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divinolenta · 3 years

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comforting childe and diluc after a nightmare

character x gender neutral reader, fluff (angst?)/sfw

trigger warning: brief mention of blood and death

additional notes: this was requested by a lovely anon ♡ i had fun writing these (had the most fun picturing what nightmares they would have but you didn’t hear that from me)! i listened to “the moon song” by karen o while writing childe’s scenario and “butterfly’s repose” by zabawa for diluc’s, which is why i’ve included lyrics in their respective scenarios! feel free to imagine yourself singing another song to them, if you’d like :) there are potential spoilers for their backstories, so read at your own risk.

childe:

he is cold, frigid air nipping at his skin viciously as he flees, blinking away snowflakes that cling to his eyelashes. pursued by ravenous wolves and beasts, he loses his footing, falling into a seemingly innocent fissure in the earth. recognizing the dark realm that haunts his memories, he panics, searching for an escape. no, please, not this again.

too late, he lands, trapped in this hell once again. pain jolts through his bones and a gasp leaves his lips when he places weight on his sprained ankle. struggling to stand, childe grips the sword in his hand, hope dying when he finds that several monsters block his path. slaughtering them quickly, childe wipes off the blood that splattered on his face.

“b-brother?”

he turns around, shock evident on his face when he sees his younger siblings, cowering away from him. the snow surrounding them is stained with crimson, and his hands are slick, viscous blood slowly dripping on the floor. tonia wraps her arms around anthon and teucer, shielding them with her body. childe takes a step forward, and extends a trembling hand toward them, calling their names weakly.

“stay back! you....you monster!” a shriek rips from tonia’s throat, gripping her brothers’ closer to her, her terrified expression mirroring theirs. childe recoils at the lack of recognition in their gazes. no matter how heroic and righteous he believed himself to be, he is merely a tainted soul, a monster who could never redeem himself.

lurching awake, childe’s momentary relief is quickly replaced by bitter contempt. a nightmare? he almost laughs, running a hand through his mussed hair, but his hammering heart and shaking hands tell another story. childe needs a breather, and he eyes the door, longing to escape the past and lose himself in the beauty that nature offers. perhaps he will meander along the ocean and watch the waves kiss the shore and recede, and let it wash away his sins. sitting up, he swings his legs over the side of the bed, but it creaks underneath his weight and childe cringes at the sound that resonates throughout the room.

“where are you going?” you ask groggily, squinting blearily at him.

“i just,” childe begins, but before he could continue, shudders ran through his body, interrupting him. you tug him back into the warmth of the duvet, hands cradling his face while you peer at him in concern.

“i’m sorry...” childe squeezes his eyes shut, hands clenching tightly. he tries to calm down his erratic breaths, apologizing meekly as his hands try to nudge you away.

what if he hurts you too?

but you hush him, pulling him closer so that his head rests against your collarbone, limbs tangled together.

you start to sing, the familiar melody striking a chord in his heart. your voice is hoarse and muddled with sleep, but you gradually fall into a soothing rhythm, like the euphonious and undulating cadences of a piano.

i'm lying on the moon

my dear, i'll be there soon

it's a quiet starry place

time's we're swallowed up in space

we're here a million miles away

childe sheds his brash and arrogant exterior and allows himself to get pulled under by the overwhelming tides of his emotions, just like the waves of the ocean that he adores so much. he feels like he’s fourteen again, but this time, you’re here with him. he grasps your shirt tightly, and anchors himself, tears leaking from his closed eyes, falling on to your skin, seeping into the fabric of your shirt.

there's things i wish i knew

there's no thing I'd keep from you

it's a dark and shiny place

but with you my dear, i'm safe

and we're a million miles away

he is consoled by the fact that you do not view him as a monster, and when he’s with you, he can be whoever he chooses to be. he does not need to be tartaglia, childe or even the ajax he used to be, rather, he is content with simply being your lover and spending every hour of the day with you.

diluc:

the moment diluc sees his surroundings, he knows. he knows what’s going to happen, and how everything will go down. the carriage rocks back and forth as it travels over the uneven path, and everything is calm. too calm. swallowing thickly, he turns to his father, heart twinging at the sight of his familiar figure, with hair of flame, so similar to his own.

horses whinny frantically in the distance, and diluc tries to warn his father, but is cut off by the carriage toppling over as they lose control of the reins. a roar shakes the very earth and diluc is thrown against the side of the carriage, hissing in pain when his hand gingerly presses against the bruise on his head.

“father! wait!” diluc scrambles to his feet when his father begins to rise to his feet to investigate and protect the transport fleet. his father looks at him inquiringly, and diluc advances, clutching the hem of his coat in an effort to make him stay.

“you mustn’t go, father, your life will be in peril.” he implores, and even though he tries his best to keep his voice steady, the anguish he truly feels does not fully dissipate.

“i can’t afford to lose you again” is what diluc wants to say, but can’t muster the courage to form the words.

“my son, is that not what a man like your father should do?” his father rests a heavy hand on diluc’s shoulder, and his heart sinks in response.

“but, father-” diluc presses, but his father simply shoots him a reprimanding look.

“i’ll be back soon, just wait for me here.” he lets out a booming laugh, and ruffles diluc’s hair with an affectionate gaze, before walking off, summoning his weapon.

horrified, diluc calls out, but his pleas fall on deaf ears. he desperately wills his body to move, but it’s like vines have erupted from the dirt and tangled around his legs, trapping him in a prison of thorns.

all he can do is stand there, watching from the sidelines. even as his father gulps his dying breaths, all diluc can do is clutch on to him, and pray to whatever god that still remains, while the very light of his soul eclipses.

and like an incompetent fool, all diluc does is weep and regret.

hands shake his shoulders, and diluc snaps out of his dream, released from the tormenting illusion. his gaze meets yours, and when he reaches up to touch his face, his fingers come away damp from the tears that streak his skin.

you’re seated on the bed, sheets pooling around your waist. your brow furrows, and diluc opens his mouth, about to let false reasurances tumble from his lips to alleviate the look of unease you don. how many times had he dreamed of the incident? how many times would he continue to blame himself?

diluc himself does not know the answer.

you lean forward, hands tenderly brushing away the tears that remain, and diluc loses himself in your eyes. eyes really are the window to the soul, he thinks, everything is so clear, like how he knows that the sun will rise, signalling a new beginning. your eyes betray every emotion that flicker through their depths.

“i’m okay.” he whispers, but both you and him know that he’s lying. diluc lies back down, and he gestures for you to do so as well, but you situate him so he lays with his head in your lap.

you card your fingers through his hair carefully, your delicate touches evoking a chill that runs down his spine. you begin to hum softly, voice lilting in an ethereal melody before words surface and accompany it. diluc feels like he’s simultaneously floating and sinking. he wants to weep, for barbatos was lenient enough to grant him such a caring and understanding lover to someone as undeserving as he is.

for a moment, he wonders if you are perhaps hestia incarnate. the warmth and love with which you behold him with is surreal, and god knows that diluc is not capable of replicating or returning such affection.

the shadows in your head

they've got you down again

got you feelin' low

your voice is an intimate whisper, and diluc welcomes the warmth that it entwines him in. he catches your hand, bringing it to his lips so he can press a chaste kiss against it. moonlight slants against your features, and diluc can only stare in awe as you continue to sing, body slightly swaying along as your hand aimlessly caresses his hair.

but it's time to rest, now

let it all melt now

wipe your tears

“thank you.” he murmurs, eyes falling close as your voice lulls him into a sleep. one that he knows will not be plagued with nightmares. you don’t respond, but diluc can hear the hint of a smile in your voice.

it’s a sight to behold: diluc ragnvindr, a man with a renowned reptuation of having a heart of ice, melting in your embrace. out of everything, perhaps your love is what ignites him, and brings back the fervor that was once lost.

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bteezxyewriter12 · 3 years

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Can I Help?

Pairing- Hongjoong x Named Reader

Genre- Smut

Word Count- 3.4k

Includes- Sex, Oral, Fingering, Love confessions

Masterlists- check out for more fics

📝Masterlists 📝ATEEZ Masterlist

📝Hongjoong Masterlist

Hongjoong POV

Using the key, I open the door to Joanne's apartment

Work was shitty today. I couldn't find the right melodies to mix together to make a song. Then the lyrics wouldn't come. And I was frustrated

I called my best friend, Joanne. She talked to me for awhile, reassuring me that I just needed a break, to eat and maybe nap. I asked her if I could hang out with her after I was done to relax. She agreed and we planned to order food and watch a movie or two later on. I tried to work more but eventually I gave up and left early

I close the door, looking for Joanne. She's not in the kitchen or the living room. I walk down the hall to her makeup room but she's not there either

"Hongjoong", I hear her calling

But it sounds different. Not like how she normally yells my name when I get here. I walk towards her room, her door slightly ajar

"Fuck Hongjoong", she moans

Moans? What the hell? I push the door open and my mouth drops to the floor

She's....fuck me...she's on her bed. And she's naked, legs wide open, her fingers in her pussy and her other hand rubbing her clit. Her eyes are closed, she's biting her pretty lip and her fucking nipples are so hard

"Hongjoong, god", she whimpers, "Wanna cum on your cock"

Oh my fucking God. I'm so fucking hard right now. I never thought she'd see me like this . That she'd masterbate to thoughts of me. I've jerked off to fantasies of her for years. She's the one girl I thought I could never have

The only girl I ever fell in love with . And want so fucking bad

Walking closer to her, I softly call her name

"Jo"

Her eyes snap open, her hands away from her, legs closed and she looks at me horrified

"Joongie, shit. I uh...I thought you were coming later"

I swallow hard, not saying anything

"It's not what it looks like. I...uh...you were gonna hang out and I just had you in my head at the moment-"

"Can I help you?", I blurt

Then mentally face palm myself. Why did I-

"Yes", she answers immediately, surprising the shit out of me

But I just nod and sit on her bed, and slowly touch her legs. Her skin trembles against my touch and fuck I like it. My gaze runs all over her body, noticing the tattoos and piercings I had no clue were there

My god she's stunning, better than I knew she'd be. She was always beautiful to me but seeing her completely naked- perfect

I gently grip her thighs and open her legs again, sucking in a breath. She's so wet, her pussy glistening. I move my hand towards her and touch her, moving my fingers up and down

She moans softly making my cock twitch. I slide two fingers inside her and gasp when she clenches then tightly. Moving my fingers in and out, she floods my hand with her juice, getting so tight on me

"Joongie", she moans

Holy shit, hearing her moan my name turns me on. I add another finger in her and put my thumb on her clit, rubbing it while I fuck her. She moans, her eyes closed and pleasure on her face

"Joongie...I...I.."

"C'mon baby girl", I urge her

I want her to cum so bad. To be the one to give her an orgasm is what I've wanted for so long. I move my fingers faster feeling her close on them

"Fuck Hongjoong", she cries coming, her hand gripping my arm hard

I watch her creamy cum cover my fingers, biting my lip hard. Fuck I want it in my mouth

I pull my fingers out, lay down on my stomach, kissing her thighs until my lips kiss her swollen pink lips. Then I bury my tongue in her cunt

"Hongjoong oh my fucking god!", she yells

Her cum hits my tongue and I'm blown away by how good she fucking tastes. It's insane. I move my tongue so fast, up and down then swirling around

"Hongjoong, fuck Hongjoong!"

Her hands bury in my hair, pulling hard, her hips moving hard. She's fucking my face and I fucking love it. My face is so wet from her juice and her scent is driving me fucking insane

"Fuck jagi, you're pussy smells so fucking good. Tastes fucking amazing", I tell her

She moans louder, breathing harder

"Want you to cum in my mouth baby", I say

"I...I..."

"Wanna taste you more jagi. I can't get enough"

I slide my tongue inside her small hole, licking her

"Yes Hongjoong! Don't stop! Oh god I'm gonna cum!", she yells

Yes yes yes

I move my tongue in and out of her, her cunt throbbing on my tongue. God it feels good and sends pleasure down my spine

"HONGJOONG!", she screams, exploding on my tongue, her cum all over

And tasting so fucking good

"Mmmm good girl", I praise her, licking in and out, making sure I get everything, "Tastes so fucking good. So sweet"

"Fuck Joongie"

"Again", I say, flicking her clit

"Again?", she moans

"Again", I confirm, "I need more of my favorite taste"

Sucking her clit in my mouth, I tug and pull, sucking hard

"Oh god", she cries, her pussy drenching my face more

"Mmm baby, feels good?"

"Yes Joongie. So good. You're tongue is the best. You're mouth is the best. You're the best"

Glancing up, her eyes are closed, pleasure all over her face. Pleasure I'm putting there. Her chest is heaving from how hard she's breathing, her hand pulling mercilessly at my hair. Surprisingly it doesn't hurt but feels good

Putting my tongue on her clit, I move it, licking as I suck

"HONGJOONG OH GOD!", she screams, coming, her legs shaking hard, holding my head against her

Delving my tongue back into her cunt, I lick up her creamy cum, savoring the way it slides down my throat. So fucking good

"Fuck jagi", I groan, licking up everything, "I could drink from your pussy all day"

"Yeah Joongie, you can. I'll let you baby", she moans, so fucked out

Kissing up her body, her skin trembles against my lips and I fucking love it so much

"My baby is so sensitive", I say, then press another kiss on her stomach, my fingers running up and down her sides

"Mmmm"

Moving to her neck, I give her a kiss then lift my head to her. Her eyes shift to mine and I fall into the beautiful brown. She doesn't break eye contact, her hand softly touching my cheek

Lifting her head up, she presses her lips to mine. Fire ignites in my veins, flaring all over just from one kiss. One amazing first kiss

Her arms move around me, holding me against her. The kiss gets more fiery when her tongue slides in my mouth and immediately touch hers with mine

Fuck. So good. Her hands move up my body, pulling my shirt up as she goes higher. I move my arms, helping her to take it off

She throws it somewhere in her room, her small warm hands immediately touching my back. God, I've wanted her to touch me for so long. She kisses my neck, shivers running up my spine

Suddenly she moves her hands to my chest, pushing me back

Confused and worried I did something wrong, I move off her, sitting on my knees

Her eyes slowly move from my stomach up to my face, biting her lip

"Joongie", she says softly, moving closer and kissing my chest, "I had no clue"

She continues to kiss my chest, my body all over

"What jagi?", I ask, desperate to know what she was going to say

"I had no idea you were so beautiful cariño"

My mind implodes. Not only did she called me beautiful, she called me cariño. A nickname in Spanish that she said she'd always want to call a boyfriend who deserves it

She's calling me that . Pure joy rushes into every nerve of my body. Sitting back, she looks down, her hands pulling my belt through the buckle. She takes it off, then quickly undoes my jeans

Moving off the bed, I take them off and she moves to the edge of the bed. Her hands slide under the waistband of my boxers, slowly pulling them down. I feel myself blush, getting shy that she's going to see me

She inhales sharply and I look at her to see her staring at my cock, biting her lip

"It's so big Joongie"

My eyes widen as I'm shocked to hell

"I...uh...I"

"Shh cariño"

She drops my boxers to the floor and I step out of them, kicking them away. I'm about to get back on the bed when she moves, looking up at me as she kneels down

My heart starts pounding watching her. It's she gonna...

