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chronically-ghosted · 7 months

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can you see my reflection in the snow-covered hills?

rating: T (this is the tamest thing I’ve written in years)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 8K

summary: a year into secretly dating, you are overwhelmed by your feelings for Dieter Bravo, confident and resigned to the fact that he doesn’t feel the same way. But on Oscar’s night, drunk on sparkling wine and a terrific win, Dieter gives you a reason to doubt your fears.

warnings/tags: age gap, self-aggrandizing rumination on our public vs private personas, a stupid amount of kissing, angst but soft angst, angst that is resolved, this is very different from anything i’ve done recently, and there’s no smut? just kisses? What have you become Taylor? one very very very soft Dieter, waxing shamelessly poetic about being in love and being loved by Dieter Bravo

a/n: this comes from the same request by two of my LOVELY followers ( @tvversionperson and @bitchwitch1981) from my 100 followers event: “I’m not drunk. Can a drunk person do this?” “You’re not doing anything.” “But… I sent you my love. Did you… did you not get it?” with Dieter Bravo. this is so wildly different from anything i've done before, i'm flinging this into the internet like a goddamn trapshooter of emotional angst

shout out to @iamdesibell for the visuals of Dieter at the party. She spoils me with all of her incredible Dieter artwork.

🤍Masterlist

Every artist knows it's about the looks. The aesthetics of it all, the internet’s new favorite buzzword. Increasingly too often, the merit of the artwork is equated to the moral merit of the artist; it’s not so much about selling the image you create, it’s about selling the image of yourself. Does the artist fit into the image of what the masses imagine when they hear what the artist offers? Can the artist balance both the expectations and provide something new? When is the right time to break the mold, and be different, or when is it best to follow the crowd? Keep your head down and make more content than art. When does the aesthetics of a thing matter more than the thing itself?

For Oscar’s night, often there is nothing more important than the look of things. The elegance. The allure but approachability of the stars. Beautiful but obtainable. Handsome but effortless. But beneath all the veneer, all the lights, and gold and glitz, there is a yearning, an animalistic hunger, for a quite literal shiny object waved in their faces to clamor and push and shove for. The beauty is a mask that covers fragility and fear and anticipation – and that mask must remain firmly in place, no matter the outcome. Remember, they’re watching, always watching, and you cannot want a thing too much, lest you become conceited or conniving. You cannot love in a way that scares them.

And sometimes, you think you love him in a way that scares yourself.

His warm palm grips yours over your knee. He, along with the other nominees, wait patiently as the names are read allowed from the gilded stage. His face, a mask – of curiosity, of wonder – but only you, perhaps because you are so close to him, can see the fraught want in his eyes. You know how much he wants this, how much you want this for him. He wants it so much he’s trembling. Microscopically. Barely at all, barely a flinch of genuine human emotion, it makes you sick. Because Dieter, the Dieter you’ve come to know in the past year, is so wonderfully unpolished, such a sterling testament to the beauty in the raw, it makes a spot behind your sternum ache to watch him hold himself back.

You want to give him a smile of encouragement, to kiss his knuckles and soothe his hammering pulse with your thumb, but you can’t. You can’t even look at him, any movement immediately flagged by the cameras. Always watching.

But behind the rows of seats, they can’t see your clasped hands. Can’t see his tapping foot. They can’t see how much he wants, how much he loves. As the names are read aloud for the category of Best Actor, you lift your thumbnail to the meat of his palm, between his own thumb and index finger. Gently, softly, quietly, so as not to startle the molecules of air around you, you draw a heart in his skin.

But by his rigid posture, you’re not sure he registers it. You can’t tell if he knows you’re there at all.

It began a year ago.

After a truly spectacular break up that left you bereft and aimless, you decided to quit. Quit it all. Quit and start over doing the one thing you actually had passion for: screenwriting. Was it risky and dumb as hell at your age? Absolutely. But it didn’t matter if you never ended up writing for a big Hollywood film, you told yourself, as long as you were writing, that’s all that mattered.

So you quit writing articles about car insurance, packed up everything, and moved to the City of Angels.

Two years later, you were still earning your dues. Still working from the bottom of the barrel up, climbing through muck and verbal abuse and emotional exploitation and the very dredges of the industry.

You tried to focus on your craft, on getting more than just getting coffee for the actual writers, but after multiple days spending nineteen hours on your feet, the capacity to be creative so rarely comes, your brain often sizzled and fried like the back end of a janky, unreliable toaster. The production company you worked for had just purchased the rights to a popular novelist’s book for a film adaptation. The party you were at was more of a “pat yourself on the back” sort of thing for the director and novelist to rub elbows while surrounded by beautiful people. Attending mind-numbing parties for the sake of building connections was one thing. You could actually have fun when you wanted, but this? This self-indulgent, ego-driven, flattery bullshit, when all you wanted to do was sleep?

You watch as Eliot Baker, friend of the director and whose house is currently being trashed by a bunch of dangerously drunk and high animals, steps up onto his kitchen table. His pupils nearly dilated to the size of quarters, he holds up a baggy of white powder.

“Anyone interested in Colombia’s finest, please join me in the bedroom. Beautiful women, please stay.”

The three shots you had done earlier had done nothing to dull your irritation, now amplified by the grating cheer that goes up from the crowd. Coke rarely puts you in a better mood, but at least it’s better than sulking by the stairs. Eliot leaps off the table and leads a gaggle of giggling women, and men with their hands all over their sparkly asses, down the hall and you try not to roll your eyes, your feet all but dragging beneath you.

Then someone catches you by the elbow.

And you wonder how a homeless man got past security.

A comically large green beanie on his head, a blindly yellow hood zipped up over what perhaps had been a white t-shirt – you are immediately arrested by his dark, soft eyes. Thick, furrowed brow. He hasn’t let go of your elbow.

“That guy is a fucker,” he tells you with vehemence.

“What?” He could have asked you your name and you would have said the exact same thing.

