#joy and passion and love have not been completely absent but life is still very cold | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

beauty-and-passion · 3 years

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Time to talk about the flower shirt

You read the title. Time to talk about this.

This is the infamous flower shirt Thomas put on in his store and, since the fandom is the fandom, everyone started to speculate about those flowers.

At first, I didn’t want to do it. They’re just flowers and other people already talked about them, so what could I possibly add to the conversation?

But while I was writing about Orange, I had to talk a moment about the orange flower. It was supposed to be a small parenthesis, just a couple of words about that.

But then I looked at the other flowers and what other people told/not told about them and how some didn’t find Patton’s flower... so here I am, adding my two cents to this theme.

You needed it? Probably not. Well, I’m writing it anyway.

So let’s take a closer look at those flowers and see each one in detail:

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Roman: Red rose

Should I really explain why it’s perfect for Roman? Red roses are the universal symbol of love. Basically in all cultures red roses symbolize passion, true love, romance and desire. Also, according to this website, even the shade has a meaning! In fact, the deeper the red shade is, the stronger is the passion.

And even the number of red roses has a meaning! In this case, we have only one single red rose and that "represents love at first sight, or if it’s coming from a long-term partner, they are saying “you are still the one”.”

You know what that made me think? About Thomas telling Roman “You’re my hero”. A perfect symbol that he was “still the one” for Thomas.

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Orange: Lantana camara

This is an incredibly peculiar flower.

Lantana Camara symbolizes severity and rigour. And this alone can be analyzed in all possible ways, but there are other interesting details about this plant I think it's worth mentioning.

Lantana is toxic for livestock, such as cattle, sheep, horses, dogs and goats. According to Wikipedia, previous studies suggested it could be toxic for humans too, especially the green unripe berries. However "other studies have found evidence which suggests that its fruit poses no risk to humans".

Lantana is a freaking invasive plant. In some areas, it's so predominant, to reduce biodiversity, because its presence "can significantly slow down the regeneration of forests, by preventing the growth of new trees". Also, as if this isn't enough, this plant can also produce toxic chemicals which inhibit other plant species.

Lantana has also a great adaptability, that helped it to be so invasive: it can live in a wide range of different environmental conditions, it can survive long periods without water, heck it's even resistant to fire. It's not a plant you can underestimate. Like Orange, I assume.

But Lantana isn't just an invasive plant. Lantana has always been used for medical purposes, because it showed good antimicrobial, fungicidal and insecticidal properties and its extract helps against respiratory infections and ulcers.

Also, since it doesn't have many pests or diseases, lantana became a common ornamental plant. It even attracts butterflies!

In other words: isn't that the perfect plant to symbolize the double nature of a dark side? It can be a threat, change the environment, destroy and even kill. But it can also be a medicine, something useful, something beautiful.

Whoever Orange is, Lantana camara tells us that, whithout a doubt, he’s a dark side.

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Janus: Sunflower

Do you think Janus isn't perfect enough as he is? Do you think there's not enough husband material in the snek?

Well, you’re wrong and the sunflower is here to prove it.

Sunflower symbolizes loyalty, adoration, longevity, vitality, worship. Now add this up to the sunflower’s behaviour and how it follows the sun... and you’ll get Janus. Janus literally acts like a sunflower: Thomas is his sun and everything Janus does is for him. His whole existence is centered around Thomas.

But we already knew that, because it's the same message that shone through his playlist. Everything about Janus tells us how much he adores Thomas, from his canonical behavior in the series, to his playlist, to this flower.

Oh, do you need another proof that this is flower is perfect for Janus? Some societies use sunflowers as religious symbols. Ah, some good ol' reference to religion: it’s like being in his playlist all over again.

And, of course, sunflowers are used for a variety of reasons, like cooking oils, skin care and so on. Even the flower says self care.

This man is perfect.

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Remus: Green chrysanthemum

Here's another interesting flower.

Chrysanthemum symbolizes death and it’s the typical flower used for funerals. And I thought this was its universal meaning. It was perfect for Remus just like that.

But then I found out that Europeans use chrysanthemums for funerals and to honor the dead. This flower actually has a whole lot of meanings, some completely different from this.

In China, for example, chrysanthemums are associated with wealth, prosperity and long life. Also they're symbols of new life and reincarnations, so they're the perfect gift for old people or newborns.

While in Japan chrysanthemums are symbols of power and royalty. And that's even more fitting for Remus, because he's a Duke, so he is royalty.

But chrysanthemum also symbolizes friendship - and not just "a friendship", but a meaningful one. It's a symbol of loyalty, devotion, romantic/platonic love and, in general, positive energy. It's a flower with an incredibly strong meaning, so it can't be given too lightly.

And this makes it even more perfect for Remus. It's a flower with a huge plurality of meanings, it's both associated with life and death, it's powerful and it's royalty.

Also, you can eat it. Isn't that the perfect Remus flower?

(On a side note: please notice how chrysanthemums and sunflowers are both associated with joy, loyalty and devotion. I would have never considered "joy" a common trait between Janus and Remus while loyalty and devotion... well, they both care about Thomas and his career and they both work for him despite not being accepted, so I can see why those are common traits.)

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Patton: Nemophila

Surprise surprise, this flower wasn't easy to find. I’ve never heard of it, so I had to search among endless lists of blue flowers, hoping to find one that would perfectly match the one on the shirt.

And that’s how I found nemophila.

First of all: nemophila is also known as "Baby Blue Eyes" and it's an extremely rare color to find in nature. It’s very famous in Japan, thanks to the Hitachi Seaside Park. Open this link: it’s a literal sea of blue and it’s absolutely gorgeous. Of course, it attracts people every year.

Nemophila represents prosperity, congratulations on success and victory. Not the first things you would associate with Patton, right?

Well, while I was searching more informations about this flower, I found out this website about the essence of Baby Blue Eyes and the passage I quoted down below has the exact same words you can find on that link:

With its pronounced affinity for water, the Baby Blue Eyes flower essences addresses qualities of tender sensitivity, innocence and trust associated one’s early childhood relationship to the father, or other significant masculine figures that are in some way disturbed.

Very often the father was absent, or there was a lack of support or genuine presence. The Baby Blue Eyes type attempts over time to cover this wound of vulnerability with a false “hardening,” such as emotional distancing, mistrust, cynicism or spiritual alienation. It is a flower that can be equally helpful for men or women, although it is especially needed for many men who struggle to become strong, by disowning their pain.

So nemophilia’s essence has qualities associated with childhood, to the father figure and attempts to “repress” and hide emotions.

That’s Patton. That’s him, period. The childhood-related emotions, that are linked to Patton’s longing for “a simpler time”. The mentions of a father figure - who migh be absent or showing lack of support (like, idk, suggesting you should die so your friends live?). And the attempt to “cover the vulnerability” doesn’t remind you anything? Like the Nostalgia episodes?

This flower is Patton.

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Logan: Blue petunia

I would like to say, from the bottom of my heart, a huge "FUCK YOU" to this flower, because I spent TWO DAYS searching all the blue flowers in the world and all possible variants, asking myself why this goddamn flower looked so familiar and why it was so hard to find. Blue isn't even a common color in nature, so why couldn't I find it?

I've learned more about blue flowers in these two days than in my entire life. I've searched among flowers I never saw before, like glandora diffusa, leschenaultia and omphalodes verna. I was so desperate to consider this flower a new species, with the petals of a bellflower and the corolla of a morning glory. I even found a goddamn chinese variant of the morning glory that was somehow similar but not that much and why, WHY this was so hard to find?!

And then, after two days and a lot more desperation, I remembered: my dear friend @reptilianwithscallions told me about a post they made, regarding this shirt and the flowers. Maybe they had some idea about Logan's flower?

Well, let's all thank my saviour and this post, because otherwise I would've kept searching until the end of my days.

Long story short, Logan's flower is a fucking blue petunia.

And it's a very peculiar choice, because petunias have multiple meanings, several of which can be contradictory.

In general, petunia symbolizes anger and resentment. It reminds someone that you're still angry or disappointed by their actions and you haven’t gotten over the things that caused these feelings.

Oh my, I didn't know we were back in Logan's playlist. It's basically what he kept expressing towards Thomas with his songs: that he was angry at Thomas for his decision, that he doesn't approve that Thomas hasn't "a real job" and so on. Petunia is a flower that screams passive-aggressive, so it's perfect for Logan.

But petunia's meaning deeply changes, depending on the color of the flower. And while petunia in general symbolizes anger, a blue petunia is a symbol of peacefulness, intimacy and deep trust, shared between two or more people. It's so wholesome, because the deep trust reminds me - again - of Logan's playlist and how it ended: no matter what, he and Thomas are always best friends.

Also, petunia flowers have even a secret meaning behind. Since they’re also gifted to new neighbors or to people who have just moved into a new home, they represent a perfect welcome and a way to express affection and kindness to others.

You’re lucky to be so wholesome, you tricky flower.

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Virgil: Perennial Geranium

Geranium is a confused flower.

Some of the other flowers have conflicted meanings, but not as much as this flower. These are the most common meanings I found:

Folly or Stupidity

Gentility and kind nature

Clever minds

Ingenuity

Melancholy

Perfect gift for a bride

You can gift it to someone with whom you have planned a meeting

You can gift it to someone with whom you haven't planned a meeting, just to make them feel welcomed

True Friendship

See? It’s confused.

Aside from jokes, this variety of meanings is due to its great diffusion: since geraniums grow everywhere, every culture gave them a different meaning. And sometimes these meanings depend on the situation too.

Awww, isn't it perfect for Virgil? He can be good and bad at the same time. Anxiety can be bad for Thomas and detrimental for his life, but it can also be the alarm Thomas needs. It depends on the situation.

And, just like geraniums in general symbolize positive emotions, happiness and friendship, so Virgil is in general a good guy. All he does is for Thomas' wellbeing, not against him.

And this is confirmed by the vast use of geranium's essential oil. It's one of the most popular and it has a ton of properties: anti-viral, anti-bacterial, anti-inflammatory, anti-depressant, decongestant, relaxing and so on. Just like our Virge boy can be incredibly useful under the right circumstances. (Did someone say "Flirting with social Anxiety"?)

Also, geraniums are simple, humble flowers that usually grow outside, but then we take them and make them part of our homes. Once again, it’s Virgil: he's an outsider, he's humble, he talks bad about himself - but Thomas and the others took him and made him part of the famILY anyway.

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Thomas: Cherry blossom

I searched this flower everywhere and the only one that looks like the one on the shirt is the cherry blossom. Why did Thomas make a cherry blossom with eight petals, when they all have five? I have no idea. Is this a different flower, maybe? Maybe, but I’m done: I've looked at enough flowers and I don’t have any strength left.

As you probably already know, cherry blossoms are extremely important in Japan. They're beautiful, they're everywhere and they're meaningful.

Why? Because cherry blossoms are considered the perfect metaphor for human existence. When they blossom it's a pink ocean, a party, people go to admire them - but they’re short lived, because in two weeks, the blossoms start to fall. It's just like human life: a small, rich, glorious parenthesis in the void. Something little and precious that ends soon.

But cherry blossoms also symbolize rebirth, optimism, hopes and dreams. When they bloom, it means springtime is coming and spring has always been associated with renewal.

That’s a very good choice for character Thomas. He’s basically a cherry blossom, the whole series is: something that reminds us how beautiful life is, how multi-faceted, how important. Just like Thomas' single being encompasses seven different sides of himself, so life presents a wide range of choices, of aspects, of flavours. All beautiful, all worthy of appreciation, no matter how different they can be from you and your experience.

And this becomes even more important, in relation to the passage of time and the transience of life. Because life is short and, after that, there won't be any more time to appreciate anything.

In addition to that, I would like to point out how the theme of passage of time is something we already saw in the series. And not just one time, but several. Since the first season, we have episodes all around the concept of growing up, growing old, not being a child anymore, becoming an adult. And the last Aside keeps going in this direction. It's clear this is a big theme and its connection with the cherry blossoms proves it.

But why is the flower so different on the shirt? Because Thomas wanted to mess up with us? Probably. Almost certainly. Once again, thank you Mr. Sanders for making me question everything.

The floor is (figuratively) yours now: if you have any other information, thoughts or opinions, feel free to share them.

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cower-before-power · 3 years

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Naked Attraction

Summary: A typical day in your art class turn into anything but when you’re introduced to your nude model for the week- a devastatingly gorgeous man named Levi.

Pairing: Modern AU Levi Ackerman x F!Reader

TW: Nudity, swearing, suggestive content, age gap (reader is 20, Levi is 30), dick jokes, reader is thirsty and lewds Levi hard, perhaps poorly written stuff about art and drawing because I literally know nothing haha

(minors please do not interact, just to be safe)

Link to A03 here

A/N: Hello all! This is my entry for @ghost-party’s Meet Cute Collab with my darling husband Levi. I’ve never written for him before so I was a little nervous haha, I hope I did him justice! Thank you to everyone who reads, likes, comments, and reblogs- you are all wonderful and I appreciate your support! I hope you enjoy, my sweet potatoes!

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“Morning,” Jean greets you with a crooked smile and a steaming cup of coffee. It’s the good stuff from the café by his apartment, your favourite thing to help your brain shift into creative mode. “You’re later than usual.”

You grab the cup from him, sighing as you feel the warmth bleed into your hands. “Overslept. Barely had time to get dressed and brush my teeth.”

Jean’s eyes rove over you as you sink into your chair, humming to yourself as you sip on your drink. “I can see. Do you know you’re wearing two different shoes? And I think your sweater is on inside out. Why do you still even have that ugly thing anyways?”

“Thank you for your comments,” you roll your eyes. “I know I look like a hot mess and I don’t need any words from you, Mr. I Asked The Nude Model Out And Got Shot Down.”

Jean’s ears turn red, and he shoots you a dirty look before busying himself with arranging his pencils. “Shut up.”

You snicker to yourself as you set up your own area. Last week’s model had been a soft, pretty brunette that had instantly made Jean all starry-eyed, like a teenage boy with his first crush. It was generally considered a bit taboo to ask out the nude models, but he’d thrown that aside and gone for the kill after she’d slid back into her clothes. She’d laughed and patted his cheek like he was a naughty child asking for candy before dinner. Then proceeded to walk out and climb onto the back of her boyfriend’s motorcycle (but not before making out with said boyfriend for a good 5 minutes, minimum).

Jean had been left with red cheeks and no date, and you’d been left with great blackmail material.

“I wonder who will be our victim today,” you decide to take mercy on your poor friend and change the subject. “Most likely a guy, since we had a woman last week.”

“We’ll know in about 5 minutes,” Jean looks up at the clock on the wall. “Old Cueball is never late.”

Sure enough, in exactly 5 minutes your very bald and very punctual professor casually strolls through the door. A short man in a green coat is following him, presumably your newest subject. You crane your neck, trying to get a better look at his face, but all you can see is dark hair falling like a curtain over pale skin.

“Good morning class,” Professor Pyxis greets you, tossing his briefcase down on his desk with his usual nonchalant air. “I see you are all ready, so let’s get right to it.” He gestures to the person beside him. “This is Mr. Levi Ackerman. He’s your model for the week.”

The class murmurs in curiosity as the mentioned Levi Ackerman turns to face the room.

You swear your heart actually skips a beat.

Steel gray eyes observe the room from a face that practically begs to be immortalized through art. Every line is hard and strong, covered in clear skin that looks like it would slide under your fingers like the smoothest silk. Your eyes drink in his features greedily, from the regal bridge of his nose to the proud edge of his jaw. You decide your favorite thing though, is his cheeks. They are utterly cherubic, round and full and dusted ever so lightly with the lightest shade of pink.

He’s possibly the prettiest man you have ever seen.

“Hey, I know him,” Jean whispers, cutting off your entranced thoughts. “That’s Mikasa’s distant cousin, the one I told you she found on Ancestry.com last year. I’ve met him once, he’s got a stick so far up his butt, he’d need surgery to remove it. Never would have pegged him for the type to do this sort of thing.”

You vaguely remember a previous conversation involving Jean’s childhood friend and some long lost relatives.

“He doesn’t look that uptight,” you muse, too busy admiring the way his lips glint temptingly under the fluorescents to really process Jean’s words. “He’s beautiful, like something out of a Renaissance painting.”

Jean opens his mouth to reply, but Pyxis begins to speak.

“As usual, draw whichever side of him is facing you, all angles will be graded equally,” your professor plops himself down in his chair, already scrolling through his phone to find the playlist for the day. “Completed drawings to be submitted to me by the end of class on Friday. Please remember be respectful and courteous to our guest. Mr. Ackerman, whenever you’re ready.”

The man nods to your professor, already slipping out of his coat as he steps up onto the platform in the center of the room. You watch, mesmerized, as he proceeds to shed himself of his clothes. It’s rigid and methodical (he folds his clothes like he’s worked his whole life in a department store), but somehow oddly endearing. Every inch of his body that is revealed is consumed eagerly by your shameless stare, and you sincerely hope you don’t start drooling. By the time he carefully removes his final items, you feel like you are vibrating in your seat.

Holy fucking shit, he’s built like a god. Like Michelangelo himself carved him out of a block of the most pristine marble. You trace your gaze down the column of his throat, over the strong shoulders and sinewy arms, the impressive set of abs, the thighs that look like they could crush your head and you’d be nothing but happy about it. It takes a minute before you’re able to make yourself look between his thighs, and when you finally do, you have to looks away immediately. Good grief, even that is stupidly handsome. You can’t help but wonder if it would feel as nice as it looks.

Your face heats from your lewd thoughts, and you grip your pencil so hard it almost snaps. Beside you, Jean snickers.

“You okay over there? It looks like you’re about to explode.”

“Can it,” you hiss, glad that the ambient music Pyxis chose will probably keep your conversation private. “I can’t help it that I’m looking at the most gorgeous dick attached to the most gorgeous man I think I’ve ever seen.”

“You haven’t seen mine.”

“I don’t own a microscope.”

“Ooooh, see if I buy you coffee tomorrow, bitch.”

You stick your tongue out at him before turning back to your easel. As you move, you catch the gaze of Levi, his expression unreadable. Warmth creeps up the back of you neck, and you duck behind your sketchpad in embarrassment. You seriously hope he didn’t hear you, he’d probably report you to Pyxis for being creepy. You decide to lock all your stupid horny thoughts deep within the recesses of your mind, and take a few deep breaths to clear your head.

It works, and as you touch pencil to paper, the desire to create overflows inside of you.

Unsurprisingly, you become utterly engrossed in your work, your pencil sweeping over the pad with almost a mind of it’s own. Levi is the perfect model; you swear he’s not even breathing as he majestically hold his pose without even a quiver. The contours of his body spring to life on the page, and you can’t stop the joyful smile that blooms on your lips as you work. It’s times like these, when everything is so perfect, that you truly realize just how much you love making art.

Before you know it, Pyxis announces class is over, and you’ll resume with Levi tomorrow. The man of the hour begins to re-dress as your fellow classmates pack up their supplies and file out. You absent mindedly wave to Jean, who is practically sprinting out the door so he can make his next class all the way across campus. You’re still engrossed in your drawing, staring at it with critical eyes. It good, one of the best starts you’ve had all year, but now that the high of creating has worn off, you can see where you need to improve.

“You’re very good.”

You gasp and jump, whirling around to find Levi standing behind you, eyes fixed on your sketch. How did he even get there? You hadn’t seen him or heard him.

“Oh, uh, Mr Ackerman!” You squeak, your heart racing like you’ve just run a marathon. “T-that’s very nice, I mean, thank- thank you very much!”

“It’s Levi,” your muse says, seemingly unbothered by your stammering. “Yours is going to be the best one here.”