"Fuck", I moan, watching her tongue lick my cock from base to tip

Oh god it feels so good. She licks my tip over and over, my cum that was leaking on her tongue

"Tastes good cariño"

Fucking hell she's going to kill me. Her pretty lips wrap around my head and she sucks hard

"Oh fuck!" I yell, pleasure hitting me hard

Her mouth moves so fast, sucking harder and faster. She wraps her hand around my length, jerking me off as she sucks. I can't tear my eyes away from her, my fingers running in her hair on their own

I watch her push down on my shaft, taking more of me in her mouth. She moans and I'm shocked that it sounds like she likes it. She gets my entire cock in her mouth and I'm so fucking surprised

She swallows, making me whimper from how tight her throat is. Sliding back, she moves fast, taking me in her throat hard

"Oh god", I moan

She moves fast, bobbing her head back and forth. I still can't believe this is happening . That she actually has my cock in her mouth. I have to be dreaming

The pleasure increases when she starts sucking as she moves, her tongue on the underside of my length

"Oh fuck", I groan, feeling my cock run along her tongue

I'm gonna cum. I can't hold it

"Jjjj...Jo I'm...I'm gonna cum", I warn her, not sure if that's what she wants

I feel her take my other hand, lacing our fingers and I look at her. She nods, sucking and I let go

"FUCK JOANNE, oh god", I cry, coming hard down her throat

She keeps moving, prolonging my orgasm and I've never felt this good before ever. I watch her swallow over and over and Christ it's so fucking hot. Knowing it's my cum in her throat

"So good Joongie", she informs me

Fuck. She stands, pressing her body against me, she puts her arms around my neck, pulling me into a kiss

I shiver when he lips touch mine, loving how her kisses feel. My fingers brush against her cheek softly as I slide my tongue inside her mouth. She kisses me back hard, her hands sliding into my hair from the back

I wrap my other arm around her holding her as close as she can get to me. All the kissing and soft touches, make me hard again, my hard on pressing into her stomach

That was quick but I'm not questioning it. Her hands move to my waist, turning me towards the bed

"Want to ride your cock", she says, pushing me back on the bed

Oh god yes

"Can I? Please Joongie? I've been thinking about it for such a long time"

A long time? Is she serious? She thought about me this way? Jesus

"Please? I promise I'll cream your cock so good. And you can cum inside"

Fuck me, yes please

"Yeah jagi", I answer

She moves so fast, climbing on me and getting my head in. Fucking hell she's so wet. Sliding down she takes all my cock inside her

"Fuck yes", she cries as I gasp from how tight she is

Like unbelievably tight. She puts her hands on my stomach and moves, bouncing on me. Pleasure hits me hard as I go in and out of her, opening her just enough for my cock to slide back in. She has a death grip on my cock and it's so fucking pleasurable

"Oh fuck Joongie. You fit inside me so perfectly", she moans

Yes I do. I really do. But I'm not surprised. I knew, somehow I knew we'd fit together

"Feels so fucking good. Fuck you were made to be inside me. Made for me"

Happiness fills my body hearing her . She thinks the same thing I do

"I was made for you too Hongjoong", she says looking down at me

I nod, running my hands up and down her thighs, "We were made for each other jagi"

She nods, "Yeah Joongie"

Her bouncing becomes harder, her throbbing getting harder . I can't tear my eyes away watching her ride me. Her bouncing breasts, her sweat slicked body and hair, the look on her face as she bites her lip looking at me

Like she wants me so much. The intense look in her eyes makes me shiver. She comes down on me, my cock smashing into a spot making her scream loudly

"Feels good baby?", I ask, noting where her spot it so I can fuck her there later. She nods

"Keep going jagi. I want you to cum on me"

"Fuck Joongie, I want to"

Moving my hand to her clit, I play with her to get her to cum faster. I fucking want it on me so much

"C'mon baby. Give it to me", I urge her

"HONGJOONG", she cries

I watch her orgasm on me and fuck me, she's so fucking gorgeous. Pleasure shoots in my body from how hard her pussy spasms around my cock. I look down to see her creamy cum soaking my cock so well

Fucking hell. I want it again, I want more of her cum all over me. I thrust up into her cunt, smashing right into her spot

"HONGJOONG!", she yells, holding onto my wrists

I grip her hips, moving her up and down my cock, while I fuck into her

"More Jo. I want more. You creamed my cock so fucking good. I need more on me"

She whimpers softly, pleasure all over her face

"You feel so fucking amazing when you cum on me. I need to feel it again and again."

"You feel so good Joongie. So good to cum on"

Good, I'm glad. I want to be good for her, I want her to want to be with me

"Yeah jagi? I can fuck you everyday if you want"

"Yes Joongie. I want you everyday. Please"

"You have me baby. I promise"

"You have me Joongie, I promise"

Fuck, I hope she's not just saying this in the moment. I want her so much. As I keep going, I feel her getting ready

"Gonna cum for me baby? I feel you"

She nods

"Good girl", I praise her

She yells my name so loudly, tightening and clenching on me so hard, exploding again. I keep moving her, fucking her through it, watching her cum completely cover my cock. God, I love that sight

When she finishes, she sits on my cock, rocking back and forth, her pussy squeezing the life from my cock. Feels so fucking good. Her hands move back to my stomach softly touching

"My Joongie's abs are hot", she murmurs

I'm glad she thinks so. I don't have much since I just started working out. They're forming but they're kinda like baby abs. I'm no where near like Seonghwa, San or Mingi

He hands travel slowing up, her fingers grazing my skin on my chest, making me whimper softly

"You're so beautiful Joongie. Everything about you. I hate the girl that's going to get to be with you"

I'm shocked to hell that she said that. My gaze is on her but she doesn't look at me

"I hate the girl you're going to love", she says so softly

What? Does that mean....she wants me?

"You can't hate yourself jagi", I answer

She slowly looks up at me, confusion in her huge gorgeous brown eyes

"What?"

I take a breath. This is it, I'm gonna tell her

"You can't hate the girl I love when that girl is you"

"Joongie stop playing around", she scolds

I sit up, looking up at her

"I'm not joking. I love you so much. I...I was terrified to tell you. I didn't think you saw me like that. Even now, I thought that maybe you were just horny and wanted sex. But after you said that...I love you. I wanted you for so long."

"Me too Joongie. I always wanted you. I thought you only saw me as your best friend. And I didn't want to ruin anything between us"

Jesus if I wasn't such a chicken, we could of been together a long time ago. All the needless pining I did could if been avoided

"Nothing is gonna be ruined jagi. I love you. You're mine now"

She smiles so brightly, running her fingers in my hair, "You're mine"

I nod, so fucking happy. I was hers. Always. Her lips touch mine, kissing me deeply, her kiss full of love. It blows my mind

Turning us, I move on top of her, wrapping her legs around me. Pushing back inside, her body arches into mine and I wrap my arms around her body, holding her right against me

I thrust in slowly, softly, my mouth moving against hers. Her arms feel so good around my neck, holding me close. God this is everything I ever wanted

Her hips move to meet my thrusts and we move together over and over, pleasure washing over me

"Joongie", she breathes, breaking the kiss

I lean my forehead against hers, her beautiful eyes looking into mine. The love I see there makes my breath catch. She really loves me. Pure euphoria fills my heart

"Hongjoong", she moans, getting impossibly tight on me, her body trembling as she orgasms

The pure ecstasy I feel tips me over the edge

"Jagi, I...I'm gonna.."

"Inside baby. Cum inside me", she whimpers

I let go, bliss taking over, coming deep inside her. She squeezes me, taking everything I have and prolonging my pleasure

"My baby", I moan

"My Joongie"

When I finish, I pull out laying next to her with her turning to face me. She smiles at me and I can't stop the smile that bursts on my face

She touches my cheek so softly, "You're smile is beautiful Joongie"

"Not as beautiful as yours jagi. You're makes everything better"

She giggles and it's the cutest thing in the world

"I love you", she tells me

"I love you", I answer

"Still wanna watch a movie?", she asks

"Yeah baby. That is what I came over to do"

She laughs and it the most beautiful sound. We get up and I put my boxers on. When I look up, my mouth drops

She put my shirt on and she looks so fucking hot in it. It's not too baggy and stops right below her perfect round ass. She going to have to wear my clothes more often. Like everyday

She takes her remote and goes to the bed again

"Lay with me baby"

I nod, climbing in next to her. She lays down facing the tv and I lay behind her, propping my head in my hand, my other arm around her, pulling her back against my chest

"So Disney?"

"You know it", I answer

"Which movie?"

"The little mermaid"

She looks up at me, "You don't have to watch it for me Joongie"

"Yeah. I want my princess to be happy. It's your favorite movie jagi and I like it too. So put it on ok?"

She smiles, "Ok baby. Thanks"

She puts the movie on, then asks, "Can you stay over tonight?"

Absolutely

"Yeah jagi. Tonight and every night"

"Yay!", she cheers

God she's so cute

I kiss her softly, then we settle in and watch the movie in each other's arms

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littlemisslol-fic · 2 years

Text

The Silent Opera

Chapter Ten: I Need a Beat to Give This Tune

Summary: In a world populated by Soulmates— people drawn together by wordless music connecting them to their destined other half— Varian is an anomaly. He is Songless, someone without a Soulmate of his own. He makes due with the cards dealt to him, used to being the castle oddity by now, but when an interesting blond takes up residence in the castle, he can’t help but be drawn to him.

Hugo, on the other hand, is horrified to find that not only is his Soulmate a palace brat, but that Varian doesn’t hear him back— meaning Hugo is trapped in a one-sided bond. When presented with a horrible choice between completing the theft Donella had sent him to do, or taking a frightening step into vulnerability, Hugo finds himself at an impasse he just might not be able to charm his way out of.

And then politics get involved.

Notes: Mornings after are always SO awkward

Hugo wakes early the next morning. His brain feels sluggish and slow in the dawn of a new day. The blond groans as he rolls a bit, a hand haphazardly fumbling until he can find his glasses. His mouth tastes disgusting—lips chapped and tongue dry as a desert—which always happens when he drinks. As the room starts to fuzz into reality, Hugo groans. It’s too damn early for this shit. He goes to roll back over and snuggle back into bed when something stops him. Or, more specifically, someone.

There’s something warm snuggled close to him. For a second he basks in it; it’s been a while since he’s had anyone to wake up to, his usual bedmates vanish before the sun can rise. It’s nice. They’re pressed back against Hugo’s chest with the two of them entangled together. The feeling of skin on skin means they’re both shirtless at the very least… must have been a fun night. Hugo presses his face into the junction of his bedmate’s neck and shoulder, pressing a small kiss into the freckled skin. They mumble in their sleep, clearly not even close to waking up yet. Their voice is familiar…

Wait.

Hugo blinks himself awake blearily. His hand finally finds his glasses. Hugo looks to the other side of the bed, his blurry vision making it so that he only really can see a black blob on the other side. His tired mind sluggishly tries to remember what happened—and he’d better hurry. Small snores drift from the other person’s mouth, whistling slightly through buck teeth.

Oh.

Oh right.

He manages to get his glasses on at last. Varian’s sleeping figure snaps into view, the fuzzy outline defining itself into beautiful, horrifying clarity. A feeling of… something starts to build in Hugo’s stomach—a veritable cocktail of nerves, dread, elation, and a sort of smug satisfaction—when Varian shifts in his sleep and lets out a sleepy mumble.

The Song grows louder as Varian finally drifts into being awake. Hugo sighs. He’s ready for the inevitable freak out—the why am I heres, the what the fuck happened last night—but when Varian’s eyes blink open and zero in on Hugo the shorter alchemist only sighs and rubs at his eye.

“Morning,” he mumbles. “Wanna lie back down? I’m not ready to start the day yet.”

The Song doesn’t even stutter, still floating in a hazy, warm tune that drifts across Hugo’s thought like a careful touch. He slowly lays back down, hesitant, until Varian rolls over and lays half on his chest, using his shoulder as a pillow.

The sunlight slowly warms the room. Hugo has half a mind to fall back asleep, to let the comfort take him and pull him back, because it’s nice. It’s nice to snuggle close while the bed’s still morning-warm and unnaturally soft. It’s nice to feel Varian pressed up next to him. It’s nice to let the Song drift between them with it’s lyrical melody soft and content. If Hugo had a say, it would never end. he honestly could just fall asleep like this. But a hm-ing noise from Varian brings him back up to the surface.

He hms back. Varian’s hand slowly taps out a small rhythm on Hugo’s bare chest, tiny fireworks popping up with every feather-light touch. They lay like that for a while more, neither willing to address the elephant in the room until absolutely necessary.

But that time eventually comes. Varian’s hands eventually go still—they rest flat on the plane of Hugo’s skin—and he twists until he can look up to meet the blond’s eye.

“What now?” he asks. It’s quiet, soft. Uncertain.

Hugo should be a good person here. He should tamp down his feelings, reign in the weird affection, and acknowledge that this has no future. The only road this indulgence leads to is a broken heart.

But…

“What do you want to happen?” he eventually croaks out. His voice is rough from sleep, husky and unused, but the way Varian blushes is definitely worth it. He buries his face into Hugo’s shoulder and hides. The blond sighs, looking up to the ceiling and preparing for the inevitable.

“We can’t keep this going.” Varian murmurs. Hugo has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his face neutral. It’s a painful truth. It hurts to hear his Soulmate say that, especially after all they’d been working through. That doesn’t make Varian any less right, however. So Hugo sighs and swallows the upset.

“Agreed,” he says. “I think I prefer not getting hanged for sleeping with a Duke’s intended.”

“Grand Duke.”

“Grand dick.”

Varian wheezes out something that could be a laugh. “Sun help me,” he mutters. “Can we have a serious conversation, please?”

“What else is there to say?” Hugo casually stretches; Varian’s eyes trail up the exposed skin of his chest. Ha. “We had a fun night, right? If you want that to be the end of it, then it’s the end. I won’t throw myself at your feet, sweetheart. I’ve had one-night stands before.”

Granted, never with a coworker—let alone his one-sided Soulmate—but still one-night stands.

Varian peeks up at him, his face twisted up with nerves. “You’re not mad?”

“Nah.” How can he be? Hugo had wanted it just as badly as Varian did. He’d let himself indulge in something that he couldn’t have, and now he has to deal with the emotional fallout on his own terms. That being said, who’s to say a little indulgence would kill him? Nothing’s happening—yet. They still have some time. The blond smiles, pressing a small kiss to Varian’s hair.

“Let’s just enjoy the morning,” he sooths. “We can deal with next when it comes.”

It must be a good answer. Varian sighs and leans closer. Hugo closes his eyes again, basking in the feeling of what could have been. He’ll let himself pretend for a while longer, that this is their new normal, that nothing lies in wait outside that door to tear them apart. The smaller alchemist wraps a cautious hand around Hugo’s middle and tugs him closer until they’re tangled up in one another again; warmth from skin-on-skin leeches through into Hugo’s very Soul.

The Song, timeless and placid, croons to him.

Hugo leans back into the pillows and contents himself with the lie.

—————♪—————

Eventually Varian has to slip back to his own room. It’s nearly midmorning, almost time for the royals to have their breakfast. Varian looks about as excited as someone headed to the gallows. Hugo lounges as Varian forces himself out from between the warm sheets. Part of him wants to snag his Soulmate by the waist and pull him back in, but logic wins the morning. For once.

Varian goes beet red when he has to scoop up his discarded clothes from the night before. Hugo has to hold back a laugh when he nearly eats shit trying to get his pants on. The alchemist scowls, giving the finger as he vanishes through the door. Hugo does laugh then, loud enough that it surely echoes through the hallway.

He lounges in bed for another ten minutes, trying to ignore the raging torrent of thoughts in his brain and instead focus on keeping himself from feeling too smug. Last night had been.. well, it had been quite worth it from where he’s standing. However, they’d also opened a hell of a can of worms. Hugo’s not exactly sure what to feel about it—Varian’s still technically going to be engaged, after all, and Hugo’s not exactly ready to just open up and go insane just because of a good fuck. Not yet anyway. Either way, the bed is warm and so, so soft; it would take a national emergency to make him leave at this rate. He could stay here forever.

Eventually Hugo does have to move his ass. Regrettably. He forces his pleasantly sore body into getting ready for the day—manages to even get himself dressed and everything, what an achievement. It’s like his limbs are fighting him with every move. Hugo only just manages to get himself together and leave his room without crawling back into bed.

The halls are basically empty this early in the morning; the only staff required this early are typically the kitchen staff after all. Hugo’s not usually up this early—neither is Varian. He’s not really sure what to do with so much dayleft ahead of him. Maybe he’ll go to the lab, check on the plants, or he could hit the library, look up that Digitalis plant from the ponce’s notes…

“Hugo!”

Or he’ll get the shit scared out of him first thing in the morning.

Hugo nearly jumps out of his fucking skinwhen the voice shouts his name from behind. He almost bolts for the window, just catching himself with the reminder that he’s four stories up. Instead, he turns—and immediately locks up when he catches sight of the princess.

He hasn’t seen her since the disaster at the dance. Since he’d snapped and poured out all his weird fucking issues into her lap before getting pissed off and running away like a deranged lunatic. Shit, fuck, he needs to run—

“Hi!” Rapunzel chirps, snagging him by the elbow before he can make a break for it. “What are you up to this fine morning?”

He tries to tug himself free; her grip is like iron. “I was actually going to the library to—”

“Oh, perfect, so it can wait. Come to breakfast with us!”

Fuck. Breakfast. The one Varian’s going to be at.

“No, really, I’ve got to go get started on my work.”

Her hands somehow seem to get tighter around his arm. “Oh, I insist.” Her smile never breaks. “Everyone needs a hearty breakfast to start the day! We’d love to have you.”

Hugo tries again to subtly break her grip—what the fuck, does she lift weights in her free time? How is she so fucking strong?—but he eventually has to admit defeat. Dread creeps in and the inevitable awkwardness that’s sure to follow, only getting worse when Rapunzel leads him out onto one of the balconies. She chatters amicably as they walk, filling in the silence even though Hugo never replies.

The princess tugs him over to where a large table has been set up and waves to the people already seated around it. Varian’s the first person Hugo notices, a head of raven hair surrounded by a sea of brunet and grey. Frederic and Arianna sit side by side. Eugene’s to their left with Varian’s beside him, looking exhausted (hehe), with Landis shoved awkwardly in the corner. There’s two empty chairs next to Arianna across from the rest of the motley crew. Rapunzel shoves Hugo down into one of the chairs—the one directly facing Varian—and takes her own seat next to her mother.

