yes this is kick it jaehyun, no don't come for me jfc this warning list is LONG

summary: maybe you and your boss don't have the most professional relationship, but he's so good at fucking you that you don't think twice about it.

a/n: ...don't ask. this is gratuitous smut and absolute filth and I have zero shame, so don't ask pls this is for @parksfilter @franklytae and myself. also thank you dearest fram for this sexy ass banner :3

…

...

“Sir? Your 4 o’clock appointment came by early.” You step into the dimly lit office to find your boss sitting behind his desk, as usual, eyes glued to his computer even as you speak. “Mr. Jung,” you speak a bit louder in hopes of catching his attention. Sure enough the man glances up at you, dark eyes finding yours as he looks at you over the rim of his glasses.

“Yes, Miss L/N?”

“Your 4 o’clock.”

“It’s 3:36, Miss L/N. Not 4 o’clock. You’re early. As is my client.”

“Well sir, Mr. Kim asked me to remind you that you were rather late to the last meeting.” You grin at your boss, teeth shining through the smile. His lips quirk into a small smile. “So, Jaehyun, who’s fault was that?”

“Yours actually, Y/N. Someone was taking her sweet time… taking care of business. Go tell Mr. Kim that I will see him at 4 o’clock and no sooner.” Jaehyun pushes his chair back from the desk, eyes still not leaving yours, and steps around the side of the wood. His fingers run along the surface. He barely traces it, a delicate touch that makes you think of less than holy things. “I meant now, Miss L/N. I only have 21 minutes to conduct certain business with you.”

“Of course, Mr. Jung. I’ll be back shortly.” You turn on your heel, spinning to face the door, and step out with haste. Jaehyun’s eyes follow you as you go, you can feel the heat of his gaze on your backside. The door clicks shut behind you though and blocks the feel of his eyes for the time being. “Mr. Kim!” You greet with a wide grin. Said man’s eyes flit up to yours as you smile down at the place where he awaits you.

“Is Jaehyun ready for me?”

“No, actually. He asked that we wait until 4 o’clock precisely. He has a bit of paperwork that needs to be concluded before your meeting if that’s alright?”

“I thought you were supposed to mention his previous–”

“I did, but as you know, I answer to my boss’s orders only. I’ll come back to bring you in at 4 o’clock, Mr. Kim.”

“Ah, I see, Miss. As you wish.” The man sitting before you nods his head once at you.

“Actually sir, it’s as Mr. Jung wishes, but I’ll pass on the message.”

Your heels click against the hard floor as you walk away from the businessman. A smile still plays at your lips because you know what’s waiting for you behind your boss’ door. You don’t bother knocking before stepping back into his office. One hand trails over the dark wood, slipping over the lock and twisting it to the right, then you turn to face Jaehyun.

“Miss L/N, what did my client say?” He asks from his place in front of his desk. The suit fits him too well, and you see that now that he’s standing before you in full glory like this.

“As you wish, Mr. Jung.” You walk towards the man, hand on your collar, and pop the top three buttons of your blouse open.

“Hmm, I quite like the sound of that, Miss L/N.” He reaches out to snatch you by the waist. “Wearing a red number under a white shirt is a bit risky, don’t you think?”

“Do you think so? Maybe you’ll have to punish me for it then… sir.” Jaehyun’s hand trails up from your waist, delicate touch brushing the valley between your breasts. Goosebumps rise across your skin as he touches you. He hums at the sight, lips quirking into a small smirk at the same time, then glances up to your face before speaking again.

“Something tells me you’d like to be punished though, princess.” You roll your eyes at the comment. Stopping your gaze on the wall over to your right, you check the clock.

“19 minutes, Jaehyun.”

“Careful with that mouth, princess, or I’ll just go ahead and cancel the meeting altogether.” Jaehyun leans forward to press his warm lips against the column of your neck.

“You wouldn’t,” you whisper before letting your head fall back under Jaehyun’s ministrations. He chuckles against your skin. It sends ripples of pleasure through you, and you are forced to bite back the moan threatening to climb out of your mouth.

“As you wish,” he mutters back before leaning away from you. Twisting, you try to pull away from the man, but he locks you in place with his thighs, squeezing you between them before you can step back. He turns to his phone and taps away at some buttons while keeping one hand firmly on your waist. “Mr. Kim! Yes, yes, it’s Jaehyun. I hate to do this so last minute, but we had some paperwork complications come up just now. Would we be able to push the meeting to 5 o’clock? Yes? Wonderful. Again, I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” The call ends a moment later, and Jaehyun returns to smirking at you.