You blink stupidly at his bold statement. “Did you look at all of them?”

“No,” Levi’s voice is firm, a tone that brokers no argument. “But you had the most joy on your face while you worked. That much passion doesn’t churn out stuff that looks like shit.”

“Oh, that’s only because you are such a great model,” you gush, insides turning warm at his praise. “You stayed so still and you looked so damn regal and you’re just so pretty and-” Your eyes go wide as you realize the absolute words vomit leaving your mouth, mortification slithering up your spine.

“I’m pretty?” Levi raises an eyebrow. “You think I’m pretty?”

“No!” You shout, and the man’s other eyebrow joins the first. “No wait, yes! I mean, fuck, I mean you are probably the most handsome man I’ve ever seen!”

Levi’s eyebrows have now practically become one with his hairline. You wring your hands, wishing the floor would just open up and swallow you. “I-well- come on, people must tell you how good looking you are! I can’t be the first.”

“No, but you certainly are the most enthusiastic about it,” Levi deadpans.

Oh, someone just put you out of your misery now.

“I’m sorry,” you offer, cringing internally at your complete ineptitude to hold a conversation with an attractive man. “I....get carried away sometimes.”

“It’s fine,” Levi’s stoic expression softens just a little. “It’s kind of nice to hear, actually. Usually I’m told I’m good looking, but ‘far too short’.”

“That’s bullshit.” you say vehemently, honestly shocked people would deny this man his godhood over something as trivial as height. “Who cares if you’re shorter? It doesn’t detract from you. What’s that phrase again? Good things come in small packages? Well, not that you’re small, I’m not saying that, I just meant-”

“Yes, you did seem to find my package....good,” Levi interrupts, and you swear you see the corners of his lips twitch upwards.

Your eyes widen in horror as your brain replays your hushed conversation with Jean. “You heard that?!”

“I’m told I have exceptionally good hearing.”

“Oh fuck me,” you groan, burying your face in your hands. “I am literally so, so, sorry. That was completely out of line. I have no excuse other than it’s clearly been too long since I’ve gotten some, but that’s no reason to make you uncomfortable. Please, if there’s anything I can do to to make it up to you, I’ll do it!”

“Have tea with me.””

Your head shoots up, surprise coloring your features. “What?”

“Tch, you heard me,” Levi tuts, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out his phone. “I haven’t got free time till Saturday-stupid Shitty Glasses wanting to trade shifts-but if you want to go out, give me your number and we can work out the details.”

You stare at him with your mouth open, unsure if this is really happening or you’re vividly daydreaming again.

“Umm, are you sure?” You ask, wondering if you should pinch yourself to see if you are indeed imagining things. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m wearing two different shoes and my sweater is inside out. Believe me when I say these sorts of fashion statements happen more often than not. Plus, I practically salivated over you like some sort of horny middle aged suburban housewife who hasn’t been laid in years.” You pause to take a breath, once again unable to stop the words from spewing forth like a fountain. “And I’m so awkward! I mean, are you comfortable in this conversation? And I can’t stop talking once I’ve gotten going, and I say the weirdest shit, and, and-”

“I like you,” he says simply, as if he’s just declared something as obvious as 1+1=2. “I couldn’t give a flying fuck about all the stuff you just said, you’re just... you, and I like it. So, do you want to go on a date or not?”

“O-oh,” you suddenly feel shy, your tummy filling with butterflies at the look of sincerity on his handsome face. You’d never met anyone quite like Levi Ackerman before, and you weren’t about to pass up the opportunity to get to know the man behind the drool-worthy muscles. “Uh, yes, please, I would like that. Very much.”

An almost relieved expression crosses Levi’s face, and he hands you his phone to type in your number. You notice the time as you do so, and sigh sadly as you hand him his device back.

“Well I better go,” you say reluctantly, suddenly fervently wishing it was Saturday already. “I’ve got another class in 15 minutes.”

“I’ll walk you there,” Levi says briskly, slipping his phone back into his coat. “To make sure you get there safely. Someone might murder you on account of their eyes being assaulted by that garish sweater. ” The corners of his lips twitch upwards once again, and you grow warm all over, from both his gentle teasing and the knowledge he isn’t quite ready to say goodbye yet either.

“Excuse me, I thought you said you didn’t give a ‘flying fuck’ about my attire,” you huff, but you’re grinning as you quickly pack up your bag.

“I don’t care it’s inside out, but you have to know that is the ugliest fucking color know to man,” Levi says, holding out his hand. Your brain malfunctions slightly for a moment, until you realize he’s offering to carry your bag for you. The butterflies inside you whip themselves into a frenzy as you pass him your stuff, your hand just grazing over his. Handsome, funny, honest, and sweet? How is this guy even real?

“I’ll have you know, this sweater is an absolute delight. When it’s inside right,” you stick up your nose, but unable to stop he laugh that slips past your lips.

Levi rolls his eyes in an almost playful manner. “Doubtful .”

You’re not sure where it comes from, but a sudden rush of confidence fills you. “If you’re so offended by it, maybe you should just rip it off of me.”

The tips of Levi’s ears turn a delightful shade of pink. You’re sure your own skin is hot enough to cook an egg on.

“Wear it Saturday then,” Levi’s ears may be flushed, but his eyes flash with something that makes your spine tingle. The insinuation of his words has your gut clenching and your mind whispering fervent prayers to please please please make Saturday get here faster, I don’t ask for much, please!

“Only if you wear your modeling outfit,” you manage to say, trying your best to sound coy when you feel like you might combust into a pile of lust and giddiness. “I’ve never seen someone wear it so well, and I want a closer look.”

If possible, Levi’s eyes grow even darker, and you just know Saturday is going to be one of the best damn days of your entire life.

“Deal.”

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Taglist: @clovertitan @millenialfanfictionaddiction @stigandr-the-cat @axoxtxhxh @bowandcurtsey @chaotic-nick @manjiroarchiviste

#meet cute collab #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman fic #levi ackerman imagine #levi x reader #attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #shingeki no kyojin #shingeki no kyojin x reader

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stopeatingwhales · 3 years

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particles x damon albarn

the lyrics to this song are genuinely so beautiful, like i honestly cannot describe enough how much i adore this song my goodness

Pairing: present day damon x reader

Warnings: none :D

Word count: 1.881

Requested by anon <3

༉‧₊˚✧

It had been two months since I had last seen him. Two whole months since he had set foot in our home; two whole months since he said goodbye to leave for tour. The home that we shared had began to inhabit a sense of eeriness, some nights the walls began to feel as if they were closing in on me, trapping me from any interaction with the outside world, as if to hold me hostage by my own insanity, although other nights the space felt extremely large, almost too big for one person to be able to waste their nights alone in, encapsulating my mind in a constant conflict of obstructive thoughts, forcing me to overthink every tiny detail that was conveyed on the pale stained walls, the wooden floorboards, the arrangement of the furniture, resulting in many a time of me moving around heavy tables and chairs until the image of the room settled my mind’s anxiety. Allowing distance to get in the lines of mine and Damon’s relationship, it was simply uncanny that I was going to miss him; he was the carcass that kept me sane, the being that granted me peace in myself, ease on my mind to prevent such mania from enrapturing my brain, the person that engulfed me into a stupor of adoration and affection that one could never understand the authentic strength until felt - what some perceive as paramour, true love, something so overstimulating that once separated such thing desperation beguiles you to surround yourself with, only a mere sensation of emptiness is all that is felt inside, as if your limbs are damaged, your insides constantly in a state of sickness that you are convinced you’re in need of some form of professional assistance, but it is simply the alchemy, the poison of the apprehension that captivates you from the estrangement from your significant other. Though that wasn’t to say that wasn’t proud of Damon; I embraced fondness and admiration for everything that he did and was so dedicated in doing, his talent and immense knowledge for the art form that speaks to you demonstrated his ability to move millions of people, uniting as one in concerts, all touched from the same, simple string of melodies, proving his true gift and genius that is inside his brain.

I tried to pry my thoughts away from the excitement that had been seeping into my veins from the fact that he was returning home today, in an attempt to focus my mind on whatever had been showing on the television, but there was no use. To be cradled in his arms was all that I had longed, the thought clouding my brain almost every single night that I had thrown my body onto the linen sheets, trying to wrap my body around the duvet to replicate the specific warmth that had enveloped my body when in his arms, his body completely dominating mine, his hands running through my hair gently, apologising with a kiss on the top of my head when he accidentally pulled too roughly, my face buried in his chest as a blush would suddenly creep onto my cheeks, our embrace fulfilling me with a nest of blooming butterflies in my body, a poignant sensation of nervousness and reverence for the man that had me cooped up in his arms, the same feelings that would embody you whilst walking past your first crush during primary school, accidentally brushing your hands against one another’s, sending your mind into overdrive as if to think that the person was the love of your life. Such emotions never left, and I doubted that they ever would; supposing that is true love, he could make me feel like a little girl squealing over her teenage idol because of how perfect he was, just from being himself.

“I’m home, love,” I heard a voice call out in the hallway, accompanied by the soft slam of the front door, the tone of voice lacing a certain amount of raspiness, perhaps from a cigarette that had just been inhaled. My head instantly turned to the door of the living room, eyes settling upon the sight of Damon, who had a small grin curved on his lips, his gaze captured with joy and desire, perhaps from gratification towards the understanding that the tour had finally ended, as well as the fact that he was able to finally see me once again - my expression equally reciprocating his happiness. Instantly jumping from my seat on the couch, I rushed over to him as I threw my arms around him, resting my ear against his chest, listening to the soft pattern of his heartbeat. As usual, his arms wrapped around my figure, tightly embracing my body, the swarm of butterflies breaking out of their cocoons, my limbs growing weak from the recognisable thrill of affection that I had desired for far too long, and had sadly not received. Feeling his lips grazing against the top of my head made my mind go fuzzy, my cheeks flushing a heat that made me feel as if I was under the beating warmth of the sun during the summer months. This is what he does to me. “How’ve you been darling? I see you’ve rearranged the place, again.” he mumbled into my head of hair, my mind still relishing in the pleasure of being in his arms again.

“I’ve missed you,” I replied, reluctantly pulling my arms away from the embrace, in order to gawk at him. A gentle chuckle rumbled from his throat, though his features accentuated pity, understanding how I must’ve felt being away from him for so long. Lightly taking hold of one of his hands, I dragged his arm, guiding him to the sofa, where both of us sat next to each other. “You were gone for so long!”

“I know love, I’ve missed you so much,” he replied, squeezing my hand in reassurance. “At least I’m not gone for any longer though.” he added, his lips curving slightly as I nodded, a similar grin planted on my lips.

“How was the tour then?” I asked, pulling his arm to wrap it around my shoulders, my body already aching for more attachment to him. “The videos I’ve seen online made it look very good.”

“It was great, honestly. Loved every bit of it.” he replied, the grip on my shoulder tightening as he attempted to haul me closer to him. Humming in agreement, I placed my head on his shoulder, cradling the moment we shared together, the moment that I had imagined and adorned each and every night he was absent, cherishing every single time that he was able to be in my presence. I depended on him greatly, as did he, and though that may be a toxic strand which can only result in turmoil; our appreciation for one another held such poise that it would draw us closer together each and every time we had conjoined together after months of being separated. “I’ve actually got something to show you.” he added, shifting from our hug and slowly stepping to his feet, taking his hand in mine, his soft but coarse palms gripping onto mine ever so slightly, urging me to stand up too. “Come with me.”

Following him closely, we headed towards his studio. I had forgotten the last time that I had set foot in it; usually I would leave Damon to work on his craft alone, since having me prance around messing with all sorts of instruments and controls wasn’t going to provide much assistance. As well as that, sitting in the room, knowing that he was away and would be for many days on, would only make me yearn for his presence more, which is the last of what I would need when not being able to fall asleep. Though whenever he would call me into the room, he would always show me the most beautifully crafted symphony, in which he would perform it so effortlessly, as if it was simply created from the top of his head at that moment. Talent like his was so scarce; it would only prove to me that it’s something you are gifted with at birth, like an extremely high intelligence quotient - he always had ideas running through his mind, melodies that would be formed from a simple tap of the table in front of him. It was a wonder in the fact that he seemingly never got burned out with creating music, it was evidently his passion, and it touched me that he would constantly ask me for my opinion on his music, as it always resonated with him, always held such importance.

When we walked inside the studio, I followed him to the grand piano that was standing by the corner of the room. I kept my body upright, behind him, as he pulled out the black stool underneath, moving it back slightly in order for him to sit on it. “Over the tour, I had some free time, so I wrote this song, it’s called Particles,” he began, his voice quiet, as if it were intertwined with a certain anxiousness about what he was about to perform. “It’s still a work in progress, but I wanted to know what you thought of it.”

As I admired his fingers softly grazing the elegant, pale keys of the piano, the melody that in which played forth me instantaneously sufficed me in a trance, bewilderment encompassing my my mind as I listened to the sounds of the alluring chords echo throughout the room, bounce off the walls, the waves of noise crafting mountainous regions of goosebumps to prickle on the bare skin exposed from my forearms. Sculpted with such elegance and formality, my mouth fell agape as he played with such ease - in that significant moment, I was subdued to his music, hypnotised into his magnificence; I could do nothing, absolutely nothing, except admire the grace that fell from his lips once he started singing. As I allowed my gaze to drift onto his face, I gawked at his demeanour, his eyes almost screwed shut, his face almost frozen in place as his body rocked back and forth to the melody that was omitted from the piano. Every word, every string of lines carried a lugubrious essence to it, a tone laced with such beautification; obvious that there were deeper implications behind said lyrics. Each line that escaped his throat exemplified the nature of what earnest fervour, authentic devotion and expertise can embody. Such melody, paired with his voice embodied with pure ethereality, as if I was being greeted by a herd of the most quaint angels, welcoming my soul into the seven heavens. A beam crawled onto my lips, my heart thumping at a million miles per hour from the amount of love I carried in my body for the man in front of me.

Once the song ended, a moment was held in the atmosphere of mere silence, as if to take in all that was felt, all that had vibrated through the sound waves and blessed my ears. Shifting his body so he could connect eyes with me, a gentle, welcoming smile tugged on his lips. “That’s for you.”

#thank u anon <3333333 #damon albarn x reader #damon albarn #blur #blur band #90s #britpop #gorillaz #my imagines #my writing #fanfic #fluff #fan fiction

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plutoswrath · 3 years

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i’m jealous of your big heart when it comes to animals lmao. i’m arachnophobic and it can be so annoying to have sometimes. i haven’t been able to tie it back to astrology, as much as i would like to. i asked because i was wondering if there was a clear indicator based off certain placements like how 6th house rules animals, 6th is ruled by mercury so i jumbled them even though i probs shouldn’t have lol. and with venus it ties to personal taste so i wondered if it could indicate a liking towards a certain animal. i have sag and sag venus in 6th and embarrassingly enough, i was obsessed with horses. like i came out of the womb adoring them. as soon as i learned to talk i was a walking horse encyclopedia. my obsession died down. i’m not a horse girl, i swear on my life.

i agree with you about the cancer loving animals. animals are babies and momma cancer loves to nurture the babies. i feel like cancers are the most likely to hate the “are you a dog or cat person” question. they’d get offended because how dare someone assume their heart isn’t big enough for both. more than both, really. throw a turtle in there. a rabbit even. cancer asc peeps usually have a shit ton of animals. it’s probably the sag/abundance in the 6th. or they either own a horse or Great Dane. but this is off topic because i forgot i had a follow up question.

if you could tie an animal or a couple animals to each sign that you think best represents that sign? or just seems like one they’d like? some are so easy and others just leave me blank. my arachnophobia thinks scorpio’s deserve better than scorpions but my terror blinds me. but i was looking up the symbolism behind animals and tying them to signs. so far, i’ve concluded that while horses should go with sag, their highly intuitive and empathetic animals. their behavior is like a mirror so if you’re nervous, they are too. so pisces or cancer actually seems to be a better fit. and to stay on topic of cancer with animals, i always tie wolves and dogs in general to cancer. the wolves are tied to the moon and familial dynamics and also i think they’re a great symbolic opposition to leo and how leos tend to resemble cats. sun and moon, dog and cat, night and day, that sort of thing. i realized i’ve rambled but i’m looking forward to your opinion because i’m so lost on what other signs would have. it’s been a year old question in my brain and it’s time for help from the master.

I'm sorry to hear that, I'm had a friend once who was arachnophobic and having phobias like these is really no fun, I can't imagine what it feels like really having them. And omg don't feel bad for liking horses when you were a child, literally so many children, especially young girls, like horses simply because people decided horses where a 'teenage girls only' thing somehow?? (and I will have to dig deeper into this at a point because here where I come from the horse girl thing is soooo painfully real and I want to understand the phenomena). And if I'm not mistake, arachnophobia (like most types of phobias), stem from some kind of trauma right? I absolutely don't try to get to personal but if we look at phobias in that way, maybe it's good to also include looking at planets/asteroids that point to trauma or aspects that can represent/indicate traumatic experiences in that sense! And I agree wholeheartedly to the 'dog or cat' question, I don't get offended by it but I hate this question in general because every animal deserves my love and empathy adfghj and yes, mother feelings definitely play into this haha! I think cancers enjoy (to an extent) having that occasional (or constant) outlet for their nurturing side and the bound you have to animals is also very intuitive and requires a lot of patience and getting educated as well as being observant and reading between the lines somehow and all that dedication paired with emotional knowledge just really speaks to water signs in general (and animals don't judge openly with words, just your energy asdfgh) Uhh, I like the question regarding the animals and I agree with your takes on it so far!! I think one animal can not represent all the core traits of a sign alltogether, but I'll try my best here! and psdfghj no need to call me master because I'm literally so far from anything close to that but thank you so much still, I feel honored really!!

The Signs as Animals:

Disclaimer: some of them are inspired by my ‘the Wild Unknown Animal Spirit’ tarot deck.

Aries: House cat. I know, I always thought cats actually link pretty well to Aries! Cats are just the perfect mixture of intelligen and curious, reserved, stubborn, aggressive, senstive as well as playful/impulsive! They are quick to learn and not afraid to face off against any other, bigger animals, but also can live pretty well together with other pets in the house, as long as they don‘t bother them too much. Especially when it comes to intimacy/pda they are very picky, but forceful when demand it. Seem flexible and unbothered at first but actually have the firmest boundaries when it comes to their personal freedom. Will let you believe they need you but give it a few weeks and the neighbor has better treats than you and gone they are asdfgh, but it's actually a harmful stereotype to believe that cats don't need you because they can become extremely fond of you and grow very attached.

Taurus: Elk. Based on the interpretation of my tarot deck. The elk represents earth energy, it is grounded, is established in itself and knows their core values and acts according to them. They show consistency, coherence and care. Dedicated to who they love and what they care for. Can become narrow minded due to knowing what's best, based on their perception of what's right and necessary, which can effect their ego negatively. Very Taurus for me. Gemini: Dragonfly. I refer to the interpretation of the Dragonfly based on my tarot deck. The dragonfly represents the mind: everchanging, quick, fascinating, a reflection of the world inside us and aroudn us. As the dragonfly is very quick (refering to Mercury's fast and nervous energy) the dragonfly also calles for paying attention to what quality our mind has and to become mindful, because on first glance things always appear different tahn on first glance (Mercury floats between detail-oriented and paying attenetion and being too fast, impatient). The dragonfly is joy and magic, as well as impatience, restlessness and being unable to concentrate. Cancer: Killer Whales (but also whales in general)! I thought especially about Killer Whales, because I once watched a documentary on them and they went in depth about how they have different cultures and different languages even (if I remember correctly) in their familys. Cancer often gets associated with the home life, but I think I wanted to look at it from another perspective, as in how does family 'become' family and how do those family roots develope, what do they consist of, how do we define family and what holds it together (and especially: how do our roots shape our own emotional patterns and nature in life?). I think the mystery of the Killer Whales but the whole complexity that lies behind the fascination of how these animals function and also how deeply affected Killer Whales are by their emotions/when they are absent from their kin, just opens up another big question of family dynamics and how we relate to one another and how principles we always condoned to human beings now apply to animals too. I think the whole part about the Killer Whales relation to emotions and their family's cultures just really made me link them to Cancer. Leo: Otter. I refer o the meaning of teh Otter based on my tarot deck. The Otter resembles the energy of the inner child: it's pure bliss, playfulness, they love to live and live for life itself, and out of this eagerness to enjoy life comes also a contentment and completeness towards life itself. To reconnect with otter energy, it is advised to step into settings of celebration, or total creative self expression and from the outside looking 'unproductive/selfish' indulgence. But actually, this energy is what makes life so enjoyable in the first place.