“Goooood morning, everyone!” she chirps. “Sorry I was late, I found Hugo here and invited him to come along.”

No one blinks an eye, save for Varian who stares at him with a combination of embarrassment and wide-eyed horror. Hugo looks back with the exact same expression, and the bone deep feeling of oh sweet lord, not like this runs through Hugo like an electric shock. Varian looks like a deer caught in a trap, frozen in terror.

“—Right, guys?”

Oh fucking hell, that’s right. They’re still at breakfast.

Varian’s expression snaps to a strained smile, turning to face Rapunzel. “Sorry,” he says, “I didn’t catch that. Must have stayed up in my lab for too long.”

Eugene’s brow furrows. “Are you alright, kid? You’re looking a little pale.”

“Fine,” Varian’s voice squeaks. “Fine. Just tired.”

Rapunzel sighs and shakes her head with a fond grin. “Make sure to go to sleep early tonight. We don’t want you hurting yourself in your lab because you’re exhausted.” When Varian nods, she smiles. “Anyways, I was saying that some of your plants have been growing, right?”

“That’s right.”

Hugo takes the distraction to start snagging food from the table. Waste not want not. Varian starts to describe their experiments, mostly focusing on the ones that were succeeding. Hugo’s completely tuning him out but it’s fine. He already knows all this shit, anyways.

“We’ll be done trials before the Day of Hearts,” Varian says, “so after that we can make a larger batch and distribute to the outer farms to start using.”

“We’ll be gone by then,” Landis cuts in. The Grand Duke had been quiet until now, idly eating his breakfast. It would have been easy to forget he was even here.

It’s hard to see, but Hugo catches the way Varian’s fingers twitch. “Right,” the alchemist grits out. “Of course.” He turns to Rapunzel then, expression subdued. “Xavier should be able to recreate the formula if Hugo and I are both… gone. By the time it’s ready.”

Her face is carefully blank. “We’ll figure it out,” she assures him. Hugo can’t help but feel there’s a deeper meaning there—surely she’s as angry as Varian is about this whole thing.

Landis clears his throat then and draws Varian’s attention away. Hugo’s teeth grit when the Socrian fuck puts a hand on Varian’s arm, but a smug little feeling worms up in his gut at the same time. I got there first he thinks with a self-satisfied fire. Even when Varian offers Landis a polite smile it’s not enough to break Hugo’s sudden good mood.

Because, of course, it’s not like being the first is important—being before Landis, however, is worth more Hugo’s weight in gold. It’s enough to make a man cry.

As much as he still wants to kick the Grand Duke off a balcony, the smug satisfaction of knowing his brand of charm had worked in less time than Landis’s is more than enough, despite the stunningly obvious class difference and general disadvantages Hugo had in the courting realm. It’s a game and he’s winning, gods be damned—even if Landis didn’t even know they were playing.

The grand duke passes something to Varian, some kind of jar. “Hazelnut spread?” he asks.

Varian’s quickly distracted, bringing up a hand with a quiet “No, sorry, I’m allergic,” which quickly gets the jar passed to Arianna instead. Hugo rolls his eyes—prick doesn’t even know Varian’s allergies—and instead looks down to the breakfast in front of him.

The conversation continues on without him. He eventually plucks an orange from a large bowl in the center of the table, peeling it. He feels eyes on him, looking up to see that Varian’s resumed staring. Hugo meets his gaze head-on this time, smiling and wiggling his eyebrows. The other alchemist flushes cherry red, scowling and looking down to his own food… but the feeling of being stared at continues. He chances another look, this time seeing the princess herself looking his way. Her grin widens when his eyes go wide in horror, knowing she’d just seen all that—

But instead of shrieking to the high heavens that Hugo’s up to something—regardless of if she could guess how far they’d gone the night before—she only tilts her head in a knowing nod and turns back to her own food.

Hugo’s frozen to his seat, halfway through peeling his orange. What the fresh hell does a look like that mean?! She doesn’t look back to him, instead starting to speak with Eugene. Long fingers twitch around the orange peel, Hugo’s brain finally starting back up after being shocked into stopping.

He shoves an orange slice into his mouth and chews. He barely registers it.

Suddenly the smug feeling doesn’t taste so sweet.

—————♪—————

After breakfast they finally get a chance to go back to the lab. Hugo follows Varian down the hall, trying to ignore how the shorter alchemist doesn’t meet his eye. He scratches at the back of his neck and bounces on his feet as they walk; Varian’s going faster than usual, brisk and nearly jogging.

“Where’s the fire?” Hugo eventually asks, huffing as he has to put his long legs to use. Varian doesn’t deign to grace him with a response and instead starts walking somehow faster. “Hey—hey, goggles! Chill for a second, would you? I don’t have this kind of energy this early in the morning—”

Varian lets out a long breath at last. He stops in a more secluded part of the hall, tugging Hugo to semi-hide behind a suit of armor. Hugo’s vision is suddenly taken up by those blue eyes glaring angrily at him; he can’t help but smirk when Varian scowls at him.

“What, time for round two already? Darling you are insatiable.”

“Shut up.” Varian’s voice almost takes on a whine, which is cuter than it should be. “Stop, I said one night, and I meant it! So you’ve gotta stop… stop…”

Hugo tilts his head. He’s honestly not sure where Varian’s going with this—

“That! That right there, being all—like that! Cut it out!”

Oh, so he’s being like that, is he? Well, if there’s one thing Hugo loves doing, it’s doubling down.

“Like what, darling?” He leans closer and puts a hand on the stone behind Varian’s head. “If you said one night, then that’s all there’ll be. But I’m not about to stop being my charming self because you have no self-control.”

The Song shrieks in outrage; even if Hugo didn’t hear the music, the sour expression on Varian’s face would have made the emotion perfectly clear. However, under all the fury and embarrassment and anger is the slightest tone of attraction. Ha.

Varian shoves him away—not too roughly, but enough to make his point. Hugo chuckles as he backs off, offering one last wink. The alchemist’s face is cherry red. Hilarious. He looks about five seconds away from punching Hugo square in the jaw, which is why it takes Hugo by surprise when, instead, Varian grabs him by the shirt and tugs him into a searing kiss.

His eyes must go wide, shocked, but before Hugo can even register what’s happening Varian shoves him away again. The shorter teenager scowls, crossing his arms with a pout and looking away. “Stupid… fucking Hugo,” he mutters to himself—and the name is what finally snaps the blond from his trance, a smug smile splitting his face. Varian’s expression goes from bad to downright ugly; his nose scrunches when he’s angry, how cute.

“What happened to just one night?”

“Oh, fuck you.”

Varian stomps away, still pouting, but Hugo can hear the trill of amusement in his Song. So, like the idiot he is, he tries to push his luck.

“You already did!” he calls back, his voice echoing down the hall. Varian snarls something that doesn’t even sound human—something angry and embarrassed and generally furious—but when Hugo runs after him all the blond gets in recompense is a solid punch to the arm. He’ll take it as a win. Varian doesn’t pause in his stride, instead walking side by side with Hugo this time. And if their hands brush each other’s during the walk, their pinkies eventually linking together…

Well, that’s just for them to know about, isn’t it?

—————♪—————

Everything is balanced on a knife.

Varian spends the next few days on a stressful seesaw between affection and anxiety. He wants to crawl in a hole and die, he wants to scream to the heavens that he’s found someone who gets it, he wants to push Hugo away, he wants to pull Hugo closer…

He wants to break the deal with Landis.

He knows that he can’t.

Varian knows the agreement is basically set in stone; last time he’d spoken to Rapunzel she’d blatantly dodged his questions about the royal meetings, even when she’d promised to keep him informed.

(“Everything is going to be fine.”

“But what’s been going on?”

“It’s fine. I’ll figure something out.”)

It just… doesn’t inspire confidence. Hell, the reason this whole thing was taking so long was because she was trying to find a way for them to worm out of it, but it’s unsurprising that the Socrians are sticking to their guns; even if it’s infuriating for Varian, he can respect withstanding the full might of Rapunzel digging her heels in about something.

But it brings him back to this… this thing that’s developed with Hugo. Varian had hoped it was a crush, an attraction of like minds and attitudes during a stressful time when he’d wanted anything to fool his brain into thinking it had some kind of control. Varian had hoped it would go away on its own if he denied it long enough, if he stuck his head in the sand and pretended not to notice…

But then that night on the roof, followed by last night, had happened.

And now he’s not so sure what he thinks.

Did this even count as cheating? This strange dance he’s been doing with Hugo? Varian never agreed to be with Landis, nor did they actually agree to anything yet. But at the same time Varian’s spoken for, even without his input.

Maybe I want to be selfish, for a night.

But it was only supposed to be for the night. And that’s the problem. Varian had thought he could’ve been satisfied with one night, to test the water and have his night of insanity before he went back and sank fully into his responsibilities… but then he’d woken up early, when Hugo was still asleep, and something had taken root in his chest. It was more prevalent than a crush, constant and warm and insistent, getting worse the more he looked at the blond’s sleeping face. He had looked so peaceful… so content. The image had imprinted itself on Varian’s mind and continued to creep into his thoughts at all hours of the day.

And then at breakfast, Hugo had smiled and acted like nothing was wrong, all while Varian had a crisis right in front of him. The whole time he’d been trapped, a craving in his chest to pull Hugo close and kiss him once more. And he’d listened, which is the best and worst part: Varian’s never been one to lose his higher functions, but the draw to Hugo is something that feels almost animal… two magnets, drawn to each other.

Everything’s so confusing. Varian doesn’t want to lead Hugo on—doesn’t want to lead himself on either. This is coming to an end no matter what. But that stupid tugging keeps drawing him back in like a fish on a line, drawing him back toward Hugo without any remorse.

He keeps flipping between one and the other: the logical side telling him to give it up while he’s ahead, and the deep yearning that’s started to build in his chest telling him to follow that feeling. Varian’s going to tear his hair out if he doesn’t end up going insane first. He knows which side he should listen to—but that doesn’t make it any easier.

So for the next few days, he does his best.

He tries, he really does. The week after their little… tryst, he tries to go back to the way they were before the night on the roof. When they were amicable work friends, and nothing more. Varian gets about three hours in before Hugo’s smile quirks up just so and suddenly Varian’s borderline jumping over the table to kiss him senseless.

Hugo doesn’t make it any easier, constantly being… like that. He’s infuriatingly attractive as always—effortlessly pulling laughs out of Varian like it’s nothing, standing in ways that show off his lean figure, occasionally popping up to say something incredibly clever before going right back to being an idiot—it’s all a perfect storm of driving Varian absolutely batty.

At one point they find themselves alone in a hallway, hidden in an alcove not unlike the one they shared during the hellish masquerade—though this time it’s a little different, with Hugo shoving his tongue down Varian’s throat. Hands are wandering, it’s all getting a bit intense—and it’s everything he’d been craving since the night they’d last spent together.

“I thought last time was the last time,” Hugo says, the same kind of dumb bullshit he always does when Varian’s self-control snaps again.

“Once more,” he’s borderline begging, “then we’re done.” Like either of them believe it. Like it hasn’t been a solid week of one mores.

“Sure, sweetcheeks,” Hugo says, a laugh in his voice. Varian’s ready to smack him, though the kiss that follows shuts that thought up pretty quick. Varian lets himself get lost in the sensation, enjoying the moment. Once more, then he’s done…

Once more…

Twice more…

Fucks sake.

—————♪—————

Eventually they have to get some work done. The plants are growing spectacularly: Seventeen especially is the biggest of the bunch, Hugo’s never been prouder. He sighs, kicking his feet up on their worktable. Varian sits nearby, jotting down notes into his little book and looking over their experiment with a critical eye. It’s later in the evening, a full week after the day of the breakfast; the moon shines through one of the large windows, adding a cool light against the warmth of the lamps surrounding them. The Song is so relaxed here in the lab. Here with Hugo.

The blond smiles smugly at the thought, and at the thought of all the little trysts that had come after that first night. It does Hugo’s ego good, to have Varian unable to resist his charm. It’s also great to watch Landis try and fail to win the affection Hugo currently has—though it does bring up a bit of a dilemma.

Hugo had gotten another note from Donella today. He’d almost missed it, his morning taken up by seeing how high Varian’s voice would pitch when he… well. But eventually he’d found it, tucked into a small box by his door.

The note had been brisker. Hugo had almost forgotten that he’d dumped out all his issues to her, caught up in the whole Varian thing, the whole Landis thing, and hell, his own bullshit as well; but she’d gotten back to him. Her advice had been simple, to the point, and yet it’s still so hard to think about executing it.

Either Sing to him or lie and come home, she’d written, if it works and he’s yours, we’ll deal with it then—but wait until after you get the crown to Cyrus. Finish the job first. Don’t get distracted, Hugo.

Simple. Deceptively so. She’d gone on to remind him about how they only had a month left until the Day of Hearts, when he had to pull the trigger… but Donella had forgotten something. Varian’s wedding was supposed to be happening on the Day of Hearts: if he waits that long, a confession won’t be worth shit. But if he does confess, then he risks everything on the chance that it works. Which it still might not. A few flings and physical attraction do not a Soulmate make.

The Song flutters in apprehension. Hugo looks over to Varian, seeing him looking at the door with a tense expression.

“What’s up, goggles?” Hugo asks, trying to be flippant. Varian taps on the desk with his pencil, looking back and forth before shifting over to the drawer where—oh, right.

The impressions of Landis’s notes are still in there. It’s later in the evening, well after dinner; no one would be bothering them tonight, not this late. It’s as perfect a time as any. Hugo hops off his chair, opting to wander over to the door and gently close it, putting up a do not disturb sign that had been implemented after Eugene had barged in on Varian in the middle of a delicate experiment, resulting in a fire that had raged on for nearly six hours. The sign is law. If it’s up, no one’s coming in.

By the time he’s back at the table, Varian’s spread the notes across the worktable. There’s the original two that Hugo remembers, the summons to a doctor and the confirmation that the man would be bringing a plant called Digitalis. Varian also turns and lifts up a large book from a nearby stack.

“I grabbed this last night,” he admits. “Thought we could look it up.”

Hugo grins, letting Varian get to that. Instead, he looks at another note, this one a bill of sale. “Hm,” he says, reading it over. His eyes go wide at the price—that’s so many fucking zeros—and he coughs to get Varian’s attention. Varian looks up from the index of the book, going pale at the sight of the price.

“Seven thousand?!” he blurts. His voice is squeaky. “For a fucking plant?”

Hugo looks over to their beanstalks. “We are growing the wrong kind of plant.”

Varian huffs a laugh. “Apparently.”

The bill is addressed to Dr. Holmigivre, the same one Landis had met, but… “The money’s from a different account,” Hugo mumbles. He grabs another note, this one stamped with the Socrian National Bank’s seal.

“What?” Varian’s already distracted again.

“Look,” Hugo twists the paper, pointing. “Here’s one account labeled the Crown Treasury, transferring that money to an unlabeled account. And then—here, there’s the withdrawal from the unlabeled account. So…”

“Landis took the money from the family account, and then tried to hide that he took it out. And then he gave it to this… Doctor Holmigivre. Out in the middle of nowhere.”

“Looks like it.”

Varian looks rightly concerned, his hands twitching around the plant directory. “That’s… uh.”

“Yep.”

A brief silence takes over the room, the both of them looking at the papers with concern. To be honest, it’s not a great paper trail—probably why they were hidden in the first place. Hugo knows countless reasons a royal might try to hide the movement of that much money: bribes, embezzlements, a hidden mistress, and Hugo has personally seen one particular royal from Koto who wanted to cover up an almost extreme addiction to collecting exotic birds as pets.

Point is, there’s hundreds of reasons. But none of them are exactly the kind of things you want to hear about a future spouse, let alone one you’re contractually obligated to.

Varian looks pale. The Song grates against the inside of Hugo’s skull, a whirling mix of anxiety and disquiet that only gets worse the more he looks at the pages. It sets his teeth on edge; Varian’s anxiety compounds onto Hugo’s and mixes the two into a horrible cocktail of on-edge stress.

Before he can think better of it, Hugo reaches over and gently takes Varian’s hand. He ignores the hitching breath Varian lets out, the way the Song flutters with a warm emotion, and instead rubs his thumb on the back of Varian’s hand.

“It’s okay,” he says, “we don’t know what exactly he needed the money for. It could be nothing. What does your book say?”

That does it. Varian sucks in a breath through his teeth, and his eyes flick back to the book. “It’s here,” he mutters, noting the page in the index and flipping to the right one.

He scans through, finding the page. There’s an illustration, the plant drawn with a hearty, green stalk and bell shaped, pinky-purple flowers hanging off the one side. It’s pretty, to be honest. Looks like any other kind of wildflower; he thinks he might have seen it along some of the roads in Neserdnia, which would make the high price tag a bit more understandable seeing as Socria is a full two month’s travel from there. Not seven thousand high, though.