“Baker,” he sneers over your shoulder at the small crowd tumbling through the open door, Eliot’s too blue eyes watching like a farmer counts cattle to the slaughterhouse. “He laces his shit. Makes you too fucked up. He’s the kind of evil fucker who roofies drinks.”

The stranger looks at you, the twist of rage around his mouth fading, eyes softening again, as if he is worried about you.

“Don’t go in there,” he says.

His warm hand is still around your elbow.

“Okay,” you say because you haven’t come across anyone this earnest, maybe in your entire life, and certainly not since moving to LA.

He blinks, as if surprised, and slowly withdraws his hand. You stare at each other for perhaps too long before he jerks his thumb over his shoulder.

“Wanna smoke some weed?”

The cool night air of LA always surprises you. It’s never cold, no, but the chill is noticeable, tangible, always right at the back of your neck when you least expect it. You stifle the urge to shiver as the man slides the glass door behind him, immediately deafening the party inside. You hadn’t realized it had been so loud until there is blissful silence, the sound of blood rushing in your ears replacing the trance music and the dull hum of overlapping voices.

The man straight off the set of The Big Lebowski unhurriedly digs around in the pocket of that obnoxious hoodie for a bit, as if he could lose an item in that small pouch.

He finds what he’s looking for with a grin on his face, and when he brings both the lighter and blunt to his lips, you realize his left arm is in a cast.

He sees you eye it, managing to light and hit the blunt with one hand before pocketing the lighter and offering the smoke to you. The browns in his eyes are overcome by the darkness surrounding you on the back porch overlooking the valley below, the skyline of Los Angeles winking in the far distance.

You notice something, not writing or words on his cast, more like a dark blot, but you don’t ask him about it. Most people in this business you’ve found are only on for the cameras and when it comes to personal, quiet moments, the less personable they have to be the better. You feel like you’re already pressing your luck by getting a few free hits off this guy so you wait your turn, ready to be as silent as he wants it to be.

Which apparently isn’t very much at all.

“How’d you end up here?” He asks with genuine interest and just a touch of weariness.

You shrug as you take the blunt from him again. “My boss is here to schmooze his new writer. As his assistant, I think I’m contractually obligated to be around him more than his own shadow.”

“You’re a PA?” He asks, voice strained and full of smoke, before he puffs out the side of his mouth. A considerate smoker, then.

“No,” you shake your head. “I’m whatever is lower than a PA. I think an actual bottom-feeder in a fish tank has more power than me.”

“So you’re new to the scene?”

You scowl, one arm tucked around your waist, the other tapping on your thigh. “Yeah, if two years is still new.”

He frowns. “What are you trying to break into?”

His fingertips brush yours over the next exchange and maybe it’s the earnest look in his eyes, or the bizarre fact that he actually smells good despite looking like he’d raided a garbage can, or maybe it’s the weed finally hitting, but you are honest with this complete stranger.

“I wanna be a screenwriter.”

Maybe it’s the drugs finally hitting him too, but the glossy shine to his eyes doesn’t seem to be from boredom as you explain to him the past few years of your life, starting from the breakup in Boston to getting a very specific brand of q-tips from a drugstore on the other side of town for your boss at midnight.

“I know I have to pay my dues, and I don’t mind that, but I just want to do something that matters, you know?” The unexpected chill of the night air curls around your neck as he listens intently to your uninterrupted ramble for ten minutes. “I don’t even care about big movies, or the awards, I want to write something that touches just one person. Give them something to think about for years to come. Comforts or encourages them to do the thing they’re scared of doing.” You feel heat climb up your ears as he watches as though you’re the most fascinating thing in the world. “It’s silly. It’s just a job, and I know I should treat it like that . . .”

You trail off, waiting for him to admonish you, but instead he grins. A smile that widens his whole face. On someone else it might look condescending, but he’s grinning wildly as he slides the joint back into his mouth with two fingers and leans back on his heels.

“So you’re a little dreamer, huh?” That faint blush now beats a harsh red. Fuck, you knew you sounded like an idiot – always opening up too soon and too fast to strangers who don’t really give a fuck. You were just supposed to have a conversation with this nice, albeit weird guy and go on your way and –

He cocks his head as he looks at you, takes in your beet-red ears and cheeks and that smile falters.

“You know that’s not a bad thing, right? The world needs more dreamers. People, who despite all the bullshit, continue to believe they can be happy.”

“You could also call that being delusional,” you mutter as you take the halfway-spent joint from him when he offers.

One of those thick eyebrows jerks as though thinking of a funny joke. He shrugs, his mouth twisting down in a disbelieving smirk. “Personally, I like to call it whimsy.”

Whimsy? Who talks like that?

You fight a giggle and find him looking at you again, that smile smoothed out and warm again. One glance and you snort loudly, then bust out laughing.

Those magnanimous eyes glitter as he watches you laugh yourself silly.

“Child-like, wondrous whimsy,” he teases and you laugh harder as though he tickled you. Another snort explodes out of you and you clap your hand over your mouth, finally hearing the noises you’re making and mortified beyond reason. You glance over your shoulder, worried someone else might have heard your donkey laugh. In fact, you wish anyone other than the gorgeous man standing next to you had heard it.

But if he finds it unpolished or annoying, he doesn’t show it. He just rolls on his heels, grinning and looking overly pleased with himself. When the giggles subside, you bite your lip at him.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Fire away, Pistol Pete.”

“How’d you break your arm?”

He looks down at it as he forgot it was there.

“Uh, it’s a long story.”

He finally pulls it out of the sleeve of his jacket. Your mouth drops.

You can’t even tell what medium had been used, either paint or sharpie or something else entirely, but the cast is a mosaic of some of the most gorgeous artwork you’d ever seen. Birds in gold and blue hues, flowers and leaves in stunningly rendered detail, the curves of anonymous noses and lips and teeth and earlobes – all wound together in collage by someone with an eye for detail and a precious reverence for the mundane.