Virgo: Octopus. Highly intelligent beings that can quickly adapt and take the initiative. Self sufficient by nature, they aren't aggressive unless provoked, they like to mind their business unless they get curious (then they cling heavy onto you because you are their new object of interest). They can change color if it's needed (Virgo is a mutuable sign and can blend in perfectly in social occasions/new situations) and tbh the inking part about octopus just reminds me of the fact that most Virgos have a really quirky side to them you only get to see when you annoy them long enough (aka you are a long term friend). Libra: Gazelle. I refer to the meaning of ten Gazelle based on my tarot deck. The gazelle combines the creation of beauty and harmony, creativity and hyper awareness of it's surroundings, very affected of the imbalances in it's environment, but in it's try to remain this beauty around them, they tend to forget their achievments and stay in the present with their thoughts, as they constantly wheigh out the 'what if's'. A very perceptive animal in the tarot deck and this attribute is equally it's strong suit and downfall. Scorpio: Tiger. I refer here to the meaning of the Tiger based on my tarot deck. Waits in stillness and darkness to reconnect to their own inner power. Healing in isolation with the help of the lunar forces, waiting to regenerate. The Tiger energy shows itself in being passionate, sensual and stepping into ones own power, recognizing ones strength. For me, this is very Scorpio (Moon) for me. When the Tiger in unbalanced, it becomes overstimulated and acts according to this hyperawareness. Sagittarius: Zebra. I refer here to the meaning of the Zebra based on my tarot deck. The Zebra stands for an open mind, visionary and eccentric, new thinking, as well as being young at heart and expansion. I personally connect horses with passion and drive, because they are truly powerhouses. Based on the meaning of my tarit deck, the Zebra also is sociable, at least people find themselves drawn to the energy of the Zebra because it triggers their desire to learn, and I think this is something very beautiful Sagittarius symbolizes when they come into your life: be prepared to broaden your horizon for more.

Capricorn: Camel. I refer to the meaning of the Camel based on my tarot deck. Camels here represent absolute dependence on self and being able to find the answer to problems in oneself. This self reliance and capability reminds me of capricorns, the camel is finding the 'cool' aka water inside of them and Capricorn is traditionally also symbolized as the sea-goat (which I seriously think should really be considered when anaylzing this archetype) and Capricorns have (imo at least) a rich emotional life, but it's just deeply locked within. The Camel represents showing responsibility for their own actions, regulating the self and circumstances around them as best as they can, which makes sense for Capricorns, ruled by Saturn they usually are confronted with task in their life. If the Camel energy is out of balance, it shows a lack of vitality, with Capricorn representing the senior age in life makes sense, especially since Capricorns can tend to feel very old (exhausted)- Aquarius: Platypus- and no, I’m not using the Platypus because ‚wow all Aquarius are so weird like straight up aliens 🤪🤪’ I think the platypus is a good representation because it makes us question what we’ve known so far about animals and Aquarius too is a sign that introduces us to new ideas and perspectives all in the favor of progress and considering alternatives, leaving the status quo. Pisces: Raven/Crow. I name these two in particular because as far as I know it’s only the ravens that have been documented intimating people’s voices and tones, but crows are definitely more known for their bright mind. For me people often forget Pisces mutable nature and how quick witted they actually are. These birds are hyper intelligent and their observational skills are truly amazing. In my Wild Uknown Animal Spirit deck, the crow is an animal carrying 3rd eye energy. Here, the view is clear, the crow is moving through different dimensions and sees what other’s cant. For and the emotional depth (void) Pisces is conencted to it just seem to make sense.

#i swear i will be more active the next days #replies #anonymous #astrology #zodiac #the signs as #the signs as animals

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alexhoghdaily · 3 years

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Alex’s Instagram Live interview with Tommy DiDario for #LetsStayTogether

Once again this got extremely long. Because as usual I cannot grasp the simple concept of ‘Highlights’. I basically wanted to write every single sentence down. Forgive me.

(note: this interview contains spoilers for the Vikings finale!)

The comments are turned off. This sets a relaxing mood for the interview.

Alex starts by asking if he’s getting through alright, Tommy is in New York and Alex is in Denmark. Which can make the time difference and connection difficult. He was confused about the actual time of the interview. His email said the show would be at 9pm, but the instagram countdown was set for 7pm. He’s not a technical person so he got a little nervous and was very happy to be live.

Tommy mentioned he started the show #LetsStayTogether during covid to give people a place where they can turn to for some joy, hope and inspiration. A place to just have fun. He said Alex brings all that and more so it was a pleasure to have him on the show.

He spoke about his character and the show Vikings, and asked him What made him want to play the part of Ivar on the Show. Alex answered the question with him being a ‘nobody’ when he came into the show, and he was very thankful to get the opportunity. He didn’t think about wether or not he liked the character, for him it was more like “I’m going to be an actor on Vikings? Are you kidding me? That’s a solid yes.” He didn’t even know what character he was going to play. It started with a regular self-tape of him doing weird accents and weird lines and then multiple auditions for all of the brothers. He said it was an intense audition. He remembered coming into the room and immediately noticing that the people present there were very important.

Tommy mentioned the darkness he brought to the show, the rise and fall of Ivar and how people were rooting for him in the end, and then asked Alex what he loved about playing such a great character like this. Alex answered with the ups and down’s, those are always fun for an actor to get into. Ivar is complicated and that’s always fun to take on as an actor. you always have to defend him [Ivar] even despite him making that very tough. “When he started burning people for a living I was like Michael Hirst are you kidding me. How am I supposed to make people still kind of love him?” It was challenging and fun.

Tommy asked Alex if he was protective of him [Ivar] because he felt like he had to figure out a way to make people like him. Alex answered with: Absolutely. He needs to be, because he always has to understand him and never judge him. And if he would struggle with that, the audience would absolutely 100% too. He has to be the last line of defense. He explained his thoughts and reasoning behind Ivar’s decisions. If he can reason with his thoughts and feelings behind it, it can completely change how he says his lines. It’s all in the little details and that’s what makes the job fun.

He didn’t get his script long ahead of time, only a week, so when he was still rehearsing his lines for one episode he already got his lines for the next and that was really though.

Tommy asked him why he [Alex] thinks is the reason fansresponded so well to his character even with his darknes. Alex answered this wit that he thinks it’s because he’s an antihero. You like rooting for someone who isn’t always perfect because we as human beings are also not always perfect. (He compared it to him liking batman over superman because batman is more flawed than superman.) He also said that he loves that he’s [Ivar] complicated. Every time you create a character that has a lot of depth to them, you challenge the audience and force the audience to always question him and ask themselves what they think about him and his actions. Why is he doing what he’s doing? That keeps people invested and engaged with the story/character. That’s his job.

Favorite scenes: Alex’s favorite scenes are 5x03 where Ivar is yelling, covered in blood in York. (He repeated his iconic Icelandic line as usual.) Another favorite scene was the one where Ivar said goodbye to Baldur in the woods. It is a scene that is really close to his heart. This is because Ivar was honest and vulnerable. Usually he’s doing crazy stuff and yelling and killing people. Alex likes the quiet moments more where he’s just in his own head and having a heart time. He loved the scene because it was so real.

Tommy asked Alex how he views Ivar’s relationship with love. (Absent father, overprotective and smothering mother, a tragic marriage, how does Ivar view love after this.) Alex said that he understands why Ivar does not understand love. After his absent father, smothering mother, tough love from his brothers, he was so blinded by Freydis’ love and his love for her that she could fully manipulate him. It was a complete disaster. When they started season 6 Alex thought that Ivar had completely given up on love. He had discussed this issue with Michael Hirst and the directors. Alex found him to be a sociopath and not an actual psychopath. Because he understands emotions, and he has a lot of them. He does have love and he does have empathy. He thought it was great to focus more on that in season 6. Showing more of Ivar’s human side was very important to him. He has many emotions and he was never just a crazy guy, Alex never thought he was crazy, nor that he was a god, he believed that Ivar knew better than to actually view himself a god. He thinks Ivar is an actor, and he is more broken on the inside than on the outside. The whole “I’m a god” act was all fake, and it was Ivar’s defense mechanism.

For his journey in season 6, Alex asked Michael Hirst to take it down a notch for Ivar. in season 5, especially 5B, he was challenging to like and Alex was struggling to defend him. He wanted to turn that around. He said that after losing his wife, his throne, and being on the run really makes him think. He says Ivar was smart enough to learn from his mistakes. He loved to come to a new place and start from the beginning. He did say that even with the new beginning Ivar was still plotting and manipulating and smart. He is still Ivar the Boneless. Alex was always amazed by his smarts when he read the scripts. He loves season 6 because Ivar was more human and humble.

They discuss Ivar’s death in the final episode. Alex said that he was on top of that. It was completely his idea. He wanted him to go out with a bang and not survive. He told Michael Hirst he wanted a death scene for Ivar. He also discussed with Michael that he loved the idea of Ivar being scared in the end. That he showed himself to be extemely human in his very last moments. Which Alex himself thinks all of us would be. Ivar is the guy who has been yelling that he’s a god, and he loved to contrast of him showing who he really was in the end, and just being afraid. He wanted him to be human in the end, the little boy that he really is. He needed him to show it in his last moment. He thought it was a beautiful brotherly and honest moment. Quote: “I like honesty.” He said that it was also one of his favorite scenes.

Tommy asked what it was like for him, and Alex said that he was bawling his eyes out. He cried the entire day. It was the end of 3,5 years of Vikings, the end of a very intense period of his life and it had been extremely challenging. He was happy to go but he also knew he was going to miss everyone. They were like family. It was the very last scene he shot, and it was magical to finish filming the show with his death scene. After it he was like I guess it is really over. He got a microphone and a signed shield with little messages. He was crying and everyone was gathering around him in a circle, which made him very nervous. It was a regular day with many extras and crew members and performing for them is no problem but when it get’s personal it’s more difficult. It felt like a very private moment. It wasn’t until he got home 14 days later that he fully understood what happened.

Tommy said that he understood that after such an intense role it would take a bit to come back from that and realize what he’s done. Alex agreed 100%. He said it can really feel like an empty dark hole, because you’re so used to working with so many people around him and he’s in a groove and all of a sudden it stops.

He mentioned that he was in his studio, and that he has a band. “That’s what’s happening in the background here.” It’s a fun hobby, nothing official. It’s just them doing decent cover songs. When Tommy asked if we would be able to hear any of them Alex answered with: “Absolutely not”. He joked about it being a secret passion and that it’s not supposed to be talked about. Tommy said no one would be opposed to them releasing a single.

After tommy asked about on set relationships Alex said they were all really close like a family. Filming was tough, not the best circumstances, 15 hour workdays, no breaks, eating the same cold food in between takes and the only way to get through it is because you’re with family. He said he worked with incredibly beautiful and talented people and that helped getting through it. He says he keeps in touch with a lot of people, not just cast members. He said that this is the beautiful thing about this job, you get families all around the world. He mentioned that there were a lot of food battles between the actors.

They moved on to the most popular fan questions.

Who would Alex play if he wasn’t Ivar? In return Alex asked if he could pick anyone and it wouldn’t matter. He jokingly said Lagertha, then said he would actually like it. Then he said Floki because he loves both Floki and Gustaf. (insert little floki laugh.) He also said Ragnar and King Ecbert.

What was the experience like filming Ivar’s genetic disorder? Alex said it was such a challenge. Especially physically because had to crawl around. He thought it was very important to him because he studied OI for his role and he said it’s an awful disease. It was important to him to make it as authentic as possible and show the struggles people who have that disease go through every day. Tommy said that people really appreciated the honesty that Alex brought to that portion of the character and he saw a lot of comments from people in the disabled community saying that they appreciated seeing someone go through that on a mainstream show because they can relate to it. It’s very powerful. Alex had also received some messages from people suffering from OI and it was very inspirational and humbling. It made the experience even better because he likes that he can give people the extra confidence to go out there and do things.

The third question was if Alex would ever be interested in doing a prequel about Ivar’s life. Alex said that he would want to. He jokingly said: “Why not? if the money is good enough.” Of course he would because he loves his character. He also said that even though he would love to, he also has to admit that his character has been a big part of his life and he would like to do portray other characters. (They joked about a lot of people wanting to see Alex in a romantic comedy and Alex mentioned it’s not his favorite thing to do).

Is there a behind the scenes secret that people would be surprised to know about? Alex said that on Vikings they were allowed to write their own lines once in a while and that’s not very common.

Alex’s screen froze and he suddenly left the livestream, but he finally was able to come back after a few minutes. (Insert embarrassed face and him apologizing for being a technical disaster).

He continued about writing their own lines. They really had a say in their own lines and character’s storylines and that was amazing. It helped getting a better sense of understanding characters.

Tommy asked him if he had a favorite line or scene that he’s written. Alex told about the scene where Hvitserk and Ivar meet each other again in season 6 after being separated for a long time. Marco and himself wrote the tiny scene together where they sit together next to the river where Ivar says to Hvitserk: “You look like shit” and Hvitserk replies with “I feel like it.” Followed by “What are you wearing?” Alex loves that little moment because after everything it brings them straight back to their original relationship.

The last fan question was actually not a question, it was a happy early birthday! Tommy asked Alex how he would celebrate and what he would like for his birthday. Alex answered the question with Less COVID and peace in the world. It’s really the time to stick together. He can talk about it and use his platform but that’s all he himself can do. He said he’s happy and priveleged, everything is good. Copenhagen is opening up. Because cafe’s are opening up again he can go out to have lunch and a beer. But there are so much places around the world where circumstances are horrible and it would make him happy if everyone could get a little closer together. Tommy agreed that it was an important message to put out there.

They joked about his band again, Alex not committing to putting anything out. Alex said it’s absolutely noted. He also jokingly said he would tell his bandmates that they should put out some originals.

They spoke about Alex’s photography. Alex said it’s a side thing and a hobby, a way for him (when on set) to relax and focus his mind on something else. He also thinks it’s so much fun to capture moments. He likes to capture moments in front and behind the camera, that’s what photography for him is about. Capturing moments and telling stories. It’s a pleasure to bring his camera on set because he can capture so many different things. He likes to keep doing it. He also said he’s working on a photography book but he wants to wait with releasing it until he has enough good material from a lot of different projects to include.

Finally Tommy asked him what he would like to say to everyone who tuned in and who stood by him for all these years. Alex answered with: “Thank you very much for all the support throughout the years, he literally couldn’t have done it without you [the fans] because that’s why they keep doing another season and another episode. Because you tune in every single week and do that for several years. It’s all for the fans. Sure they do it for themselves but in the end it’s all for you and they are proudly trying to make it as good as possible because of you, and because you are watching. Thank you for doing that.”

#interviews #instagram #live #alex høgh andersen

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geekinator · 3 years

Text

I did this as a three part series, because I just can’t get enough Beifong in my life and thinking about them brings me immense joy.

Here’s the first two:

And last but not least:

The Beifong family is the best thing that ever happened to Avatar and quite possibly my life. The thing I love most about them, though, is how human they are. They are the epitome of what happens when life is messy and emotions are raw and people do stupid things and life doesn’t go as expected. Each and every one of them is batshit crazy, and I love them for it. Here’s my take on the illustrious Beifongs. Last is Su.

Suyin: An Analysis

Oh, Su. What can I say? Su is just as complicated as the rest of the Beifongs. Su is no saint but neither is she a devil. Su is human, and that’s about all there is to it.

Su obviously took her mother’s absence in a very different direction. I would imagine that both Toph and Lin were very excited to welcome Su. However, very shortly Lin is old enough and probably mature enough to watch her, which leaves Toph free to be Chief, which means Su is shortchanged in her time with her mom. I don’t think Toph sat them down one day and was like ok girls I’m going to be spending more time at work so Lin you’re in charge. I think she just slowly wasn’t really needed at home (at least not in a way that computed in her mind) and she just kind of drifted away.

Well if I’m Su and my big sister starts bossing me around I’m like ok no that’s not happening, and she obviously started to resist it. However, saying “I was more of a rebel” is like saying “that ghost pepper is a little spicy”. Like Su, honey, there’s a rebel and there’s criminal enterprise. It’s not the same thing, and even later in life she obviously hasn’t made that connection.

Whether because of her absence, or because she perhaps saw herself in Su, Toph turned a blind eye (pardon the pun). It’s also obvious that Toph isn’t even aware of half the stuff that goes on. And because she’s clueless, Toph probably doesn’t believe Lin when she tells her. Whatever the case, Su is that kid who could do anything or say anything and get away with it, while Big Sister probably sneezes wrong and everyone glares at them, because they’re older and supposed to be more mature. Lin at this point is beyond frustrated with Su.

So here we go, Su steps out of the car and I’m sure Lin is feeling a lot of things. Probably like she failed her little sister, angry because WTF Su, and maybe even a little vindicated. Now Toph will HAVE to pay attention. Su is the dumbest bitch this side of Whale Tail Island, however, and actually thinks that Lin is going to let her walk away. Well of course she’s not, duh. But Su is so full of anger and frustration, that she lashes out.

When I say Su is full of anger and frustration, I mean that as much as Lin kept a lid on it, Su did, too. Su had less time with Toph at home than Lin did, which wasn’t fair. Su had to put up with Lin mothering her, when she wasn’t actually her mother and only a few years older than her. Su had very little direction in her life, from anyone. Su was obviously very impressionable. Those two idiots she was with probably could have convinced her to commit Grand Theft Auto, and it wouldn’t have taken much. If things hadn’t gone down the way they did, Su probably would have ended up dead or as a true villain.

Hm, excuse me while I jot down a story idea.

Anyways, my point is, Su had just as many feelings as Lin, her bottle just looked very different. So in a moment of pure anger she lashes out when Lin tries to arrest her. I believe she regretted it, and here’s why: she’s in Toph’s office with Lin. Had Su been completely devoid of any feeling, she would have run away and never looked back, or at least tried to rationalize it. Toph is obviously fully aware of what went down; she asks both of them what they were thinking, so even though Su’s not saying sorry she’s not sitting there trying to deny it. She knows she got caught. She may not be sorry, but she’s still sitting there in the office. Frankly I give her points for that. Not many, but a few.

If I’m Su, I know I did wrong but I don’t care. So I love to hear Toph ask Lin what she was thinking, too. I’m like ha! Yeah, you tear up that report, Mom! But wait, I have to leave the city? Holy shit, did not see that coming! So now the mom who I didn’t have much time with in the first place and has been largely absent is sending me away to my grandparents (and who knows how well she knew them) where only the Spirits know what’s going to happen then. Well this sucks. Not an excuse for her shitty behavior but it still sucked for her.