“I cannot believe you,” you hiss out. Your boss merely laughs. One hand slips between your legs to push them apart. The tight material of your skirt stops him from continuing the motion. You have to smile at the almost annoyed gleam that crosses Jaehyun’s eyes as he realizes the obstruction; however, it doesn’t last long because he pushes the material up over your thighs and ass for better access. You sink down onto Jaehyun’s thick muscled thigh before you know it.

“I have a lot of paperwork to attend to since my assistant got snippy.” Jaehyun’s teeth drag across his lower lip. He rocks his thigh upward. Pressure hits your clit, bringing a sharp wave of pleasure over you, and you grab him by the shoulders to stabilize yourself. “Fuck yourself against my thigh, baby girl. I wanna see my good little girl get off on Daddy’s thigh.”

“F-Fuck–” you gasp as Jaehyun rocks against you, not giving you a chance to speak or breathe before he yanks you closer by the collar.

“That’s an order, baby girl.”

“Yes–yes sir.” You slowly drag your body forward, letting the feel of his muscled leg against your core wash over you. Jaehyun’s fingers work at the rest of the buttons on your blouse. He works them open deftly before reaching around your back to pop the clasp of your bra. You do him the favor of yanking both your blouse and bra off. They’re thrown somewhere behind you, but you don’t have time to glance back and check because Jaehyun’s lips are latching around one of your nipples without warning. You instinctively buck against him. “Fu-uck.” A small whine leaves your lips as Jaehyun’s tongue swirls around your sensitive bud. He gives a sharp suck to it. You watch the skin rise up under his lips, teeth sinking into your lower lip. His other hand finds its way to your other breast and massaging it with his large hand. He pulls off with a cocky grin to his lips.

“You sound so innocent and needy. No matter how many times I corrupt you, you still act all innocent.” Another whine slips out, Jaehyun’s long fingers toying with your nipples as he speaks. “Listen to yourself. I want to ruin you. Turn you into my own little slut.” Jaehyun pushes up, bringing you with him, and you yet again have to brace yourself on his shoulders.

“You haven’t ruined me yet, sir.” Lifting a hand to Jaehyun’s face, you trace his sharp jawline with your index finger. The light touch coaxes goosebumps out of his skin, ones that rise to meet your finger as you move along his features. “But I would quite like it if you did.” Your words come out like a purr. They have a visceral effect on Jaehyun, his whole body lurching forward and pushing your back to the edge of his desk roughly. The sensation sends ripples of pain through your body only for a moment before it passes and leaves you quivering in excitement underneath him.

“Turn around. Now.”

You don’t wait to be told twice and spin as quickly as you’re able to given Jaehyun’s close proximity to you. A hand comes down against your ass. The skin ripples under Jaehyun’s touch. Even with your underwear, you’re certain that his touch will leave a nice handprint across your skin. Besides the underwear doesn’t last long. Jaehyun yanks it down with one hand, the other finds your bare back and pushes you until your face presses against his desk. Something is digging into your stomach – probably his stapler or something of the like – and you try your best to wiggle it out of the way. Jaehyun must think you’re attempting to misbehave though because his hand comes down against your ass again. The sting is sharper this time now that you aren’t wearing any underwear, but you revel in it nonetheless.

“Da-addy, something’s hurting my side,” you call out to the man behind you.

“Oh? I should’ve cleaned the desk off beforehand. My apologies, baby girl.” The hand on your back snakes it’s way up to your head, latching onto your hair and yanking your body back. A wanton moan escapes at the sharp tug. Jaehyun ignores your whining in favor of sweeping his belongings to the side, leaving an open space for you to fall back against when he releases your hair. “I’ll make it up to you, princess, don’t worry.”

“I never do,” you giggle back. You can see his form out the corner of your eye. He must know that you can as well because he’s making a show out of taking his jacket off and rolling his sleeves up his forearms. You have to bite your lip to keep a moan from slipping out. Then, Jaehyun dips out of sight.

Cold fingers brush your slick folds, toying with the wetness pooled at your core. You gasp and lurch further forward on his desk, blindly grasping for some sort of support as he pushes two digits in without warning. The stretch is sudden and a bit uncomfortable at first, but soon he’s working you open like it’s common practice. The pads of his fingers toy around your sweet spot, teasing and prodding but never fully touching it, and you buck your hips back against his fingers in attempts to get him to hit that spot. It almost works, but Jaehyun crooks his fingers inside you at the same time. The suddenness of the action catches you off-guard. It also brings you to your first orgasm, walls clenching around his thick fingers, pulsing and tightening on him as you ride out your orgasm.

