#( ♔: long live the king. )

[helplesslyblue77]

Snow White Lily

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

Pairing: Step Dad!Bang Chan x Reader

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

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

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

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

♔♕♔

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Darling, please welcome your new father.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

♔♕♔

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

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

“She must not accept this new man.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

♔♕♔

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

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

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

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

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

♔♕♔

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

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

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

“Name, please sit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Name are you alright? Does it hurt?”

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

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

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

“I refuse to go.”

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

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

You interrupt, your heart beating in your ears. 

“I refuse!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can't! I won't!”

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

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

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

“I hate you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Shhh, I know. I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

♔♕♔

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready to depart?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You like raspberries?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chan jumps to his feet. “Time to go?”

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

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

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

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

♔♕♔

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

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

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

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

“You must be my new master.”

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

“Your master?”

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

“You can be the object of his affection.”

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

“Tell me! Tell me this instant!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I should have never listened to that mirror.”

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

♔♕♔

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

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

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

Your perfectly made bed. Your dreadfully empty bed. 

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

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

♔♕♔

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cold and silent as your mother had been. 

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

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

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

♔♕♔

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

♔♕♔

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'll see what I can do.”

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

Chan can't help himself, he rushes forward. 

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

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

“Yes, cursed apple. But…”

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

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

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

Chan frowned, questions spilling from his mouth. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“True love’s kiss?”

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

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

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

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

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

♔♕♔

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

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

“I'm hungry.”

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

“What's wrong?”

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

Chan asked the first question. 

“Why did you go into the woods?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It's you, sire.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so he does. 

♔♕♔

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

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

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

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

♔♕♔

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

[queensend]

HOUSE TARGARYEN ♔ the maidens in the tower

Daena was wild almost from birth. She was strong, beautiful, and willful. She was an expert horsewoman and also a hunter and a fine archer with her short recurved bow. She had a a fearless “I’ll dare anything” smile. During her time of confinement at the Maidenvault, Daena escaped several times and had an affair with her cousin Prince Aegon, despite his marriage to his own sister-wife Naerys. When she became pregnant she refused to name the father and became known as “Daena the Defiant.” Rhaena was the second daughter of King Aegon III Targaryen and Queen Daenaera Velaryon. Two years younger than Daena, Rhaena was just as lovely as her sister, but hers was a softer, sweeter, more feminine beauty. Where Daena was willful, wild, and adventurous, Rhaena was dutiful, meek, and passive. She loved lace and gold trim and often embroidered depictions of faith on her clothing. Rhaena, unlike her two sisters, never chaffed at her confinement. She was almost as pious as her brother Baelor, and eventually became a septa. Elaena lived a much longer life than her sister Daena, and a much more tumultuous one than her sister Rhaena. Although Elaena had three husbands during her lifetime, the great love of her life was her cousin, Lord Alyn Velaryon. She gave birth to two bastard children by him, the twins Jon and Jeyne Waters. Elaena had hoped to marry Alyn, but he was lost at sea. She would go on to marry three times, first to Lord Ossifer Plumm who died on their wedding night, then Lord Ronnel Penrose. He sat on the king’s small council as master of coin; but it was widely known that Elaena was the one performing the duties, as she was shrewd and intelligent with money. King Daeron trusted her with many important matters of state, and she grew influential. Elaena birthed Ronnel four children: Robin, Laena, Jocelyn, and Joy Penrose. Not long after Ronnel’s death, Elaena married once more, for love and by her own choosing. With King Daeron II’s blessing, Elaena was married to Ser Michael Manwoody, a Dornishman who had attended the court of Mariah Martell.

[liannelara-dracula]

Karlheinz Sakamaki in Real Life + Hcs

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Prompt

Requests are open

Rules

Warning:

*certain words have been censored for Tumblr guidelines.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

♔ I don’t have an exact actor or model in mind, but I found that the first photo on the top left is what he looks like.

♔ @mikalara-dracula has Karl irl and she has an actual actor she thinks would work best to play Karl if dl had a live-action.

♔ Anyways I’m just going to be talking about Karl in general and what I want to point out.

♔ Okay so I know there is not an exact age on this man but we know that he is 2000+ years old.

♔ And knowing that he was friends with Socrates, he was definitely born during B.C times.

♔ Also, has anyone ever thought that because Karl was friends with Socrates, it means that he stayed/lived or possibly ruled Greece for a little?

♔ I’m betting he knows the language too.

♔ Which reminds me, I have always thought that because he’s so old, he’s traveled the world a lot throughout the centuries.

♔ So he has learned many languages (ancient ones) throughout his time, so it wouldn't surprise me if he remembers how to read or speak some of the languages.

♔ I know he’s been throughout all of Europe since there is speculation/belief and evidence which proves it, that the demon realm is located in Transylvania, so it doesn’t surprise me if he first explored Europe.

♔ Oh, and how much you wanna bet his real name is not Karlheinz?

♔ I mean, that could be his name as king now, but what about centuries back?

♔ He has many names and faces for sure.

♔ Speaking of which, I don’t think he’s only had six biological children and three wives in all his life.

♔No, this man has married many women, been with many women, and has had many children, whether they be biologically his or not.

♔ There’s no way Cordelia, Christa, and Beatrix are his only wives.

♔ It doesn’t seem possible.

♔ The guy’s a snake.

♔ And I know that the woman or women “he’s loved” are not the women he’s married.

♔ I think throughout his lifetime he’s only had two women he really cared about.

♔ And I mean REALLY care.

♔ Now apart from this I and @mikalara-dracula have this belief that Karl is a cheapskate because he doesn’t pay taxes for the houses he owns in the human world.

♔ We say this because I found there to be proof/truth in it.

♔ For starters, Reiji once said in-game translation (I believe so) to his brothers that if they make too much noise for a party it would cause trouble, and ppl will find out about their whereabouts.

♔ The same was said by Ruki about not changing mansions because Karl give it to them, and they were undercover.

♔ Plus, Yui heard from people that they believed the Sakamaki mansion to be abandoned.

♔ So because of this, if the houses Karl gives to his sons are supposedly believed to be abandoned, it’s not surprising that they live off of the grid.

♔ and if you live off the grid the government has no idea about the house you live in, which means you don’t pay taxes.

♔I have reason to believe that is where Reiji gets his cheapness from.

♔Even tho his sons hate him, they are more than alike.

♔Which I’m sure we’ve all noticed this.

♔Also, earlier I mentioned that he may have possibly ruled. I feel like he may have tried it a long time ago in the human world or was close friends with those who were rulers.

♔ Whatever the case, he’s been ruling in the demon world for a long time and has been in many wars.

♔ And he takes pride in this so much.

♔ He is really fascinated by humans and their inventions.

♔ And he sometimes takes what he’s learned and applies it to the Demon world but with a twist.

♔ I mean, it’s probably why the demon world has carnivals.

♔ And why there are many ballroom invitations and gatherings.

♔ You know idk what it is but it also wouldn’t surprise me if Karl actually was human.

♔ Bc I read somewhere in the new manga I believe and he made it sound like immortality was given to him, rather than being born with it.