So then she goes traipsing around the world to prove to herself she is outside the realm of rules. She finally settles down with Bataar Sr and builds Zaofu. Her ideals still seem to be based on the idea of life without limits, which fits her history. She seems more like someone who creates opportunities than someone who makes a lot of rules. Aiwei calls her the matriarch so she’s not exactly in a position of true political power, at least not in name.

I truly believe Bataar loves Su and that he is a good husband and father. I also believe that for the most part, Su is a good mom. Here’s why: her kids are quite well-adjusted. Except for Bataar Jr who seems to have inherited her impressionable nature. But Wing and Wei are cool and obviously very accomplished, Opal is rather prissy but she does have some good qualities, and Huan is very passionate about his banana art. They’re kind of a fun family. Su tells Korra that she always wished Lin were a part of her life, and I believe her. I really think Su misses her big sister. She and Lin are alike in that what they want most is their family to be intact.

After the fall of the Earth Queen, Su says she doesn’t want to impose her ideals on the nation. Again, she doesn’t like rules, so she's not going to go around telling everyone else what to do. I don’t agree with that decision but it is consistent with her character. Her decision to try and assassinate Kuvira I believe comes from a desire to protect those around her, anger at Kuvira for betraying her and taking her son away from her, and guilt because it was her inaction that precipitated the whole thing in the first place. It’s a stupid ass decision, and is an emotional one. Su seems to be ruled by her emotions, from the first time we see her until the end of the series, which is interesting because she does keep her cool most of the time. Emotional people are like that, though. I’m ok until you make me mad or feel something and now I have to do something about it. Oftentimes they resent the person who made them feel it, and blame them. Su definitely falls into that category. Because she is so governed by her emotions, she tends to rush headlong into things without seeing the long game, or the risks. When she gets caught, she knows she messed up. But now Korra has to come and save her, Su knowing full well she’s not ready. But Korra tries anyways because even though Su is incredibly stupid and selfish, she is a friend and they still care about her. Anyone who watches Dragons Race to the Edge, it reminds me of Snotlout, when Astrid says he’s a muttonhead, but he’s their muttonhead. For better or worse, Su has become one of them.

Quite frankly, I like Su. I think her biggest faults are that she tends to follow her emotions which gets her into trouble and she doesn’t really like to acknowledge when she’s wrong, even though she definitely knows she is. Neither of those things are traits that I would consider unforgivable. I don’t think she and I would be bosom buddies but she is an interesting person. I would be endlessly frustrated with her and probably tell her I told you so a lot. But Su is there when it counts. She defeats P’li and helps defeat Kuvira. She helps save Korra and teaches her metal bending, and she is quite cheerful. As far as Lin forgiving her I feel like that was more for Lin than Su, just like forgiveness is for everyone. For anyone who says Lin deserves better, keep in mind this is her little sister who she loves very much. There’s history there and families are messy and complicated and I for one trust Lin. Lin also doesn’t just jump in, she tells Su she just won’t show up and attack her. They only become more involved because that’s how things played out. Lin is very sincere when she tells Su that she loves her, and it almost seems like the first time Lin has said those words out loud, based on Su’s expression.

Su may not have known or believed it before that. Right or wrong, good or bad, Su is family, and families are stupid and crazy. Like I said before, Su is no saint, but she’s no devil either. She makes shitty decisions and yes people have to keep coming to her rescue, but I think her heart is in the right place. I really do.

#avatar #legend of korra #lin beifong #toph beiphong #suyin beifong #the beifongs #beifong sisters #beifong family #chief beifong #lok suyin #lok lin #lok toph #character analysis #the legend of korra #here you go

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koko-bopp · 4 years

Text

Long Wait

park jimin x male!reader

word count – 5.9K

genre – SMUT | soft-angst-fluff

warning(s) – TOP!reader, BOTTOM!jimin, Daddy kink, dressing room sex, passionate sex, fingering, Tinnie tiny ittie bittie little bit of angst.

synopsis – first of all, highly appreciate the requester for using 'mate' ilysm. Also, I'm so fucking sorry for taking so long.

Park Jimin's boyfriend has been in the army for quite some time now, so hearing that he was getting discharged, Jimin was willing to jump at every opportunity to see the love of his life. Though, [Y/N] wanted to surprise Jimin, maybe in more ways than one.

"He should've been discharged today," Jimin said, "He should've called me."

BTS had just finished their concert, and not for Jimin to brag on their behalf, but it was safe to say that this one was their best performance yet. Thought part of him felt that little bit of sad ting at the fact that they were performing in your home city. He expected himself to be happy, that he got to live a small piece of the things you liked about your city, but it wasn't the same, well, since you weren't even there to enjoy it with him.

If anything, it had been two years since Jimin last physically saw you.

You were completing your military training. Jimin, he wasn't gonna lie, was at first against the idea. Two fucking years? Jimin was barely able to survive two days without you, let alone two years. But eventually, he allowed his boyfriend to do so.

He was already feeling like shit since, fucking hell, what does a man have to do to get a few loving cuddles while the love of his life is absent, but also because you were supposed to get discharged earlier today.

You promised to call him and get him to pick you up the day you were leaving. It was the deal you were forced to agree to by your loving boyfriend before you left. Though he was yet to receive the said phone call.

"Maybe they kept him back, Jimin," Jin said, his breath kind of uneven, considering their concerts aren't just them standing for a few hours. But Jin was hoping smiling at his friend would give the other some sort of comfort, "C'mon, if a man that good looking were to enter an establishment, I'd keep him back for a little longer just to stare at him too."

Jimin smiled a little. It was nice how Jin was able to raise people's spirits.

But a small sigh left his lips a minute after, he just wasn't in the mood to be all comedic and cute. He watched his friends enter the shared make-up rooms but he looked up at Jin before he could enter, "I need a second alone. Is that fine?"

"Of course," Jin said, smiling, "I'll tell the managers you're going to the bathroom, but there's an empty dressing room in room 1-13B. I'll cover for you."

Man, if it wasn't great to have people who care.

It took him a while, considering there were employees entering and exiting the room, but they were just doing their jobs, so Jimin didn't really mind.

1-13B, he found the white painted door, though, wierdly, the door was open in the slightest. It confused the blonde, though maybe the person who was in there last forgot to close the door.

Though, his nose picked up on a familiar smell as soon as his hand reached for the door's knob, it was protective, yet ocean-like; almost calming in a way. Jimin knew what the smell was. "No... No fucking way."

He didn't hesitate to throw the door open. Worst case scenario, it was someone who had the same fragrance as you.

"Jagi!" Jimin jumped at you as soon as he saw your eyes, you sat on one of the uncomfortable make-up chairs waiting for him like a gentleman, only to be tackled by the man you call your boyfriend.

"Baby," you sighed in relief, all the saddeness of not having Jimin in your arms were gone. "Fuck. Jimin, I missed you so much."

Jimin wanted to weep out of joy. This was the first hug in two years that the two of you shared. The first time in two years you were so close to Jimin. The first time in two years that you were in each other's embrace? He wanted to feel this moment; he moved himself onto your lap, his arms around your neck, your arms wrapped securely around his waist, but both your faced buried in each other's shoulders just to stop yourself from crying.

Two years was too long.

There had to be tears.

Jimin pulled back, not enough for him to be released from your grip, but just enough for him to take a hold of both your cheeks in his hands, "Baby?" Jimin said softly, the break in his voice almost noticeable, "Baby, please look at me."

Crying was out of the option now, but you did it all the while complying to Jimin's request. The blonde man's heart swelled seeing the love of his life in tears, no matter if they were out of contentment or gloom.

"Jimin. Fucking kiss me already," You almost demanded. It wasn't aggressive, considering the tears staining your face and small droplets falling onto your white shirt to make it transparent, it almost made it thankful to hear.

Your boyfriend complied with a grin, his lips locking with yours roughly.

You could taste the flavour of his raspberry lipgloss on your tongue, the both of you moving around to remember every inch of each other's bodies. Jimin trailed his fingers across and up your chest and arms, feeling the bare and clothed skin before heading up to grip on your perfect strands of hair. Hearing the low grunt that left your mouth when he bit on your bottom lip was everything he'd wanted, a egoistic smile on his lips when he noticed that your hands too had a mind of their own, following whatever pattern they wanged across Jimin's back, thighs and ass, not only to keep him on your lap for as long as you please, but it was the only way that could keep his as humanly close as possible.

Jimin pulled away to breathe. Both your breaths rigid and uneven from the clashing of tongue and teeth.

He looked at you with glossy yet loving eyes, softly giggling at the shiny and magenta-tinted lipgloss stain pained on the corner of your mouth.

You chuckled gently too, the rippling action from your lover doing causing the affect, "What's funny?" You asked, still out of breath.

Jimin smiled, bringing his thumb to the space in which the gloss had spread, caressing the perfect skin, "I'm waiting to wake up from this dream," Jimin admitted, his voice low and delicate, "I missed you so much more than I thought..."

Your gazed into Jimin's eyes, the small confession making you smile, "Thank you."

Jimin chuckled, "For what?"

"For waiting. You didn't... You didn't deserve to wait so long, and it probably hurt you more than me..."

Jimin swallow hard, bringing his hand that was buried in your hair to your cheek, caressing it softly, "No, no, baby. Shut up."

And he made you, colliding his lips back onto yours.

You didn't stop yourself from squeezing Jimin's ass, feeling him accidentally buck into you but also the sound of a gasp leaving his lips was a pure symphony to your ears.

One of your hands reached up to his soft hair, running your fingers through the blonde strands to first learn the pattern before taking a handful to pull on.

Your lover gasped again at the action, his neck both forcefully and willingly on display for you. It made a smirk appear in your lips, before bringing them down to sink bites and kisses along the skin.

Sure, Jimin had touched himself while you were gone, you can't expect a man with a stressful career and a want for sex to not masturbate while his lover is away. Yet, he hadn't been touched, being that you were the only person who he'd allow.

Jimin let you leave wet kisses along his neck, his breath hitching softly with every other touch you left.

You let go of Jimin's hair, instead placing a hand on his back as you lifted him up from off your lap and placed him roughly on the table, make up products falling off the surface and onto the floor. Not that it bothered you, you had better things to take care of.

Jimin gripped your shirt, grabbing a fistful of the fabric to clash your lips onto his for the third time, doing his very best to rob that feeling of love and lust he craved for too long.

He was panting harsh when he pulled away, looking at you through lidded eyes, "Please touch me," Jimin said, practically moaning at the feeling of your fingers tracing his thighs.

"Hm," you hummed, a smirk on your lips as you watch your boyfriend's breath become rigid, but you couldn't stop yourself from chuckling when you pressed your palm against his hardening bulge, "What was that, love?"

"Fuck, daddy–" Jimin breathed out, his hips bucking forward at the harsh contact, his nails digging into your biceps. "Please, please, Daddy. I want your cock. Please."

"When was the last time this ass was fucked, baby?" You asked, popping off the button of his skinny jeans.

"T-his morning," Jimin replied almost immediately, "I– ahh– I was so horny and I got the dildo and–"

"Such a dirty boy." You pulled off Jimin's pants, chuckling lightly at his confession, "Come a bit forward for me, love. I need to prep you for my cock, right?"

Jimin nodded obediently, doing as he was told but also wrapping his arms around your neck to bring you close to him.

It caused a smile to play onto your face, though you bought two fingers up to your mouth to coat them with your saliva, seen as you didn't want you hurt your boyfriend.

"Ready?" You asked.

Jimin nodded, and a loud gasp left his lips, followed by a moan and his hands comimg up to grip your stands of hair, "Aah! H-hmm!"

"Huh, you really did miss me, baby boy. You're is sucking in my finger so well," You laughed softly.

The fake compliment in your tone made Jimin even hornier, but his hips bucked so hard when you placed in another finger. His breathing becoming that bit heavier. Two fingers pumping in and out of his ass at a pace that made him so fustrated and so satisfied at the same time. It was like you knew that if you'd go any faster, he might actually cum. But you knew for sure, it had been so long since Jimin came from your cock or fingers.

"You know what?" You asked, very much being rhetoric, but Jimin's heavy eyes met your playful ones, "I think you can take three fingers, baby."

You didn't wait for him to respond properly, he got his words cut off by his own moan and his holes being stretched.

"Daddy! Oh god, please go faster, please! I need to cum." Jimin begged, bringing you close as you stood so close to him, your three fingers doing their job as you watched Jimin drool and moan.

He looked so sexy all submissive and fucked-out for you. You didn't know how you went on two years without the love of your life, but not having Jimin for that long was torture on his own.

"You want to cum, baby boy?" You knew he did, the precum spewing from his tip was enough for you to figure that out without his response.

"Yes, daddy!" He gasped, "Please, I want to cum so b-bad!"

He was almost crying, so desperate and dirty for a release.

You extracted your fingers. Slow, but quick enough so Jimin wouldn't accidently cum.

You watched your boyfriend moan out a sob, his eyes glossed with tears at your actions and his cheeks flushed from how hot and needy he was. "B-But–"

You gripped Jimin's chin, smiling softly, "Were you close, baby?"

He nodded without a second thought.

"Turn around," You said, "You're going to take my cock like a good boy."

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theelvenhaven · 4 years

Text

Come to bed

Celebrimbor x Reader

2k words

Unrequested work

* * *

You woke stretching, hands wandering across the silk smooth sheets in search of Celebrimbor. Yet you were only met with an empty and cold side of the bed. Slowly you opened your eyes, staring groggily to see that not even the comforter on his side had been disturbed. A soft sigh escaped your lips at the sight, saddened some to know that he still hadn’t come to bed. Eru only knew how late it was… It was later than midnight, that much you were sure of.

With that you slowly sat up beginning to rub your tired eyes and taking a moment to look around the room in search of your husband. The fire in the hearth having long dimmed out, though its warmth still radiated in the room helping keep the autumn chill at bay. Especially with the doors and windows closed and you being beneath the heavy comforter.

His figure was nowhere to be seen, not at his desk at the other end of the room. The washroom lights were not lit, and his comfortable chair that sat before the hearth was empty of his presence. Again it seemed that his latest project kept him absent, for far too long as far as you were concerned.

Sometimes nights like these made you feel pushed off and to the side as much as you understood his love and passion for smithing. Celebrimbor couldn’t help himself when it came to his passion and for that you didn’t fault him, though tonight it was driving you mad. Annatar certainly was not helping your cause and case, only furthering his own it seemed. While you were glad your husband had a friend that encouraged his interests, sometimes it seemed far too encouraging.

While you had a neutral respect for your husband's new friend... You couldn’t help but feel as though he didn’t hold the same respect for you. Though you were grateful that it was kept civil, you would hate for him to lose someone that had grown dear so quickly.

You pulled yourself from your thoughts beginning to stretch again, before you slipped from the comfort of your bed and moved towards your dresser where your robe lay. Shifting into the warm and heavy fabric, that way you could try to be warm should you have to go down to the forges. You began to tie the cord in a knot around your waist, mindful to keep it decent as you were in your night clothes. Too tired to try and change into anything far more modest.

With that you began to leave the room, once more with your caution, you were mindful to not make a loud ruckus as you left. The lights extinguished leaving only the silvery moonlight to illuminate the long stretch of corridor, and quickly you began to shuffle down it. Folding your arms over your chest to keep the cold out, as it was chillier out here compared to the comfort of your room.

You walked in silence, listening carefully and into the distance as you rounded corners and passed by offices. Finding that they were all empty, meaning that it was once again the forges that kept Celebrimbor away tonight. You only hoped that any actual physical work hadn’t been started and they were still working on drawing up the designs for this project Annatar had roped him into. You shivered as you opened the heavy oaken doors, leaving the safety of the building and beginning down the path towards the forges.

You took a deep inhale, enjoying the sweet scent of night phlox and night jasmine that bloomed beautifully around the path. Little white blooms littered the grass, glittering almost like silver in the moonlight, the stone beneath your feet no less enamoring at night, yet chilling you further and you huddled further into yourself. Doing what you could to keep warm, though you were hoping the forges would be warmer and fortunately you weren’t far.

As you approached there Celebrimbor and Annatar stood before a table in the center of the forges, both still in their tunics and robes as opposed to the heavy aprons and lightweight tunics they wore while forging. You felt some relief at this knowing getting him into bed sooner would be possible. Quietly they both spoke amongst one another, both oblivious to your presence even as you came to stand in an archway resting against the marble column.

You took this moment to admire Celebrimbor, the look of concentration never breaking as he drew on a large sheet of parchment discussing their project. His braids that you had done were still neatly pulling his long black hair away from his face, silver beads placed throughout- gifts from the dwarves.

He wore a black tunic with a silver vest and long flowing blue robes, the high collar of the tunic framing his square jaw exquisitely so. Pale little silver vines embroidered along the hems of his tunic and robes. Simple yet elegant, perfect for his simpler clothing tastes. In true Curufinwean fashion he’d rather wear more flashy jewelry than clothing, in his words gaudy fabrics would take away from his craftsmanship.

Though you enjoyed seeing Celebrimbor in his element- and admiring how beautiful he looked, a cold wind blew through whipping at your face and through your robe making you feel even more frigid. You pulled your robes around yourself more snugly before entering fully into the forges, your bare feet tapping softly against the smooth stone.

“Celebrimbor?” You began in a soft voice, pulling him quickly from his work. Bright blue eyes sparkling with joy to hear the sound of your voice as they landed on your form that stood just behind Annatar. The other ellon making the effort to turn around to glance at you, none too pleased with your appearance, but he kept quiet.

“Y/N, why are you awake mírë?” He asked gently, beginning to walk around the table, slipping his heavy robe off to pull across your shoulders seeing that you were shivering. The weight and warmth of his robes made you shudder from just how good it felt, not hesitating to gravitate towards his tall, warm and muscular self. Unable to resist the urge to be so close to him, even with Annatar present.

“You were not in bed…” You stated to him simply closing your eyes as you felt his arms begin to wrap around you, your head was resting against his hard chest listening to the soft sound of his breathing and the sound of his heart thrumming. A low chuckle rumbled through before he leant down to press a kiss to your head.

“Will you come back to bed with me?” You asked him sleepily, savoring the warmth and scent of him. It was exactly what you had been looking for and the very reason as to why you had woken, craving the closeness that you had now. For a long moment Celebrimbor was silent, his hand rubbing your back in a slow and smooth circle but you didn’t rush him to make a decision.

If anything between the warmth of his robes and body you leaned against, and the gentle and soothing ministrations of his hands you couldn’t help but begin to nod off. It was well past midnight and desperately you didn’t want to have to go back to sleep alone.

“Alright mírë, let us go to bed hm?” He said to you in a soft whisper, a large hand came to stroke the back of your head before cradling you against him. Celebrimbor was completely unable to deny you the comfort you craved and needed.

“Annatar, forgive me but I am afraid I have a more pressing matter to attend too at this moment.” He began moving to lift you from the floor, an arm coming to slowly sweep your legs from beneath you to hold. The other supported your back and side, clutching you close to his chest as Celebrimbor turned to face Annatar.

“But we shall speak further about this project soon.” You kept your head against Celebrimbor’s chest, eyes too heavy to peel open as he held you. But you heard a soft sigh escape Annatar at Celebrimbor’s words,

“I understand my friend, perhaps tomorrow then?” Annatar said with a lilted voice, hopeful almost that it could continue as soon as possible. Celebrimbor hummed for a moment in thought, their talking beginning to make you stir and perk up despite the comfort.

“I am unsure if I can continue it tomorrow, I must make sure things are in order including with Y/N. I do not want them neglected when this project has taken up so much of my time already.” Celebrimbor answered far more openly than you had anticipated from him, considering he was not one to disclose all of his thoughts so openly and willingly. There was another pause,

“Ah… I see.” Annatar began in a stiff voice,

“No matter, we shall continue when time allows for it, though I hope it will be soon.” He continued in a lighter voice than he originally answered with.