But for all the artwork, designs you fully believe should be in a museum, you realize no one has signed it. Maybe only twelve year olds sign each other’s casts, you think harshly to yourself. Grow up.

But still, the sight makes you a little sad.

“Did you do these?” You ask quietly.

He nods, turning his arm to give you a better look, as if eager for your approval. You think you see the horns of Goya’s El Gran Cabrón before he pulls his arm back.

The man hasn’t answered your original question, watching your face for every microexpression. Finally, you do glance up and he has his bottom lip in teeth, as though preparing to be scolded.

At that moment, you want nothing more than to kiss those plush lips. You swallow, feeling rather lighted-headed and capable of making terrible decisions, so you take a clear step back.

“I got daydrunk and fell in my pool wrong.”

You frown at him. “That’s not a very long story.”

He drops your gaze, suddenly bashful, and shakes his sleeve back over his cast. “Yeah, well, I couldn’t come up with a better story that makes me look really cool, or makes you laugh, so I went with the lame truth.”

You don’t remark that it sounds like he wanted to impress you so you go for the easy alternative.

“Why would I laugh at you?”

He flops his arms in half-shrug. “I don’t want you to laugh at me. I just want you to laugh. I like your laugh.”

How does someone who wears their heart so openly on their sleeve survive in a place like this? You want him to swallow you down so you can count the rings in his stomach, learn his history like oak trees.

“Who are you?” You blurt out, your mouth full of cotton and brain somewhat disconnected from your brain stem.

At that, he laughs. “Gimme your number and you’ll find out.”

His smile elongates the longer you stare at him. “It’s not a line. I mean, it is, but not like that, if you don’t want it to be. This fucking industry is built on who you know and I know a couple of people to know. You can call me if you have any questions or need a reference.”

The whiplash between flirty tease and professional contact is jarring. Your fingers shaking from shock, you take your phone out of your pocket and hand it to him.

He taps away, bobbing his head to some tune only he can hear, before lifting it up to his face and snapping a selfie – tongue out and eye squinting into the flash.

He tosses your phone back and you learn his name for the first time.

The shock wears off immediately and you roll your eyes.

“Okay, my turn.”

He digs into his back pocket and slides a bright pink 2007 motorola flip-phone into your outstretched hand.

Full – chock full, in fact – of surprises.

“I’m not gonna get tracked,” he says seriously, eyes narrowed. “You really should think about giving up your iPhone. All kinds of bad vibes.”

You eagerly look forward to him explaining the Big Foot Conspiracy and his theories about the magic silver bullet.

It takes you a second to type out your name with the multiple buttons, some old sense memory from seventh grade coming back like a grumpy, displeased ghost, but finally, you snap the phone together and toss it back to him.

With the nub of the smoking joint poking out of his mouth, he frowns when he looks at the phone screen.

“Dolly Parton?”

You pluck the joint out of his mouth, a surge of playful confidence keeping your eyes locked on his. You nod. “Since we’re doing the whole fake name thing . . .”

You want to wink, with your hand on your hip, so clever to have figured out his little game, but when he continues to frown, that rush of bravery fizzles out.

“But the name I put in your phone is actually my name?”

You chuckle, surprised and confused he’s still committing to the bit, a little frustrated at this point because you are actually starting to like this guy and . . .

Unless . . .

“You’re actually Dieter Bravo? The actor? Three-time Emmy nominated actor Dieter Bravo?”

He loops his finger through one of the free-roaming curls from under the beanie and twists it. “That’s what it says on my underwear . . . when I remember to wear it.”

The blush on your face now scalding, you dart across the space between you and him and snatch his phone back. You can literally feel the shameful heat in your spine, your lower back, as you delete Dolly’s name and frantically type in your own.

“I’m so, so, sorry. I was just trying to be funny. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you but it’s dark and, um, you don’t look like I thought you would and I-I had no idea – I’m so sorry –,”

“Girlie, take a breath,” he chuckles and strokes your fingers as they tremble over the keypad. “I’ve never seen someone so stressed out after smoking half a joint before.”

You’ve gone stock still as he bleeds the panic out of you with just his touch. You watch as his warm hand, dwarfing yours in size, slowly moves up to your wrist, your pulse point. His thumb presses into the vein and gently rubs. You can’t help the sigh that eases out of your throat as all the tension in your arm collapses into that one focal point, that one place he presses against you. You inhale, not realizing you had stopped breathing for a second and he releases gently, the ache in your body left over from the rigidity gone.

A brief dark haze passes over his eyes when you sigh, but gives you space easy enough when you settle.

He takes the phone out of your limp hands and reads what you’ve typed out.

“Cute name. But I think I’m still gonna call you Dolly.”

Humor is your gut instinct. Defuse a situation or calm your nerves, sometimes the best you can do is crack a (often poorly timed) joke. You feel all fluttery inside, partially because you’d been talking to Dieter “I know people who know people” Bravo all night and partially because you’re about 86% sure he’d been flirting with you. And so, without thinking, you say:

“Because of my massive tits, right?”

His eyes flit up from his phone screen to, presumably, your tits. Which are very much not Dolly-Parton-comparable.

But he grins. He actually giggles, pressing the back of the hand holding his phone against his lips as if trying to hide his smirk.

“Yeah, that’s definitely it.��

It is the kind of laugh that you know he’s laughing with you and not at you and he’s still staring when his laughter subsides.

He is still staring at your tits.

Just as your face flushes what feels like the hundredth time tonight, he glances up at you. He offers you the last puff, you shake your head, so he sucks in down before flicking the nub over the railing of the patio. His hands sit heavy in his front pocket, the frown on his face contemplative, eyes searching the horizon.

“I think you’re going to text me . . . on a Tuesday,” he says, like he’s divining portents from the shapes of the clouds.

You swallow, trying to purge yourself of this whiplash embarrassment, but you can’t quite decide what exactly to make of this man or this conversation. “What makes you say that?”