“Naughty naughty, little girl.” His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth. “Roll over, face up.” Your mind is a bit muddled and fuzzy already. Jaehyun smacks the flat of his hand against your wet pussy, and it brings a jolt through you, an encouragement to get moving and roll over faster. Apparently, it’s still not fast enough for Jaehyun because he yanks you forward by the legs until your cunt is right in front of his lips. You nearly clench your thighs around his head just at the sight of him between your legs like that, but you resist the temptation in favor of throwing your head back in pleasure. He drags the flat of his tongue against your sopping folds. It’s slow at first, almost teasing in the way he laps at your heat, but he seems to realize that the two of you are still on a time crunch. Next thing you know, his tongue is prodding at your entrance. He builds up a quick rhythm, no longer wasting time in fucking his tongue in and out of you, and you reach down to grab hold of his hair. Fingers intertwine with his dark locks, and he groans against your pussy. The vibrations go straight to your clit, sending waves of pleasure through you. It’s enough to send another orgasm through your body, and it’s like little jolts of electricity shoot through you, making you see stars.

“O-Oh fu-fuck Jaehyun, fuck fuck. Fuck, Jaehyun, ju-ust like that, please. Yes, yes, yes,” you ramble, already halfway to losing yourself in the pleasure despite barely getting started. Jaehyun chuckles against you, sucking at your sensitive clit as he pulls off you.

“It seems that someone forgot what my title is.” A hand slaps your cunt. The sound that resonates is a wet and disgusting one, one that has you writhing under Jaehyun’s touch and has him slapping your pussy again when you fail to respond. “Get it right, slut. You have two options. Say them both.”

“S-Sir!” You cry out when his palm hits your clit again. “Sir an-and Daddy.”

“Good girl.” Jaehyun coos and rewards you with a small kiss pressed to your clit. “Up. I wanna fuck your pretty little mouth.” You prop yourself up on your elbows, chest heaving as you look up at Jaehyun, who’s getting to his feet himself. The sight distracts you a moment. His hair is ruffled and unkempt thanks to your touch, tie off-kilter and loose, lips and chin glistening with your juices, and it’s such a breathtaking sight that you lose your train of thought. “I said up.” Jaehyun pulls you back to reality by tugging your body forward, fingers clenched around your hips and pulling you off the desk. You nearly fall face first into his crotch, nose actually bumping the bulge in his trousers. He’s nearly bursting out of his pants. You grin at the thought of the large present hiding behind the material and resituate yourself so that you’re more comfortable on your knees before him.

“Yes sir,” you murmur as your fingers work his buttons and zipper apart. One sharp tug to the band of his pants and underwear is enough to spring his cock loose. He’s quite blessed, to be frank – thick and long, such that you have to use two hands to cover his whole length.

“Don’t just stare at me, baby girl.‌ Get to work.” You do as told, moistening your lips, then take the head of his cock into your mouth. He hisses at the contact. Your eyes snap up to his face as he makes the sound and gauge his reaction. He looks pleased already, tongue toying with the corner of his mouth while watching you bop your head up and down along his member. You hum around him. “F-Fuck, baby girl, let me fuck your mouth. Let me fuck it, shit.” His hand works its way into your hair and tightens around it. He lets you pull off to catch your breath once, a thin line of saliva connecting your lips and his shaft, then he pushes it back into your mouth. It fills you up before you’re even halfway down his member.‌ He keeps pushing and pushing though, and you thank your lucky stars for the lack of a gag reflex because you feel his cock press its way into your throat.

Jaehyun hisses above you. You can’t look up at him, too focused on his member, but he keeps groaning and hissing so much that you have to glance up at his expression. His eyes aren’t locked on your mouth or his cock, rather he’s looking past both things. The hand in your hair shifts, a light touch tracing down your skin until it reaches your throat.