“I can assure you that it will be soon enough, my friend. I will see you then.” Celebrimbor responded pleasantly and gently to Annatar, with that you felt him begin to turn away and listened to his every step. Only shifting to nestle further into his hold, feeling the rush of air glide past you as he opened the door back to the corridors.

His every step rushed yet smooth so you weren’t jostled so much and not a moment later it seemed you were back in your room. Celebrimbor bringing you to the bed where he laid you in his side, finally opening your eyes to watch him walk away. You only made a disgruntled noise in protest, warranting another soft chuckle from him but you began to wiggle your way back beneath the covers.

You watched as Celebrimbor began to move to the hearth, stripping the silver vest and the black tunic and the thin undershirt. Giving you a perfect view of muscles from years of training as a smith and battle hardened warrior. Faint pale scars on were sparsely scattered, along with a few freckles.

Quietly he removed the charred remains of the logs before piling on new ones and stuffing kindling beneath the logs. Taking his flint and steel from his pocket before striking it repeatedly until the fire began to bloom to life beneath the logs. Steadily and quickly growing until it was roaring in the fireplace.

“You are taking forever to come to bed…” You grumbled out curling up with his side of the blankets, only your eyes and forehead peeking from beneath the covers. A smirk began to pull at his lips at your words as he kicked off of his boots,

“The fire was necessary lest you freeze in your sleep.” He answered matter of factly, walking around to your side of the bed where he climbed in scooting all the way over to you. Chest pressing against your back before his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him. You shuddered at the contact and wiggled back against and into him,

“Who needs a fire... when I have you, my love..” Your voice slow and sleepy, again Celebrimbor chuckled at your words, forehead resting against the back of yours, lips brushing softly against the shell of your pointed ear.

“Mm need I remind you that you were shivering the night before last because the fire had gone out?” You only frowned at his words knowing he was certainly speaking the truth, but you were too tired to even attempt to argue with him. So you only nodded feeling your body relax completely, Celebrimbor hummed softly at your lack of response. Another faint smile pulling at his lips to see you so content with him here,

“Sleep well mírë… When you wake I will be here.” He whispered to you pressing a kiss to your ear, only squeezing you snugly. You were unable to resist the lull of sleep as it began to pull you under, and this time you didn’t fight it. Only allowing yourself to be whisked away to sleep deeply, finally in the arms of your husband.

* * *

tags:

@saviorsong @lilmelily @dicksoutformtl @fandom-hoe101 @icarus-fell-in-spring

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giveabeat · 3 years

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House Music’s Diverse Origins

This Black History Month, We Honor the Black, LGBTQ+ Communities Who Gave Us House Music

House music club in the early 90s

By Sanjana Sanghani

Every month should be Black history month, but we’ve taken this annual month-long celebration of Black joy, perseverance, and strength as an opportunity to explore a genre of music indebted to the Black community: house music.

While modern media sources may tell you otherwise, the origins of house music are clear. House music was established in the south side of Chicago, by none other than Black and LGBTQ+ groups. Pushed out of almost all other spaces in the 1980s, these marginalized groups formed a community around their common love for music. It makes sense that in a society that rejected their identities, these groups felt drawn to an area that allowed people to shed societal limitations and focus on the art that collectively kept them going.

A discussion of house music wouldn’t be complete without mentioning Frankie Knuckles, a pioneer of the genre. In the 80s, Knuckles’ held residency at his dance club, The Warehouse, which is how the term “house music'' arose in the first place. Similarly, Larry Levan was a prominent DJ with residency in his club The Paradise Garage. Described as “church for people who [had] fallen from grace,” the music they played in these clubs itself is reflective of that: house music’s repetitive 4/4 rhythm and sparse or absent vocals drown out all else in a way that is reliable, centering, and trance-like. The dark rooms and steady beats of dance clubs filter out anything unwanted, at least temporarily. It also offers a versatile base for a myriad of layered sounds, which many Black African artists have embraced through the incorporation of African drums. Further, part of what allowed house music to thrive was its accessibility, not only musically, but also financially, with electronic instruments that were easily adapted and affordable for people at the time. House music was quite literally built upon the foundations of inclusivity, love, and compassion – woven into the very identities of individuals who created it, dance clubs easily became some of the most progressive spaces in the country.

It is important to emphasize that a large part of house music’s success also has to do with Black LGBTQ+ folks specifically, those with unique intersectional identities that deserve much more credit in the arena. The Human Rights Ordinance that granted equal treatment to those with differing racial and sexual orientation was passed only in 1988, and even then, as we all very well know, legal changes take decades to manifest into social change. Black LGBTQ+ individuals were especially unwelcome in society, so their existence was forced into places like underground dance clubs, where house music thrived.

As in many areas, house music’s modern-day mainstream faces do not accurately reflect its diverse and colorful history. From rock and roll to country, Black musicians have frequently been deprived of their rightful credit, and this, too, is no exception. We all know about the David Guettas and Calvin Harrises of the world, but do we know about the descendants of communities that actually created the movement? Long after 1988, Black and LGBTQ+ interests do not align with mainstream interests to this day.

Give a Beat remains committed to these very interests, and was founded within this music community that brings together diverse people of all types of ethnicities, genders, languages, sexual orientations, disabilities, and socioeconomic classes. The organization's values reflect the founding values of electronic music culture created by BIPOC: peace, love, compassion, understanding, inclusivity, justice, equality. The principles are the pillars of programs and advocacy work created by this organization. In our Prison Electronic Music Program, we not only honor the founders of house music, but also walk participants through getting hands-on with learning about electronic music production and DJing, encouraging personal and societal betterment. Participants work within a digital jukebox that includes work from artists like Osunalade, Channel Tres, and Kevin Saunderson.

Stacey Hotwaxx Hale with Students at a Give a Beat Youth Music Workshop – Photo by Sue Hudelson

As an organization passionate about marginalized voices, Give a Beat is excited to have the support of several successful Black house music artists. One of the first known female DJs to mix, DJ Stacey Hotwaxx Hale is largely recognized as the “Godmother of House Music.” As a Black woman in a male-dominated field, she was not without her struggles, which included balancing the expectations and image that people expected from her with her own unadulterated passion for music. Currently, she hosts several radio shows, educates younger girls on music, and serves as an inspiration for aspiring female DJs of color across the board. Similarly, Ultra Naté is yet another Black female DJ who has enriched the genre, releasing singles that have never missed the mark and consistently made their way onto U.S. Dance Club charts. Artists like DJ Minx and DJ Heather are other exceptional Black house artists that we love that have shaped the scene.

Unfortunately, the music industry is fraught with injustices at every step, and much of it is still white-dominated. House music is not exempt from plagiarizing and hijacking intellectual labor from Black creatives, and several sources state that white producers and music executives owe close to millions to Black musicians of the past. Luckily, none of this has deterred talent from burgeoning in between the cracks. From Jesse Saunders to Gene Farris to Ron Trent, Black artists continue to fuel the electronic music tradition. The artists mentioned throughout this piece, along with many others, including Rich Medina, King Britt, Roy Davis Jr., and Derrick Carter, carry the genre forward while remaining rooted in its origins. If we’ve learned anything from the life-changing events of 2020, it is that we must amplify marginalized voices – and what better way to do that than celebrating their music?

Here’s where you can learn more about house music:

> Learn more about Larry Levan and Paradise Garage in this video

> Watch artists of today provide their own perspectives on what house music means to the industry, and world: here

> Listen to what it was like in Knuckles’ The Warehouse

> Listen to DJ Minx’s Black History Month Spotify Guest List Playlist

#House Music #paradisegarage #black music #LGBTQ #dance music #electronic music #house #music industry #nonprofit #music education

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krzyktty101 · 4 years

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I would die for you

This is a Stony ficlet from the following prompt. It is for #’s 26,33,74 and 100. #100 was the entire inspiration. This is my first time doing this sort of thing for a prompt, so please be nice.

https://vjllanelle.tumblr.com/post/172566962555/prompt-list

Steve really hated the color white; he detested it with a passion that he wasn’t sure he was quite comfortable with. In fact, until today, he wouldn’t have believed it possible to loathe a single color to this level. Yet, here he sat, wishing he could eradicate every trace of white out of this sterile hell hole. The cloying scent of disinfectant, mixed with illness and despair, robbed the air straight from his lungs. The strange aroma wrapped itself around his chest like thick bands, trapping the air in his lungs much like the asthma of his youth. The steady cacophony of the machines was his only source of solace; they were the orchestra that fashioned a meditative melody that was the balm to his frayed psyche. Although harsh and jarring to others, to him they sung, “He’s here. He’s alive. He’s here. He’s alive,” over and over again. Right now, with so much uncertainty laid bare at his feet, that was all he could really concentrate on. To think of anything else was tantamount to a swift decent into madness, because lying comatose before him in the sterile white hospital bed was more than his heart, it was his very soul.

He cradled the precious hand in his like glass, slowly stroking his thumb back and forth, almost absently. “You’re an idiot.” His whispered words reverberated around the room like a cannon; the hospital machines the only other source of sound in the small white prison. “You’re a goddamned idiot,” he choked out, blinking back hot tears. A single one escaped, sliding gently down his cheek. “How could you do this to me Tony?”

Steve bent over, softly placing a single kiss on the hand he refused to release. He knew it was childish, a silly superstition, but to him if felt as though Tony’s life was linked to his. As long as Steve held on, Tony couldn’t leave him behind. He feared that as soon as he let go, he would lose him forever; that Tony would be lost to the darkness that stalked his nightmares forever. “I love you so much, and I can’t bear to think about what life would be like without you.” He reverently laid his head against the hand, resting both on the edge of the bed. “Come back to me Tony. Come back home.”

“How did this happen babe? What were you thinking, pushing me out of the way like that? Why didn’t you just get out? I have the serum you idiot.” Closing his eyes, head still resting on Tony and his combined hands, Steve was pulled back into the nightmare.

The day was nothing special; it was like every other that had come before it. The battle against the new villain of the week seemed as though it was “in the bag.” The fight was almost, dare he say it, easy. There were no serious injuries; hell, Thor barely broke a sweat. God, he was so stupid. He should have known something was wrong; nothing is ever that easy. No, instead he dropped his guard; he got wrapped up in the rush of the win and stopped paying attention to the details. The details that Tony saw, the details that pushed Tony into action, the details that put Tony in a coma.

The others had already scattered; dispersing to help with clean up, law enforcement, and shield. Steve had hung back; guarding Tony’s six as they helped secure the villain for transport. Steve was caught up in something Tony had said, a funny, sarcastic comment at the guy’s expense. He couldn’t even remember what it was anymore. However, he was paying attention to Tony and not the villain, so Steve missed the response. He missed the smirk that slowly played across the guys face; the smirk that often spelled that things were not in fact as “over” as one thought. Tony though, Tony saw it all. Tony, whose brilliant, beautiful mind could solve almost any problem in 3 seconds flat. Tony, who had Jarvis in the suit with him, and when combined, they could solve any problem in the time it took someone like Steve to blink. In the time it took Steve to take a single breath, Tony had forcefully thrown the scoundrel through the front door into the street like a quarterback chucking a football. Then turning on his heal with a speed and grace that Steve didn’t know a large suit of metal could possess, Tony flew into him at a speed that could only be described as impossible. He was a man possessed. Steve never saw the impact; however, he felt Tony smash into him with the force of a freight train, seizing the breath in his lungs. One-minute Steve was standing, and in the next, he was flying through window and into the street.

The force wasn’t merciful enough to knock him out though, because in the seconds of weightlessness, as Steve flew through the air before crashing onto the hot abrasive asphalt like a bowling ball, he witnessed his world collapse into a fiery inferno. Steve crashed into the ground as the concussive force of the explosion slammed into him, the force continuing his rolling momentum until he slammed into a building with enough force to jar his vision. Next, a scorching wave of heat washed over him; sizzling the few hairs exposed.

Dazed, Steve struggled back to coherency. His senses seemed dulled; his ears were ringing and his hearing was muted. His head felt as though it was drugged; he was floating on the clouds. The air was thick with dust and ash, clouding his vision. Steve choked on the hot ash as his lungs struggled to recapture the oxygen stollen from them after the repeated impacts. And then, like flipping a light switch, awareness slammed back into him like a rubber band stretched to far.

“Oh God,” he choked out. “Oh God. Tony.”

Steve fought to stand, limbs wobbling like a new foal and ribs protesting; he ignored it all. The sight before him dropped his stomach to his feet; he struggled to not be sick all over the pavement. Fires were erupting out of the windows; glass was scattered all over the street. Parts of the upper floors had collapsed in on the building, crushing the floors below them all the way to the ground level. It was a scene that belonged in a war; not on the streets of New York City.

“Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God. TONY! TONYYYY!!!”

Steve took a deep breath, jerking himself forcefully out of the memory. He did not want to relive the excruciating hours trying to dig, what he was sure was going to be Tony’s body, out of the rubble. He didn’t want to relive the pain of screaming his voice raw for hours, hoping for a response against all the logic that told him otherwise. He didn’t want to remember almost decking Thor when he pulled Steve away from the burning building, claiming that Tony wouldn’t want him to burn to death trying to save him. He didn’t want to remember pulling the shattered armor, seeping blood like something out of a horror movie, out from the rubble. Even then, the armor was still hot enough to almost burn the skin. He certainly didn’t want to remember the feeling of his heart shattering in his chest and the ice slowly seep back into his bones as he watched the paramedics intubate the love of his life; watching them performing chest compressions as they raced him into the ambulance.

“You’re going to be ok. I promise.” Gently standing, hand still embracing Tony’s in his, Steve leaned over Tony, placing a heartfelt kiss on his forehead, tears dropping into his hair. He almost thought the gentle squeeze he felt on his hand in response was his imagination. Steve took his free hand, and cradled Tony’s face in his large, strong hand. “Tony? Tony are you with me?”

His heart tried to leap out of his chest with joy as he felt the reassuring squeeze for the second time. Steve’s whole face radiated joy as he blinked back what had quickly turned into tears of joy when Tony slowly opened his eyes.

“Oh thank God. Oh thank you God. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Steve peppered Tony’s face in kisses, relief overwhelming. “I love you so much you idiot. Never do that again. Never, never, never. God Tony. I thought…I thought…,” he found himself unable to complete the sentence, his entire body shuddering at the thought of what he had almost lost.

“Had,” Tony’s voice broke, the gravely sound painful to Steve’s ears.

“Shhhh. Wait. Don’t talk.” Tony then greedily sipped the water Steve offered him, trying soothe his dry rough throat.

“Had to protect what was most important to me Steve.”

Steve shook his head back and forth violently, denial instant. “No. You can’t do that to me ever again Tony. I can’t survive it. You didn’t see…It was…No. Please Tony. Please.” His voice broke as he begged. “Please don’t ever do that again. I have the serum you idiot; I would have been fine.”

Tony weekly tugged on Steve’s arm until he came closer. Reaching up his hand gingerly, he wiped the tears from Steve’s face. Compassion and love shone openly from his eyes. “No, you wouldn’t Steve. The serum doesn’t make you a God. I had the armor. I was better protected.”

Anger, hot and violent simmered deep in Steve’s gut. “Obviously not,” he bit out. “You died Tony. You died, and I had to watch. I had to sit here, praying every day, that you would wake up from a goddamned coma. Nothing is worth that.”

Pity flashed across Tony’s face so quickly, Steve wasn’t sure he hadn’t imagined it. “I would do anything for you, don’t you see that? I love you Steve. Nothing is more important to me than you. If it meant keeping you safe, there is nothing in this universe that I would not do. I would die for you.”

Steve took Tony’s face in his hands, touching his forehead to Tony’s. Closing his eyes, he reveled in the simple joy and intimacy of sharing the same breath with the man he came so close to losing. “I don’t need you to die for me to keep me safe Tony. I need you to live for me. The only thing that can keep me safe is having you by my side. Don’t die for me Tony. Live. Please. Live for me.”

Closing his eyes, Tony wrapped his hands around Steve’s. “Always. I am yours, now and forever.”

Source: vjllanelle

Originally found reblog from https://iam93percentstardust.tumblr.com/

Now posted on A03: https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/57234454?show_comments=true&view_full_work=false#comment_298749421

#stony #stevetony #steve rodgers #tony stark #prompt list #iam93percentstardust #vjllanelle #superhusbands

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lovebubblechoices · 4 years

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The Aftermath [2/2]

Note : As I fear we’ll suffer with today’s Chapter I just wanted to give you this. I know it’s not perfect but I hope you’ll like it. It’s mostly fluff but I mention death and sex (not in the same sentence lol). English is not my first language as you know and MC is still Vicky Monroe

Words: 1,753

Vicky Monroe couldn’t see through her tears and she stumbled on the gravel path but two strong arms caught her just in time so she did not fall on the ground. The massive crowd of family, friend and colleagues was now leaving the cemetery as the funeral was over. You could say the service was perfectly done and orchestrated but sadness and sorrow still lingered over Dr. Monroe’s mind. Vicky came back to her senses and realized she was still in the arms of someone, whom she had already recognized.

“Thank you Dr. Ramsey. I… er… I wasn’t paying attention”

“You’re excused Rookie” Ramsey whispered in her ear. Then he coughed and naturally detached his body from hers. He finally offered his arm to her to make sure she wasn’t stumbling again on anything.

There was a small breeze and it was as if the trees were gracefully dancing for them, encouraging them to do so as well. Neither of them talked but there was no need to talk. Vicky glanced at Ethan who looked absent-mindedly at the horizon. It was a peaceful sight and a peaceful moment after the storm. Dr. Monroe was due to attend a last gathering at Donahue’s where she could have a bite and probably drink a beer, even though she would have preferred something a little stronger. Something like a whiskey on the rocks. Then she chuckled to herself, feeling silly.

“What is it Vicky?”

“Nothing! I was just thinking about how I’d like a whiskey on the rocks but then I… I remember you did not like it on rocks and neither do I” she beamed, pleased with herself. She sighed “Everybody else is going at Donahue’s you know… but I –” she trailed off, tightening her grip on Ethan’s arm who was now intensely looking at her.

“Then I should take you home so you can rest” he said matter-of-factly. And he meant it; there was no husky tone, no invitation to dirty sex. The older doctor just wanted her to feel safe in a peaceful and quiet environment.

“But don’t wanna go home!” she whined like a child.

“I wasn’t talking about your place but mine but don’t get it wrong Vicky, I’m not going to sex you up.”

“Oh…” was all she responded.

They moved aside the path towards Ethan’s car and once inside Vicky tried everything she could to turn him on but she awkwardly failed. She felt ashamed of herself when he scowled her like she was his own little sister.

“Damn Vicky! You’re impossible. You deserve far more than rough sex in the back of a car dammit. Are a whore or a doctor?!” he snapped at her.

Needless to say that the rest of the ride was dead silent. He was mad and she was ashamed of herself. It was the first time she saw him like this, being this angry with her. She could tell it runs deep and she didn’t know what to say to lighten the mood. She wanted to cry so badly because it hurt her but she was not a baby. So she held back her tears and kept her head low thinking how she had messed up big time with him.

“Why are you like this with me, Ethan?” Vicky asked timidly

“Like what?” he replied coldly, his eyes never leaving the road

“Mean… and… and cold-hearted.”

“Truth hurts sometimes. You should know this by now – you’re a doctor. But to answer you properly, I am not mean nor cold-hearted. It’s just…” he trailed of as he did every once in a while, carefully choosing his words “It’s nothing like that Vicky and you know it.” He glanced at her.

“Is it… Is it boundaries again Ethan?” she asked him as her voice was breaking

“No, not anymore…” but he did not develop further and kept his eyes on the road until they arrived at Ethan’s.