His smile is so genuine it rattles something inside you. “It’s my favorite day of the week.”

This feels too good, too real, too intense, too fast. It was a quiet, but familiar story passed around in writer’s rooms or on the back lots of sets: an older man seduces a young girl, promising the world, and then offering nothing once he had gotten what he wanted.

You beg your heartbeat to slow down.

But Dieter Bravo doesn’t seem capable of that, not with his honesty, his open heart, but then again none of them ever do.

That’s the whole point.

“So, um, I should go. My boss is probably out back, breaking things, pissed off because I’m not behind him with a fresh macchiato.” Your phone feels absurd in your hands, as if it now carries something vital inside of it. “But, uh, thank you – for everything. The smoke, the advice, listening to me ramble endlessly –,”

“You weren’t rambling,” he says, arms crossed and finger tugging at an errant curl again. “You were talking about what makes you happy and I was listening. I like listening to you.”

You wanted to believe him. You really did.

“I’ll call you sometime, okay?”

He nods, raising a hand in a wave, but as you turn away, something final, the last piece of the puzzle, pops into your brain.

“Why me?”

Dieter looks at you, big brown eyes confused like a puppy whom you scolded for chewing on your shoe.

“What do you mean?”

“There’s gotta be at least fifty people here. Why did you stop me from going into Eliot’s room?

Dieter shrugs, that easy smile returning. “You looked like the only other person who didn’t want to be here. And you’re really pretty,” he adds casually and your heart launches itself into your throat. “I’ve got a thing for really pretty girls. Gets me into a lot of trouble.”

There comes that heat, that flare in his gaze that makes you wonder how someone like him fucks, all proof necessary that he has a working cock, and he’s not some mystical, Willy-Wonka-esque Ken doll.

It’s a look that makes you wonder if he wants his cock in you.

“Good night, Dieter.”

“Night, Dolly.”

Weeks passed and immediately you were so drowned in work, Dieter Bravo occasionally slipped your mind, falling back on your list of things to do when a deadline was approaching.

But when a contract for a position in a new writer’s room passes over your desk, you pause, and immediately think of him. The offer is unbelievable. More money than you thought possible working as an underling. The channel set to produce was the real deal, likely to order more seasons if the first went well.

“Saw your writing,” your boss told you by way of explaining your dreams falling directly into your lap. “Good work. I sent some of it off, and the studio came back with this. Don’t take too long signing the dotted line, okay?”

You nod, dumb-founded as he walks off, and you glance back at the contract.

And, despite your almost desperate elation, something felt off. But you didn’t know enough about the industry to confidently say if this is a bad deal or not.

So, with a glance down the hall, you call the only person you know who would.

He is immediately livid. Not that you haven’t called, of course, but that someone has clearly tried to take advantage of you.

“Do not take that deal. That corporate bullshit means they’ll own your IP for years to come. I can’t believe they’d do that to you. Stay right there and whatever you do, do not sign that. I’m calling someone at the studios.”

“Yeah. Uh, okay, Dieter, I won’t,” you murmur, half-expecting your hand to burn if you picked the contract up again. “But, um, thank you, for being honest with me. It felt weird, but I didn’t want to pass up an opportunity and I was freaking out that this was the only one I was gonna get but I didn’t want to be rash,so I, um, . . .”

You trail off, the sudden silence on the other line only making your panic and shame more pronounced. You cringe inwardly – Dieter Bravo had better fucking things to do than console a baby screenwriter out of her first mistake – and Jesus, if there was ever a chance he was going to sleep with you, it’s long gone now – it must be, no one willingly sleeps with someone so goddamn gullible.

“Dolly?” His voice is quiet, but with a certain edge that makes you picture that implish little smirk. “Do you know what day it is?”

“No?”

“It’s Tuesday.”

That phone call turned into a new job with a female-led production team, thank yous over drinks, late-night dinners at obscure and dark Chinese food restaurants, movie nights at your shamefully small apartment, and then . . . a kiss.

Which led to all the rest.

A year later and you’re so in love with Dieter Bravo, you crank up Beyonce’s Countdown and belt it from the top of your lungs every time you hear it on the radio.

There’s a new irritant, a new agitation that can only be soothed by him. He’s remade you, changed you, reformed your very being to be missing a piece when he’s not around. He’s made space for him inside you, there was no life – not a real one, not a happy one – not before him and there won’t be anyone or anything after him. No one else fits with you anymore. Ever again.

Your blood runs hot over the ridges of his fingerprints, stamped deep on your soul and your bones.

Trouble is, he’ll never know.

“And the award for Best Actor goes to . . .”

His grip is almost painful and you return it with everything you can, your jaw drawn tight.

The pause feels like it lasts forever.

You hear his name and you think for a second you’ve blacked out, that you’ve somehow missed the moment, or you’ve somehow slipped into a pungently real dream.

And the crowd erupts.

The spotlight finds him in the crowd and you’re being pulled into his chest.

The cologne he wears costs more than your car payment but the instant you’re crushed up into his silken shirt, it’s him. Beneath all the layers, beneath the veneer, the man with the green beanie and fervent yellow jacket is still there. Somewhere. You love them both.

“You did it, darling, you did it,” you whisper into his ear and that’s all you can say before you know you have to tear yourself back, because every second you linger on him, the harder it becomes to quell this rising tide inside you that increasingly tastes like salt water whenever he’s around. It’s become so obvious his name resides in the cup of your mouth.

But when you do pull out of his embrace, in the ringing shout of the crowd, the sparkle of the spotlight, his hand lingers on your elbow, and in a space of a heartbeat that lasts impossibly longer in your memory, you’re met with such a look of profound regret you feel it take up room in your chest.

And in an instant, it’s gone. Grinning broadly, he drops your elbow and moves on down the line, cheered on by his peers, the white light from above illuminating his broad back, the bits of gray becoming ever more present in his beard. You cheer and you cheer and you cheer and you hope it’s from all the cheering that your voice grows hoarse and the tears start to trickle out of the corner of your eyes.