♔ So perhaps he was once human but was then given immortality?

♔ If this is the case maybe he’s fascinated by humans because he wants to be closer to his kind, of which he once was?

♔ It doesn’t surprise me if that’s why he may do it because he feels alone in the world by possibly being the only human in existence to gain so much power and reign so much.

♔ If this theory I have is true it doesn’t surprise me if his creator is the reason why he is the way he is with experiments and such since in this case he was experimented on as well.

♔ I know it sounds crazy but most of the time people aren’t born rotten.

♔ So the better question is who made Karlheinz that way?

♔ If he truly wasn’t horrible from the start, I’d like to know who put that rock in his chest?

♔ Personally, I don’t know what to think if this is the case. I want to believe he’s just rotten but idk rejet might be leaving things out.

♔ Apart from this, I heard/saw that in one of Reiji’s routes Cordelia claimed that Karl hates familial bonds.

♔ So it makes me wonder are his parents the reason for that?

♔ I know he and Ric used to get along so I’m imagining that they went through a lot together but a wicked woman like Cordelia split them. But idk I mean, they must have been close to some degree.

♔ I thought it was a little silly knowing they literally fought over her like a duel.

♔ But I did feel a little sorry for Richter when he explained how troubled and lost he was after all that she had done to him.

♔ Still his character is not so great.

♔ But I don’t know how much fault Richter truly has. (I haven’t gotten there yet😂)

♔ Oh, speaking of Cordelia, I just want to say that Karl did his wives dirty.

♔ Like when he met Cordelia, I kinda felt bad for how she was brainwashed by her family and that what she was feeling was love and all that.

♔ That’s honestly just horrible, idk when she met him, but I’m betting she was like 16-17.

♔ I think he married all his wives at a young age.

♔ Beatrix may have been 18-20years old, and Christa might have been 14-16.

♔ I mean Karl really doesn’t care about age gaps, he was just scouting women he needed for his experiments.

♔ Like seriously, he’d get with his son’s wives if necessary or if he took a liking to them.

♔ He literally doesn’t care. I mean he told Cordelia that insest was ok soooo it doesn’t surprise me. It’s f*cked up ik.

♔ And honestly, he has so much charisma.

♔ Especially when he met these three ladies.

♔ His charm is out the roof and it had them hooked on like glue.

♔ Although I do think that Beatrix is his favorite because Reiji once said that she didn’t bring his father anything beneficial as she was just an ordinary vampire.

♔ She wasn't like Cordelia who was the daughter of the demon lord.♔ So even though Beatrix may have not given him much experimental gain he still chose her.

♔ Probably because he actually took a liking to her.

♔ But because he’s been through love and all that and he’s not phased by feelings, he preferred to have her as a vessel for experimental purposes by baring his sons.

♔ But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have/had mistresses.

♔ Speaking of which I just want to say that photo at the bottom right is a picture of a child because it represents the fact that he cherishes having an heir.

♔ I’m not gonna lie, but I also think the reason why he likes Beatrix more is that she gave him an heir too.

♔ I also think its because he just liked her more.

♔ Apart from this, I also want to mention how much Karl loves women.

♔ Like we can’t say his sons’ pervertedness doesn’t stem from him. Cause it surely does.

♔ Which is why there’s a picture of a girl in a white and gold dress cause I just have this belief that he loves the color white on women and dresses that are thin/transparent.

♔ It reminds of ancient times when women would wear more loose and see-through clothes.♔ The painting in red with a bunch of women represents all the experiments and scarifies he’s done throughout the centuries.

♔ That photo in particular, is probably the ritual needed in order to turn someone into a pure blood or to preserve something.

♔ Or to even make a linking of two beings.

♔ If you want more than that, I’d say request and hit my inbox for it 😂 cause it’s a lot to explain.♔ But yeah, essentially, these are ideas I just wanted to say/throw out there.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

˗ˏˋ 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑠 𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 ˎˊ˗ ©𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟔~Present

[misshiraethsworld]

A SERVANT'S FRIENDSHIP ━ arthur pendragon ♔

Lynette cared for magic, but could never wield such wonder except in her dreams. The hustle and bustle of the lower town to the intrigues of court life made up most of her childhood memories. As the physician's daughter, many people would find her helping the elderly with their large loads or playing with the children in alleyways. As a humble servant to her thriving kingdom, Lynette struggles to face the light of a new dawn in the war against magic. A light that manifests into her long predestined fate as the one they call the once and future queen. Arthur was fearful of magic, and all it had taken and could take from him. He learned at a young age what it meant and how it had affected the lives of those around him. As the son of a king, most would find him training with his knights or at his desk with mounds of paperwork. However, he could also be found in the physician's chambers spending time with his best friend. As a prince of a kingdom,Arthur held on to every momentof freedom until it was his time to rule. A luxury that would fade into darkness and give way to his fate as the once and future king. Magic knew no bounds when it came to the constraints of destiny. It had a tendency to morph and evolve until it was unrecognizable to all except those who knew it. An untamable force that struck fear into the hearts of many and yet longing in others. The meeting of two extraordinary individuals was written in the time of dragons. A destiny that weaves a sorcerer, servant, and prince into a chain of unpredictable events that would go down in history as legends in the Albion escapades.

THE ALBION ESCAPADES read here: wattpad

tag family: @arrthurpendragon, @eddysocs, @darth-caillic, @dancingsunflowers-ocs, @kmc1989 if you want to be added to my family, all you have to do is ask!

[venusjeon]

nightmares

a joglar de gèsta drabble

a nightmare wakes you up, and taehyung helps you back to sleep.

♔ PAIRING: jongleur!taehyung x princess!reader

♔ GENRE: historical au, angst, fluff

♔ WORD COUNT: 0.8k

♔ WARNINGS: minor characters death, ptsd i'd say?, aNd ThEre wAs OnLy oNe Bed

♔ AUTHOR'S NOTE: i weirdly dreamed this last night and since it's so short decided to write it down immediately lol so there ya go

1102

You stood in a corner, hugging your trembling body as your family discussed whether to die there in the throne room like cornered cowards, or trying to escape a castle infested with French soldiers. Either way, death was assured. It dawned on you just then.

“There is hope as long as we fight!” one of your brothers insisted, but the king shook his head.

“You’d have your mother and sister fight when they’ve never held a sword in their lives? Don’t be ridiculous,” he said from the throne, the queen beside him. “If you want to save yourself, go ahead, you might escape with some luck. But I won’t leave them to die alone.”

Your brother’s head turned to see guilt push the tears out of your eyes. At once, he rushed over and embraced you tightly, letting you know he wasn’t going anywhere and didn’t blame you for whatever was to happen.

“Lord of Aquitaine!” echoed a shout from somewhere in the castle. It was the voice of a young man, whom you assumed was Prince Jungkook. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

Another of your brothers gripped the helm of his sword. “That bastard!”

“Mother…” you cried, scared like a child, and she stood up from her throne to make haste to your side and hold your hands. “I don’t want to die.”

An idea came to her. “You won’t, my darling. You’ll hide.” She made you move behind one of the curtains that was so long it reached the floor.