In the elevator, the tension between the two was palpable but Ethan’s words were stuck in her head. For one, she was likely not have sex with her lover when she craved for it. She had imagined Ethan would have helped her dealing with her grief with a hot burning makeout session but the events were proving her wrong. Then secondly, the W word had been uttered and it completely shook Vicky to her surprise. Or, more precisely Ethan’s cold but furious anger but now that her brain was not focused on the sex she could have had in that car, she thought she understood him. He highly thought of her and that alone, warmed her heart. Tears began to fall down her cheeks again but the lift stopped as the couple arrived to the right floor. Next thing she knew was that Ethan carried her to his apartment in bridal fashion.

“Ethan! Ethan! What are you doing?!”

“Obviously, bringing you to my place as we were – hey! Don’t do that you little monster”

“You need to put me down! You need to– Oh gosh Ethan!...”

His southern situation was growing and Vicky had felt it against her hip. He put her down in order to unlock his door. The young blonde jumped on the occasion to unbuckle his belt and put both her hands in his underpants. She wanted to give him the best handjob he had ever received from her but she was not expecting to be stopped the way Ethan did.

“Not here babe… not here. Some… somebody could see”

BABE. She was Babe now and she was shocked. She was overwhelmed and she wanted to cry, of joy this time. Her hands had left the underpants and she heard a groan coming from Ethan’s lips. It was dark and wild, an animalistic sound indicating her he was so turned on. She was as well and she hoped that he would have his wicked way with her in the corridor, right against that door. That door which finally opened welcoming their sins and their lust for each other. Ramsey grabbed Vicky’s hand and her whole body was pulled inside the warm cocoon.

Vicky wanted to pick up the things where she had left them in front of the door but Ethan was faster to reverse the situation. He kissed her gently on the lips, biting the lower lip from time to time. Then, soft kisses traveled her jawline and her neck. Vicky moaned less and less quietly as she discovered new sensations on her skin thanks to the Amazonian Gift. Ethan focused again on his babe’s lips, this time asking for access which was granted immediately with a louder moan. The tongues waltzed together in absolute bliss and all lustful thoughts were forgotten on Vicky’s part.

Ethan finally broke the kiss as they were both in need for air. They smiled to each other, quite content with the effect they had on each other. They were completely fluttered and hands were shaking in anticipation of what would come next. But somehow, Ethan was managing to keep his cool and his hands from the incredible woman before him. He cupped her cheeks and open his mouth to speak but she cut him with one finger on his lips.

“Would Ethan Ramsey like a blowjob?” she seductively asked while crawling on the floor

“No”

“No?” she repeated, taken aback by his answer.

“You still didn’t get it love, did you?” he asked helping her back on her feet, never once leaving her eyes. “What I want is to make love to you. What I want is taking the time to explore your marvelous body, every inches of your skin. I want to kiss you until my lips are sore, I want you moaning your love beneath me, I want it to be slow because it is what you deserved.”

And that’s how Vicky knew the last boundary was gone. That’s also why she jumped into his arms taking the initiative to speed things up. Ethan responded in hot moans and groans but he kept control over himself while going to the bathroom. He striped her down, placed wet and hot kisses in strategic places and then ran a bath for her. Once he had checked the water, he very gentlemanly put her inside and stayed outside.

Vicky was truly amazed by him – his will to remain next to her but outside the bath while she was seductively rubbing her skin with her left hand. Ethan kept watching the whole time and he sure wanted to join but he had other plans in mind. At one point, the blue-eyed blonde lady got frustrated because he didn’t want to join in so she splashed water at him. He laughed but didn’t join her but he leaned and devoured her lips once again.

“I can’t join but I’ll take good care of you” he justifies himself

“But I need your hands on me Ethan…” Vicky pleaded. “I need a massage”

“Oh I guarantee you, you’ll have it all” Ethan stated “In the bedroom” he finally added as his eyes were darkening.

The sex had been intense and amazing as it always was with him somewhere between vanilla and something a little bit wilder and darker as passion was involved. They were now fully dressed and cuddling on couch of the living room, Jenner at their feet and life was quiet simple. Vicky could have easily forgotten she had attended a funeral that morning. She sighed happily as Ethan was running his fingers in her messy hair.

“When did you fall for me Ethan?”

“I don’t really remember for sure if I’m honest. But somewhere around the Tadpole Tragedy I guess”

She kissed him innocently on the lips and then resumed watching outside the window. Ethan was reading some obscure medical document but still payed more attention to her. He kissed the top of her head and replaced the blanket correctly to keep her warm.

“You know… I kind of expected wild sex earlier in the bedroom” she said

“I know yes… But I keep the wild card for our honeymoon” he explained

Vicky did not react at first to the specific term he had just used but when she felt him moving to grab something behind the cushions she chuckled at the window.

“We are not even married Ethan” she replied half amused, half sad by the comment he made

“Then in that case Victoria Rhys Eliana Monroe, I’d advise you to look at me and give your hand.”

#fanfic #ethan ramsey #dr ethan ramsey #MC x Ethan Ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #Open Heart

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luna-almighty-god · 4 years

Text

Guardian Angel N°11 [My little brother, you deserve to exist]

I present to you today the chapter eleven of Guardian Angel!

This story is obviously not canonical, please do not refer to it if you are looking for canonical information.

Have a good read!

===

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

===

Insomnia chirped softly, happy to be surrounded by leaves and pencils on the ground. Nyx had of course taken care to arrange the cushions, as Killer did every time he left his son on the floor, and now watched the child with a gentle gaze, attentive to the slightest of his gestures.

The little one continued to laugh and had fun scribbling on the leaves that fell into his hand. It was fun to watch him change pencils, bend his head to the side as if he was looking for an idea, and then stick out his tongue under the weight of intense reflection.

That baby was just so cute.

Nyx laughed, settling more comfortably in the sofa to watch him. Without really realizing it, his own hands had gotten busy and scribbled a sketch of the child. Drawing was instinctive for him. It came naturally to him to make an artwork, without him really needing to think about it. That's why he didn't like receiving compliments such as "You draw well".

For Nyx did not see beauty in talent, but in effort. Someone who made an effort to draw well, to do something beautiful, was someone who drew well. But someone like him, who didn't care about the end result, couldn't draw 'well', because that same person didn't put any passion into it.

That's why Nyx had always admired Ink. He always gave his all, no matter what the situation was, no matter what his condition was. He tried to do his best, and that was most admirable.

Nyx admired Ink. He loved Ink from the depths of his soul. That innocent love a child has for its parent. For Nyx could never bring himself to hate the painter, even the one in his timeline...

“Gahaaaa !”

Nyx blinked his eyes, leaned his head to the side and saw Insomnia waving at him with a sulky pout:

“Gagaa ! Gaaa !”

He then tapped his can, swelling his cheeks and continuing to shake, and Nyx laughed. He got up and came to find the little one, gently taking him in his arms:

“Are you hungry, little guy? I'll see what I can find.”

Horror was absent, just like the rest of the bad sanses. So Nyx was left to his own devices, but that was not a real concern. He had had the opportunity to take care of a child before ... the sweet, adorable little Lux, whose smile had comforted him so many times ...

Did he also cancel her birth?

He froze, a dull pain gripping his soul. He relived the little girl's look, her joy of life, her optimism, her crystalline laughter, her hugs ...

He closed his eyes, repressing tears. He had promised himself that he would fix everything by coming here... and that included helping Cross go out with Epic, not Dream. Because the swordsman and the guard were like Ink and Nightmare: a couple by compulsion, not by love. Even though Dream and Cross had managed to bond enough to keep from falling into despair...

“Gah... ?”

Insomnia's squeak brought him back to earth. He looked at the child in astonishment, then his eyes widened as the two little hands came to rest on his face and the baby, on the brink of tears, emitted a sob-like twitter.

Nyx felt its throat to knot:

“Oh, Somnia ... Don't cry, I'm all right...”

He kissed him gently on the forehead, caressing his back to comfort him, then approached with a new smile to prove his point. But the child was not fooled and continued to fidget. How to calm him down? Nyx really didn't want to see him cry, especially not for himself ...

An idea suddenly occurred to him. There was one thing that amused Lux greatly, maybe Insomnia would enjoy it too?

Although it seemed silly to him, he checked around him to make sure there was no one around and concentrated to perceive a magical energy in the castle. But as agreed, he was alone with the baby.

He closed his eyes, blew softly, intriguing the child who tilted his head to the side ... before bursting out laughing when Nyx revealed his star-shaped pupils.

The black-boned skeleton laughed, blinked to transform his pupils again, changing them into a pink diamond and a blue square, causing the baby to laugh again. Going through all the possible shapes and colors, Nyx decided to stick to the round, starry shapes and colors such as blue, purple or black, having fun adding shades of pink and red, marveling at Insomnia who was chirping again, happily tapping his little palms.

While continuing his little merry-go-round, Nyx came to the kitchen and used shadows to make his tentacles appear. They searched the cupboards and the fridge, preparing with ease a bottle of vanilla milk - as Killer had recommended.

It was an intense relief to be able to be himself, not to have to be suspicious and hide his pupils or appendages, just to be able to act without worrying about betraying himself to others.

He held a sigh, not wishing to spoil Insomnia's joy. The little one had turned away from his eyes to look at his tentacles in astonishment, before twittering again and waving his own little tentacles, making Nyx smile with tenderness.

“You're so adorable, little guy.”

He kissed his cheekbone and retrieved the bottle. Insomnia quickly grabbed it, excited, and shoved the teat into his mouth, relaxing immediately at the first sip.

Nyx settled him more comfortably in the hollow of his arms and returned to the living room where he sat back on the couch, while his tentacles struggled to put away the coloring and cushions. He thought that maybe he should have invited PaperJam, he hadn't seen him for a while and thought that he and Insomnia could have played together. It would probably be a next time.

If there was a next time...

He tensed up slightly, barely holding on to his feelings, which were just waiting to break the barrier and burst into the open. He had to think of something else, to keep his mind from wandering.

“... gah ...”

He blinked, looked at Insomnia who had gradually released the bottle, half asleep.

Nyx softened:

“Tired, eh ...?”

He retrieved the bottle to put it on the table and then went quietly to the little one's room, gently caressing his head:

“... Me too, I'm tired ...”

He reached the room, entered naturally and gently placed the baby in the bed, making sure it was set up correctly, watching that the room was at a suitable temperature for the little one, taking the time to turn down the heating but still covering the little legs with a thin blanket.

“Go Somnia, go to sleep.

- Gah ....

- Don't worry, I won't stay away.”

The baby tried to respond, but, too tired, he finally closed his eyes, falling gently into Morpheus' arms.

Nyx contemplated him for a few moments, as if hypnotized, without being aware of his pupils turned blue.

He looked away painfully, he let himself slide to the ground with spite.

How did you... For all his love for Insomnia, for the innocence of this young boy, how...

How could he feel so bad? So envious?

How dare he be jealous of such a little baby?

He closed his eyes, put his head against the bed, controlling his breathing as best he could.

He had to hold on.

He had to hold.

He had to...

[He petrified]

He jumped to his feet, his eyes wide open in terror.

[Impossible. Impossible impossible impossible]

There…

There was new magic in the castle.

[A Overly familiar magic]

[Way too terrifying]

He turned around to face the door, suddenly feeling shaky. Magic was approaching its location. Or should I say...

[She approached Insomnia]

Nyx is swallowing. His own magic was camouflaged, not the child's. It gave him the advantage of surprising the intruder. At least he would have had the advantage if he hadn't been so terrified, literally paralyzed by fear.

But he had to move, if only to put the child in the ab-

Her body vanished into the shadows the instant the door slammed, waking Insomnia who squealed with surprise.

The baby blinked, confused, not understanding what was going on, or even why Nyx was no longer at his side. But he trembled under the frightening sensation of a torrent of negative emotions.

He hiccupped, painfully straightened himself up, raising his innocent gaze to the new presence, the newcomer.

He was all the more confused. For if he didn't really recognize the magic facing him, the owner was very familiar to him.

“... Gah... ?” he said leaning his head to the side, not understanding what Ink was doing there.

But despite his young age, he easily understood that something was wrong.

Ink had an unpleasant smell.

A smell of blood and dust.

The little one fell back to his bed, suddenly intimidated, but above all ....

[Completely scared]

It wasn't Ink. It wasn't the Ink he knew. It wasn't the painter who came from time to time to the castle, who laughed with his parents, who kept him company to draw with Nyx.

And by the way ... where was Nyx?

He trembled at the agreement of a laugh. A cynical, dangerous laugh.

The demented laugh of Ink whose pupils had turned purple.

Insomnia remained frozen.

He was just a baby. Just a tiny little baby. How could he have defended himself? What could he have done in the face of an adult far more powerful than himself?

He barely had time to see the brush being held up.

The brush that came crashing down.

Shattering against a sharp tentacle.

“Wha... ?!” Ink let go of Ink in a stupor, before his pupils suddenly disappeared in a dull rage.

But he didn't have time to react as the shadows fell on Insomnia, drowning him abruptly to make him disappear.

Insomnia coughed, lost, his gaze for a moment veiled by darkness, before he suddenly regained his vision and became more confused: how had he arrived in the corridor? Impossible for him to think about it: Nyx had just appeared and grabbed him in his arms, starting a race through the corridors of the castle, panicked.

“Gah?!” exclaimed the baby as he perceived the older one's bluish pupils.

Nyx did not hear him, turned in a corridor, his mind tortured by his fear and the profusion of insults he was inflicting on himself. What the hell was going on? What was going on? What the fuck was going on?!

[What was his father doing here?!]

The pain that twisted his soul made his bile rise. His phalanges tightened on the child.

[His timeline still existed?]

[How? Why?!]

[How did Ink get here?!]

[THE PORTAL WAS DESTROYED]

He came to curse his magical instability, the fucking instability that kept him from teleporting. The slightest use of magic was twisting him around, and he wasn't inclined to have a seizure now. Not when he didn't have an apple in his hand.

Damn .... Fuckin' ...!

Nyx came into the living room, insulted himself again. His things had remained in his room, including his pencil. Pencil which was his only way to get from one AU to another without using his magic!

He would almost have slapped himself if he hadn't been so focused on staying calm. His only escape: finding paint, praying for it to bring Ink in. The good Ink!

But the idea tied his throat. If the two Inks found out, his cover would be blown, his secret would be understood without the slightest harm!

“...gah or...”

He jumped, looked at Insomnia, who hugged him trembling.

Nyx fainted. The baby was in danger, and he worried that his secret would be discovered? What an idiot! The little one's health was more important than anything else!

He went through the room again in a hurry: he knew there was paint, he had seen Insomnia using it that very morning! So why couldn't he put the hand of...

Nyx threw himself back, narrowly dodged a bone that shattered part of the floor.

The air became much colder than before.

“Alive and well...” Ink's voice growled, cold and angry, as the painter took his time entering the room, his white pupils landing on Nyx in violent disgust.

The skeleton retreated again, the face turned pale. There was no possibility of escape now.

Ink glanced at him scornfully before turning his attention to Insomnia:

“Temporal rewriting... Error and Dream did a good job. It almost could have been a good plan... if they hadn't sent you.”

Nyx tensed up, feeling himself getting weaker and weaker when he came across that hateful look again. And Ink, who fully knew the effect he was having on his son, sneered maliciously:

“What a joke... I guess they should have been the ones to go. But Ruru really didn't measure up to me!”

Nyx's back hit the wall, giving him the painful reality of being completely trapped, while his mind came to torture him again, that a memory made him want to burst into tears. The memory of Ink finishing Error without the slightest remorse.

“... H- He loved you...” Nyx stuttered, squeezing Insomnia a little tighter.

The painter's pupils turned purple before he struck violently at the table, destroying it abruptly, shaking the rest of the room.

“He loved me...? he repeated. He loved me?”

Nyx had no time to react, too destabilized by the situation, and it was in a scream that he felt a bone come out of the wall behind him, a bone that shattered a rib and paralyzed him with pain.

Insomnia made a whimper, squirming in his arms as if to observe the wound, but Nyx held him tightly against it, protecting him with his arms, grimacing as he glanced feverishly at his father.

Ink trembled with rage, as if consumed by an inferno:

“He NEVER loved me!

- That's not true! All you had to do was open his eyes, give him time, not rush him like you did!

- WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT IT?!”

Nyx's soul turned blue and he was tackled against the wall much more violently. Ink approached dangerously, close to insanity, ready to implode, to destroy everything:

“Did you have fun changing the story? Getting involved in lives that don't concern you?”

Nyx felt the tears burning his eyes:

“... I-it concerns me ...”

His voice broke:

“You are my parents...”

Ink petrified a few centimeters away from him, his eyes devoid of pupils, hit hard by his words ... before suddenly clenching his teeth and materializing a new bone at the sharp end, to plant it sharply in his son's shoulder, in a sinister creak that accompanied Nyx's scream.

“YOU...”

He pressed harder, digging deeper and deeper into the cracked bone, not caring about his son's cry.

“Don't you ever dare to think of me as your father again.”

The black-boned one yelps, terrified, unable to defend himself.

Ink growled again, raised his hand to Insomnia:

“Get off that kid. He doesn't belong here. He's not supposed to exist.”

Nyx hiccuped. It wasn't supposed to exist...? ... Quite the contrary. Insomnia had every reason to exist. It was born of a loving union, it was born because it was wanted. It was born because its presence was desired, because it was proof of a powerful love between two beings.

Insomnia had to exist. Insomnia deserved to exist.

And the fury that seized Nyx finally broke the barrier around his soul. His left pupil glowed bright red.

[His magic exploded]

The surge of energy propelled Ink backwards, although he barely managed to catch up. Seeing Nyx break the bone that held him against the wall, the Creator made his brush appear a second time and threw himself at his son, but the son teleported behind him.

Ink was horrified at being dodged, and had great difficulty deflecting the tentacles that pounced on him. It was only the second time Nyx dared to stand up to him, but the painter had a bitter memory of their last confrontation.

Yet the situation made him smile softly:

“I wonder if you'll dare to confront Nightmare in such a way!”

Nyx turns pale:

“Wha... He's here too?!”

Ink sneered, projected a wave of paint towards his opponent. Nyx missed being touched but melted into the shadows in time to reappear a little further away before once again using his tentacles on the painter. Painter whose smile grew larger:

“Of course he's here! Did you really think you could hide the portal from us? Ahahah, a nice way out, isn't it? Away from our world, which will soon disappear!”

Ink knocked his brush down on Nyx. This one protected himself with an arm, his arm whose wrist was wounded, his wrist whose pain until then attenuated returned more strongly, more destructive than before.

The cry of Nyx got stuck in his throat. He struggled to take support on his legs, trying as best he could to push the weapon away without letting go of Insomnia. And Ink's unhealthy laughter continued, twisting his already battered mind:

“Oh Nyx, your eyes are so evocative! Why is the gate still open, you ask? It had closed behind me, you think!”

Nyx swallowed, feeling lost, unable to ignore his father's words.

“But Nyx, for a gate to close, someone has to close it! But you must not have thought about taking care of it, did you? You thought it would do itself! But just like Cross, that stupid Cross, way too busy saving Dream's ass!”

No ... no no no no! No!

[Nyx had seen the gate disappear]

[He... He had concluded that it had closed. It was obvious!]

“You guys are idiots... So that's why they didn't go through the portal with you? They thought they'd closed up!”

Cross, Dream and Lux... had time to join him after all? Nyx couldn't believe it, couldn't accept it.

No no no no no no no !

*** ***

“Master Cross, it's closing!” Nyx exclaimed in panic as he watched the gate slowly disappear.