You’re trembling visibly as he accepts his award, showing just the right amount of awe, and appreciation, and excitement. He glances up into the spotlight and there’s the real Dieter for just a split second before he humbly gawks at the golden statue in his hand.

The clock begins.

Make your speech thoughtful and poignant – relevant to what is close to people’s hearts right now.

Be profusive with your thanks. Better start with that, actually. Lower yourself at the height of your glory.

Mention family, friends, names and faces that the masses don’t know because it makes you appear connected to a reality those watching on the television can only speculate about. Say something kindly about how this means so much to you.

Cry a bit, but not too much. Keep your voice steady but with tears in your eyes. Cut yourself off, the emotion too much, and say thank you again.

And anything more than three minutes, they start to play you off.

You’re mentally going through the notes on a potential acceptance speech his PR manager gave him on the drive over, but in the end, it’s clear he doesn’t need it.

Dieter’s speech is excellent.

Really good. Really, really, really good. It has a flare of genuinity, but not the bite of vulnerability that makes people uncomfortable.

He’s been practicing for weeks now, editing as he talks, in the mirror, while driving home from the grocery store, before he goes to sleep. Tonight’s speech, a compilation of all that you’ve listened to time and time again, is the best version of all of them.

He’s soft when he needs to be and excited when he can. He’s onto the gratitude bit, going through the director, the writers, the cast and crew, even his costar, whose beautiful face is shown on the twenty foot screen above the stage, joyful tears in her eyes. And as the applause dies down, his big hand dwarfing the tiny metal statue, his fingers flexing, Dieter’s back goes ridgid, his eyes downcast. A smile slips out infinitesimally.

Dieter clears his throat and looks up.

“And there’s someone else I’d like to thank. This, uh, this one goes to all the little dreamers out there. Working nine to five, to make your dreams happen. We did it, baby, couldn’t have done it without you.”

He stares into the camera and you swear, you fucking swear, he’s looking right at you.

It’s a drowning sort of wave, this focal point that draws you down into him. It’s all consuming and it’s tender and it touches places you didn’t know could go this warm and what else could describe this but love? You resent the Academy, this place, these people for keeping him away from you. You think you’ll claw out the eyes of anyone who tries to separate you again.

You are crying – for your industry friend, his guest at the Oscars, so sees the cameras and the glitz and the glamor.

You’re crying because you’re in too deep.

The rest of the night is dipped into a champagne glass and swirled fast, catching like lighting in a bottle.

Gold dust falling fast, dizzily.

Bubbles, glinting green and pink in the light, rising and winking out of existence.

Golden bubbles in your drink, in your mouth. Your throat. Your stomach.

You feel lighter than air.

With him, you feel as bright and as strong as diamonds. As timeless and luminescent as pearl.

As beautiful as gold.

When the door finally shuts behind you in a darkened apartment, you’ve entered a secret, separate realm of domesticity: mismatched shoes, coffee creamer flavors you don’t like, and shampoo bottles that take up too much space in your shower.

It’s quiet here, blue and shadowed. The girl who left here hours ago to get ready in a hotel halfway across town forgot to leave on a light, rushing out in her haste.

Behind you, you hear him snicker, his tongue behind his teeth, champagne bubbles still in his nose, as he hangs his silk jacket on your coat rack, right next to your muddy raincoat and baseball caps faded with sweat.

“We gotta be quiet,” he hums, wobbling a bit as he toes out of his expensive loafers, pushing them near your off-brand birkenstocks. “Nala’s gonna hate me forever if we wake her up now.”

He is, of course, referring to your tabby cat, who hates everyone who isn’t you, and has a distinct requirement for twelve hour naps with no interruptions. Dieter swears he’s going to wake up one morning with that cat flexing her claws against his throat.

It takes you a moment to recognize and comprehend how your lives have melted together, how extracting you from him and him from you would be akin to destructive alchemy, the process of deconstructing two things causing both of them to oxidize and reduce to flaky rust. You’re drunk and you’re a little dizzy and you’re swaying slightly because your feet hurt but you are too consumed by introspection on your own feelings, what it means to love something other than yourself, to do anything about it.

You’re so far gone from your own body you float, untethered and lost in thought, right up until the moment his arms come around your waist and he pulls you into his chest, like slipping on a beloved coat.

“I think I can buy you for a quarter at Coney Island,” he murmurs into the nape of your neck like he is reciting Neruda’s poetry. You stifle a smile, your hands gripping around his elbows, as he sways with you. He does this a lot; thinks one thing, then two, then three, and by the time it comes out of his mouth, it’s nonsensical to anyone not strapped into his train of thought.

“Try again, darling.” You stroke his cheek with your thumb, his chin tucked over your shoulder, ear pressed to yours. “I think you missed a couple of steps.”

Your voice is gummy even to your own ears, the endless drinks at the afterparty stitching your syllables and consonants together into some freakish creature. He’s slightly blurry in your eyes, his presence overwhelming all of your senses as they try to keep you upright.

He chuckles and presses his face into your neck in what you believe is an attempted kiss.

“I mean, you glow,” he admits quietly to your skin. The grin falls from your face when your heart constricts. “You fucking shined tonight and I couldn’t stop thinking how beautiful and sweet you looked. Sweetness I wanna lick up.” He chuckles again, this time through his nose, laughing at his own absurdity. “And then I remembered cotton candy is sweet too and you can buy cotton candy at Coney Island for a quarter and. . . I think I can buy you for a quarter at Coney Island.”

He scrapes the back of your neck with his teeth as he nudges you forward down the hall, not sparing an inch between your bodies. Which makes for a disastrous time, both of you drunk, his socked feet slipping on the wood, and your heels and dress tangling up together.

“Baby, wait–,”

“We’re almost to the bedroom, we can make it–,”

“Not if we break our necks first. Gimme a second, I’ll just–,”

You slide out of his grasp, inching down the wall and tucking up the truly insane amount of tulle they managed to stitch into your dress. You feel like you’ve been digging for five minutes before you find what you're looking for.