“Okay, here we go.” Varian skims down to a paragraph labeled Medical Uses. “Digitalis, also known as foxglove, is known for many medical treatments, mainly for issues of the heart to control the pulse.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound so suspicious.” Kind of boring, really. His lame joke falls flat, however, when the Song lets out a jarring shriek. Hugo flinches, a quick thing that goes unnoticed as Varian stares down at the book in abject horror. His eyes are wide, skin an ugly pallor. The Song tumbles over itself, a cacophony of staggering thoughts and panicked shrieks. His hand tightens around Hugo’s, nearly enough to be painful.

Something awful settles in the center of Hugo’s chest.

“Goggles?” It takes everything in him to keep his voice from trembling. “Varian? What’s wrong?”

Varian doesn’t speak, instead pointing down to the book. Hugo peers at it, scanning the page. He finds the paragraph Varian had been reading—and has to re-read it to make sure he’s read it correctly.

Digitalis, also known as foxglove, is known for many medical treatments, mainly for issues of the heart to control the pulse. It must be taken in extremely small doses, as foxglove has medicinal uses but is also very toxic to humans and other animals, and over-consumption will lead to death.

Toxic. The plant is…

“Poison,” Varian chokes out, “he was buying poison.”

The world comes to a shuddering stop. Varian’s grip on Hugo’s hand starts to hurt, nearly snapping his fingers, but he doesn’t dare make a sound. Suddenly things seem… much more dire than they had before. Hugo had been expecting to hear the guy was just into something kinky, or even had a mistress or something not—

“Did he fucking kill something?!” Varian’s voice is hysterical. “Who the hell—why the fuck do you need something like that?!”

As much as Hugo loves being a devil’s advocate, it’s a pretty damning. It would be less so, if this paperwork hadn’t been hidden, but even then...

“I’m assuming seven thousand gold is more about hush-money, than it is about the actual price of the plant.”

He thinks of Donella. She’d paid off more people than Hugo could count, over the years he’d been in her crew. Politicians, guards, surveyors, shop owners.

Even doctors.

(“Think of it this way, Hugo,” Donella tells him, “this way, everyone wins. They get a little extra coin, and we can perform our business without interruption.”

“Good for everyone except the one we’re robbing.”

She claps him on the back, a smile on her face. “That’s my boy,” she croons. “I knew you were smart.”)

He’d seen her ply hundreds of men with coin. It was nothing to slip a guard a little extra in return for being lax on his route, or to ignore how someone had vanished off the face of the earth. It was just business.

Things snap into place with terrifying clarity.

Varian looks like he’s about to hyperventilate. It’s obvious that this is hitting him hard—which, fair. This is the guy Varian’s supposed to marry. The Song’s getting shriller, speeding up in time with Varian’s heaving chest as he tries to force air into his lungs.

“What the fuck,” he gasps into the quiet lab. “What the fuck?!”

Shit. Fuck. Okay, damage control.

“Goggles—”

“What the hell do we even do with this? Do we go to Rapunzel? What would she even do, we can’t prove anything, and if we do then we’ll get in shit for breaking into his stuff, and if we go to Eugene he might actually kill someone, so that’s out, what do we even do—”

“Sweetcheeks—”

“And if Landis hasn’t actually killed someone, isn’t that kind of worse? Since then we’re just accusing him of heinous shit for no reason! What if it is medication, and then he gets mad and if he’s mad he might break the deal, and if he does that we’re fucked and Equis will see its chance and—”

“Varian!”

The alchemist’s deranged rambling shuts itself down as quickly as it had started. The Song settles again, going nearly silent as Varian cuts himself off to stare at Hugo. The echo of his voice still resonates around the room; Hugo’s never truly shouted before, not here in Corona let alone around Varian—it must be jarring.

The silence stretches just a bit too long before Hugo finally swallows past the lump in his throat.

“You’re right that we can’t do anything about this now—”

“But—”

“Listen. This isn’t enough to prove anything, you’re right. But it’s enough to start digging. Remember, he doesn’t know that we know—so with a bit of sleuthing, we can figure this out. We just have to keep it quiet, and not give him a reason to be suspicious.”

Varian sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Right,” he mutters. “Right. And if we find… the worst?”

“Then we take it to your family. I’m sure they’ll deal with it at that point.”

Hugo’s grip on the table is white-knuckled. This is so beyond anything he could have expected—beyond anything he’s really had to deal with before. With Donella, even she had a moral code. Lying, cheating, stealing, it was all par for the course, but murder? Off the table. Hugo looks back down to the papers, hoping to see anything else but all he sees is the same cluster of documents as before. There aren’t any more, no more clues. Just what’s been given to them.

Varian chews on his thumbnail. His face is still ashen white, making his freckles stand out just that little bit more. He looks like he’s just had his world flipped upside down—which is honestly a valid response.

“We can’t say anything,” he murmurs. “You’re right. Just… keep it quiet.” He turns to Hugo then, eyes wide. His voice dips into a frantic whisper. “I don’t think I can keep it quiet.”

Hugo blinks. The hand in his has loosened its grip, but he can feel the minute twitches of those fingers. “You’ll be okay,” he assures, “just… maybe try and keep an eye on him. Or stick around the princess for a bit.”

Something deep within Hugo rumbles, something that wants to keep Varian the fuck away from someone who might be dangerous. Sure, he’d wanted Landis six thousand feet away from Varian if he had his way already, but now that the man’s character was fully in question? Was it even safe for Varian to be around him?

“Eugene will have the guard schedule done by now,” Varian muses to himself. Which, hello, Hugo didn’t know there was a schedule, they always seemed to move randomly. The alchemist sighs, rubbing at his forehead. “I’ll have to ask him about it; I don’t want to get caught alone. Not if… if that’s real.” Hugo feels another spike of defensive anger rise up at the thought.

He can’t meet the alchemist’s eye. The Song still flows through him, jittery with nerves. As much as he knows Varian can easily take care of himself, he shouldn’t really have to—not in his own goddamn home, at least. It’s even debatable if Hugo could even do much: Landis is a brick-shithouse, tall and broad and generally huge. He could probably snap Hugo over his knee, which would be hot on literally any other human, but not so much on the ponce.

But the point is that it puts a bad taste in Hugo’s mouth. It’s a terrible fucking idea to have Varian try and stick around like nothing’s wrong; the alchemist can’t act normal when there’s nothing to hide, surely he’ll stumble around himself the second Landis traps him in another conversation. And if Landis is as violent as they fear, if he really had been buying poison for not-so-peaceful purposes… well, Varian drawing his ire wouldn’t end well.

Varian squeezes his hand one last time before he pulls away. He groans, rubbing at his face, and begins to clear the notes back into their drawer.

“Okay,” he sighs. “Okay. We lie low, we don’t say anything. I’ll… I’ll figure it out.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Hugo assures him. “Sweetcheeks, if you think I’m going to back off just as things are getting interesting, well, you’d be mistaken.”

The Song shifts just a bit when he says it. The tune drifts a bit more, just slightly less scared—it must have been the right thing to say. Varian won’t meet his eye, but when he locks the notes away for good, Hugo can just catch the impression of a blush on his face.

“Right. Us.” The alchemist’s voice is soft. Hugo picks at the table, even when Varian’s face breaks out into a small smile. The blond finds it within himself to return it, finally locking eyes with Varian.

“I could get used to an us,” he says.

He really, really could.

#varigo #varian #varian and the seven kingdoms #vat7k #tts #fic #silent opera

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nashibirne · 3 years

Text

Please don't stop the music

Pairing: Clark × y/n / reader

Summary: Clark Kent is your neighbour and good friend but over the last months you've fallen in love with him. Clark has no clue because you're way too shy to make a move on him. So you yearn for him secretly. Until today...

Credits: This was inspired by @fuckoffbard 's fantastic playlists for some of Henry's characters. Check them out, there's such a lot of great, inspiring music to discover!

Warnings: pure fluff, lots of kissing and smut too, virgin reader, deflowering, first time, sex, unprotected sex, all vanilla and sweet, friends to lovers, nsfw, 18+

Unbeta'ed! English is not my mother tongue, so read with caution.

This is my first try to write from reader's perspective. There's a lot of "you" and "he" in it but I hope it's okay.

Tags:

@agniavateira @lunedelorient @inlovewithhisblueeyes @willkatfanfromasia @hell1129-blog @mis-lil-red

So...let's get the party started

"That was delicious, Clark. The best chicken pot pie I've ever had." You lean back in your chair with a satisfied sigh, placing a hand on your belly. "Thanks. It's my mum's recipe. I'm glad you liked it." "I did. It will take some beating to make something better next friday."

You have established kind of a habit over the last few weeks. Every Friday night you cook for each other and watch Netflix together afterwards. This week it's been Clark's turn to cook for you in your apartment. Those nights are heaven and hell at the same time for you. It's heavenly to spend so much time with him, to be close to him but the constant secret craving is dreadful. You could do something about it, sure, but that would mean to lower your guard, to expose yourself, to run the risk of getting rejected and hurt and even worse of losing Clark as a friend.

Apart from the fact that you are almost pathologically shy you wouldn't even know how to make a move on him because you've never done something like this before. You have never confessed your feelings for someone, you've never made the first step. You've never been in a relationship. You have never done more than kissing. You are a grown up woman and still a virgin.

At least in real life. In your fantasy you are an experienced badass of a woman, in your dreams you are a self-confident bomb shell, in the short stories you secretly write you do all the naughty things you've never done in reality though you'd love to. Your fictional alter ego does all the things you yearn for. She's straight forward, extroverted, sexy. The hottest guys fall for her as soon as they lay eyes on her. She knows how to please a man and how to make a man please her. She knows no limits, no taboos, no coyness.

And thanks to internet research, porn, fan fiction and masturbation you know everything about sex - technique, positions, kinks, toys, language. You're a pro in theory and clueless in real life.

"So what about some music." Clark interrupts your thoughts. Still a little absent you point at your mobile. "Sure, just choose a playlist. The app should be opened."

You regret your words as soon as they've left your mouth.

Shit.

Clark grabs your phone and starts scrolling through the music app.

Please, don't see it. Please, don't see it. Please, don't see it.

"You have a playlist called Clark?"

Fuck!

"Umm...yes?"

He chuckles and gives you a funny look. His beautiful blue eyes find yours and your heart starts racing.

"Why?"

"What do you mean why? Just because." How can you ever explain to him that this playlist includes all the cheesy, steamy, sad and cheerful songs that make you think about him. That you listen to when you daydream about him.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Clark laughs, leaning forward, cocking his head. "You make a playlist and name it after me for no reason?"

Ground swallow me up...

"Who says I named it after you?" You cross your arms in front of your chest defensively.

"So there's another man called Clark in your life? Who's he?"

Think for heaven's sake. Think.

"Well...um..."

"Yes?" Clark grins, obviously having fun watching your attempt to wriggle out of this situation.

"Well, if you must know...you're right. It is named after you. It was supposed to be a surprise. I put all the songs in it, I think you might like. I planned to send you the link for your birthday."

Good...badass move.

You sigh with relief a little too loud.

"Oh really? That's nice. Great idea actually."

"Thanks."

"Can we listen to it?"

"No! Of course not. You'd spoil the surprise!"

"Oh, come on, y/n. You have seven months left to add new songs."

Shit.

Without waiting for permission Clark starts the playlist and you're horrified when you hear 'Addicted' by Saving Abel. Of all songs he's chosen one of the sexiest. Heaven help!

"Never heard of this one. Sounds great. I like Rock." Clark says, listening to the lyrics carefully.

I'm so addicted to

All the things you do

When you're going down on me In between the sheets

Oh the sounds you make With every breath you take

It's unlike anything When you're loving me

"Interesting choice." he mumbles with a smirk and a wink that makes you blush.

"Yeah...now give me my phone."

"No way." Clark laughs and skips to the next song. You smile when 'Chicken Fried' by the Zac Brown Band starts playing. This song feels like home for you and you love imagining you and Clark visiting a bar that plays country music where you have a beer and dance all night long.

You know I like my chicken fried

Cold beer on a Friday night

A pair of jeans that fit just right

And the radio up

You can't help but nod your head to the rhythm, humming along. Clark raises an eyebrow, watching you curiously, a smile playing on his lips. "So what's next?"

'I wanna kiss you all over' by Exile sounds from the little Bluetooth speaker on the table now.

I wanna kiss you all over

And over again

I wanna kiss you all over

Till the night closes in

"Oohh..." Clark wiggles his eyebrows. "Seventies rock...really?"

"Yes. Really." you snap and grab for your phone but Clark's too fast. He grabs it first and presses it to his broad chest.

"Come on, Kent. Choose another playlist. That's stupid." You are really annoyed and embarrassed now.

"Why? It's pretty interesting which kind of songs you've chosen for me. Tim McGraw, Chris Stapleton, Jeff Bates..seems I strike you as a country guy." He scrolls through the playlist with a big grin. "And what's that?" He starts laughing again, skipping to the next song. "Barry Manilow?"

'Can't smile without you' That's maybe the cheesiest song ever but you love it so so much. Every single word of the lyrics expresses what you feel for Clark so accurately. The melody makes you so happy, everytime you hear it you picture yourself and Clark as a happy, loving couple, spending a wonderful day in the park. Just like the couples in chick flicks do it all the time. Kissing and laughing and holding hands, making a little picnic on the lawn beside a lake, drinking champagne and eating strawberries from each other's hands.

And you see I can't smile without you

I can't smile without you

I can't laugh and I can't sing

I'm finding it hard to do anything

You see I feel glad when you're glad

I feel sad when you're sad

If you only knew what I'm going through

I just can't smile without you

You sigh thinking about it but Clark is close to a laughing fit. "Please, y/n. Tell me you don't seriously think I like that kind of music." He wipes away a tear from the corner of his eye. You press your lips together unable to say anything. You realize you're on the brink of bursting into tears and you get up from your chair quickly.

"Just delete the songs you don't like, there's no need to make fun of me." You turn around and stare out of the window, no longer able to hold back tears.

"Hey, y/n. What the hell...." Clark is by your side within seconds. He looks at you with a worried and confused expression. "Hey." he says softly again. "What's up, why are you crying?" He takes you by your shoulders gently and turns you around to make you look at him. "I'm sorry. I was just teasing you. Please...don't cry."

You sob and rub your eyes to stop the tears from falling.

"No, I'm sorry. I'm being ridiculous. It's just...that stupid playlist. You weren't supposed to see it..."

"It's not really a birthday surprise, is it?"

You shake your head.

"So what is it."

You don't dare to look at him. You just stare at your feet without saying a word.

"Y/n?" He touches your shoulder and a shiver runs down your spine.

"I can't tell you." you whisper.

"Why not?"

"It's silly."

"I'm sure it's not. Just tell me, okay?"

You lift your head to look at him. You gulp when you realize how close he's standing to you. His eyes meet yours and he gives you an encouraging nod. "Okay. I'm going to tell you under one condition."

"Yes?"

"Promise me not to say anything about it. I tell you what the playlist is about and you won't say a word, okay? We will never talk about this again."

Clark stares at you for several seconds. "Okay." He finally agrees with a frown.

You swallow hard, closing your eyes, taking a deep breath before you open them again. Clark takes your hands in his. "Whatever it is. You can tell me." You know he wants to reassure you but to feel your hands in his makes you even more nervous. At the same time you would never want to let go because the sensation of closeness and intimacy is so incredible. You clear your throat, knowing full well that it's too late to back down.

You can do this.

"The playlist... It's not for you it's more...about you." You look him in the eyes and he smiles at you, nodding slightly, indicating to you to go on. "All these songs, they are somehow connected to you. They remind me of you. They make me think about you. They make me dream about you." Your voice fades into a whisper. "Because I'm in love with you."

You lower your eyes and stare at your feet. Several seconds pass before you feel his finger under your chin. Clark lifts your head gently and makes you look at him. He keeps his promise and doesn't say a word. Instead he brings his lips close to yours and you look at him with surprise. In his eyes you see happiness and lust and you gasp when you realize that he's about to kiss you.

When his lips touch yours, time seems to stand still. When he starts kissing you tenderly the world stops turning for a moment. The kiss intensifies and you feel like you're melting in his embrace, in his strong arms. You feel his hands on your waist, sliding under your blouse and you mirror his actions, following his lead. When he feels your touch he moans softly into your mouth.

Clark pulls away and breaks the kiss, he's just as breathless as you. "Am I allowed to say something? Not related to the...you know what." he asks with a smirk.

You giggle and nod your head. "Sure."

He cups your face with his big hands and looks you deep in the eyes.

"I'm in love with you too, y/n. More than you can imagine maybe. More than I could have imagined before I met you."