Cross had taken a brief glance at him before turning his attention back behind them. In the distance he could see Lux, his dear little Lux, trying to defend herself against Horror and Dust, losing ground and being wounded in the arm, without deigning to give up the battle. And not far from him was Dream. Dream, who tried to join her, to rescue her, but was confronted by Nightmare, against whom he no longer had any advantage.

And of course, Ink was surely around, spying on them with his sadistic air, waiting for the slightest breach to strike a fatal blow.

Cross had clenched his fists:

“Dream and Lux will never be able to join us...”

Nyx had flinched before frowning, staring a feverish look at their enemies, ready to draw out his tentacles:

“Yea... Let's go and help them!

- No.”

Nyx had jumped up, looked at his teacher with a confused look on his face:

“No... ?”

Cross had smiled at him:

“I trust you, kid.”

By the time Nyx grasped the tenor of his words, the monochrome had already pushed him into the portal.

Flash, terror, pain.

Nyx's scream.

“CROSS!!!”

Then nothing. Nothing at all. Silence.

And the sky.

A shining sky.

The sky of OuterTale.

*** ***

Nyx was violently brought back to reality, suffering a sharp blow that threw him to the ground, his skull twitching when he hit the ground. For a moment his sight was black and white, while a coughing fit took him, bringing the metallic taste of the blood to his puck.

He barely had the presence of mind to turn over on his stomach, to protect with his body the little Insomnia whose cries had begun to fill the room.

[Help!]

His body no longer responded, as did his mind.

[Someone, anyone]

His magic crackled, screamed, begged.

[Somebody protects Insomnia, please]

His sight was troubled by his tears, tears that slid down his face, accompanying the sobs that escaped him.

[Please, Somebody… protects my little brother]

He cowered further over the little baby, closing his eyes, apprehensive, fearing the fatal blow, the one who turned him to dust to leave only a child completely helpless.

But the only thing that reached him was Ink's scream.

A bug sounds.

The sound of footsteps.

“What the hell is this?” grew a glitchy voice, both puzzled and annoyed.

Shaken with jolts, Nyx widened his eyes, raised his head.

It was the second time ...

The second time Error saved him from Ink's hands.

===

Next Chapter

You can support me on my Utip or on my Ko-fi account !

===

Credits =

Dreamtale -> Joku

Error -> LoverOfPiggies

Ink -> Myebi

Cross and Lux -> Jakei

Insomnia -> EnaPouyou

#undertale #Guardian Angel #fanfiction #fanchild #nyx #insomnia #nightmare #error #ink #alternate universe #alternate timeline #errink #nightkiller #inkmare #vantablack

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wincore · 5 years

Text

talk | kim dongyoung

pairing: prince!doyoung x princess!reader

words: 8k

prompt: anonymous sent: For the Valentines day request may I request one w nct Doyoung? (also if you can, an au where he's a prince and reader's a princess?)

genre: royalty!au, arranged marriage!au, fluff, hurt/comfort

warning(s): a tad suggestive?

gif credit

You’re not exactly someone to bow your head and agree to a command. You weren’t raised with a lot of freedom, but you sought it anyway, and the mere taste of it never let you live the way you should be.

Princesses aren’t supposed to be like you—they’re supposed to be prim and proper, smell like roses and all things rich and wonderful, they’re supposed to smile and laugh with the princes, hold their head up with dignity but bow when they’re ordered to. They’re not supposed to sneak out at midnight to stargaze, or get their knees scraped climbing trees, they’re not supposed to scowl or make ugly faces at any advances from the opposite gender, and they certainly aren’t supposed to keep disappearing, especially during important dinners.

The news had your insides crumbling when you heard it, when your mother notified you with a look of disdain, scolding you for being absent from the palace almost all the time. Her words only seem to reproach your actions, conveniently missing the point that maybe, just maybe you aren’t at fault at times. To be robbed of freedom, to be married to a man you’ve hardly glanced at, to be treated as if you aren’t a person at all—it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth at best.

You’re often told you have a lot of independence. It doesn’t make any sense to you, just how anyone could have the audacity to tell you that. They’re not the ones caged by societal rules, rules that require the binding of your soul and the full capabilities of your body. You can’t count the number of times you’ve physically restricted yourself from screaming, or just punching someone in the face (you wish you knew how to without damaging your knuckles, but you’ve been denied that lesson several times). You’re not purely hot-headed, or impulsive, but you’re allowed to at least have these thoughts, right? Or are you supposed to keep a check on your thoughts, too?

When you see Kim Dongyoung in his navy blue suit, the golden twigs and leaves etched across the shoulders and the sleeves, you hear your mother sigh beside you. You sigh too, but for a different reason altogether. The princesses across the entire continent would love to take your place; you know your friends would, after they gasped and laughed in joy, congratulating you after you told them, missing the point like everyone else. But they make some sense, of course. He’s handsome, ethereally so, and he’s rich. Moreover, he’s known for his failproof war strategies that men of ordinary intelligence don’t usually come up with. But that’s all you know of him. You don’t know if he has any passions, or if he’s a puppet like you and other people in your position. You don’t know if he’s kind to the poor, or if he likes walks through gardens. You don’t know if he likes to read, or if he has a favourite smell, favourite food, favourite colour. All you know is an image other people have painted of him, and you’re meant to spend your life with this hollow shell of a man you don’t know, who you now won’t let yourself know, purely out of spite.

You sit at the wooden bench in the royal garden, awkwardly playing with your hands. You’re left with Doyoung, as he prefers to be called, and you’re meant to talk to him. It’s a freedom your families have given to you, to get to know each other before your lives are intertwined forever. Sunlight streams in, and the browns of his eyes vaguely remind you of the woods on a spring afternoon.

“You probably hate this as much as I do, ” he says, cutting the thick silence, no sign of humour in his tone. In fact, his lips are pursed into a grim expression quite possibly reflecting yours.

“Probably more,” you grumble. As a lady, you’ve been taught to never use that tone. But as you, you can’t care less, now that you know he feels the same.

Doyoung scoffs. “More?”

He turns to look at you, the expression on his face more begrudging than anything. His shoulders are tense, or maybe he’s been taught to sit with them straight. Either way, he doesn’t seem to be enjoying his time with you.

“What?” you laugh. “You want to turn this into a competition to see who hates it more?”

You think Doyoung might have cracked a smile from the way his lips twitch, but he maintains his mildly annoyed expression, refusing to continue the conversation. The seconds drip slowly, and every time you hear a rustling from behind the entrance pillars, Doyoung reluctantly inches closer or you start giggling as though he’d said a really funny joke. The dishonest atmosphere of friendliness you delicately put up with your words and actions might as well have brought you closer—after all, you’re on the same boat, doing the same thing—but at the end of it, the prince of the north leaves with an empty smile, and you do the same.

You lie to your mother about how wonderful a man your fiancé is, and how you’re glad she’s chosen such a fitting suitor for you. You feel a little sick uttering the words but you don’t show any signs of discomfort, as your mother’s face brightens. You don’t lie very often, but the nervous crack in your mother’s voice and her shaking eyes tell you that you should be a good daughter for once.

When you enter your bedroom, you think you’ll cry. You’ve never been very fond of this room, always comparing them to a prison but now that you’re aware you might not see it again, you feel some sort of indescribable regret in your chest. Were the walls always this shade of green? Weren’t they blue once? Is your new bedroom going to have the same shade? Will you even be able to sleep there? There are so many questions you have, and none of them have a hint of optimism in their essence. It’s just a spiral of terrifying thoughts only someone who’s been drowning can understand, someone who’s been stolen from, someone with too much on their mind.

You meet Doyoung once more, three weeks before your scheduled wedding and you end up arguing, much to the horror of your mother. It wasn’t necessarily your fault, but when is an argument ever the fault of only one? Doyoung and his sharp words leave you annoyed and you shoot back with words equally prickling, and the entire situation turns messier than ever. You don’t even remember what it was that set you off; maybe Doyoung was picking a fight on purpose as a last attempt to refuse this marriage. Either way, it ticked you off and you’re more unwilling than ever to partake in the sacred bonds of marriage with this man, this entitled prince, this smartass who thinks he knows everything.

In a way, you’re glad your differences come into light so early—maybe your parents will call it off, maybe they’ll realize it’s not wise to marry you off to a foreign land. But of course, when the entire country is at stake, what does the life of a little princess matter? No, the marriage is still to take place in three weeks, and it needs to be for the sake of peace between nations, even if it is at the price of yours.

It’s strange to be the centre of attention at a wedding. You would have almost forgotten it’s your own were it not for the several congratulatory messages you keep receiving, and Doyoung’s arm placed gingerly on your waist. His tight-lipped smile at the guests, the one you know is not real, unnerves you because you display the exact same one. The irony is high, as the day celebrating love and joy is taking away yours completely.

The atmosphere is meant to be bright and cheerful, with the gold chandeliers and painted glass that impresses everyone entering the hall. The musicians play a soft, but festive melody and you would doze off if it weren’t for Doyoung’s tight grip over your hand. You glare at him every time his hold gets too strong, or after he makes someone you hardly care about introduce themselves to you. So you’re more comfortable in your new home. How laughable. Maybe he likes the way your temper flares red and shows up across your cheeks. Hopefully you’ll be able to ignore it with time, his meaningless jabs. You cringe when the thought flashes through your mind, how you’ve already started planning your days after, how you’ll spend it with the man beside you. It brings you dread and you try to ignore it best as you can, for at least this day.

Doyoung leads you to the middle of the hall, one hand on the small of your back and the other intertwined with yours. Having to dance under the prying eyes of an audience adds to the painted blush of your cheeks, and the only way you can calm is by looking at Doyoung’s face. You almost step on his foot once or twice, but you’re glad no one notices the prince’s mild winces. You think Doyoung is probably going to scold you afterwards, and you let yourself frown a little. You aren’t a child, but well, this isn’t exactly what you had prepared for; dancing has never been your area of expertise, especially with a partner, and you find yourself counting the seconds till this is over.

“Why are we doing this?” you whisper to Doyoung.

“It’s called a waltz,” he replies, nonchalantly.

“I know that,” you glare at him. Seriously, you can’t be that bad. But you’re relieved when it’s over.

The sunlight streams in and forms perfect patterns on Doyoung’s face, the pretty curve of his lips or the sharp bridge of his nose highlighted for you, and all others to see. Some glare at you or sigh as if wishing they were in your place. You could almost laugh. You wish you were in theirs. It’s no doubt Doyoung looks better than most princes, but the resulting grudge of being enforced to do something blinds you to it. You’d never admit it at this point—after all, will it give you your freedom, your happiness? So you shut your mouth and smile every time a lady passes by to compliment him, or tell the two of you how sweet a pair you make.

You cry to sleep your first night after getting married, sleeping as far as possible from the man you’re bound to. You think Doyoung might have heard your whimpers, but you don’t care. If you’re going to be miserable either way, what’s the point in hiding it? The pillows wet with your tears and the cold prickles your cheek, and you flip it over for a warmer, dryer part to rest on. This exchange goes on till you tire of crying, till your eyes run out of tears. You don’t think you’ve cried this much in quite a while, but the feeling doesn’t reduce with time. Tiredness might just be the only thing to lull you to sleep.

Doyoung had probably fallen asleep far before you realize; you don’t feel him shift or move and the only sound coming from him are soft, steady breaths. You fall asleep to Doyoung’s breathing, the only thing to ease the grasping feeling in your chest.

You might have felt a ghost of a touch across your cheek in the morning, but you refuse to believe it was Doyoung’s or any attempt at comforting you on his part.

It’s freezing in the mornings and at night—curse the Winter Palace to be perched atop a hill; the clouds occasionally kiss the palace towers, its icy breath shrouding the area. Doyoung tells you it’s one of the warmer regions of the north, and you’d find the harbour further south. The prince of the north knows how to handle cold, and you’ll have to learn too. In fact, you have a lot to learn. You know the kingdom ends at the ice wastelands at the north and the harbour at the south, but you hardly remember the rest of its geography despite your old tutor’s best efforts. So even if you were to try sneaking away to be with yourself, somewhere far for even a little while, you wouldn’t know where to go. You’re too embarrassed to ask Doyoung, and he doesn’t seem like he’d be willing to answer you without some snide remark.

Homesickness comes in waves, and leaves you a little nauseous, a little in despair. It shows on your features, the circles under your eyes, your parched lips, the hollowness in your eyes, or the slowing of your pace. Sometimes you take aimless walks in the evening, sometimes you struggle to breathe at night. The glances from Doyoung don’t scream worry to you, but they aren’t completely at peace either. Perhaps he feels sorry for you. Whatever it is, you don’t need his pity—you’re not a child nor a slave, and you’d rather he look at you as an equal, capable of the same things he is. It is perhaps your work that keeps you sane during these terrible bouts of homesickness—the planning for the trade between kingdoms, the right policy to adopt for the people, how to enhance the economy. You have a say in all of these, and you’d claim to be even better than Doyoung if you hadn’t seen him at work, his thinking sharp and detailed.

If there’s anything you love about the Winter Palace, it’s the view from your room. You can see the far ocean between the two rising pieces of land, the small hills always reminding you of the flower fields in your kingdom. The hills are coated in various hues, and it’s a marvellous sight during different times of day, with the changing moods of the sun. Doyoung occasionally stands beside you to admire the sunsets, but you barely exchange any words, before any one of you goes inside. Sometimes he looks as though he wants to say something, but the silence stays, only broken by the call of the birds or a particularly strong breeze.

The Winter Palace, ironically, faces the mildest of the northern winter. The ones further north aren’t as lucky as you, to survive winter with just a few thick coats and warm boots, and you’re almost glad the capital is here. It could have been closer to the harbour, in your opinion, but that made it vulnerable to spies and attacks from foreign countries. You still hate the stupid weather.

Doyoung might as well represent the climate with the cold words that come out of his mouth. He doesn’t like to appear soft or sweet or helpless in any way, and it irks you. He speaks too bold, too loud even, and he likes making his disapproval obvious. You’ve had arguments with him before on how one should behave in a public setting, so you let it go occasionally but sometimes it just blows out of proportion, how he can get away with whatever he wants. You know it’s not completely true, but the thoughts cross your mind anyway.

As the days leap forward, it seems as though Doyoung and you have made a silent pact to stay at least half a metre away from each other. His touch would be too foreign, and a kiss even more alien, even if it is to prove your sham of a marriage as true. The last time you felt the fleeting touch of his fingers was perhaps at the wedding. You hear rumours now; the people don’t believe in your ‘love’, or the treaty, and if it progresses into further unease between the nations, you’re done for. After several arguments, you adopt a policy with Doyoung of at least linking arms in your monthly strolls through the city.

The war might have died, but there’s still a long time to go before the people accept each other. Doyoung and you still struggle to deal with the aftermath of your grandparents’ actions, and the progress occasionally gets delayed. But Doyoung and you were trained better than this, and you might even come to pride yourself on what you’ve achieved so far. Doyoung still holds his frown during council meetings, but you’ve seen at least a ghost of a smile across his features at your unorderly remarks.

“I don’t understand why the princess must be present during these meetings,” the head of the treasury had once commented.

“It’s Queen for you,” you had retorted, “and if the presence of a woman makes you so uncomfortable, I think you’re underqualified to be in this position.”

Some had snickered at the treasury head’s red face, some had solemnly agreed with you. But Doyoung maintained that neutral expression of his, urging the council to move with matters more pressing, and you still think you had imagined the corners of lips curving upwards. It doesn’t make sense to you how that thought actually gives you a strange flickering hope. The thought of making him smile makes you strangely excited, and a little happy even.

“You don’t like them?” you ask Doyoung, nervously glancing at the palace guard dogs.

“What? They’re alright,” he says, looking the other way.

“You’re scared of dogs?” you ask, amused.

“No,” he presses, his eyebrows knit together. “I’m not afraid of dogs.”

“Whatever you say,” you smile, and make your way towards the dogs, one hand raised to let them know you’re no enemy.

The dogs love you, and the whole palace knows it by now. They sprint across the garden and into your arms, and you’re almost knocked over by the force they arrive with. You scratch the back of their ears and brush your fingers through their fur. Doyoung looks at you, confused but approaches carefully.

“You know they’re trained to kill, right?” he tells you.

“And we’re trained to be fake, but that doesn’t sound too fun, does it?” you reply, not taking your eyes off the dogs.

Doyoung crouches beside you, still beware of the dogs and looks at them. Maybe you’re imagining things again but Kim Dongyoung actually smiles, his gums showing and a little laugh escapes his mouth. It sounds wonderful to you, and you let your smile grow into a wider one.

“That one has funny ears,” he comments.

“Well that one actually chewed off a man’s arm last week,” you inform.

“Oh,” Doyoung retreats his hand that was about to pet the dog.

The two of you laugh and the dogs join in with their little howls, and it’s the first time you feel as if the world isn’t against you.

Months pass by and it is enough to discern rumour from truth for the man you call your husband, the first being his cold-bloodedness. Even you might have thought that of him at the very beginning, but heartless? Doyoung is anything but heartless—you’ve seen the way he treats his subordinates, the council members, his people, even the way he offers a sliver of kindness to prisoners who do not deserve it. He might have been cold towards you but it’s only the ice that forms naturally in a forced relationship. He talks a lot to his subordinates—he talks a lot in fact, but not to you. Well, he does but it’s not enough. He usually initiates small talk in an attempt to make you feel comfortable; you know it’s only for your sake and you are grateful, but it doesn’t feel enough, doesn’t feel whole. Do you expect more from him simply because he’s your husband? You probably don’t deserve it when you haven’t shown him kindness of the same.

Doyoung’s habits worm their way into your subconscious near the end of a year, and you don’t feel any change adjusting yourself to him. It’s a thing you never thought you’d be able to do—to leave the comforts of home and find a new one in a man you barely knew. But now you recognize him through the tone of his voice, the twitch of his lips and the light in his eyes. He hates walking all the way to the courtroom every day, and he especially hates running or any other form of physical exertion. (“Because sweating is disgusting.”) He prefers studying in the library to fencing out in the fields, yet he is still an above average combatant. He can never handle spicy food and it had taken quite a while to cure his hiccups after trying the gifts from the southern prince. Doyoung likes his sleep, and he prefers finishing work early to go back to your bedroom and rest. At least there’s one thing you have in common, and it’s your love for sleep.

Doyoung can’t sleep without a pillow. The first night you’d wedged a pillow between the two of you and he’d narrowed his eyes at you for taking his pillow. The discomfort had only lasted a while before he’d brought in an armful of pillows to place all of them around him. Every day since, you sleep in a castle of pillows, Doyoung’s touch never within your reach. It’s the way you’ve both managed to build your own walls that makes you realize that maybe you should’ve walked out when you had the chance. That maybe you could have found a life elsewhere, somewhere in the midst of freedom and not trapped within your own walls. Studying Doyoung is a thing that tells you how he acts or what he’s about to do, but there’s only so much you can understand when you don’t even know what he’s thinking.

The second winter brings about illness and you are not spared. It’s the first time you see Doyoung worried and a little panicked maybe, but you shake off the idea that it’s because he has any feelings whatsoever for you. If you died, he’d probably have to take a new wife and it’s another hassle all over again. The thought makes you uneasy; just when you’re getting used to the place, you might have to leave again, even if the leave holds freedom.

“Do you always have to move your arms in your sleep?” Doyoung asks, irritably. “You almost toppled over your breakfast.

“Ugh,” you grunt, flipping over to turn your back to him.

“Are you not going to eat?”

“Stop nagging me,” you say. You forgot formalities somewhere in the middle of summer.

“I am not nagging you,” he complains, “You sleep too much.”

“Are you really complaining about someone who’s dying?” you snort.

“You’re not dying,” he replies quietly.