“What about the rest of you? Only I–”

Your sentence was cut short by the door opening abruptly. There he was, the prince. Shrouded from his sight, you could however see from your hiding place the lack of hesitation on his face right before he ran your family with his sword, a grin on his face even when their blood splattered all over him. As you held your breath, forced to ignore the final screams of your mother, one of Prince Jungkook’s men called him. He was going to leave.

But a sob betrayed you, and his eyes landed on yours.

There the nightmare ended, for that was all it was. You woke up in a cold sweat, heart going so fast you were sure it was trying to beat its way through your chest. Your breathing was no better, but that you could remedy with slow, deep breaths, which you had to sit up to take. With each of them, reason returned to your mind.

You weren’t in BORDÈUS, but at an inn near ORLÉANS. With Taehyung.

“They will pass.”

Startled, you turned around to see the jongleur at the other side of the bed, hands behind his head and gaze fixed on the opposite wall.

“What?”

“The nightmares, they will pass. The crying in your sleep too.”

Your fingertips flew to your cheeks, where they became wet instantly. Goodness’ sake... “Did I wake you?”

“No, but you did make noise,” Taehyung sighed as though the conversation bored him—it might have been that he was annoyed he couldn’t fall asleep, but being a prick sounded more like him. “I almost had to shush you, lest anyone came to complain.”

“I’m sorry…” As you lied down again, facing him, a thought slipped into your mind. Should you? No… But maybe, “Taehyung?”

“Mh?”

You played with a loose thread on the sheets as you reminisced, “When I was a child and I had a nightmare, my parents would let me climb into their beds, and they'd hold me until I fell asleep again.” Eyes now on you, he listened carefully, was even patient when a silence followed, consequence of your having to tie up your pride and lock it in a chamber inside your mind. “Can you... Can you hold me?"

The embarrassment of requesting something as silly kept you from meeting Taehyung’s gaze, but you could nonetheless feel it. He was probably trying to come up with the most humiliating comment, such as asking you to remind him of your age, and the wait for it was unbearable. You regretted speaking at all, so emotional at the moment that you knew anything he said would make you cry. Stupid, stupid.

A gentle tone surprised you. “Turn around.”

Slowly, you lifted your face to see no trace of mockery or even indifference on Taehyung’s. As you looked into his eyes, bright even in the dark, it was compassion what instead you discerned. Relief thus made you sigh away the anxiety choking you, and with a small nod, you turned around.

Taehyung’s arm embraced you from behind, warmer than you expected—likely because you thought of him as a cold person. Regardless, his touch was comforting around your torso, even his breathing against your back made you feel safe there, in a godforsaken inn near enemy territory.

“When will the nightmares pass?” you suddenly asked, realising if he’d told you that, it was because he’d suffered from them as well, and therefore knew how tormenting they could be. Without stopping to think about it, you held his hand close.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, so low you almost missed it. “I was just told someday they will.”

[mujiniz]

Dann & Mujin ♔ Long Live The King (221020)

[dragcnlxrd]

@ravusnightblossom continued from x

⋞⁘♔⁘⋟      The mere sound of those specific words sent a shiver down Ravus’ spine; a quiver of something that was not of the cold he wielded. He suspected that anyone with even a single drop of fae in their blood would feel a similar effect. It was something almost… primal. A sensation lingering from eras long past, when declarations and loyalties held more weight than they did in current days.

“If that is what you wish, it will be so,” he whispered back with a softness in his voice to match Lysander’s. His own pulse beat harder, the faintest trickle of nervousness teasing at the edges of his awareness. It had been years since anyone had declared a loyalty to him, whatever the source.

“Those words are a pact,” he explained quietly. “You still have the opportunity to rescind it and leave, but that shall not linger long.” If Lysander remained, it would be so. However, if he rose and left by morning’s rise, they could mean little to nothing and Ardyn would still have claim over Lysander.

Stay… He spoke in his own mind, using all his willpower not to hold tighter to Lysander, as if he would slip away from him if his protective grasp loosened.

The tip of his nose nestled in dark blonde hair as his eyes closed. Court. His court was shambles, even on a fine day. He would need to compile some title to grant Lysander to place him there, even if only to promise him more security over Ardyn. Court Fae held greater power, and if this was to be their future, he would need to show Lysander how to awaken his own.

"I know... I'm not stupid. I know if I declare myself to you that it's binding", he said softly.

Everything had meaning with the fae, he knew that. He knew that anything he said could be used against him if Ravus so wished it. He trusted Ravus though, he felt safer with Ravus than he did with anyone.

"Why would I leave?", he said softly looking over at him.

"Do you want me to leave?", he asked hesitation in his voice.

He sighed quietly at the feel of Ravus' hold. The tension in his grasp only spoke of his restraint. Lysander merely curled into that hold, found sanctuary in it.

The feel of his nose in his hair had him relaxing. He would go freely with Ravus if it meant escaping his father's wrath anytime he was displeased. He would go freely with Ravus to live out his remaining days in the court of this Winter King if it meant safety even if his mortal life was but a blink to the fae sovereign.

[cagedkinq]

( sebastian stan, cismale, he/him, 38 ) ** ♔ announcing DOMINIK REICH, the THE KING OF AUSTRIA ! in a recent portrait they seem to resemble SEBASTIAN STAN. it is a miracle that HE survived the last five years and for that reason, they are AGAINST the kingdoms working together. reflecting on them now, they remind me of THE FIRST SNOWSTORM OF THE YEAR, A BEAUTIFUL COMPOSED ORCHESTRA, DOVES IN A CAGE. | connections | pinterest |

tldr;

basics:

full name:  King Dominik Alexander Reich

nicknames:  Dom, Nik

gender: cismale

pronouns:  he/him

sexuality:  bisexual

age:  38

date of birth:  February 12th

zodiac sign:  Aquarius

residence:  Austria

occupation:  King

appearance:

faceclaim:  Sebastian Stan

height:  5'9"

build:  muscular

eyes:  a deep clean blue

hair:  dark brown, usually length between his ears and shoulders

piercings: none

tattoos:  none

personality:

traits:  protective, stern, anxious, cautious

likes:  music, ballet shows, winter, art, pet birds

dislikes: dangers toward his family, (after the plaque) crowds, events

fears:  losing his family, having to be stuck his own cage he created for him and his family

hobbies:  listening to orchestral music, viewing paintings, playing with his son,

skills:  piano

family:

mother:  former queen of Austria, Katharina ✝

father:  former king of Austria, Leopold ✝

siblings:  Two younger brothers and sister

birth order:  Dominik, the twins, the youngest

spouse / lover:  queen of Austria, and possible lover

children:  One, Crowned Prince Felix ( 5 )

bio;

Ever since he was born Crown Prince of Austria, Dominik knew who he was going to be. 

He lived a sheltered life. During the cold Austrian winters, Dominik enjoyed the wonderful music his father had playing all over the palace.

It was his father’s enjoyment of live music that got Dominik interested in the art. Every chance he could, Dominik was dragging someone, being a guard or the rare occasion one of his parents to take him to the latest comper’s concerts

Once his siblings were born, Dominik was quick to take the role of big brother. First with the twins and most importantly the youngest Reich.