“Fuck, you’re so tiny that my big cock bulges in your little throat. That’s the hottest shit I’ve ever seen, baby girl. Look at you.” Jaehyun’s hand slips back up to your hair and latches on. He braces himself on it, thrusting slowly in and out of your mouth. He presses into your throat with each thrust. The corners of your eyes are moist with tears, and they’ll begin to fall before he cums, but you try to focus on breathing around his fat cock rather than the tears. “You take my dick so well, princess. You’re doing so well, fu-uck. Such a good little slut for Daddy, aren’t you?” You can neither nod nor hum in approval around him, his cock filling you up too much to do either. Jaehyun doesn’t seem to expect an answer though. He keeps fucking your mouth, pace speeding up more and more as time goes on, and breathing is becoming more and more of a struggle. Still, he’s close and hot cum spills down your throat a moment later, nearly choking you from the sheer quantity of it and the lack of air in your lungs. Bringing a hand up to his hip, you drum your fingers against his bare skin three times, a small signal that you need him to pause for you. He pulls out immediately. “Are you alright, love?” He asks as you gasp for breath. The hand in your hair reaches around to cup your chin, lifting your face to his. Jaehyun stoops down to be eye to eye with you. “Color?”

“G-Green,” you gasp out. A small smile spreads across your lips as you see the relief in Jaehyun’s eyes. He must still be concerned though because your tears are already falling. “Fuck me, sir. Fuck me please?”

“Absolutely, baby girl. How do you want me?”

“Fuck me from behind. Bend me over your desk?” You plead as Jaehyun drags his fingers over your tear stricken cheeks.

“Ask nicely first, baby girl.”

“Daddy please bend me over your desk and fu-uck me like the little slut I am,” you beg, writhing under him.

“There we go, slut.” Jaehyun pulls you up by the arms and drags you over to his desk. You whine as he roughly pushes you up against it, letting him manhandle you into the position he wants you in, and there’s a sick sort of pleasure in letting him move you around like you’re his toy. Your face meets the cold wood of his desk again, cheek pressed to the surface so that you can look back and see what Jaehyun is doing behind you. His member is already hardening again, thanks to some help from his messy jerks, and within a few moments, he’s pressing the head against your wet hole.

He starts with a slow push. Despite his preparations, your cunt is still extremely tight around him. He takes extra care in thrusting slowly into you until he’s buried all the way in you. You whine at the sensation of being completely filled up by Jaehyun, coupled with your sensitive state from already orgasming twice. He goes slow at first; shallow and dragged out thrusts until you both get used to the sensation. Then, his speed picks up, thick member dragging across your slick velvety walls. Moans tumble from your lips without ceasing. You can’t bother being quiet as the sensation of Jaehyun’s cock in your tight pussy is too good for you to think straight. He groans as your walls tighten around him, clenching in rhythm with his quick thrusts.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, baby girl. No mat–no matter how many times I fuck you, you’re always so tight. Is my cock the only one you take? Are you my dirty little slut?”

“Yes, yes, Daddy, yes. I am sir, I’m yours. Only yours. Fuuuck I’m all yours.” Jaehyun’s thrusts speed up as you speak those words.

“That’s right, baby girl. All mine.” He’s already starting to falter with the rhythm of his thrusts, and with the way his cock is curving against your g spot, you know that you’re going to hit another high any second now. “Cum for me, baby girl. Cum around Daddy’s cock, yea?” You release a whine. Jaehyun gives a particularly harsh thrust, and it’s enough to send you over the brink and into another wave of orgasming. Your sight all but goes white from the sensation, stars in the corners of your vision. Jaehyun follows close behind.‌ Your walls tightening and pulsating around his member brings him to another orgasm himself. Hot seed pushes into you, filling you up, and you moan at the warmth in you. Jaehyun pants above you. Sweat on his brow, white shirt clinging to his body and showing the tan skin underneath, he cages you in with his arms.

“Damn,” you exhale as the orgasm passes.

“Damn is right.” Jaehyun pulls his softening member out of you. The absence of his cock immediately makes you feel cold, especially as you feel his cum sliding out of your pussy as well. “You did so well, baby girl. So so well.”

“Thank you, sir,” you mumble, too spent to say anything else.

“Now I hate to break it to you, but there’s a 5 o’clock appointment I need you to go fetch for me.”

“Oh fuck off!”‌ You call out, huffing as Jaehyun’s hands run over the curve of your ass. He chuckles to himself. “You can go get him yourself and explain why you’re late.”

“That’s for my assistant to do.”

“Your assistant seems to do a lot of things for you,” you counter.

“She’s quite good at her job, I must say. Now, let’s get you cleaned up and dressed properly again?”

“As you wish, Mr. Jung.”

...

a/n: ...i have no words tbh buuuuut i hope you guys do!!! please let me know what you think and share your feedback with me!

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