You maintain silence for a few moments, and you think he’s walked out, even if you didn’t hear footsteps. You turn to find warm eyes staring at your form under the blankets, and it’s the first time you see the ice melting.

“Why are you here anyway?” you cough out.

“I just thought I’d stay with my wife,” he mumbles. You hear him clearly, but you don’t know why the blood rushes to your cheeks, for you’re sure he’s referring to what you’d look like to the palace workers and the people. You’re glad he sees the red in your cheeks as sickness, and you hug the blankets closer.

“Are you cold?” he asks, standing up.

“No!” you rush, “don’t come any closer- you’ll get sick!”

“Of course not. I’m not stupid like you.”

“That’s no way to talk to the queen,” you grumble.

“You don’t exactly speak the way you’re supposed to speak to the king either.”

“Touché.”

Doyoung’s gestures grow increasingly warm, and perhaps they had always been warm but you were too busy looking for the cold. Yet you still refuse to give in—it’s a dangerous thing to be the one with feelings in a doomed relationship. Doyoung takes care of you almost better than the nurses; he mostly stays by your side, and makes sure your recovery is the priority. He has your prescription memorized, and he’s faster at providing you with your medicine than your caretakers. Doyoung prefers you stick to the herbal products, and although the taste makes you gag, you have it anyway for fear of the reappearance of Doyoung’s rants. He nags you to no end anyway—apparently anything you do is too dangerous to him. You once called him mother as a result and his annoyed face was funnier than anything that comes out of his mouth (“I’m offended you would think that.” “You’re not as funny as you think you are. No one in the council thinks you’re funny.” “They have no sense of humour, and neither do you, it seems.”). He laughs and jokes with you as a friend and it doesn’t help the warmth blooming in your chest. Marriages like yours aren’t meant to carry love.

“Read to me,” you tell Doyoung, when you watch him trace the edge of the papers of the book he’s reading. The candlelight barely allows you to see his face, but he keeps it posted on a stand beside him to read.

“You’d find it boring,” he says, not moving.

“There you go with assuming again,” you click your tongue.

“Fine,” he says, “It’s about kings and queens.”

“You’re right. It is boring.”

You hear Doyoung’s exasperated sigh and smile to yourself. Why do you love to get on his nerves so much? It doesn’t really matter though; you’d just like to relish in the moment.

“I can tell you a story though,” Doyoung says, cutting the silence. There’s a strange uncertainty in his voice and your ears perk up faster than usual. “It’s a story the villagers like to tell their children—about the time the god of mischief got into trouble for his pranks.”

It’s the first time you realize that you really like Doyoung’s voice. He can sing too as you’ve heard him do in the evenings when he thinks no one is around. His voice, as warm as honey, gives you a taste of hot chocolate on your tongue, or the essence of sunset and the peace of sleep. It’s like the feeling of air filling your lungs and you’re glad you have a reason to breathe. Doyoung’s voice is charming and pacifying at the same time, and strangely home, and you rest easier knowing he’s with you.

You think you should owe your life to Doyoung. It’s quite definitely because of him that Death withdrew his hands from around you, and even in the worst of nights, it was Doyoung that really brought you back. You return from sickness a little kinder to your husband, if not entirely. You speak easier to him, without overflowing jabs at each other and it’s honestly refreshing to be husband and wife for once. Well, not exactly. It’s refreshing to not treat each other as enemies for once, to be friends perhaps.

Doyoung still won’t touch you though, even a gentle caress or a pat on the back, and it’s not like you expect him to. It’s still too foreign, too strange but it gets frustrating at times when you feel your heart in your mouth. You try to shake it off, try to ignore it, bury it, anything, but the cursed feelings gnaw at your chest and soul. Maybe you’ve grown too used to his worried glances, or the care in his voice. Did you miss being taken care of, being a little pampered? Or perhaps, despite your best judgement, had you fallen for the prince of the north? Sometimes you wish Doyoung hadn’t been so kind to you that month.

“Are you not going to bed?” Doyoung asks you, dressed in your night gown, staring ruefully from the balcony. He’s just arrived from the negotiations with the neighbouring kingdom, as you can tell from his full suit and the glimmering crown atop his head that looks like a structure sculpted out of crystals of ice, a thing only the finest of sculptors could do. He stares at you with round eyes, like it’s really you he finds special, and not as if you’re the one that probably ruined his life. You don’t blame him for yours turning out this way, but then again, who knows what he’s thinking?

“Do you want me on the bed with you that bad?” you joke, but Doyoung turns red. Maybe your innuendos really do get to him.

“I just thought you’d be sleeping,” he grumbles, “That’s what you usually do.”

He walks inside, and sets his crown atop the dresser. He’s never treated it as a prized possession, or like its worth; it’s just something he has, but doesn’t particularly want.

You hug yourself when a particularly strong breeze blows your way. Spring never seems to show its face in this kingdom, but you bear it just to look at the stars. They bring you peace, a certain harmony in their existence. Maybe it’s the fact that when you’re gone, when your kingdoms no longer exist, when there are kings and queens no longer, the stars will still be there. And whoever you are, no matter what life you’re having, you can still look at them, still wonder.

Doyoung appears to drape his coat around you, and it startles you, jumping at the sudden contact. Your movement startles Doyoung too as he raises his arms in defence.

“Sorry,” you apologize at the same time.

Doyoung is the first one to smile, and the flutters reappear in your chest.

“Guess the habits don’t go away,” he says, turning his head to look up at the sky.

You shrug and pull the coat closer as subtly as possible. It smells like rich perfume, roses and jasmines, but there’s also another scent, a scent that’s completely Doyoung. You would never admit how calming that smell is, or how you wish you had more of it.

“Do you have a favourite?” Doyoung asks. It’s surprising to see him ask questions again months after he’d given up trying to pry answers out of you.

“Not really,” you tell him. It’s true. You’ve never really thought about it, if you could pick a favourite star. They’re all lovely and bright in their own ways.

“Me neither,” he shrugs.

You stand there with him till the silence becomes unbearable and the air too cold. That night, there are less pillows between the two of you, and your cheeks heat up at the embarrassing thoughts that inevitably cross your mind, the touches that could be.

The few days of spring are celebrated with a ball, the grandest gathering of the entire north. The other northern princes partake in organizing, and the entire lands come to celebrate. It’s not the first time you’re visiting, but it is the first time you’re hosting. Last year, spring had decided to not show up, and the ball had been cancelled altogether, much to your dismay and Doyoung’s relief. (“It’s not very fun when you’re hosting it.” “Maybe you just don’t know how to host.”)

Now that you think about it, hosting is pretty difficult. Although the work has been divided among several managers, you and Doyoung have to oversee all of it, and you think you’ll break your back by the time spring is over. Everything needs to be perfect, from the music and performances to last minute details like the colour of the curtains in the ballroom, or the intensity of light coming from the chandeliers. The fireworks for the last day have to be perfectly timed, and the science staff’s new colours have to be tested. The security needs to be tightened around the entrance, and guards have to be posted at every watchtower. Royalty makes enemies, and it’s never too much to be sure.

The first celebrations take place on the hilltop, the one you can see from your bedroom, full of golden calendulas. There’s an open hall at the centre, and the first day must be celebrated there with a prayer to the gods. The southern gods are different, but everyone tags along nonetheless to watch the ice sculptures and water-dancers that are infamous across the entire land. The dancers appeal to the gods, while the musicians sing hymns and prayers in ancient tongue, in front of the intricately carved block of stone. It’s the ancestral stone of the royal family, and every major event, every inauguration takes place with a flurry of prayers to ancestors and gods. You wonder if Doyoung had to send his prayers too at some point, when he was crowned prince.

Doyoung now can’t care less about the holy rituals and prayers, but he has responsibility to maintain. He stands at the back of the crowd, not really paying attention, although people stop to stare at him occasionally. He wears his navy blue suit with the golden leaves again, with the sparkling diamond crown perched atop is head, and he looks uncomfortable at best. The problem is that he looks dashing, the handsome prince he’s rumoured to be, and the ladies staring at him make you more annoyed than you’d like to admit.

Before you can approach him, he’s pulled by the arm by his brother and they sneak into a room when no one’s looking. Curiosity hasn’t been your most rewarding quality, and you follow, feet nimble and fast.

“You’re okay with this?” Gongmyung whispers when he’s sure they’re out of earshot.

“What?”

“This? The marriage, and everything?”

“I think you’re over a year late,” Doyoung says drily.

“If you haven’t adjusted in over a year, that’s a problem, isn’t it?”

“Not what I meant. Are you really asking me how I feel about something I was forced to do?” Doyoung’s voice raises slightly. “And this long after it’s already happened? You were barely there at the wedding too!”

“Not everything you’re forced to do has to be bad,” Gongmyung says, “And I couldn’t have stopped it even if I were there.”

“Well, you’re wrong and everything is terrible. I never wanted this.”

You feel a pang of hurt in your chest. You thought he was warming up to you, when in reality, he’s probably been hating every second he’s with you. Hell, he probably blames you for the marriage like you blamed him in the beginning. You start walking away, careful as to not alert them, and Gongmyung’s chiding fades away as quick as possible.

Well, if Doyoung really doesn’t care, why should you? You take a seat in the middle of the audience, hopefully blended in and replay all your interactions with Doyoung, anger bubbling in your chest. Was he pretending to be nice for your sake? Does he think of you as some poor creature that needs pity? Or does he hate you so much that he wants to hurt you, take your heart and burn it?

A gentle tap on your shoulder snaps you out of it, and you’re met with the last person you want to see. You honestly thought your outfit was inconspicuous enough.

“Why are you here?” Doyoung asks. “You’re supposed to sit at the royal table.”

“I don’t want to,” you scowl.

Doyoung seems to be a little taken aback by your sour mood, but he retaliates nonetheless.

“You’re being childish!” he accuses. “What’s got you so upset?”

You.

“Is that what you think of me? A child?” you grumble.

“You’re certainly acting like one,” Doyoung says, his lips curled into a frown.

“I don’t care, I don’t even want to be here,” you say, getting up to leave.

Doyoung grabs your arm, and even through the silk gloves, his touch is as cold as ice.

“Let me go,” you says, your voice low, and Doyoung complies with a nervous gulp.

You don’t speak to him the rest of the day, and go to bed early just to avoid him.

Doyoung spends the next few days wondering what went wrong, why you’re either avoiding him or getting into more and more arguments with him. He hates it, the way he loses his temper with you, how you’re the one seeing this side of him that no one has seen with the exception of his brother. He hates this part of himself, and you’re the last person he wants to be seeing that.

The morning starts with yet another argument, and Doyoung sighs internally. Sometimes he wishes he could shut your pretty little mouth with a kiss, but the thought itself is weirdly embarrassing to Doyoung, and his face gets too hot when he thinks of it. Will he ever be able to tell you? That he’s fallen for you despite his best efforts, despite fate being against the two of you?

Why had he? Is it because he felt like a boy, not a prince, with you? Or is it because how easy it’s become to talk to you? Maybe the fact that you’re almost as good as him at pulling up strategies, and coming up with efficient design plans. Whatever it is, the blooming feeling in his chest cares for none of that, only seeking to be with you. This isn’t the kind of falling in love he thought he’d experience as a child—in fact, he didn’t even think he’d have time for it. The princes in the storybooks were hardly like him; they were strong and stupidly brave, extremely impulsive much to Doyoung’s distaste. He just assumed that’s the kind of men that women liked, and he directed his attention towards more pressing matters, like learning war strategies and how to rule. It’s not like he had a choice, but he can’t lie that he didn’t enjoy those classes.

“I don’t…I don’t feel good enough,” you say, and Doyoung snaps out of his thoughts.

He sighs. “You keep giving excuses. Tonight’s the main event, with the fireworks and all, you know?”

“I just don’t want to go,” you say, crossing your arms.

“You act like such a child sometimes,” Doyoung complains, at the end of his wits.

“You don’t even understand me,” you say, your voice low. “I have my reasons and you keep treating them like rubbish, like they don’t really matter.”

“Well, you’ve never told me them,” Doyoung says, rising to his full height. He loves the way you have to look up at him, your lips slightly parted, and oh, how he wishes you had met under different circumstances, had different feelings for each other, anything. Mostly, he wishes you would see him the way he sees you.

“You’re just picking fights on purpose,” Doyoung whispers, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Wouldn’t that make it easier?” you ask.

“Make what easier?”

“Us.”

Doyoung doesn’t respond—he still doesn’t understand, why are you looking at him so cold? Was he misunderstood, did he do something wrong? He hates the uncertainty of unspoken words, usually preferring to talk things out. But you definitely didn’t want to face him, so he let you go, the feeling in his chest weighing him down.

Doyoung admits that you look pretty in the royal dresses, but you look prettier in your nightgown gazing at the stars. Stars are too romanticized in his opinion, but they feel important when you look at them like that. The night is as majestic as it was planned to be and Doyoung sighs in relief when one by one all the events turn out to be a success. The only blemish on the perfect nights seems to be the fact that you are still ignoring Doyoung, darting from corner to corner, always out of his grasp. His frown deepens, watching you talk and laugh with almost everyone; your old friends are there too and he can’t help the jealousy sprouting in his chest. He doesn’t feel like the High Prince of the North, Kim Dongyoung, but more like a little boy, who’s losing his patience and maturity by the minute.

The last shred of Doyoung’s self-control vanishes when one of the southern princes wraps an arm around you. He strides over to your group, flashing the sweetest smile that sickens even him and excuses the two of you. He holds your hand tender but firm and pulls you out of the celebratory hall.

You know you’ve probably gone too far with your temper tantrums when Doyoung pulls you outside the hall. Yes, you’re being a little childish maybe, but at the end, you don’t want to be the one with a broken heart, forced to be with the one who broke it. If you told him, would he laugh at you? Or would he tell you he’s sorry? Would you be forced to live with the shame, the rejection, the strangling feelings? It’s better to distance yourself from the beginning, let the fights warm you with their fire if love won’t.

Doyoung’s grip on your hand is slightly uncomfortable—he’s wearing those cursed gloves again and not even the silk ones. You know he likes his hands at a comfortable temperature but it’s ridiculous how he never seems to part with them.

“Do-doyoung,” you say, pulling at his hand so he stops and turns to face you. He looks dishevelled, a slight anger in his eyes and lips pursed.

“My hand,” you say.

“Sorry,” he chokes out, retreating his hand. He looks as though he’s fighting several thoughts, deciding what to do. He bites the inside the inside of his cheek, and you smile at how he looks like a rabbit, like a mountain hare you’ve seen around here to be precise.

“What’s so funny?” Doyoung asks, furrowing his brows.

“You,” you laugh.

“Oh really now?” He raises an eyebrow. “Last time I remember, you said I’m not very funny.”

“Your face is funny.”

Doyoung scowls, but seems to regain composure.

“Are you going to tell me now?” he asks, his expression back to determined. “What did I do?”

“What did you do? You did nothing.” Exactly. You did nothing.

“Do you blame me?” he asks, stepping closer. “For the marriage?”

“Not any more than you blame me,” you tell him.

There’s a long silence before Doyoung responds, his voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t blame you.”

“Then I don’t blame you,” you say, truthfully. You never have blamed him.

Doyoung runs his fingers through his hair, a sudden but small smile gracing his lips. He steps closer once again, and clears his throat as if he’s about to say something. He looks a little nervous, like what he’s about to say carries weight, like it’s a secret others can’t know. He glances down at your lips and your heart catches in your throat. Despite everything, you still find your voice, still gather enough wits to joke.

“What? You want to kiss me? Hm?” you tease, the sarcasm dripping. Your voice goes down a notch as you grin. “Place your mouth over mine in the dark corridors where no one is looking?”

“Don’t provoke me,” he responds, the vein in his neck appearing to aid the strain in his voice. The sudden seriousness surprises you, and you find yourself face to face with a rather pissed off Doyoung. It’s never nice when his voice drops lower than usual.

“It’s just a stupid show to you, isn’t it?” he starts, the anger obvious in his voice. “You’re okay with just pretending- it doesn’t really matter to you, right?”

You don’t say anything and he continues, “Do you even know how hard it is? To be the one in love in a one-sided relationship? Do you even care?”

You stare at him in stunned silence. “It’s awful, you know? I tried, I tried my best, but do you know how hard it is to not touch you? To not hold you, to just throw my feelings away? Of course not. You don’t know how scary it is- I feel like I’ll burn at your touch.”

“There you go with assuming again,” you grumble, before raising your voice to a proper volume. “You really think I don’t know the feeling? When all I’ve been wanting is for you to kiss me this entire goddamn party?”

Doyoung purses his lips. It’s not a regular sight, him being speechless. He unconsciously moves forward, and you press a hand against his burning cheeks.

“Doyoung,” you whisper, sudden boldness coursing through you, “Kiss me.”

Doyoung doesn’t waste a moment, cupping your face and leaning in. The feeling is exquisite, far more than anything you’ve tasted, or smelt, even if Doyoung bumped his nose against yours a little too hard at first. He takes his time kissing you, the repressed feelings pouring out as though this is his only chance at redeeming them. The pressure against your lips is the warmest thing you’ve felt in the northern kingdoms, and you smile against Doyoung’s lips. He pushes you against the wall for better support, and you find your arms moving to wrap around him, subjecting yourself to him and his touch as much as you can. He tastes sweet, like the wine he had tasted earlier and the kiss is slow, fulfilling and perfect.

“Please get rid of those stupid gloves,” you murmur against his lips.

Doyoung removes them wordlessly, and discards them into some corner, before pressing his thumb against your cheek. His hands are warmer than you remember, and you take them in yours to kiss his knuckles. If he wasn’t red enough already from the kiss, he turns redder and you feel your ego swell some more. You lean back in, and your lips press gently against his this time, and he hums in satisfaction. You kiss in the dark corridors where no one can see you, but it’s the kind of kiss that is supposed to be spoken of only between two.

“You’re very stupid,” Doyoung tells you in the morning, eyes still sleepy.

“I was expecting a ‘good morning, love of my life!’ but okay,” you glare at him. It’s the first time the pillows aren’t there between you, but Doyoung’s touch is as good and soft as any.

“You made me so worried the past few days,” he says, a frown making its way onto his face.

“You didn’t look very worried when your tongue was in my mouth.”

“Do you have to be this way?” Doyoung says, his face and ears a brilliant red.

“I was kidding but I couldn’t resist the idea of your blushy face,” you say, smugly.

“I don’t think that’s a word, and I swear I’ll get back at you one of these days,” he says, glaring.

You smile and place your fingers on Doyoung’s cheek. You’re glad to find them still warm from the sudden rush of blood. Doyoung smiles back, his lips stretching into his adorable gummy smile, and the mushy feeling comes back at the sight.

“I didn’t know it would turn out this way,” you say.

“Me neither,” he breathes out.

You move closer to Doyoung and rest your head against his chest. His heartbeat, the rise and fall of his chest, all of them give you a feeling you didn’t think you’d be able to feel after getting married, after handing over your freedom. The touch of a lover, kisses pressed against your mouth, they were all stories made to charm little princesses. And although you know they came at a cost, you wouldn’t take it back. You don’t regret it, not at all now. Doyoung gives you peace, a different kind of freedom altogether and you wouldn’t ever let that go.

Doyoung rubs his thumb in circles at the small of your back, humming a familiar tune. You cherish the moments now, for you never know what the future is hiding. You know you’ll be throwing a lot less tantrums from now on—Doyoung likes talking it out, and for once, you’ll admit it’s the better way to sort problems. It’s the way the little things mesh to bind your lives that makes you see clearly. You’re lucky—you really are, to have fallen in love with the man you were supposed to. But you’re blessed to have fallen in love with a man who fell in love with you, who you wouldn’t regret spending the end of your days with.

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