When King Leopold passed, Dominik took the crown at the age of nineteen. He took the role of king seriously. He was ready to take over the throne.

Dominik was a just and fair king. One that loved social gathering for his people. The people of Austria were an important thing for the young king.

On the throne, Dominik always supported the arts. Musicians, composers, artists were always welcome to the palace for a showcase. Even once a month, Dominik would host up and coming artist to play for him and his family

His favorite shows besides the music were the ballet dancers that accompanied the music. 

Dominik fancied a couple of dancers during his youth. 

His bachelor life didn’t last long as he was soon betrothed. It was quick after that he was married and had a queen at his side. 

They were blessed with their first son, Felix. 

Then the plague swept across his land. Dominik panicked. With his newborn son, he took all the precautions. 

He locked up his family into the palace, separating them from the sickness outside. For five years, no music flowed out of the palace of Austria. 

With each passing year, Dominik knew he was slowly breaking his family. Keeping them locked inside, but he justified it with their protection. After hearing of other royals not being spared from this plaque, he was not taking any chances.

After five long years, Dominik slowly opened back the doors to the palace. But not without restraints. 

He even agreed for him and family to travel to Portugal. He was still very cautious being wary with everyone he met.

Connections:

Neighboring Kingdoms: Any country and borders Austria, Dom would have befriended them.

Any plots please.

[xxlordalexanderxx]

"Do you need any reinforcements, my friend? I would not mind an excuse to go... Hunting, if you would wish." The Fae's eyes have an oddly golden glint, instead of their usual azure... making him seem more energetic, more bloodthirsty, and more like a wolf eager to hunt than his normal, more peaceful manner of being.

"If nothing else, I hope Hańba serves you well, should you need it." In his hands, instead of his normal staff of living wood, was a large polarm with a long, faintly curved blade... one whose essence and alloy seemed all too similar to that of the blade he had gifted the Dragon Lord.

[.:♔:.] Even if he had allies the king was still getting used to the prospect of having them. They seemed to be armed to the teeth as far as invading Carlos’s home were concerned, but Alexander still worried for his own.

“We seemed to be well off bringing this fight to Carlos but he is a very crafty man and will most likely try to invade my castle while I’m away, even with Cromwell and Volar there to direct the guard. He’s had men slithering about for months. If you’d be willing to provide extra assistance, as far as defending my home is concerned, I’d be in debt and very grateful.” He nodded.

Yes, that sword he was gifted with would be useful, especially at dispelling anything Carlos may have gotten his hands on. From what the dragon lord had observed he and his crew had access to some magic so if they were to try anything he’d at least have his own trump card on hand.

“I appreciate you coming, things are going to get very bloody tonight. Please, help keep my daughter safe.”

[ofdynasts]

( mads mikkelsen, cismale, he/him, 56 ) ** ♔ announcing RENAUD BOURBON,  the KING OF FRANCE! in a recent portrait they seem to resemble MADS MIKKELSEN. it is a miracle that HE survived the last five years and for that reason, they are FOR the kingdoms working together. reflecting on them now, they remind me of EASY SILENCES BY A FIREPLACE, WAX DRIPPING DOWN A CANDLE IN THE MIDNIGHT HOURS, LETTERS ON FRAGILE PARCHMENT WITH BROKEN SEALS, AND THE DECEPTIVE CALM OF A LAKE’S SURFACE.

I was interested in everything and committed to nothing.

You start as the third in line for the throne and end as the only one who lives long enough to take the crown. Your first brother died of sickness and your second brother died in a fight over a woman, unfortunate and foolish in turn.

You were still young when you were granted the title of Dauphin, but undeniably a man, and there were certain things you knew. France was your home, and it was a beautiful country full of inspiration and there was no end to the wine, those seemed unshakeable truths to you.

That your brother would be king seemed unshakeable once, and you were proven wrong. Now you know better than to trust so called ‘truths’.

You marry and you have a child. These things aren’t necessarily related. You have a mistress in addition to your wife, have mistresses outside of that as well, but you make it clear where they are in the hierarchy. Does that matter any? Maybe or maybe not, but it seems that for as long as there have been French Kings, there have been French mistresses.

No one expects fidelity in France, and marriage is not love, but a term to be served. Both Queen and Mistress are selected with care and the children from either union would be brought up as a worthy heir, it’s simply a matter of chance that the mistress has a child first.

It’s a matter of chance again that you become King shortly after the birth of your son, as if your father held on just long enough to see that the line could continue before passing away. He learned how easily a man could die, and so did you.

A daughter follows, and then another. And then another son. Two of each, safeguarding against loss.

That’s important to you, trying to stop loss. Some things you can’t stop, but you can change things if you know how, if you understand the secrets of what happens out of sight.

What idiocy did your brother do that led to getting sick in the first place? If someone had known of your second brother’s foolish affections, could that death have been prevented entirely by pulling the correct strings?

You spy on your family before you spy on anyone else, and you claim it’s for their own good. They don’t know how to keep themselves safe, but you will. You can keep them safe.

With each passing year, you gain more knowledge, send out more people to learn about your allies and your enemies inside France. After that, you send them to other countries.

When the deaths first started occurring, you knew about it from the lips of someone that spent more than a year deeply entrenched outside your borders. When the deaths started occurring in your own country, you wondered if it came on the breath of your spy.

For your fiftieth birthday, the universe granted you the knowledge that the end was coming, and suddenly there was a reason for all the careful planning and preparation you engaged in. As those around you suffered, you continued to thrive, the gift of knowledge from sacrificed life.

When your fifty-first birthday rolls around, you’re not surprised by the twisting shape of the world, but your preternatural calm in the face of crisis has nothing to do with denial. Five years of suffering leave their mark, but you rise above, and you’re proud of the way your country has continued on, the way your family remains hearty and whole.

Few things in life are unexpected when your kingdom is built on the secrets of others and the invitation is no exception. People are always eager to show off, to prove their own worth like children at play, and you’re aware of your own reputation, of your worth. You’re the figurehead of one of the most prosperous, unscathed countries, and everyone wants to know your secrets.

No one will ever get them.

You arrive in Switzerland and the thanks you give to your hosts is as sincere as you can give. With everyone gathered together in one place, uncertain and vulnerable after the tumultuous events of the last half-decade, their insecurities and weaknesses are ripe to be discovered and your spies won’t even need to work to discover everything you could hope to learn.

I am selfish, private, and easily bored. Will this be a problem?