You stick your heel in the air and fiddle with the clasp around your ankle, drunk and working in near total darkness.

Dieter huffs and slides to the floor next to you. He watches you struggle for a minute, nearly swallowed up by the layers and layers of tulle, before he squeezes the air with his open hand.

“Gimme. We’ll be here all night.”

You pout visibly and awkwardly rotate until your foot is in his lap. His fingers are warm as he plucks at the clasp.

“I am perfectly capable of getting dressed on my own.” You toss your hair indignantly.

“Yeah, but you’re always going to need my help to get undressed, right?” He smirks, eyes bleary, as he slides the heel off your foot and takes up the other one when you don’t move.

Always, he said.

Forever.

He’s being so soft, so gentle.

He sees the red marks left behind by the straps of your heels and frowns, displeased. Slumped over in the hallway of your tiny, pathetic apartment, his top few buttons of his pressed dress shirt hopelessly gone, tonight’s bow tie slung around his neck like a tipsy snake, Dieter gives you a foot rub by way of kneading out your pain.

He kisses your ankle with such reverence, adoration, the liquid in your mouth vanishes and ends up in the crotch of your tights.

You’re both too drunk for an actual fuck (“don’t make fun of my whisky dick, baby, it makes it sad,”) but you don’t want to be anywhere else but in your bed with him when you do sober up. So, you let the tulle drop, Dieter giggling as he gets hit with an avalanche of dress and you both clamor over each other to stand up.

Towering over you and smelling like rich, warm, leather and splash of something spicy, he raises an eyebrow at you. You scrunch up your face, your twisted-up mouth betraying the stern look in your eyes, and put your knuckles to your hips. He matches your stance, this town ain’t big enough for the two of us . . .

“You’re in my way,” he grumbles, his mouth twitching.

“Maybe you’re in mine.”

“Well, then it looks like we’ve got on our hands a good ol’ Mexican standoff.”

“By all means, pardner, stick ‘em up.”

You eye him like PopEye, cheek full of nothing but air, your one eye all squinty. At that, he completely breaks, going red as he laughs. You hold the pose for a second longer before you collapse against him, laughing until tears run out of the corners of your eyes. You press your forehead into his chest, his heartbeat like a homing beacon, as he nuzzles the back of your head, giggles escaping occasionally on puffs of air.

“That’s it!” He says after a moment of silence and tosses his hands into the air. “I’ve had enough! I can’t do this anymore!”

Without warning, he bends down and hauls you over his shoulder. He continues his tirade over your brief gasp of surprise – “Dieter!” – his finger indignantly in the air as he marches off towards the bedroom.

“I can no longer date a girl who is funnier than me and so goddamn, fucking pretty. Who let you do that, huh? Who taught you how to be so fucking adorable? Answer me, you sexy, little weirdo.”

He tickles you enough just to make you squirm before dramatically tossing you onto the bed. You assume your best heart-broken divorcé pose, hand draped over your forehead, one leg tucked under the other.

“Think of the children, honey! Nala needs a father’s influence, a lonely girl trying to survive in a man’s world! You can’t shoulder me with the responsibility of single motherhood!” You sit up, eyes fluttering up at him. “Everything I learned, I learned it all from you!”

Smirking, he kneels onto the mattress, your body folding back as he hovers forward, his nose inches from yours. You fight the shiver that arches up your body every time he gets that look on his face. He’s got your sanity between his teeth. “That child loathes me, darling,” he purrs. “She’s better off with you. She looks far too much like the milkman to be mine anyway.”

Your fake gasp is buried beneath the lunge of his mouth over yours. His hand cups your cheek as his mouth seeks out all its favorite places against your lips, your skin, your jaw. Your fingers dig into his wrinkled, once-starched shirt, the heat of his skin pricking your fingertips.

It’s right there, that knife edge between starting something there’s no going back from, no alternative path that ends in anything other than him buried deep inside you, filth that still makes you blush pouring from his mouth into your ear. A part of you, the part of you that’s been stalking behind every smile and touch he sends your way all night, the part of you that every nerve sing for him, is begging you to continue. To touch him in the right places that make his eyelids drop, mouth wrench open, to take on the animal that’s gnawing at you both.

But you don’t. You can’t.

The simple fact of the matter is – you’re exhausted. You know he is too. The Oscar statue sitting on your entryway is a culmination of dozens of exhausted nights that finally paid off.

He sighs when you pull back, there is no anger on his face, no disappointment that you’re ending things here. There’s only . . .

“You looked really, really pretty tonight,” he confesses to your nose with a smile. “Thanks . . . for coming with me tonight. You make everything better.”

You tuck his hair over his ear, feeling whole and small beneath the gentle search of his gaze. His hair is getting long and you love it, but you don’t want to nag him about it. The universe has finally balanced itself with him in between your legs, the foundations that make up the galaxy all settled in right here.

He takes it one step further, reaching back behind him to the comforter you keep on the end of the bed that inevitably gets kicked to the floor every time he stays over. You’d pick it up and put it back every day of your life without complaint if it meant him in your bed until the end of time.

Dieter tosses the blanket over both of your heads and crawls back in between your legs, elbows tucked by your ribs. All the champagne in the world couldn’t give you this same warm, bubbly feeling in your chest as his weight sinks into you.

He’s submerged you both in another realm, a deeper one than the one before, and in this one you have to whisper, even though the only other person in all of existence is inches from your nose.

“You’re drunk,” you murmur, hushed. You can barely find the outline of his chin, his lips, his nose. The steady drum in your chest misses a beat as you consider where he might be looking on you.

He awkwardly tugs your knuckles from both hands beneath his head, kissing them gently before allowing them to quietly slide into his hair. He’s so warm, nearly completely invisible to you in the blackness, the weight of his broad chest threatens to choke the air right out of you. But this exactly is how you want it to be. You want to be overwhelmed by Dieter Bravo.