"Clark..." You kiss him again and things heat up quickly. You can feel his fingers all over your body, his lips all over your skin. You can tell how aroused he is by the huge bulge in his jeans that presses against you. His moans are so incredibly sexy, the way he whispers naughty little things into your ear makes you shiver. Your panties are soaked and you wonder if this is normal or if he's going to be disgusted when he finds out.

You get your answer only seconds later. Clarks hand is between your thighs now, wandering higher, underneath your skirt, until it reaches your crotch. It slides over your panties between your legs with light pressure which causes you to sigh with lust and desire.

"You're all wet for me." Clark whispers in your ear. "So sexy..." He's heavily breathing now and you get turned on even more. "I want you. I want you so much" he moans into your neck, his hands on your breasts playing with your nipples.

"I want you too, Clark." You groan loudly, when sucks on the sensitive spot above your collarbone.

He pulls away, gives you a smirk and takes your hand, leading you to your bed, that is placed in the corner of your one-room-apartment.

You're about to lay down but he stops you.

"Not so fast." He kisses you again and then he begins to take off his clothes. When he's done and you finally dare to take a look, you can't help but let out a little whistle. "Wow. You're shredded...and...big." You're amazed and scared at the same time.

Jesus. How's this supposed to fit?

Clark seems to read your mind. "Don't worry, you're gonna like it." He gives you a sexy lopsided smile and pulls you close. The next round of hot, passionate kisses follows and he starts to unbutton the light summer blouse you're wearing and strips it off you body. You take off your skirt and feel very self-conscious when you stand so close to him in only your underwear.

"Look at you. You're beautiful." Clark whispers in your ear while he unclasps your bra. Only seconds later it lands beside the bed together with your panties.

"You're beautiful." He repeats and you blush. You reach out your hand and touch his chest. He grabs your hand and presses it on the spot above his racing heart. You're relieved that he seems to be a little nervous too. He grins and gives you a light, playful push and you fall on your bed, landing on your back. When you smile at him he plops down on the bed right by your side and kisses you again. Your hands start exploring your naked bodies. You touch Clark's cock shyly and caress it carefully. It feels wonderful, smooth like velvet and hard as a rock.

"Fuck, y/n. That's great. So hot..." Clark growls in a dark voice full of arousal and he starts stroking your pussy. His fingers run through your wet folds and he rubs your clit, making you whimper with pleasure.

"Oh god." you sigh. This feels so much better than you could ever have imagined. So much better than doing it yourself. He's rough and gentle at the same time and you love it.

When you feel one of his fingers at your entrance you flinch.

"Clark, wait!" You make him stop before he pushes in.

"What's wrong?"

"I've never done this before."

"This?" He's visibly confused.

"Sex." you say, giving him a sheepish smile.

Clark sits up straight, taken by surprise.

Shit...Mood killer

"You're a virgin?" he asks with an amazed frown.

"Yes. I'm sorry..."

"There's no reason to be sorry, babe. I just wasn't expecting that. It's okay." He gives you a tender little kiss. "We don't have to do it tonight, if you don't want to. We can wait. Do it another time."

Nope. Not gonna happen.

"No! I've waited long enough. I want this. I want to sleep with you. Tonight. Now." You say insistently. "I just wanted you to know why I'm so clumsy and insecure."

"You're not clumsy. You are doing this perfectly."

"Okay." You sigh with relief.

"So do you want me to go on?" You feel his fingers on your pussy again.

"Yes." You moan.

Clarks starts pleasuring you with his hand again. He stimulates your clit, strokes your folds and gently fingers you, finding your g-spot without problems and soon you're a panting, whimpering mess.

"Clark...fuck..."

"You like that, y/n?"

"I do. I'm close..."

"Then come for me, babe."

And that's what you do. You close your eyes and a powerful orgasm runs through your body, causing you to convulse with loud shrieks and long, lustful moans. When you look at Clark again he smirks and carefully climbs on top of you.

"Are you ready for me?"

"Yes." You nod eagerly.

"Sure? I need to hear that you want this, angel."

"I want it. Fuck me, Clark." You hiss when you feel the tip of his huge dick press against your entrance.

"I'll be careful. I promise." He smiles and strokes your cheek. "Whenever you feel uncomfortable just tell me and I'll stop, okay?"

"Okay."

Clark kisses a trail from your mouth down your neck to your tits where he sucks your nipples, gently biting them. You sigh and you can't wait to feel him inside of you. You lift your hips and Clark slowly pushes his cock into your pussy, bit by bit he enters you carefully and it feels sensational. He stops when he reaches your hymen and then he quickly pushes through. The pain you feel is sharp but it's over in the blink of an eye and all you feel afterwards is pleasure. The pleasure of Clarks dick stretching you to the max, filling you completely.

"You're ok?" He looks at you, searching your eyes for any sign of pain or disapproval.

"I'm good. This feels great." you whisper and when he starts moving carefully with slow, short thrusts you moan his name again and again.

"Fuck, you are so tight...this is...spectacular." Clarks voice is raspy and he picks up speed a little. "You take me so well, babe." He moans out of breath. "I'm close."

His thrusts get harder and faster but he's still careful and gentle. It doesn't take him long to cum hard with a loud growl. He collapses on top of you and you kiss passionately, hugging each other tightly while his dick is still inside of you. When he finally pulls out and rolls off you both sigh in unison.

"That was wonderful, Clark."

"Did it hurt?" He looks at you with a worried expression on his handsome face.

"Just a tiny little bit." You say and rest your head on his chest, playing with his chest hair.

You giggle when you hear 'Tennessee Whiskey" by Chris Stapleton sounding from the speaker.

"The playlist is still running. Maybe I should stop it." you say, ready to get up and look for your phone but Clark stops you.

"Don't" he murmurs. "Your playlist is perfect. So please don't stop the music."

"Sure?"

"Sure. Can't wait to make love to you to every single song." And with a smirk on his lips he falls asleep and you close your eyes too, feeling immensely happy, satisfied and loved.

#henry cavill #henry cavill fandom #cavillry #clark kent #clark x reader #clark kent x y/n #smut

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sanstropfremir · 3 years

Text

ok this took way longer than i expected because i got sidetracked looking at paintings and reading poetry and just admiring the mv, but it's finally finished!! let's talk about

higher

✨

i'm going to draw your attention to a few things.

firstly, these verses from rime of the ancient mariner by samuel taylor coleridge, published 1834:

The harbour-bay was clear as glass,

So smoothly it was strewn!

And on the bay the moonlight lay,

And the shadow of the Moon.

The rock shone bright, the kirk no less,

That stands above the rock:

The moonlight steeped in silentness

The steady weathercock.

And the bay was white with silent light,

Till rising from the same,

Full many shapes, that shadows were,

In crimson colours came.

A little distance from the prow

Those crimson shadows were:

I turned my eyes upon the deck—

Oh, Christ! what saw I there!

Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat,

And, by the holy rood!

A man all light, a seraph-man,

On every corse there stood.

This seraph-band, each waved his hand:

It was a heavenly sight!

They stood as signals to the land,

Each one a lovely light;

This seraph-band, each waved his hand,

No voice did they impart—

No voice; but oh! the silence sank

Like music on my heart.

secondly, this ivan aivazovsky painting, chaos (the creation), c. 1841:

and thirdly, the memorial of percy shelley, who drowned in a boating accident at age 29, in 1822:

there's a common conflation between the romantic and the pastoral in the general cultural consensus because the pastoral a) has been around as an art term longer than romantic, and b) romanticism does use some similar imagery. but there is a key difference: the pastoral is specfically an idealization of 'the simple shepherding life,' often for high class and urban audiences who have no conception of the details of this life includes. one of the more famous examples is christopher marlowe's a passionate shepherd to his love, published in 1599:

Come live with me and be my love,

And we will all the pleasures prove,

That Valleys, groves, hills, and fields,

Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the Rocks,

Seeing the Shepherds feed their flocks,

By shallow Rivers to whose falls

Melodious birds sing Madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of Roses

And a thousand fragrant posies,

A cap of flowers, and a kirtle

Embroidered all with leaves of Myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool

Which from our pretty Lambs we pull;

Fair lined slippers for the cold,

With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and Ivy buds,

With Coral clasps and Amber studs:

And if these pleasures may thee move,

Come live with me, and be my love.

The Shepherds’ Swains shall dance and sing

For thy delight each May-morning:

If these delights thy mind may move,

Then live with me, and be my love.

whereas romanticism is a more pointedly specific movement that was active from around 1800 to 1850, primarily focused on intense emotion and catharsis as the primary experiential output of an artwork. which most prominently manifested in a deep fascination and glorification of the natural environment and historical nostalgia. the movement sprung from the german sturm und drang (literally storm and drive/stress) period of the late 1760s to early 1780s, which was a direct reaction to rationalism and enlightenment. romanticism had similar impulses; it was also a revival of medievalism and a reaction against the looming urban sprawl and mechanization of the industrial revolution. a typical romantic poem from one of the originators of the english movment william wordsworth, composed upon westminster bridge, september 3, 1802, originally published 1807:

Earth has not any thing to show more fair:

Dull would he be of soul who could pass by

A sight so touching in its majesty:

This City now doth, like a garment, wear

The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,

Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie

Open unto the fields, and to the sky;

All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.

Never did sun more beautifully steep

In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;

Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!

The river glideth at his own sweet will:

Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;

And all that mighty heart is lying still!

this romantic fascination with nature was underpinned by the philosophy of the sublime, generally agreed to be first treatised by edmund burke in 1756, the theory was also written about by kant and hegel. in the simplest of terms, the sublime is a quality of greatness beyond calculation, imitation, and human comprehension. the sublime is twofold; the greatness of the ocean is beautiful, but its power is also terrifying, and the experience of the sublime is to feel those two at once. to be in awe and also to be horrified of its ability to sink ships and drown a life in a tempermental change of tide.

let's take a quick detour to talk about

clothing

in the present day we have become much more lax thanks to the aesthetic movement in the late nineteenth century, but back in the early victorian period there are still highly structured rules about when and what clothing one can wear in public. and the clothing itself is also highly structured. anyone with a passing understanding of the victorian era knows about the whole flashing of the ankle thing and corsets galore, and it is true that the general day to day garments cover a lot of area. for men in particular, this manifests in no less than three layers in public at all times: shirt, waistcoat, and suit jacket, with a coat or mantle overtop in colder temperatures. this also includes a variation of a neck tie (depending on what year), hat, gloves, and any other decided upon accessories (this can also include a corset and other padded structural underpinnings). an important tangent to mention here is that this is the uniform of the upper classes, although the rules do apply to the lower classes if they wanted to appear 'sophisticated.' the working man's uniform was also shirt, waistcoat, trousers, but the difference here is in the textiles themselves; the colours tended to be much more drab, with less complicated patterns. obviously due to the price fabric itself, but also due to the labour of laundry. an indicator of class here is the white shirt itself and its pristine implications. (there is a longer conversation here about the invention of neckties and detachable collars and cuffs, but that's for another day). the silhouettes are very important to note here in the higher mv, as they are directly referential to the 'romantic poet' archetype of loose shirt and tight pants that we see in popular culture. but as i've just said, the reality is that men of the era were not dressed like this out in public. this look is essentially underwear; the implications are salacious. so where did this come from? well, we can blame it mostly on lord byron, who by all accounts was the first western 'rockstar.' notoriously called 'mad, bad and dangerous to know' by lady caroline lamb (a married women he publically had an affair with), byron was openly bisexual and deeply hedonistic with a lot of questionable habits, but his poetry was so popular that he was known to have women following him in the street and gathering in large quanities to see him at salons. and this was close to three decades before lizstomania. his close friends and contemporaries included percy and mary shelley, with whom he lived with abroad in italy for some time (this living arrangement resulted in the writing of both frankenstein and john polidori's the vampyre). byron's reputation was so eclipsing that the image of the lush poet lazing in his undergarments has become its own genre of romantic, slightly removed from the movement byron was writing in. it's also worth it to point out that there are no official portraits of byron dressed like this from the time. the visual assumption is somewhat apochryphal. now let's get into some specifics. a.c.e is not unfamiliar to this silhouette; as previously mentioned in this post i wrote about their styling, the boxy loose upper and fitted lower is their general mode for their styling because of its emphasis on legs. cactus was the most extreme example of this, and to prove my point, this specific silhouette is extremely common in classical ballet:

1. vaslav nijinsky, giselle, 1911 2. nehemiah kish, george balanchine's ballo della regina, 2011/12

higher fits very neatly into this same category: we have an emphasis on the legs through tightly fitted garments and also through light reflective textile, as well as a secondary emphasis on arm and shoulder movements with looser fit shirts. plus, the shirts are made from fabrics that have good drape and flow, and mimic the visual effects of water:

there are also several instances of scale patterning and wetlook hair styles, further elabourating on the siren theme. and the jewelry is the same, purposefully cut clear stones for oceanic sparkle or pearls, the gem directly born from water, as highlighting accents to specific parts of the body - namely eyes, hands, and torso:

the body jewelry also serves a double purpose in addition to being sparkly; it gives a semblance of shape to their torsos so their movements aren't totally lost in the shroud of their shirts, and it also invokes some of that salacious element that us as a modern audience doesn't necessarily perceive in the same way when we see a man wearing only a shirt. all of these points are especially prominent in the stage costuming. concerning the veils, these are an aesthetic choice following the theme of depicting water without actually using water. the song has a very breathless quality to it, and the lyrics directly make reference to water and breathlessness, so it only makes sense to have a physical manifestation of struggling to breathe.

now let's talk about

mise-en-scène

unlike most kpop mvs, I would argue that higher is not a spectacle in what we normally see spectacle to be. the overwhelming visual saturation of goblin (and the goblin remix) is more in line with what we expect, but how do you follow that, top it? the answer is that you don't. you aim for something with a completely different feel, which is exact what they did with higher.

the performing arts did not escape romanticism. the very start of the movement, sturm und drang, is actually named from a specific play written by friedrich maximilian klinger that premiered in 1777. the plays of the brief period are characterized by extreme and passionate emotions, and were siblings to one of the most famous genres of theatre, the melodrama. meant to appeal directly to the emotions of the audience using sensationalist plots and stock characters, the melodrama was the predominent form of entertainment in victorian england and gradually developed a specific form of its own. in this period we also start to see the development of 'stagecraft' into the recognizable form that it takes today. footlights, limelight/spotlighting, the separation of house and stage lighting, fly galleries, elevator platform mechanics, and the first (purported) western use of rear projection are all innovations of the late 18th and 19th centuries, as melodramas were known to have very intricate and spectacular stagings. and to go along with these stagecraft mechanics we see the rise in designated stage crews, which were predominantly off-duty sailors looking to make money. the rope systems that made up the fly galleries were very similar to that on ships, and much of the terminology and supersitions crossed over: this is the origin of the term 'rigging' being used for suspending set elements, and also the origin of the 'don't whistle in a theatre' superstition. as sailors communicated with whistle patterns on ships, the same system was adopted for changing scenery, and therefore whistling a random pattern could potentially drop a setpiece on an unsuspecting victim.

so with all this backstory out of the way, what is the very first full location we see? a stage, complete with forced perspective via the painted fabric legs (the side panels) and borders (the wavy upper panels). we even have a flat painted backdrop with a projection screen and hanging overhead lamps. there's also a second interior set, a desk in what looks to be a study of some kind. bit self explanatory on this one, taking the poet notion on the nose.

the locations have a bit of an obtuse arc, but it's there when you look for it. it starts interior spaces, where the ideas of sublime attempted to be recreated for the viewer. then it moves to transitory spaces; portions of nature isolated from a whole environment, interjections of human architecture into natural spaces:

(the white hut structure in the greenhouse is reminiscent of a skene (literally hut/tent), which is the structure at the back of the stage in ancient greek theatre used for the actors to change their masks and costumes. it was originally temporary, but slowly transformed into permanent stage architecture)

and then finally outdoors, into the sublime itself:

jwm turner, crossing the bridge, 1815

lastly,

lighting

there's a very clear lighting pattern here, primarily in light and dark. the base colour story is fairly simple complementary pairs; there's a lot of purple/red and green, and blue and yellow/amber, with everything relatively on the same tonal level. there are deliberate interjections of heavily saturated red for specific effect. there are also, most notably, a 'dark' version of all the sets. obviously as a reference to the eclipse that we see in the mv and in the concept photo series, but also as a reference to that darker undercurrent of the sublime, the upsetting, the uncanny, and the terrifying:

And the bay was white with silent light/Till rising from the same/Full many shapes, that shadows were/In crimson colours came.