[farewcllwanderlvst]

⸻ꜰʟɪᴘ ᴀ ᴄᴏɪɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴡᴀʏ ɪ ꜰᴀʟʟ | 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐉𝐎𝐘

º   .   ♔   ⸻   the  capital  of  king’s  landing  welcomes  THEON OF HOUSE GREYJOY,  the LORD of  PYKE.  news  borne  by  a  raven  sends  word  that  he  bear(s)  a  resemblance  to  JUNG JAE WON.  the  28  year  old  MALE  is  reputed  to  be  PASSIONATE and  BUOYANT,  but  with  the  eyes  of  court  watching  their  every  move,  they  might  turn  out  to  be  INSECURE and  HAUGHTY.  when  songs  are  sung,  their  verses  speak  of  A MIRROR SHATTERED , SHARDS DRIPPING CRIMSON, A PORTRAIT AS LOST AS THE REFLECTION WITHIN | A PIECE TRYING TO FIT, IT DOESN’T BELONG | AT WAR WITH TWO SIDES,  A HOWL IN YOUR HEART,  SALT IN YOUR BLOOD ; THERE IS NO VICTORY whispers  throughout  the  seven  kingdoms  claim  that  their  allegiance  lies  with  HOUSE  STARK,  where  they  conspire  to  ASSIST THE STARKS, RETURN TO THE IRON ISLANDS & PROVE HIMSELF TO HIS FAMILY (BLOOD AND NOT).  but  in  the  end  fealty  means  little  when  you  play  the  game  of  thrones. 

Headcanons  ⸻

Rose Colored Memories. Balon Greyjoy knew fairly early on that his youngest son was unlike the children he previously sired. He was too compassionate, too eager to please, and too emotional for the iron blood that should have been in his veins. He discarded the boy, and focused on the three children he could make use of. Alannys Greyjoy loved her youngest son all the same, and with Balon’s absence of love she attempted to compensate (she could never quite tip the scales, though she did succeed in citing the envy of her elder children. they all knew who mother’s favorite was). Theon, only a child, did not understand why his father never so much as glanced his way, why his siblings barely tolerated his presence, and why his father was so eager to pawn off the son he never had use of. Theon looks back on his time in Pyke with rose colored glasses and unhealthy idolization. He was too young to see the true picture of the life he lived. When asked about his time in Pyke and his family, he would say his brothers and uncle were far too playful sometimes (they weren’t cruel, they weren’t bullies, it was all well meaning fun), his mother was a wonderful storyteller (she wasn’t losing her mind, she always recognized him, why wouldn’t she?) and father mourned the loss of three sons, not two (he loved theon. he truly did! any bruises left on his skin were meant to make theon tougher, to make him strong. and his father never turned a blind eye to his tears because theon had never cried). 

A Fruitless Rebellion. Theon recalls the day with a vivid clarity in his mind. His elder brothers were dead, his mother was his tears, and his father’s dreams had been crushed into ash. He had attempted to comfort the man, only to be swatted away and stumble into his weeping mother’s arms. The bargain had been struck behind closed doors, and Theon had not been privy to the brokered deal deciding his fate. His mother had told him between her sobs, and Theon tried his very hardest not to shed any tears for the sake of his mother (and for the sake of his father as well, because iron born men did not cry). Theon had desperately tried to meet his father’s eyes, but the man did not spare him a glance. In his stead, he met the eyes of a man that Theon later found out was called Eddard Stark. Warm eyes despite his attire meant for the cold, he held gaze with the frightened child and Theon, for the first time, felt seen. More than a burden, more than a child to protect, but as a person. At the time he didn’t understand the feeling, deeming it strange, and unlike anything he had ever known before. It was a long time before he realized that gaze was a trait, but not of the North.  

Stranger in a Strange Land. The North was terribly cold. It was Theon’s first observation upon arrival to Winterfell but far from his last. The people acted strangely, he was their hostage and yet all he had ever known of the word appeared incorrect. Did hostage have the same meaning in the North as it did in the Iron Islands? In Pyke, a hostage meant shackles, a cell, lackluster food if any at all, and a clear lack of freedom. That could not be said for Winterfell, at least for the ten year old child who had played no part in his father’s uprising. Instead Theon was given warm furs, a room of his own, schooling and a friend in the form of Robb Stark. His memory was scarce on how the friendship came to be, only that it had never felt like obligation and it had made him feel safer than any hostage should have felt. 

Panopticon. It was with age that Theon began to learn, though vastly different from the ways of the Iron Islands, that the North did have shackles upon him nonetheless. Despite being treated as a ward in most respects (for which he should have been more grateful then he was), there were many ways to remember he was, just as well. a hostage to the North. A walking reminder came in the form of Jon Snow, the bastard son of Eddard Stark. What Theon first saw as favoritism, he later learned was indifference. Catelyn Stark favored her own children as any mother would, and in her eyes, neither Theon Greyjoy nor Jon Snow had a place in Winterfell. The worst of it was when other Lords and Ladies would visit Winterfell. He and Jon would be ushered away, out of sight or in the back of the room like they were some dirty secret the Starks kept behind locked doors. It was far easier taking out the ire he had on the bastard, and so Theon did. With taunts and cruelties he knew would hurt the lad the most. 

Hidden Afflictions. Distorting the past was far easier than the present. The Starks were his captors and he should have detested them, despite being aware of this (how it should have been) Theon knew it wasn’t true. Jon Snow was a target for his anger, and a rival (in the iron islands that would have been it, nothing more) but Jon Snow was also fun. Not only in his teasing and prodding (though those played a part as well) but as someone to challenge Theon, to be honest with in a way he could with little others. Little Rickon who toddled after him even when Lady Catelyn called him not to, with the most efficacious smile a toddler could possibly have. Little Bran, who Theon was sure would not remain so little, he would spring up like a weed and outgrow them all. He was already climbing to greater heights than the rest of them, it would only fit. There was Arya, who had a better aim than either of her brothers (not that theon would ever tell them, he would be admitting to seeing her practice weaponry). Sansa was more distant than the rest, much like her own mother, but Theon still remembered when she had only begun needlepoint. To this day, he didn’t know what possessed him when he offered his own clothes for her to practice (especially not when he purposely cut a hole into his own favorite shirt for her to fix up, but she’d been so delighted so there was no regret). Friendship with Robb Stark hadn’t been a choice, not a responsibility, and if Theon had given it a word to it he would have chosen honor. Someone to josh with, who wanted nothing in return but friendship, someone who cared what happened to Theon probably more than anyone he’d ever known (he’d like to think if his father did try a rebellion again, Robb would fight for his life but it was something Theon would never dare to ask). 

Heart in the North. When Eddard Stark became the hand of the king, Theon didn’t think much of it. It seemed more natural than not. If anything, little Sansa becoming a princess was more interesting news (not by much, it was fitting for her frankly). Then King Robert Baratheon was murdered, Eddard Stark was put on trial and Theon felt fear like he had never known before. It was more than the day Balon’s rebellion failed, when he’d lost his brothers and his home. Not only was Lord Stark at risk but Sansa and Arya as well. The thoughts were suffocating. Theon imagined never seeing Sansa and Arya ever again, he had always thought he’d watch them grow, see who they would become. He imagined never seeing Eddard Stark ever again, nevermore seeking his advice, never again seeing a fatherly gaze (he remembered meeting those eyes for the first time. that day when his father had refused to see theon, ned never hesitated). Winterfell was not his home, and the Starks were not his family.  So why did even the thought of their loss hurt so much more than any heartache he’d ever known? 