“I’m not drunk,” he tuts, a soft slur still tucking his words together.

You reach down just inches to his temple, following the lines of his body that swear all lead to you, to find the arch of his cheek. He closes his eyes, lashes fluttering like butterfly wings against your thumbs.

“Could a drunk person do this?” He asks quietly, as close as he could come to indignant in this special, dark little world.

You wait, for a sloppy kiss, for something hard to tap against your thigh, but nothing comes. In fact, he doesn’t move.

You inhale as best you can, grinning, ready to start another proverbial sparring match with him.

“You’re not doing anything, Dieter.”

His eyelashes stroke your thumbs again, a kitten lick, as he opens his eyes.

“I sent you my love. Did you not get it?”

All in the air in your lungs is purged in a heavy gasp as his words impact your chest the way comets collide with meteors.

He says your name, concerned by the wounded noise you just made, and when you don’t answer, he leans back, tugging the blanket as he goes.

It’s not until you’re looking up at him in your bedroom, his face blurry and your cheeks cold, that you realize you’re crying.

“Dolly, what did I do?” He sounds so concerned, so visibly shaken, you can’t help but cry harder. He only touches your wrist, as if he’d been banished from your body.

If you hadn’t had so much to drink, this wouldn’t be happening or at least you’d be able to get it to stop, reign in those explosive feelings that you had kept for so long deep and buried until he came along with a match in the dark.

You take a deep breath, eyes locked onto the ceiling, hands clenched in fists. You know he can feel the tension in your forearm beneath his thumb making circles inches below your pulsepoint. You thought you never, ever wanted to have this conversation, but now you understand this has been the only thing that’s been on your mind for months.

“You don’t mean that,” you croak into the darkness. You feel small and foolish, embarrassed for having a body that produces emotions.

“Don’t mean what, darling?” He’s still talking quietly, but firmer, providing a hook onto which you can grasp and fight the current in your mind. He knows this feeling, anxiety, and he hates how it looks on you.

“That you love me.”

Your words ring in the air, like the distinctive pitch of singing glass. You swallow that choking knot further down your throat and, wrenching your gaze down from the ceiling, finally look him in the eyes.

It’s the same look he blinked at you from the seats, there and gone so fast you partially convinced yourself you’d imagined it: profound, deep regret.

“You think I don’t love you?”

His tone makes you instantly feel guilty. Did you miss something? What if he texted it to you and you didn’t see it? Or wrote it in a note . . .

“You’ve never said it. At least not to me.”

And his face crumbles.

He slides off his haunches, feet dangling over the edge of the bed, his big shoulders curved.

Slowly, as if believing he has no right to, he touches your ankle, where he had rubbed away those painful marks in the hallway. He shakes his head, smirking darkly at himself.

“At the risk of sounding like a dramatic fucking actor, I didn’t want to put you in harm’s way.”

You sit up, unable to help yourself from curling up next to him, his grip adjusting to your thigh, instantly finding the heat of it beneath all the tulle. Cutting right to the core of you.

He gets this furtive glance when he’s thinking about something unpleasant, his eyes darting rapidly back and forth, as though unable to choose the right course of action. How much does he say, how much does he give away?

He rubs your dress material between his fingers.

“I’m older than you,” is how he starts. When your mouth twists open, ready with a litany of reasons why you don’t care, why no one should – reasons you’ve already said to him a dozen times – he meets your gaze and silences everything in your head. “And it’s not me they’re going to come for.”

The weight, the finality to his voice shoves that knot right back up your throat, your eyes hot and tight.

“I . . . I didn’t say it, outloud, because then we’d have to do something about it. I don’t want to keep us in the dark, but . . .” he swallows as if choking too. “But after the dox two years ago and then the incident in Austin, I feel like I’ll be putting you in physical harm when they find out we’re together. And I would literally rather die than have anything happen to you.”

He kisses your temple, the touch a consolation.

You don’t want to turn away, you want every kiss he gives you, but all you can feel are the studio’s words, the words of your managers, pressing down on you:

You know how some fans get. For your safety, let’s give it two years.

We’re happy for you, we really are, but you can’t be seen together too much. Minimal instagram, rare public appearances. We’re just trying to keep up appearances until the fans settle.

Appearances.

Aesthetics.

Image.

You’d happily kill anyone who tried to take him from you.

But you know he’s right.

“It has nothing to do with how I feel about you, what I feel for you,” he promises, voice warm, dipped in honey. “I just . . . I can’t lose you.”

“Then can you say it just this once? Just to me?” You try to smile but the tightening of your skin only spills the tears. “Please, Dieter, I won’t ask again. I have to hear it once from you. After that, I promise I–,”

His great warm palm covets the back of your neck, rolling you into him like melting chocolate drips onto the floor. He stops, inches from your mouth, so close you can feel your neutrons mix with his.

“I love you.”

Earnest, genuine, real.

A green beanie and a yellow jacket.

Chinese food and dreams of a better life. Of a happy life.

You steady yourself, your spinning world, against his hand around your cheek, clutching onto his wrist like it’s the last great lighthouse at the end of the world.

You open your eyes and, yes, yes, there is adoration in his smile, in the way he watches his words soothe some ache inside of you with joy.

“I love you too,” you tell him, in case it wasn’t obvious. If somehow he couldn’t smell your obsession for him. “I love you,” you say again, firmly.

It’s an inevitable sort of fall, his mouth into yours.

Like neutron stars collapsing together, alone and quiet in the far reaches of space.

Like the stone bones of an ancient church cracking and tipping into the sea as time and erosion eats away at a once great monument.

Like the spinning metal within a compass, never failing to find north, to find home.

When you awake next to him the next morning, warm in a way that goes behind physical body heat, he kisses your nose.

I love you, he tells you, with his words, with his body. With the dozens of ways he’s been mulling over in his mind to keep you safe and make you his for everyone to see.