#a.c.e #ace w #kpop analysis #group analysis #me - a staunch defender of kpop as valid spectacle: actually this one is a melodrama its meant to hit different #this essay is otherwise known as the quickest and dirtiest history of romanticism ever #i really should have pointed out that when i say romantic i mean romantic with a capital r #that probably would clear up some confusion but i have an aesthetic to maintain do not @ me #this is potentially the most pretentious thing i have ever written i am so sorry if this makes no sense #some of these connections are so tenuous who let me have opinions on the internet #did i write this as an excuse to look at the percy shelley memorial because i am obsessed with it as a piece of art? maybe #anyways read tom stoppard's arcadia if you want to know more about that #you should read all this with the caveat that the sublime and romanticism need to be deconstructed through a postcolonialist lens #because these theories are super colonialist about 'unclaimed untameable natural spaces'#when in reality most natural spaces are specifically architected by indigenous peoples in order to preserve and coexist with the ecosystem #this is may be more obviously applicable to american subliminal painting than european but it still applies #since the british were notoriously good at fucking up every kind of expedition ever #because of their lack of respect for literally anything and everything #and their inability to listen to anyone other than another white british person #see: history of the northwest passage #im a bad theorist and not caught up so i didnt get that deep into it because counter to the wordcount #i am not trying to write another dissertation #this is not as well researched as it could be but also im not reading burke and kant again #also yes byron the shelleys and polidori did just bang out the foundations for all of science fiction and romantic vampire mythology #in like three days because the all got bored during a storm and want to try and 'outscare' each other #also by 1840 like every prominent romantic poet was dead either from their own stupidity or tuberculosis #with the exception of wordsworth that motherfucker started the movement and then outlived it #text

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candyfl0ssgay · 3 years

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song analysis, day one - cherry wine

youtube

(I love Hozier's Mahogany sessions, especially the one of 'Like Real People Do', I feel that it captures the beauty of his voice and songs much better than the studio versions. Hope you enjoy 🥰)

Hozier's 'Cherry Wine' is one of the prettiest and most romantic sounding songs I’ve ever heard, yet the lyrics are horrifying in contrast. It’s a genius comparison that makes this heartbreakingly beautiful to listen to. Once you look past the sweet folk melody and Hozier's soft vocals and look into the lyrics, you get a look into the dark meaning behind it.

The first verse starts of strong, but with no hints towards violence, but more such psychological and verbal abuse instead. "Her eyes and words are so icy, oh but she burns like rum on the fire."

This is a very powerful start to the song, possibly showing how harsh this woman can be in her words, and how her anger can grow quickly and almost dangerously, using the analogy of rum burning on fire as a way to emphasize how dangerous her anger can be.

"Hot and fast and angry as she can be I walk my days on a wire."

This next part of the verse basically alludes what has already been said about her anger, how quickly it builds and how he would walk carefully around her, as to not anger her.

"It looks ugly, but it's clean, Oh mama, don't fuss over me."

This prequel to the chorus has many different interpretations from different people, but there are two main ones that i think are the most relevant/ most likely. The first one is that his mother (or other etc...) has found out, and he's reassuring them that everything is fine. The second interpretation is that it represents the caring aspect/stage that an abuser has after hurting their partner, having a caring and attentive front, which in my opinion is probably the more likelier scenario this line represents.

"The way she tells me I'm hers and she is mine Open hand or closed fist would be fine The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine."

This is the first chorus for the song, and it's probably the most powerful part. Later on in the song, it shifts, the line "The way she tells my I'm hers and she is mine" changes to "The way she shows me I'm hers and she is mine." it could be seen as a minor change, but really, it signifies the point where she is verbally abusing him, to doing so physically.

When Hozier says that "open hand or closed fist would be fine," These lines show us that he has come to believe that the violence is his partner’s way of showing her affection because he’s associated the abuse as a way his partner claims him and their love.

It is then followed by the end of the chorus which goes, “The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine”. This tells us that there is bloodshed in the relationship and despite the bitterness of this situation, Hozier is romanticizing it and describing it as sweet. The speaker has taken a submissive role upon himself and has accepted the injustice being done towards him.

This makes us go back to the line “it looks ugly, but it’s clean”, realizing that it may also literally be referring to the ugly bruises left by his attacker.

In my opinion, the saddest part about 'Cherry Wine' is the fact that, it is, at the end of the day, a love song, with Hozier saying that it simply shows the darker part of a relationship.

links for help for abuse

iii

stay safe my lovelies, and have a good day. Take care of yourself <3🥰

#hozier #cherry wine #analogy #song analysis #abuse #helpline #Youtube

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ibijau · 3 years

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welp, here’s my part of a winter exchange organised by on the xisang discord! I got to write for @scumvillainrights and it was fun~

It was Nie Huaisang’s fault for arriving a day early. He had just felt too impatient to visit the Cloud Recesses again. That, and it was just so cold at the altitude he flew at, so he had pushed himself hard to reach his destination faster. The downsides to that, he’d found out upon arriving to the gate of the Cloud Recesses, was that nothing was ready to receive him, and that the sect leader was absent dealing with some other business, as were Lan Qiren and Lan Wangji.

Having been given a jade token even before his brother’s death, Nie Huaisang was still allowed inside, but it was clear to him that the Lans just didn’t quite know what to do with him. And while it would have been easy, and perhaps even mildly funny to embarrass those Lan disciples by requesting a room be given to him right away to rest and refresh himself, Nie Huaisang simply did not feel like being cruel. It really was his fault for being early this once, when he was usually more likely to be late. So Nie Huaisang assured the disciples welcoming him that he was in no hurry, and asked to be allowed to enjoy a walk in the Cloud Recesses, since they were so beautiful with the thin layer of snow that winter had brought.

The request, of course, was granted, and Nie Huaisang started wandering. Before long he realised that even the peaceful scenery of the Cloud Recesses couldn't lift his heavy mind, not this time, not anymore. The last few years had taken their toll on him, between the loss of his brother, the weight of responsibility, and the burden of revenge. Something had broken inside, Nie Huaisang thought. Something that not even this place he used to love could soothe, nor the perspective of finally having time with Lan Xichen again.

As he walked, deep in thought, Nie Huaisang’s feet took him to the hall where the Lans conducted punishment for disobedient disciples. This, at least, nearly made him smile. He used to come here often when he was a guest student, and it seemed his legs remembered the path too well. Still, it was no place for him to be. Nie Huaisang was about to turn away when he heard some singing.

Music, of course, was nothing unusual in the Cloud Recesses. Every disciple learned to play an instrument, usually the guqin. But because of Lan rules that favoured the quiet, it was rare to hear any singing. In fact, Nie Huaisang wondered if he'd ever heard such a thing before. It made him curious enough that he followed that voice inside the courtyard of the hall.

There, in the snow, with his back to Nie Huaisang, a kneeling boy was singing to himself. It couldn't have been part of his punishment to sing. In fact, Nie Huaisang was sure the boy would get harshly scolded if he were discovered by other Lan disciples.

A shame. The boy had a good, steady voice, full of energy but pleasant to the ear. It seemed out of place in the Cloud Recesses, the same way Nie Huaisang knew he did in the Unclean Realm.

Perhaps that was the reason why Nie Huaisang clapped when the song ended.

The boy cried out in surprise, again too loud for the Cloud Recesses, and turned to look at Nie Huaisang with big frightened eyes.

"Gongzi!" he exclaimed, quickly looking around in case Nie Huaisang weren't alone. "Are you lost, gongzi? I don't think visitors are allowed here."

Seeing his face, Nie Huaisang guessed the boy to be twelve or thirteen at most. Going by the steadiness of his singing, Nie Huaisang would have thought him to be older.

"Ordinary visitors maybe not," he admitted. "But I'm a friend of Lan zongzhu, and I have certain rights."

"You don't look like someone Lan zongzhu would be friends with," the boy retorted. "Aren't you dressed too fancy for the Cloud Recesses?"

Nie Huaisang smiled in spite of himself, delighted by this odd little Lan he'd stumbled upon. Gusu boys never usually managed that sort of open insolence, it was beaten out of them by the time they were ten.

"I really am Lan zongzhu's friend," he insisted, showing off his jade token to prove it. That particular type was only given to high ranking disciples normally, though Lan Xichen had also given them to his closest, most trusted friends.

"Oh, maybe you really are," the boy conceded. "Who are you? I thought only Jin zongzhu had one like that. Or are you… Ah, what's the other one…"

"I'm Nie Huaisang," came the answer, a little drier than it needed to be. But Nie Huaisang's rare good humour had fallen apart at the reminder that Jin Guangyao existed in the world.

"Nie zongzhu!" the boy gasped, bowing politely to him. "I'm sorry. I should have guessed by your colours."

"It's fine. And you are?"

"I'm Lan Jingyi, Nie zongzhu. I'm actually related to Lan zongzhu. We're cousins. Kind of."

The boy's name was unfamiliar, but that was hardly a surprise. Nie Huaisang has always struggled to remember names, unless the person was of direct interest to him.

"Nie zongzhu, are you going to denounce me for singing?" Lan Jingyi asked, looking up at him with worry. "I know I shouldn't have. If master Lan hears about it, he's going to scold me for making a racket again."

"Are those his words?"

Lan Jingyi shrugged with a carelessness that made Nie Huaisang nearly smile again. Then, remembering that he was talking to a person of some importance, Lan Jingyi quickly nodded and bowed again.

"Master Lan is trying to teach me to stop disrupting the peace," he explained. "I am very grateful for his efforts and I am trying to learn from him."

"If he called your singing a racket he's unfair," Nie Huaisang retorted. "You have a very lovely voice. Where did you learn to sing like that? You must have been trained to be this good?"

The instant he heard the praise, Lan Jingyi's face illuminated, as if he'd never received such a high compliment.

"Nie zongzhu is too kind!" he exclaimed. "I haven't been trained, except if you count singing with my father when I was little. I just enjoy it a lot, even if I know I shouldn't."

"Ah, I know the feeling," Nie Huaisang huffed with a half smile. "I'm glad you persevered. You really are quite good. In fact, I wouldn't mind another song, if that's agreeable to you. I won't tell master Lan and Lan zongzhu, I promise."

"Really?"

"Really."

Lan Jingyi's smile at being encouraged could have outshone the sun. He didn't hesitate and started another song right away.

He really had a good voice, especially if he had never received training for it. So good in fact that Nie Huaisang allowed himself to be carried away by the music without paying attention to the lyrics. They seemed to be mostly nonsense anyway, just random things set to the tune of a Lan melody which Nie Huaisang, belatedly, recognised as Cleansing

At any other time, it would have horrified him to hear again the music used to murder his brother. But set to silly lyrics, in the voice of this enthusiastic child, Nie Huaisang found that he didn't mind. If anything, Lan Jingyi made the melody feel peaceful again.

It had been a long, long while since Nie Huaisang had felt so calm.

That fragile peace was promptly broken by approaching footsteps.

"Lan Jingyi, do you know what rules you have just broken?" a stern voice asked in a tired tone, bringing the song to a sudden end.

Even before turning, Nie Huaisang recognised Lan Qiren and shivered. Even though he was no longer his student, some part of him still feared the strict teacher who used to terrify him. At least, Lan Qiren wasn't alone. When Nie Huaisang turned to bow in respect, he saw Lan Xichen at his uncle's side, which meant he wouldn't have to go through the torture of small talk with Lan Qiren.

"Master Lan, Lan zongzhu, please do not scold that disciple of yours," Nie Huaisang asked. "I am the one who requested to hear him sing, and of course he could hardly have denied me this."

"And how did you know that he sings in the first place?" Lan Qiren retorted, unimpressed.

Unsure how to answer without causing more problems for Lan Jingyi, Nie Huaisang elected to stay silent. He opened his fan to hide and turned his attention to Lan Xichen, as if he hadn't heard the question at all.

"Er-ge, how good to see you, it's been so long. Are you free now? Could we go have tea? I'm just freezing, I can't feel my feet at all and I'm worried about frostbite!"

Lan Xichen smiled indulgently, and glanced at his uncle.

"I'll let you deal with Jingyi, uncle, and entertain Nie zongzhu. Don't let him stay out too long. I fear it'll snow again tonight."

Lan Qiren looked unimpressed by that double plea for leniency, but nodded anyway. Only a little worried for Lan Jingyi, Nie Huaisang lost no time in following Lan Xichen away from that courtyard and toward the Hanshi.

"Will he be punished for this?" Nie Huaisang asked as they walked, a little closer to each other than necessary.

"Who?"

"That boy, Lan Jingyi. I really did ask him, you know, and I promised him he wouldn't get in trouble."

Lan Xichen chuckled softly.

"Lan Jingyi is always in trouble," he said. "We don't really know what to do with him. He has very good cultivation, uncle says he's one of the most skilled swordsmen he's ever seen, but his attitude is… a bit much to handle."

Nie Huaisang grimaced. He had found it endearing that Lan Jingyi had been nearly insolent, that he didn't whisper like most Lan disciples seemed to do, but he could imagine others would be less amused.

"It would be less of a problem if his musical cultivation were better," Lan Xichen sighed. "But he struggles with that as well. It's very odd. He has such a good ear for music, he's always humming something if left alone, but put him before a guqin and he's a disaster. He tries to please us, but it's so obvious he doesn't care for it, and so he makes no progress."

"Sounds familiar," Nie Huaisang grumbled, thinking again how radiant Lan Jingyi had been when praised, even by a complete stranger. He thought, also, of the way he'd found Cleansing soothing again, for the first time in years, and wondered. "Is it possible to cultivate through singing?"

Lan Xichen shot him a surprised look at the question, and did not answer right away. They had reached the Hanshi at last, and Lan Xichen remained silent as he opened the door, letting his guest in.

"I don't think it has ever been done," he finally answered as he closed the door behind them. "It certainly wouldn't be traditional."

"Oh, tradition," Nie Huaisang huffed, bending down to take off his boots as quickly as his cold fingers allowed. "Sometimes tradition isn't so great."

Kneeling next to him, Lan Xichen hummed noncommittally before helping Nie Huaisang remove his shoes, clearly less affected by the biting cold. Nie Huaisang couldn't decide if he was grateful or annoyed that he needed the help. He chose to ignore both feelings and leaned forward, silently begging for a kiss that was easily granted to him.

Before Nie Huaisang could get a second kiss, Lan Xichen rose to his feet and went to boil water for some tea. Nie Huaisang went to sit at the table and watched the other man work, their conversation already half forgotten for his part.

Lan Xichen, however, wasn't quite done yet.

"There might be something to your idea of voice cultivation," he said a few minutes later, while pouring the tea. Nie Huaisang blinked a few times, hurriedly trying to recall what he'd said. He was so often ignored these days, it always startled him how Lan Xichen truly paid attention to his chatter. "It would not be recommended for ordinary people, but Lan Jingyi does have a more powerful voice than most. The main reason uncle has to be so tough on him about being quiet is that Lan Jingyi has provoked headaches in others more than once. But if that could be channelled properly… and singing is music as well, isn't it? The voice is just an instrument of another sort. It could be worth trying. I'll tell uncle about it. He has a soft spot for Jingyi, I'm sure he'd be happy to find a way to help him improve."

Lan Xichen sounded so serious and earnest about it that Nie Huaisang found himself smiling. Because the world was cold and his own mind so dark, Nie Huaisang forgot sometimes how warm and kind Lan Xichen could be. At times he was annoyed by it, jealous that anyone might still carry so much gentleness. But that day, like most times he was reminded of his lover's nature, Nie Huaisang felt relieved that Lan Xichen remained untouched by darkness, and became each time more convinced that he'd been right in his choice to leave Lan Xichen unburdened by the truth.

"I'm sure Lan Jingyi will be very grateful that you are willing to help him find what works for him," Nie Huaisang said, sipping on his tea, shivering pleasantly at the heat of it.

"Not all disciples can follow the main road," Lan Xichen retorted, brushing his fingers against Nie Huaisang's cheek. "Those other paths are worth exploring as well. They can lead to great treasure, I've found."

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes, his face suddenly very hot.

He blamed the tea for that.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan jingyi #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #I hope you'll like it coda!!!#jau writes

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random-imagines-blog · 3 years

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Control the Noise {General One Shot}

Requested by: @lunchawx Wordcount: 1807 Summary: You’re a songwriter with quite a bit of acclaim but you tend to hide behind a pseudonym to keep your private life private. But it doesn’t stay that way for long.

In your rather spacious apartment, you played the piano softly. The Grammies were being premiered tonight on the television, but you weren’t paying attention just yet. The cameras were all focused on the glamorous people that were walking down the red carpet. Beautiful gowns in every color, suits with different color ties. A few of the men chose to wear something that wasn’t just a simple black suit, and people applauded them for it. But you didn’t care for the politics of the music industry. You were in it for the music itself. The lyrics. The chance to have someone with an amazing talent showcase the words that you wrote.

You were feeling inspired tonight. Your fingers glided across the piano, coming up with a melody - and the words were just popping into your head. You stopped playing and reached for the pen that you kept cocked behind your ear, and the notebook that you kept in place of the sheet music. You wrote down a couple of words, then continued on. It was that constant back and forth which took up a large part of your day today.