Loyalty in a War(d): The first time Theon received word of Eddard Stark’s survival, it had felt like a dream. If not for the wilting presence of Jaime Lannister, it would have felt far too surreal to be true. The sentencing was unkind but Ned Stark remained breathing, and that produced more relief than Theon could believe. Calling Robb Stark ‘King of the North’ came as easily as the breath in his lungs. It made think of his own father, and for the first time experienced seeds of doubt for the man’s actions. Balon Greyjoy struggled with something Theon had found terribly simple. Bending a knee to a remarkable man wasn’t an act that needed twice of thought, let alone a rebellion. Perhaps Robert Baratheon was not the great man that Robb Stark was? Or perhaps Theon Greyjoy was not the same man Balon Greyjoy was. Did this make him stronger of a man, or weaker of one? 

Plot Points⸻

An extension of the first plot point, is Theon’s warring viewpoint of what he was taught in the Iron Islands vs what he was taught in Winterfell. When Robb Stark is called King of the North, pledging fealty to him comes naturally to Theon, which makes him wonder why his father struggled so terribly with it (though struggling may be an understatement). He’s wondering if loyalty is something that makes him a weaker man than his father, or a stronger one? Is kneeling a weakness or a strength? Are the Starks his family or his captors? 

The second plot point is Theon’s opinion of his own self, and in relation, his place in the world. He wears his arrogance and pride like armor, as if it would hide all his many insecurities. It’s far easier boasting, cracking jokes, putting others down, than allowing any smidge of his own self worth into the forefront of his mind. He knows so little of his people, of the Iron Islands, the home he was supposed to return to someday (if he was ever to return at all, but that was a thought he often didn’t allow). Not to mention the sword hanging over his neck the day his father decided his son’s life wasn’t a worthy leverage any longer. The fear that he mattered to no one, that if he were to die his memory would be buried with the word unimportant just like his brother’s had been. Theon wanted to matter, if not only to the world but to others as well. Even the ones who claim to care for him, he harbors doubts. There was nothing Theon could offer them besides his own self, and that wasn’t much worth at all. 

[carellen-smallwood]

º   .   ♔   ⸻   the  capital  of  king’s  landing  welcomes  CARELLEN  of  HOUSE SMALLWOOD,  the  LADY OF  ACORN HALL.  News  borne  by  a  raven  sends  word  that  SHE bear(s)  a  resemblance  to  LILY JAMES  the  24  year  old  CIS WOMAN  is  reputed  to  be BRIGHT and CHEERFUL ,  but  with  the  eyes  of  court  watching  their  every  move,  they  might  turn  out  to  be  IMPULSIVE  and  GUILELESS.  [Enneagram: Type 2-The Helper] When  songs  are  sung,  their  verses  speak  of  [[Bits of bramble stuck to skirt and straw in curls, a cygnet swan floating through the mist, hands that smell of earth, sunlight dappling the fallen leaves,  ]] whispers  throughout  the  seven  kingdoms  claim  that  their  allegiance  lies  with  HOUSE SMALLWOOD,  where  they  conspire  to  RETAIN HER BIRTHRIGHT, but  in  the  end  fealty  means  little  when  you  play  the  game  of  thrones.  

Bio:

Living under the watchful eye of Ravella Smallwood was no simple childhood. For some, it seemed that way. There were only a couple years separating her two children but there was a vast difference in their futures. Lord and Lady Smallwood had made plans for their children accordingly -  Ackley was to be raised as the heir and the younger daughter, Carellen, was to be raised as all ladies in the Riverlands were. All of the days passed pleasantly, without much excitement.

As Carellen spent her early days running from her septas, they tried to force her into doing her needlework and practice dancing and singing - she would have rather been where her brother was, with their father learning about all of the lands that were theirs -no, they were his. None of it was to be her’s and she knew it. She loved it anyway, the land filled her soul with contentment and urgent need all at once. The oak groves surrounding the keep were filled with the laughter of the children and the land was happier from it. When they had their time to be free, they spent it together. They were the best of friends and were made the happier being together. The warmth and light from their happiness filled the surrounding radius with hope for the future. She never wanted to be sent away from this happiness with her family. However, she was to be raised to be the best lady house Smallwood could produce so she could be given away for more land or the allegiance of more men - whatever the need was, she was to fill it. She had no idea how soon all of that would change.

The air had been hanging heavily around them for weeks and word from the surrounding villages of a sweating sickness made their mother frantic for her beloved children. No matter what was done, however the sickness still found its way to the keep and into the children. They were locked away for fear of catching the disease. Soon, both children were bed bound and the fear of losing both of them hung in the air. Only a small number of days passed before Ackley succumbed to his fever, leaving Carellen as the heir to Acorn Hall, only five years old and completely unaware how much her future has changed. 

As the years passed, Carellen tried to fill the void that her brother’s passing had left in the family, but her mother had never fully recovered from Ackley’s passing and resented the fact that the spare was not taken instead. It didn’t help matters when she would speak of him as if he were still with them - sending their mother into an episode of wailing and mourning all over again. Carellen didn’t understand why at first, but she had figured out long ago that her mother had made plans and she was the means by which those plans failed. All she could do was carry on, hoping to be viewed as a worthy heir. Her father on the other hand, saw the need for her to be capable of retaining the power over the keep from whoever he chose as her intended. He would have Acorn Hall ruled by someone not of the Smallwood line. She would have to receive the education of a lordling that her brother had begun to receive from a septon. Lady Smallwood made it clear at the beginning that she did not see it fit for a lady to receive such an education and viewed the whole thing as improper. But, as the years passed Carellen began to take the place of her older brother but as more of a reflection of him. It was as if her father believed he could almost mold her into the son he lost. 

As she grew older, it became clear she could no longer enjoy this unrealistic childhood. She had been spending far too much time with the master of the sword, reading the histories or just running wild in the stable. Refusing to dress as a lady and many other reasons became the source of all the headaches for her mother, who felt she did not need to learn anything but how a woman of her position should behave. She became adamant that Carellen wasn’t going to be able to find a husband if she continued to run unencumbered as if she were a wild stable boy. Becoming frustrated in the years that followed, Lady Swann decided that she could not shape her daughter into the lady she should become from at home in Acorn Hall. 

The decision was made to send the girl to be trained by Ravella’s great-aunt in Oldtown when she was ten. Her mother felt she had been running feral for too long. Carellen had never been out of the Riverlands and viewed the whole experience as the best opportunity she could have been given. The day dream was shattered when she was made to actually perform the duties of a young woman destined to be the lady of a noble house. She realized she was sent to the convent so she could not be free like she wished. After much kickback towards her great-aunt, Carellen began to accept that these were necessary for her to be able to be free. It didn’t hurt that she did enjoy some needlework and excelled at dancing. With the guidance of the septas at the motherhouse, Ravella was gifted with the daughter she felt that she deserved. After living in Oldtown for 10 years, Carellen was returned to the Riverlands and to Acorn Hall. She had been shaped and molded into a beautiful young woman of twenty who had excelled in her lessons of grace and beauty. Having spent so much time in the motherhouse, she was still left with a sense of naivety towards the world.