“Welcome to the Grammies!” The host of the night said, their voice coming from the television. You pressed your last couple of notes, then looked over your shoulder to where bright and smiling faces were looking down upon you. The host was someone that you had written for, actually. One of his major hits only two years before, but you have both since moved on. You had written three of the songs that were up tonight, which was the only reason that you were watching this. You’d be receiving a phone call at the end either way, but you might as well see how people responded to your music.

You were not the type for the famous life. The musicians that you worked with, save for a special few who had become friends, were given an alias. You wanted your personal life separate from your professional. Your neighbors just thought that you played music for fun, and knew nothing about your career. All in all - life was actually perfect this way. You got the money without the cameras.

It all seemed to go off without a hitch. You had a glass of wine, and some food delivered, so you could enjoy it all from the comfort of your couch. Your manager was texting you every once in a while, asking if you were watching, your opinion on some of the other songs, and some gossip on the big music couples that were there that night. You joined in - it was a little fun to gossip.

The night was going swimmingly. One of your songs had just won an award. You were up on your feet and dancing around, excited at the bit of a pay bonus that you were going to be getting from this. And the fact that the song would sell more now, and you’d be getting a little bit more of a percentage. It was nice to have your work recognized, even if only a small handful of people knew that it was someone else who had written the song.

The beautiful singer went up to the stage, among all of the applause. There, she was given the award. You were down on your knees in front of the television, all sparkling eyes and happiness. You had both put a lot of work into this, and she definitely deserved the fame and attention. The song had been written with her voice in mind. With her background in mind. You were especially proud of it.

“It’s an honor to be nominated alongside so many incredible female artists this year,” The beautiful young woman said into the microphone. “I guess this year we really stepped up. I have my mom to thank, my best friends obviously, y/f/n y/l/n for writing this amazing song, and the rest of the team....”

You fell back onto the carpet beneath your feet. Your name was the last thing that you had expected to come out of her lips. It was the last thing that you had wanted too. Your real name had been told to her in confidence. And here she was just spreading it out there.

You could just barely hear your phone ringing from behind you. You reached for it, without removing your eyes from the television. Nobody on the screen seemed to realize that anything had been wrong. People were still cheering, and the singer walked off of the stage after her speech. You raised the phone to your ear to hear your manager in an uproar.

“No - you tell them that this is unacceptable!” He was shouting at someone, that wasn’t you. “Y/N? Hey, just saw what happened - hold on - No, you tell her that we’re never working with her again! They broke the confidentiality agreement! Y/N, you still there?”

“Unfortunately,” You said, holding the phone a foot away from your ear. You could hear him sigh. He sounded as stressed as you felt. “What was she thinking?”

“She wasn’t. That’s the damn problem. All of that fame goes to their heads and they forget about the business side of things! Goddamnit - why do these award shows have to be live when so much can go wrong.”

“So what do we do?” You asked, turning off the television. You didn’t care about who won what anymore - you were just exposed for the world to know. No doubt your neighbors were watching. It was the biggest thing that was happening tonight, and plenty of people were going to see it. Oh God, even your friends who didn’t fully know what you did were going to find out.

“I’m going to call in a publicist, see what we can do. Don’t worry, it won’t be on your dime. The diva can take care of it,” He grumbled. “Just hold on tight and we’ll figure this all out.”

It had been three days. You didn’t leave your apartment. There had been a lot of phone calls but you only answered the ones from your manager. It was too late - the world knew that you were behind some of the biggest hits of the last couple of years. Your real identity had been discovered. It was unravelling. This was why you never went public, because of this sense of having no control.

You had to leave the house eventually though. You had to go out and get groceries. You psyched yourself up, picking a rather dull outfit from your closet so you wouldn’t get much attention. Even Lady Gaga sometimes gets her own groceries. Brad Pitt has been seen doing it. Besides, it’s not as if a lot of people would connect your name with your face, unless you had to show some identification. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.

You kept a hat low over your eyes nonetheless as you went through the aisles of the supermarket, picking out the things that you would need for the next two weeks. It seemed to be going well, no one was looking twice at you. It was when you went up to the check-out that things started to go awry.

Right on the cover of the tabloid magazines which were always surrounding the check-out counters, was your face. And your name. ‘Star Songwriter’s Identity Revealed!’ The picture wasn’t the most flattering one either. It was taken off of your personal instagram account, which as private. You maybe had fifty followers on there, all people that you know, but somehow, one of those pictures had gotten leaked.

While trying not to bring any attention to yourself, you picked up the magazine like you were inspecting it. Then you set it down, facing the wrong way. Instead of your own face, what you saw now was an advertisement on the back. Then you did so with the rest of them, making sure that each one was turned around. Some poor salesperson would have to fix them but it was horrifying nonetheless.

You got out of there as soon as possible, moving from using the check-out counter with a smiling person behind it, to the self-check out. At least there you didn’t have to talk to people. And you could get out with your head bowed and no one looked at you twice.

Once you were back in the safety of your car, just one of the many in the parking lot, you called your manager again. He had been getting a lot of calls from you lately. Most of the time he wasn’t picking up because he was too busy trying to fix this problem. You caught him at a spare moment though.

“There’s no use,” You sighed into it. “My picture is on the cover of the magazines. Like I’m Madonna or something.”

“Oh honey, Madonna is never on the covers anymore. You’re like Taylor Swift now,” Your manager said. This did make you smile a small bit but it was still unfortunate. “But I hate to say that you’re right. You’re trending all over right now. You made it big - so now it’s up to you what you do with it.”

“I guess I should get a publicist,” You groaned. You liked it when it was just you and your manager, who was the one who worked with the record labels to get your song out there. It wasn’t the size of your entourage, it was the quality. And after so long of it being just the two of you, you were reluctant to bring another person onto the team.

“Leave that to me,” Your manager grunted. “At least then I’m still good for something.”

“None of this is your fault. I shouldn’t get close to the artists, I know, it’s mine,” You let out a long sigh. “I guess I have some thinking to do.”

“Maybe you’ll find some inspiration and come out with some new songs, eh?” Your manager said, flipping the conversation to work, as they always managed to do. “Your last few were absolute hits. And now that your name is going out there, people are going to be looking for it. Lots of offers already. Just think about it.”

“Okay. Thanks - for everything.” You hung up your phone and checked yourself out in the rearview mirror, slapping your cheeks to get rid of that blood-drained look that seeing yourself in the magazines had given you. At least your manager was right about one thing.

Inspiration really was running through you now.

#Oneshot #one shot #general oneshot #nonship #requested

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fatoomie2801 · 3 years

Text

his queen | kyoya tategami

💫 preview 💫

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"It's so hot!" Kiara screeched, flopping onto the first bed her eyes made contact with.

"We're in Africa," Kyoya deadpanned, closing the door behind them, making sure it was locked. "What did you expect?"

"I know, but I didn't think it'd be this bad!"

"Deal with it."

The two bladers, after an exhaustingly long flight, had booked a room in the hotel near the airport for the night, a place to get some rest before the journey that awaited them the following morning. The room was quite spacious; it had a small open kitchen in one corner with a couple of stools by the counter, a couch in front of a TV in the adjacent corner, two single beds that were quite spaced apart, a bathroom by the front door, and a balcony.

"There's a balcony?!" Kiara exclaimed as she spotted a sliding door on the wall opposite the room's entrance, rushing towards it in excitement before pulling the door open and stepping outside. "This is awesome! At least I won't drown in sweat now since I can just stay outside."

"With that outfit, you'll drown in sweat anywhere," Kyoya commented, gesturing to the layers of clothing Kiara wore.

"Ah, you're right," Kiara chuckled, making her way inside and rummaging through her backpack for lighter clothes. "Okay, I'm getting changed first."

The girl immediately dashed to the bathroom, locking the door before throwing off her clothes and slipping into some comfortable, baggy beige bottoms and a simple white cami top, removing all jewellery but her nose ring. Once she was done, she stepped back into the room, leaving her clothes sprawled on the bed on the leftmost side of the room, the same bed she claimed as soon as she had entered the hotel room.

"I'm done," she announced as she headed straight for the balcony, unseen by her travel partner who was occupied retrieving a bottle of cold water from the fridge and gulping it down, before heading into the bathroom to change into grey bottoms and a white vest.

After he had changed, Kyoya made his way back into the room and instantly spotted Kiara leaning against the glass walls of the balcony, staring down at the bustling city below as her long brown hair flowed gently in the cool breeze. He gazed softly at the sight in front of him, a slight smile forming on his face. Why was he smiling? He had no idea. In fact, he was completely unaware that such an expression had even crept up onto his face. Did he like her? No. Impossible. At least that was what he told himself when he finally realised that he was staring at his travel partner, his eyes frantically searching for something other than her to look at. Sure, he wasn't the kindest person towards her, but he was never truly kind to anyone so it didn't make a difference here. However, something about her had had an effect on him, but again, he was oblivious to it all.

Soon enough, the boy's ice-blue eyes made their way back to the girl before noticing something on her right arm. He took a few steps towards her, and studied her carefully, inspecting what he had now identified to be a large scar that began somewhere on her back and ended at the middle of her upper arm. Kyoya finally made his way outside, gently placing his hand on Kiara's arm, unexpectedly ending the short moment she spent under the warm rays of the brilliant sun.

"What's this?" he asked, his voice soft yet laced with concern. Kiara's golden eyes shot open, her gaze focused on her arm as she flinched at Kyoya's touch, her body moving away from the boy, causing him to retract his arm and let it fall beside him.

"It's a scar," she whispered, her fragile voice noticed by the boy. She paused momentarily before continuing, answering the question that had not yet escaped his lips. "It's from a fire. The one that killed my parents... and Haru." Kiara's gaze shifted to the setting sun above, shielding her expression from her travel partner, as she began reminiscing about the time she spent with her younger brother Haru. She was unable to explain how much she missed both him and her parents, and just how strong her desire to turn back time was just to be able to be with them again. Tears escaped her eyes as she thought back to the days that she and Tsubasa would entertain Haru, telling him silly jokes and earning the sweetest, most adorable giggles from the baby.

"Kiara..." Kyoya muttered, his ocean-blue eyes fixated on the girl. He was ignored as she walked inside, shutting the door behind her, and retreating under her covers in order to fall asleep and escape her traumatising memories.

The boy could do nothing but watch Kiara as her emotions overcame her, his expression softening as he witnessed the vulnerable state she was in, something he'd only seen once before. He turned back to face the setting sun, the golden glow illuminating his features and causing his azure eyes to glimmer. Kyoya became lost in his thoughts, wondering what to do in order to cheer the girl up, his mind clouded with a myriad of things they could do for the fraction of the day that remained. His eyes suddenly widened in realisation after noticing a small stream not far from where they were staying. A walk by the river at sunset, he concluded. She loves that shit. Kyoya rushed inside, closing the balcony door, calling the girl's name a couple times before making his way to her bed, crouching beside it and gently lifting the blanket from her head.

"Kiara?"

Upon uncovering her face, Kyoya was instantly met with Kiara's peaceful expression as she slept, her head resting on her hand, her long dark brown locks covering her features. The boy gently brushed the hairs away from her face and tucked them behind her ears, gazing at her, a faint smile forming on his face. Unbeknownst to Kyoya, his hand remained on the girl's cheek for a short while, the green-haired blader only realising and moving it once she had begun to stir in her sleep. How long have I been here? he questioned himself.

He immediately stood back up only to be met with the sun disappearing into the horizon and the darkening sky unveiling its hidden stars, the moon glowing iridescently as it succeeded the sun, lighting up the world beneath. For fuck's sake, Kyoya sighed, making his way to the other bed in the room and lying down, looking up at the ceiling with his hands behind his head. How many times am I going to catch myself staring at her? The boy continued to question his strange actions for a short while, constantly tossing and turning in his bed before finally falling asleep after he concluded that it would be a waste of time to ponder on such things.

Kiara suddenly awoke in a cold sweat, gasping for air as she placed her hand on her chest to calm herself down. It was just another fucking nightmare, she internally concluded, taking deep breaths in and exhaling. Looking over to her right, she noticed Kyoya asleep, his usually wild expression seeming tamed and peaceful. At least he's getting good sleep, she smiled to herself. She then began searching for a clock, finding it hanging on the wall seconds later. 2am? Great. I barely got enough sleep. As usual.

Kiara made her way to the balcony, sliding the door open gently so as not to wake her sleeping travel partner, and stepped foot onto the cold tiles which momentarily sent shivers up her spine. Gently closing the door behind her, she walked over to one of the two chairs that were situated on either side of the balcony, and seated herself on the rightmost.

The moon's radiant pearly shine illuminated the city below, its silver rays reflecting off of the glass windows on the tall buildings that towered over the city. Stars twinkled brightly above Kiara's head, decorating the sky above, a sight she always treasured no matter how often she was able to witness it. The gentle breeze swayed her soft hair towards her left, getting in the way of her golden eyes, causing her to gently tuck the dark brown strands behind her ears.

For Kiara, right now, being awake felt much more peaceful than being asleep. She decided that she'd rather spend the entire night on this balcony, gazing at the wondrous beauty of nature, and feeling both inner and outer peace, than sleep and encounter those horrifying experiences once again. Of course she was tired, she hadn't gotten much sleep at all, but she knew that she had to force herself awake if she wanted to escape her fears. A few moments passed before the girl began singing the lyrics to her favourite song, her voice quiet yet angelic and harmonious.

Meanwhile, Kyoya stirred in his sleep, opening his eyes in order to briefly check the time, which he concluded was 2:30am. He began to readjust his position in bed when he heard the sweetest melody being sung by his travel partner, her voice soothing to his ears and calming to his soul. Ah, she's singing again, he thought, smiling slightly as he propped himself up on the bed, making himself comfortable. The girl sang, just not as often as Kyoya himself would've liked, so he made sure to savour it every time he had the chance. But why is she awake? he soon wondered. Is she okay? He decided to wait until she had stopped singing before he tried to speak to her and find out what had woken her up at a time like this.

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the rest of chapter 16 is available on wattpad:

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ruleandkillrp · 3 years

Text

// ACCESS GRANTED: LYRIC JOY ORDELL. ASHLEY LIAO. SEVENTEEN. DISTRICT 11 MENTOR. VICTOR OF THE 121ST.

District eleven was a beautiful place. Lyric and her seven siblings knew that. Life was cozy and warm. They were given all the love in the world, and enough food on the table at the end of the day. What could be better than that? Well, Battenberg offered something. The opportunity to move outside your district, try something new! Life was great in district eleven, but when Melody eventually turned 18, and then Soul, they moved out to one and five to pursue their passions. Lyric was always so proud of them, of their bravery.

But she was the shy kid. All her other siblings were more adventurous than she was, picking which district they’d move to once they were big enough. Lyric stuck to her mother’s skirt and her father’s shoulders like glue. If any kid in her family was the least likely to win the games, it would’ve been her. And yet, she was the one who got reaped.

Pre-games, she spent the entire time hiding in her room. She crouched hidden in her chariot, tried to run during her interview, cried for her family every night. Nobody expected her to make it past the first hour, much less win the damn thing. But she was pretty good at running and very good at hiding, so the fourteen year old spent the entire games hiding from the mob as best she could.

As for the dangers the arena presented… in a word? Terrifying. Getting pressed into a flat stanlyric was comfortably enough to scar her for life, but the trials AFTER that were even worse somehow. by the end she was tired, scared, confused and she’d voluntarily lost her whole hand to the mob? And the hallucinogens… watching her whole family die repeatedly… as she bled and cried and everything… it was a lot. A lot. A LOT. even after she broke out of it first, winning the games.

So horrified by what happened, she broke down in tears after she woke and then shut down. she lapsed into silence, unable to speak or make sense of it. It made for a very long victory ball, a hard victory interview. It was clear to all that Lyric was a very changed person. Nobody had found her the most intriguing to begin with, running and crying and hiding. After the games, she lost all of her compellingness to the crowds, Soon enough the capitol just reverted to Hunter Twill’s second victory, then moved past her to Alder Reid, and she was nearly forgotten.

That afforded it’s benefits. She was allowed to hide in the d11 suite during the games, be ‘present’ without being present, and never really do her job. It was almost expected. She showed up, made a blanket fort with her father (who always accompanied his teen daughter to the scary capitol), ate takeout and played board games until they could go home.

Slowly, between therapy, a service dog, and support from her whole family, she worked her way back to normalcy. Her mother was smart enough, though, to tell her to keep hiding away during the games. Eleven never won, anyways, and a teen who the capitol didn’t even like couldn’t help with that. No use retraumatizing her. As such, she hasn’t met most of the tower. And until recently, she was content with that.

That is, of course, until her dad was on the way to pick up something from the store one day. he got caught up in the shrapnel of an exploding peacekeeper truck. It was horrifying, hearing he was gone. And then not being able to contact Melody or Soul for weeks, unsure if they were alive or dead? It was horrible! The rebels claimed to want a world where people could be raised in peace, but now kids can’t even go outside and innocents are being killed!!! What the FUCK?

So yeah, she’s pissed. Her mother would much prefer she claimed her father’s death as a reason to stay home, but Lyric is going to try and leverage the victor power that she’s never touched with a ten foot pole to try and support Battenberg any way she can. We’ll see how that goes.

PENNED BY: TAYLOR

#accepted #bio #lyric

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eggsaladstain · 3 years

Video

the song from the end of centaurworld episode 4 really fucked me up

#centaurworld #netflix #animation #video #beautiful melodies with horrifying lyrics #nowhere king #music

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passionate-reply · 3 years

Video

youtube

Great Albums is back for a third time! This week, we discuss Dazzle Ships, the avant-garde masterpiece that was so infamously weird, it almost “sank” the pop career of Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark. Or did it? As usual, you can find a full transcript of the video under the break, if you’d like to read it instead.

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums. Today, I’ll be talking about an album that many would consider OMD’s best, and many would consider the last great album they ever made: 1983’s Dazzle Ships, their fourth studio LP. It has a reputation that precedes it, as a strange, experimental, and avant-garde album. And I can’t argue with that too much, when it has tracks that sound like "ABC Auto-Industry."

The most obvious thing one can say about Dazzle Ships is that it’s dense and rich with samples. You’ll hear found sounds ranging from a “Speak and Spell” toy to a radio broadcast from Czechoslovakia. It’s a magpie’s nest constructed of garbage and baubles, collage-like and conscientiously artificial. And OMD’s Paul Humphreys and Andy McCluskey managed to make it before sampling became easier and hence more widespread later in the 1980s, thanks to advancements in digital technology. In its own day, it was, famously, a huge flop, baffling even the critics, which makes it tempting to argue that the world simply wasn’t ready for it. Popular legend says that Humphreys and McCluskey were essentially forced to make increasingly soft, pop-oriented music for years afterward, usually at the hands of their label’s higher-ups.

Is that story really true? Well, I don’t know, and I’m not sure if anybody really does. But I think it’s important that we entertain some doubt. Regardless of its actual veracity, this legend is offering us a simplistic narrative of art and capital butting heads, and one that we see repeated all too often in music journalism. It’s a story that expects us to believe that experimental music is good by default, and the natural goal of music and all the people who make it--and, conversely, that accessible music is bad, and anyone who writes a song you can dance to is always after profit, never craft.

Ultimately, though, the most important reason why I’m asking you to leave this question at the gate is that it’s simply a less interesting way to think about art. What I think is truly ingenious about OMD is their ability to combine a pop sensibility with that bleeding-edge experimentation, and vice versa. I don’t think of Dazzle Ships as just an inscrutable, esoteric musical ready-made, but rather something capable of animating and enriching a bunch of otherwise mundane sounds. A word I might use for it is "challenging," because it isn't simply off-putting--it has a certain charm that invites you to stick around and work through it, and you don't feel like it's a waste of your time. I think the underlying pop DNA offered by Dazzle Ships is a big part of that.

In “Genetic Engineering,” the samples from that Speak & Spell are contrasted with a more traditional chorus, which rises above the chaos, stirring and anthemic. It’s a song full of friction, not only between these musical ideas, but in ideas about technology and our future. Like many great works of electronic music, especially earlier in its history, Dazzle Ships is deeply concerned with science and technology, and the ways they’ve structured our world. These guys wrote “Enola Gay” a few years earlier, sure, but there’s much more than Luddite, dystopian thinking here! Dazzle Ships walks a tightrope between romantic adoration of the promise of a better tomorrow, and the tempered uncertainty we’re forced to develop, when we witness the devastation our most horrifying inventions have wrought already. Something that helps sell the former is the motif of childhood: in addition to the Speak & Spell, “Genetic Engineering” also features a children’s toy piano, and prominently references “children” in its lyrics. And “Telegraph,” the album’s other single, sees fit to reference “Daddy.”

Touches like these, and the centering of not-so-new technologies like telegraphy and radio, carry us backward in time. Dazzle Ships has a sense of nostalgia for the technological explosion of the Midcentury, when household technologies were improving in ways that saved time and labour, and faith in “better living through science” was high. It’s not a wistful or introspective nostalgia, but rather one that taps into the bustling excitement of living through that era. That retro styling helps us situate ourselves in a childlike mindset: optimistic, but somewhat naive. Children are highly imaginative, and become enthralled with possibility, but don’t always understand every implication their actions have.

But, as I said, “Telegraph” and “Genetic Engineering” were the album’s singles; the typical track on *Dazzle Ships* sounds more like “ABC Auto-Industry.” The track listing is structured such that these more conventional songs are surrounded by briefer, and more abrasive, intrusions. They become signals in the noise, as though we’re listening to them on the radio--or ships, rising above some stormy seas. Several tracks, such as “International,” also feature a more dissonant intro, on top of that, crowding their main melodies inward.

Over the years, many critics have been quick to contrast Dazzle Ships with OMD’s other albums, but I actually think it has a lot in common with their preceding LP, 1981’s Architecture & Morality, and seems to me to flow naturally from the direction the band had already been going in. Architecture & Morality is a lively mix, with moody instrumentals like “Sealand,” guitar-driven numbers like “The New Stone Age,” and catchy, intuitive pop songs like “Souvenir.” Architecture and Morality proved to be their most successful album, when its title track sounds like this. I fail to see how it’s tremendously different than the title track of Dazzle Ships, which leads us on a harrowing sea chase, with radar pings quickly closing in.

That nautical theme is a great segue to discuss the album’s visual motif. Like all of OMD's first five albums, its sleeve was designed by Peter Saville, most famous for his stunning work for New Order. The cover and title were inspired by a painting Saville had seen, Edward Wadsworth’s *Dazzle Ships in Drydock at Liverpool,* which portrays WWI warships painted in striking, zebra-like geometric patterns. These sharply contrasting “razzle dazzle” designs weren’t “camouflage,” but rather served to confuse enemy forces’ attempts to track them, and predict their motions. Dazzle ships were killing machines that fought dirty...and they were also beautiful. It’s a potent, complex symbol, and it’s a natural fit for an album that’s also capricious, perplexing, and captivating in its uniquely modern terror. Saville’s sleeve design features both a die-cut design as well as a gatefold; peeking through the cover’s “portholes” reveals the interior, where we find a map of the world, divided by time zones. It’s yet another reminder of how technology has reshaped the planet, connecting the human race while also creating divisions.

Earlier, I argued that Dazzle Ships isn’t that different from OMD’s preceding LP, and I’d also suggest that their follow-ups to it aren’t all that different, either. It’s easy to see the influence of Dazzle Ships on their most recent work, made after reforming the group in the late 00s, and informed by the critical re-evaluation and cult acclaim of their alleged masterpiece. But even in the 80s, they basically continued the pattern of layering easy to love, “obvious single choice” tracks alongside more experimental, sample-heavy ones. Compare the title track of their sixth LP, 1985's *Crush.*

Even the greatest of pop hitmakers can't maintain a streak in the charts forever--it's not the nature of mainstream pop charts. Not even in the 1980s, when you could get away with quite a lot of electronic weirdness...at least for a while. Looking back and listening to "Maid of Orleans," it's almost hard to believe it was one of OMD's biggest hits. Is it really less weird than something like "Telegraph"? Perhaps they had simply reached the end of their imperial phase...whether they really had that stern talking-to or not.

It's not so much that Dazzle Ships isn't weird, so much as it is foreseeable that a nerdy, left-of-center band like OMD would have come up with it. Dazzle Ships IS excellent--it’s a Great Album! But it's good enough that I think it deserves to be heard and valued on its own terms. The album is too goddamn good--too compelling, too spell-binding--to be reduced to "that one album the plebs were too dumb to really get." I'm not clearing the air because I think this album is overrated, but because I think it deserves better, deeper discourse than it gets. A truly great album is great whether it sells or it doesn't, right? My advice is to never let art intimidate you, no matter how obtuse people say it is. Send your ship on that plunge into the dark waters of the unknown--you might find something beautiful.

That said...my favourite track overall is “Radio Waves,” an irresistibly fun cut that could easily have become a third single. Since “Genetic Engineering” and “Telegraph” live on side one of the record, “Radio Waves” is really the only “reprieve” we get on side two, smack in its middle. It really stands out, in context--almost like the opposite of how a more conventional album might have one out-there track that catches you off guard. Aside from all of that, though, the song also stands perfectly well alone. I have a real soft spot for music about music, how it’s made and transmitted, and “Radio Waves” is simply one hell of a ride.

Thanks for reading!

#great albums #music #omd #orchestral manoeuvres in the dark #album review #album reviews #dazzle ships #peter saville

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markleespitsbars · 4 years

Note

nct dream reaction to hearing their s/o sing for the first time and shes really good?^^^

Yes absolutely!! I’m so sorry it took so long to get this out but I hope you enjoy it🥰 I also got two similar asks for this so I’m gonna combine them in this reaction!!

NCT Dream reaction to hearing your incredible voice:

이마크💗

Mark stuck a hand out, pinching the knob on his car’s front panel with his thumb and index finger and turning it to the right, blasting the music through the speakers. You rolled down the passenger window, sticking an arm out and letting the wind whip through your hair as he drove you down the road, nothing but little streetlights here and there to light the way.

He was playing your favorite song, and you couldn’t help but sing loudly at the sound of it, assuming the loud volume would tune out your voice. Mark was singing along, too, the both of you smiling and laughing happily.

Mark quieted down to focus on the road as he neared a turn, and as he braked to go into it, he heard a voice underneath the recorded song, hitting every note perfectly. He flicked his eyes over to you for a moment, feeling his stomach do flips as he watched you sing your heart out.

He bit his lip, reaching out and turning the volume down just enough so that it was quieter than your voice, and turned back to the road. You soon realized the music wasn’t as loud as it had been, and you quickly shut yourself up, worried he wouldn’t like how you sounded; he did have an incredible voice, after all.

“Why’d you stop?” Mark asked, turning his head to you for a moment with a pout on his face. “I was enjoying that.”

“No,” you whine, putting your face in your hands and laughing quietly. He reached over, grabbing one of your hands from your face and pulling it to intertwine your fingers.

“Keep going,” he said, thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “You sound great.”

황런쥔💛

Renjun barged into his room, brow furrowed as he paced over to his desk and set whatever was in his hands down on it. “What’s up?” you greeted from his bed, getting his attention. “Something bothering you?”

He shook his head, picking the paper up again. “It’s nothing. We just got the sheet music for our new song, and the harmonies are really tight. I’m just trying to get everything down before we record next week.”

“I can help you rehearse,” you suggested, and Renjun cocked his head to the side.

“You can certainly try,” he said, “but this is one of the most technically difficult pieces we’ve ever gotten. It’s tough, even for me.” You shrugged, sticking a hand out, and he set the sheet music in your hands. You looked over it, widening your eyes at what you saw.

“Wow, this is tough,” you agreed, staring at Renjun’s highlighted notes. “They usually put the dissonant note in the instrumental for those sus chords, but they have you on that perfect fourth this time.” His jaw fell open, mouth searching for words as you listed off observation after observation about the technicalities of the song. “What? You thought I couldn’t read music?”

Renjun chuckled, hopping onto his bed beside you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “I should’ve known better,” he laughed, going back to the sheet music and letting you help him nail his pitch. He was pleasantly surprised at how talented you were, and he ended up perfecting the note by the end of the night.

이제노🧡

Jeno sighed, resting his head across your lap as he shut his eyes, tired after a long day of rehearsal and just trying to relax. Your fingers raked through his hair, soothing him into a calm state of sleepiness. “Y/n,” he murmured, peeking his eyes open and looking at you. “Can you sing to me?”

Your eyes widened. “You want me to sing to you?”

He nodded. “Mhm. A lullaby.” You tried to protest, telling him that you were sure you weren’t that good and that your voice would only hurt his ears, but he wasn’t having any of it. “Anyone can sing a lullaby, Y/n,” he said. “You don’t have to be good at it.”

With no other argument, you finally agreed, resting back on your hands and smiling down at your boyfriend. And then you opened your mouth, letting your voice ring out in a soft little melody that had the corners of Jeno’s lips turning upward.

“You sound beautiful,” he whispered, shutting his eyes again and curling into your lap. “You can sing me to sleep whenever you want.” Your breath caught in your throat at the praise, and you continued to sing to him until he was sleeping soundly, your fingers still moving through his hair every now and again.

이동혁💚

Haechan laid down on the sofa, listening to the Dreamies’ latest song play over his speaker and ad-libbing over the melody. You sat at the other end of the couch, letting his feet rest across your thighs as you played on your phone.

The song ended, but your boyfriend continued to sing his runs over and over, growing more and more off-pitch as he went. You snickered, and he sent you a wide-eyed stare. “What’s so funny?”

You shook your head. “You’re in the wrong key,” you told him with a giggle. You opened your mouth, singing his run in the correct key and making him freeze on the spot.

“Since when do you have perfect pitch?” Haechan asked, torn between being horrified that you had called him out and impressed at the skills you claimed to have.

You smirked. “I always have,” you said. “I’ve just been quiet about it since I’m too nervous to show off in front of actual musicians.”

Haechan smiled, scooching closer to you and getting closer to your face. “So you admit I’m a talented musician?”

You smiled back, taking his cheek in your hand and leaning in to kiss him. “I never said you weren’t talented, Hyuck. But maybe we can do a duet sometime so you can prove that you’re still better than me.”

나재민💙

Jaemin slotted his arms around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder as you stirred the cake batter you were mixing. He swayed the two of you back and forth to the rhythm of the music in the background, squeezing you tighter every time you giggled. You held up the whisk, letting him lick the batter off of it from over your shoulder until it was clean. “Let’s get this in the oven, yeah?” you asked, unraveling his arms from around you and starting to pour the mix into the pan.

Jaemin took the opportunity to dance around the kitchen, jamming to the song that was playing as you slipped your mitts on and opened the oven, sliding the cake inside. “Take it away, Y/n!” he exclaimed as the next chorus of the song neared, and you laughed as you shut the oven door, belting out the lyrics as best you could.

He gawked at you, loving the way your voice sounded when you sang without a care in the world, and he ran up to you, grabbing you and spinning you around as you squealed in delight. “I can’t believe I’ve never heard you sing before,” he singsonged, taking your face in his hands and pressing kisses to every bit of open skin he could reach. “You sound amazing.”

“You’re just being nice,” you told him, hesitant to accept the compliment event though your cheeks had darkened a few shades.

“I am,” he said, “but I wouldn’t lie to you. You do have an amazing voice, Y/n.” And, satisfied, you started singing again, much to Jaemin’s enjoyment.

종천러❤️

Chenle flipped his microphone in his hand before holding it out to you. “Your turn, Y/n,” he said, and you took the mic hesitantly. He had brought you to one of his favorite karaoke places, renting out a room just for the two of you. You hadn’t quite expected you’d be singing tonight, but you supposed it was unfair to make him sing by himself for the entire night.

You stood, selecting your favorite song from the menu and feeling your heart race when the music started. You hadn’t yet sung in front of Chenle, and he had one of the most beautiful voices you’d ever heard; you definitely felt inferior compared to him. But he hadn’t been raking the karaoke very seriously, which made you feel a little less nervous, like you could get a note wrong and not worry about it.

Chenle looked on in glee when you opened your mouth to sing, but as soon as he heard your voice, any words he wanted to say quickly left his throat, his jaw falling slack as he paid attention only to the way you sounded.

You grew more nervous as the song went on, especially because Chenle was oddly silent instead of hyping you up like he would normally do, but the wide smile on his face when the song ended eased your worries. “Y/n, that was awesome!” he exclaimed, jumping up and giving you a big hug. You really did have nothing to worry about, especially as he quickly pulled up a duet on the menu for the both of you to sing, excited to hear how your voices blended together.

박지성💜

Jisung laid in his bed scrolling through his phone as you showered, waiting for you to come out so he could take you in his arms and fell asleep. But through the wall, he could hear a voice loudly singing along to some arbitrary pop songs, and he couldn’t help but smile knowing it was you.

He hadn’t heard you before, seeing as you were too shy to sing in front of him, but he felt so lucky to be able to hear you. Still, it felt rude bringing it up, since you had declined singing for him before. He didn’t want to embarrass you.

Some time later, you emerged from the bathroom, all snuggled into your pajamas as you walked towards the bed and snuggled in beside Jisung. He sank into your warmth, shutting his eyes and smiling. “You’re affectionate tonight,” you whispered, hugging him around his waist.

The words were out before he could think them through. “You have a really pretty voice, Y/n.” Your face flushed at Jisung’s words, not expecting him to have heard you in the shower.

“What?”

He panicked as soon as he realized what he’d said. “I-I mean... I just... heard you. You sound really pretty.” You were going to retort, but Jisung pulled you closer to hush you. “Don’t worry about it, Y/n. Just get some sleep. You can sing some more tomorrow.”

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