As tensions rise in the Riverlands, Lord Theomar was called away as the bannerman of House Vance leaving Carellen back home and with her mother to keep Acorn Hall running while he is away. Their time is being well taken up by providing for the common folk and their household alike. Until the raven came calling the lords and ladies to the capital for the wedding between King Joffrey Baratheon and the lady Stark. Carellen has never been beyond the Riverlands, and is excited to venture abroad as the heir of her family to represent at the royal wedding in the capital. However, the excitement is quickly replaced with worry as she is told by her lady mother that she is expected to wed within a few months. She didn’t know why she expected that day to never come; she had tried to put it off for as long as she possibly could. Whoever her mother chose for her, he would never measure up to her expectations of her future husband.

[mujiniz]

Mujin ♔ Long Live The King (221014)

[pridelandsprep]

SPOTTED:  The long lost prince, trying to adjust this information that he just learned about not too long ago. You can't really blame the guy! How often do you spend most of your life thinking that you're one person, and then find out that you are actually a prince. It would be a lot for anyone to take in.

wheeler yuta ♔ first year attending pride lands prep ♔ simba's son ♔ lives in hawaii (formerly), the pride lands (currently) ♔ protagonist ♔ open

Wheeler Yuta was born in Hawaii and raised by his single mother. Yuta had never met or knew his father as his parents broke up early in his life, only knowing him through stories and some photographs and aware that apparently one of the reasons behind their decision was due to his grandmother's disapproval of their relationship. Despite his father not being present in his life, Yuta had often received gifts and letters from him every year on his birthday and also paid for school field trips that he wanted to attend. However, Yuta remained unaware of the truth that his father was actually royalty, the Crown King of the Pride Lands, making him a prince. Yuta's family had decided to keep the truth hidden from him and both his father and grandmother would keep their distance and not be involved to ensure Yuta would have the chance of a normal life and planned to reveal the truth once he'd graduated from high school.

Yuta grew up in a renovated firehouse with his mother and pet cat, Fat Louie, worked at a comic book shop part-time and attended high school with his two best friends, Chuck Taylor and Orange Cassidy. Yuta is often viewed as invisible by his peers to the point that he is sat on by other students, never noticing his presence. Yuta is also frequently bullied and humiliated by the popular people at his school. One tike even getting asked out by a popular girl to the school dance as some cruel joke. Although Yuta has struggled, he was happy and content with his life and simply wished to get through high school with a minimum amount of attention and embarrassment as possible. In the months leading up to his sixteenth birthday, however, Yuta finds out that he's half human along with being half shapeshifter, but can only turn into a lion. And the weirdness hadn't stopped there neither! After his first year in college was completed, his life soon changed forever as his grandma, Sarabi, contacts him for the first time wishing to see him. During her visit, Sarabi reveals to Yuta that he is the Prince of Pride Lands. Instead of continuing to attend school at the community college, Sarabi tells him that he has to attend Pride Lands Prep for a school year, where he will have a chance to take any classes that he wishes along with private classes on how to be a prince, getting to learn the lifestyle before making a final decision on if he will take the throne or continue living a normal life. If he chooses the later then this could mean potential danger for Pride Lands as the throne will go to Scar's hand-selected heir, Maxwell Jacob Friedman.

can be found hanging out with

Orange Cassidy & Chuck Taylor: Growing up Yuta didn't have too many friends, but the two that he does have is Chuck Taylor and Orange Cassidy. The three of them first met during their first day of kindergarten, and since then they have been rather close to each other. All three of them had been considered losers at their high school, but it didn't matter to them. They have each other, and they consider each other to be the brother that they've always wanted.. especially since they have been through everything together. This is why when Yuta's grandma Sarabi informed him that he will have to attend Pride Lands Prep for a year, she allowed Chuck and Orange to come along with Yuta for moral support if they wished to.

Trent Beretta: Trent was the first person that Sarabi had made sure to introduced to Yuta and his friends when they first arrived at the school, considering the fact that his adopted fathers, Timon and Pumbaa, were close pals with king Simba. They'd taken Simba under their wings when the young lion cub ran away from home after his father passed away. With that in mind, Sarabi thought that it would be a marvelous idea if Trent helped Yuta and his friends learn the place, along with help Yuta get a better understanding of his powers so that they'll strengthen up.

Maxwell Friedman: And just like the salt of the earth Maxwell is, he will wreak havoc upon Yuta and all associated with him soon as he gets his hands upon him. Possibility of even losing the crown again ignites a fire within the young Friedman, one boiling with a whole lot of determination to ensure that Scar looks at him from his grave with pride this time around. And anyone who knows the youngest Friedman, knows they shouldn't get in the way when he has his mind entirely set on something because he always gets what he wants. But it looks as though Wheeler Yuta isn't afraid of standing up for what is right, and one can’t help but wonder whether that is something to be afraid of in itself. He is the son of Simba after all.

physiology

shapeshifting: kind of similar to an actual shapeshifter in the sense that maxwell can change into a lion at will. he can become a lion whenever he feels like it. when the lions tribe is threatened, they can change into a lion form in order to fight the threat.

superhuman strength: possess a level of strength drastically beyond what is naturally possible.

superhuman senses: ability to perceive and process sensory stimuli with clarity and range beyond human norms.

superhuman agility: ability to adjust body position with ease and grace beyond human norms.

superhuman reflexes: have drastically better reflexes/reaction time than what is naturally possible.

accelerated healing: increase the speed of one’s regenerative abilities each time one is damaged.

superhuman hunter: can hunt better than any mortal or other species. like any typical lion, they hunt by ambush. fanning out, they form a semicircle, with the smaller lionesses herding the prey towards the center. a lion's vision is roughly six times more sensitive to light than humans, giving them a distinct advantage when hunting at night. aside of using this for capturing food, maxwell will also use this to attack someone.

lion communication: lions communicate in different ways using sounds like roars, growls, moans, and grunts. also, by leaving scent markings and through visual signals. a lion's roar can be heard up to five miles away. this is a warning to other predators and to protect their territory.

weaknesses

stamina: one of the main weaknesses is stamina. the lions have poor stamina in comparison to other shapeshifters. while they can sprint at 50 miles per hour for short distances, they tire easily and often give up the chase.

swimming: while they can swim, it's not their favorite activity. they find it challenging to move around in water.

lion's bane: a lion can be weakened or even killed by exposure to lion's bane, depending on the method of exposure. inhalation of purple lion's bane has been shown to disable their accelerated healing ability and has been shown to provoke him terrible hallucinations. the blue lion's bane is fatal while yellow lion's bane can weaken, sedate and even kill the lion as well, depending on the method of exposure and potency. the only known ways to cure the poisoning of a lion or other cat like creatures is by burning out a wound caused by a lion's bane laced weapon or applying to the wound the ashes of the strain the lion was exposed to.

daylight: their vision is roughly six times more sensitive to light than humans, giving them a disadvantage of walking around during the day without wearing a specially crafted pair of sunglasses that makes walking around in the day easier. what makes the sunglasses so special compared to any normal pair is the fact that they are designed for this specific reason.

[xxlordalexanderxx]

.:It’s Over:. -Part Two-

◇Three years ago◇

-------:::------::------------------->◇<--------------------::------:::----------

[.:♔:.] Cromwell took a hesitant step back as his master launched himself from his golden perch, and landed heavily before him. The gold around the pair shook, causing coins to slide down hillocks of wealth. Lord Alexander looked awful. He wasn’t grooming himself very well, as his normally lustrous mane of two-tone hair was limp and drenched over his brow. His scales were dull and dry looking.

He also looked as though he hadn’t slept much either.

Cromwell’s attention immediately went to the dragon lord’s claws, which had grown long, gnarled, and wickedly sharp. The butler’s fight or flight senses were screaming, and flight seem to be the victor.

Lord Alexander stood there, his breath heavy and deep, his tail flicking anxiously. Cromwell had never seen him this way before, not even at his most feral.

“I thought I told you not to come down here.” Alexander whispered softly, his gaze piercing and unfeeling.

“B-B-But sire, you’ve been down here for a whole m-month now. Your castle has been…devastated—I can’t control anyone anymore. No one will listen!” the butler quavered, backing away further. He needed to have as much distance as possible if the king rushed him. He was a large beast, but fast when he needed to be.

Cromwell couldn’t help but tremble, as a result affecting his shaking voice.

“Please my lord, our game is in shambles. I know what this is about….but…do you think Queen Vermin would want you to suffer the same demise as she has? Our player count is deathly low, please sire…”Cromwell pleaded, lacing his talons with one another. He wanted to bring the seething rage that he knew was riling up down, before this encounter could get ugly.

Lord Alexander would hear none of it, as he unleashed a loud and threatening roar at his butler, spittle flying from his maw. He took a heavy step forwards, overcome with emotion and terrifying wrath. The dragon lord was no stranger to just how angry and destructive he could get. And Cromwell felt in his code that he had made a dire mistake for mentioning the queen.

“LIFE IS NO LONGER WORTH LIVING ANYMORE. MY MATE, AND CHILDREN THAT NEVER WERE…GONE. I DON’T WANT TO DO THIS, CROMWELL. I DON’T WANT TO LIVE AND BE WITH THIS PAIN’ AND SADNESS. IT’S BAD ENOUGH THAT ALL OF OUR FRIENDS ARE GONE BUT FOR ONCE THE ONE PERSON I LOVED HAS VANISHED AND THE FAMILY I WOULD NEVER HAVE ALONG WITH HER.”

Cromwell continued to slowly back away, making sure his movement was not sudden in the slightest. Alexander was beyond the bloodlust he was famous for.

The butler then tilted his head to look toward the spot where Silver’s rotting head rested, then back to his enraged king. His voice small, and horse with fear. “But what did…did Silver do to deserve her death….s-sire…”

Lord Alexander knew the laws of the virtual realm, and as a virus he could perma-kill a sprite or soft kill them—soft killing would enable sprites to respawn. In Silver’s case she was dead; gone and devoured into the void of Alexander’s own code to be used as fuel. She would never come back, and Cromwell knew of this terrifying trait that a virus had, and he feared for his life more than he ever had now.

It was then that Cromwell had a sudden, and horrifying realization cross his mind. It would be a deadly gamble to disclose this thought to the king, but maybe it would get him to stop this madness. Hopefully?

“S-sire…you do realize that Silver was considered one of Vermin’s children or at least in an adopted sense. You could of at least had something to remember her by and you…killed her.”

Before Cromwell could even turn to run he found himself slammed into a dense pile of gold, lumpy hard coins dug into his back. Lord Alexander had seized the rabbit’s waste coat in his blood stained claws and was snarling in his face. Yet, tears stung his hellish eyes.

“You want to know what Silver did…Cromwell?” Alexander breathed, his breath hot and smelling of blood.

“She brought me the news of Vermin’s game…and I lost my self. S-She was just here at the wrong time, Cromwell. Kind of like how you’re here and an unfortunate time.”

Cromwell had turned his face, lowered his ears, and shut his eyes as his body shook violently. He was about to die here. The thought of what he had done to Silver only made him hope that his fate would be not as grim.

[[Part One]]

[porcelcinarchived]

* " 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒂𝒎 𝒊 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒐 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒏. "

( sarah gadon , cisfemale, she/her, 34 ) ** ♔ announcing ELSA JÖNSSON  THE QUEEN OF SWITZERLAND ! in a recent portrait they seem to resemble SARAH GADON. it is a miracle that SHE survived the last five years and for that reason, they are FOR the kingdoms working together. reflecting on them now, they remind me of CARRYING YOUR HEART ON YOUR SLEEVE, SUNLIGHT BREAKING THROUGH THE NIGHT, WHISPERS OF OLD WOUNDS UPON YOUR SKIN, SECRETS HELD CLOSE TO YOUR HEART.

⊰  𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐬 .

𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞. elsa lorienne jönssen 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 . risa 𝐚𝐠𝐞. 34 , march 8 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. bisexual 𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒍𝒆. queen of switzerland  𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬. sybil crawley ( downton abbey ), katara ( atla ), gilbert blythe ( anne with an e ) 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒔.  compassionate, caring, altruistic, diligent  𝒏𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒔.  non-confrontational, fanciful, indulgent, mealymouthed

⊰  𝐛𝐢𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐲 .

☾ when you’re born, you know nothing but love. you’ve inherited your father’s smile and the softness of your mother’s love. you’ve always considered it a blessing but as you discover the cruelty of the world, you ask yourself, perhaps you’ve been better off if you never knew kindness.

☾  despite of growing up as the oldest, elsa knew nothing but love. although her parents’ marriage was one out of convenience, they were the exception of the rule and truly adored each other. they always wanted the best for their children and although they might have been strict at times, elsa knew that they only were when they needed to be.

☾ that’s why, she’d always been obedient. she knew that her parents only wanted the best for her and that she grew up with many privileges. her parents were known to be very charitable and elsa would often come with them, helping whenever it was needed and sometimes sneaking into their private libraries to get to know more ways to help each other.

☾ when her mother died, elsa felt like she had to take over the role of her mother. her father was broken at every heartbeat, her siblings still in need of a motherly figure. it wasn’t easy and sometimes she’d wish she could just be that little girl again asking her mother for help.

☾ she dreamed of doing more in life than simply becoming a wife. she wanted to help others wherever she could. but when her father told her that she’d marry, she knew that she had to prepare herself for her future duties. and perhaps sacrificing her own dreams was the most she could ever do. 

☾  truth to be told, even when she married into the swiss family, she still wore rose coloured glasses. for that reason, she expected her marriage to be as perfect as her parents’. however, reality would break her heart and her expectations and she never felt lonelier in her life.

☾ she tried everything she could, to be understanding and patient but as time passed she found herself more isolated and would end up traveling a lot and to distract her mind and heart. 

☾ she ended up seeing her personal guards more often than the king and the distance between her and her husband appeared to be even bigger. her heart was lonely and longing for a love that didn’t exist in her marriage, and when she found out about her pregnancy she knew that it wasn’t the king’s child.

☾ however, she couldn’t bring herself to speak the truth. more afraid of what would happen to her child when what happen to herself. she knew she committed a sin and that she had to live with it forever.