I love you, he tells you that morning.

And every morning after that.

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a-libra-writes · 4 years

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The GoT Characters Reacting To You Being an Artist

this was a request, send eons ago, back in ye olden days. probably?

In this preference, you'll be drawing with: Ned Stark, Robb Stark, Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Benjen Stark, Jory Cassel, Dolorous Edd, Mance Rayder, Tormund Giantsbane, Yara Greyjoy, Daenerys Targaryen, Jorah Mormont, Missandei, Grey Worm, Tywin Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Sandor Clegane, Bronn, Podrick Payne, Petyr Baelish, Stannis Baratheon, Davos Seaworth, Margaery Tyrell, Brynden Tully, Edmure Tully, Brienne of Tarth, Ramsay Bolton, Roose Bolton, Oberyn Martell, Beric Dondarrion

NED STARK

He’s the sort to be charmed by something like this, he’s never had a talent for creative pursuits so he appreciates it when he sees it. He likes the devotion you have to it, and the discipline, it’s just another reason to admire you. Ned encourages the hobby, and when he has time he likes to watch your painting or sketching. if you allow it. Ned enjoys your pictures of animals the most, even if they aren’t very good… He thinks they’re cute. If you ever made portraits of the family, he’d absolutely hang them around his office and the sitting rooms at your request.

ROBB STARK

When you were children, Robb used to be terribly impatient, waiting for you to finish sketching and doodling so you both could finally play. You’d make him pose funny so you could have a reference. As he got older, he began to be in awe of your skill as it improved. He still remembers the cute little scribbles you’d make. Now whenever you ask him to sit so you can practice portraits, he blushes under your concentrating stare. He would love to have a portrait of you to take with him on his campaigns, but he’d be too shy to ask directly, so he’d suggest it in the most roundabout ways.

SANSA STARK

She adores watching you work, and the finished product. Sansa enjoys creative pursuits, and although she’s more of a seamstress and embroiderer, you can share experiences and tips with each other. Sometimes she’ll ask you to lightly sketch on fabric so she can embroider over it. As much as she loves your drawings, she blushes whenever you want to draw her, and she can’t imagine being painted. Sitting and being stared at by you is so romantic to her young mind, she can’t focus at all, daydreaming about what it’ll look like when it’s finished. It’s a memory she cherishes for a long time.

JON SNOW

Jon was wondering where you had gone off to at the end of your duties, not that he kept track of that often, it was Ghost that would lead him to wherever you were hiding. He thought it was kind of silly to hide something like this, but then again, you took great pains to get supplies from Mole’s Town. He’s so relaxed when he watches your process, how you so effortlessly transfer things around you to paper. When Jon can, he tries to get charcoal for you to use.

BENJEN STARK

He loves listening to the sound of the charcoal scratching against your sketchbook. He usually hears it when he finds you after his overnight shifts, wanting to see you before he left to sleep. He’ll rest against you and idly watch the picture appear on the paper. Sometimes the sound of that and your breathing is so peaceful, he falls asleep. He likes it when you draw maps for the ranger’s reference because you sketch out the different animals and wildling camps instead of just marking them. It’s cute as hell, and he won’t let anyone insult you for it.

JORY CASSEL

Jory loves your talent as well, he heard people around Winterfell talking about your “charming” paintings and wanted to see for himself. When he was crushing on you and later trying to court you in his own way, he’d bring you art supplies you needed. The fact he paid attention to what you were running low on was flattering. Jory enjoys watching you work, but he’s too embarrassed to sit and pose for anything; he’s relieved if you paint landscapes or animals instead.

EDDISON TOLLETT

He thought it was the oddest thing he’d ever seen, you huddled up in your coat and scarf but no gloves so you could draw the horses or some trees. Well, Sam had his books, and Jon would go off to train, so this was just something you did to keep your sanity on the wall. He liked sitting next to you and observing, making wry comments now and again. Many times he’s joked about you drawing the wall, but a specific section of the wall, because “that’s the prettiest part”. If he can find some charcoal or things to draw on, he’ll keep it without thinking, then remember it weeks later and give it to you with some shyness.

MANCE RAYDER

Mance loves your artistic nature. He’s a musician himself, so he understands the urge to create something, to just let your mind wander and escape in it. You’re sort of an odd inspiration to him; when you both are relaxing in his tent late in the evening, and you’re just sketching something, he feels the urge to get his lute and start experimenting with a new song.

TORMUND GIANTSBANE

He doesn’t really get the “point” of it, but he’s still fascinated watching you paint something across a thin, pale piece of leather you made yourself. Tormund will just be right there next to you, up in your business and wanting to see how you do it. He’s more patient in the evening, content to sit across the fire and just watch your hands move. He wonders how you just know how to move them. Sometimes he’ll trace things in the snow with a stick, trying to mimic your shapes and movements, but falling totally short. It just makes him more in awe of you.

YARA GREYJOY

She doesn’t think much of artistic pursuits, it’s just not in the Ironborn culture to care about things like art and prose. Still, she knows skill when she sees it, and she can admit it’s interesting to watch you sketch something, then she comes back an hour later and you’ve made the drawing almost lifelike. She won’t ever want to be drawn, but there’s a look of pride on her face when you show her scenes of her ship and the men working on it. She might even keep one of them.

DAENERYS TARGARYEN

Dany thought you were writing in that old journal for the longest time, and she realized you were drawing when you were next to Drogon, capturing a rare moment of the dragon calmly sitting. That’s when she playfully demanded to see it, wanting to see what else you drew of her dragons. Instead she found a sketchbook full of scenery, people, horses, flowers, whatever interested you at the time. When she passed over portraits of herself, she wanted to linger and stare, smiling at how shy you’d get. Once in Meereen, Daenerys sets up a studio for you, hoping you can escape to it when you’re stressed. She ends up visiting it just as often, admiring your half-finished paintings as she tries to calm down.

JORAH MORMONT

Jorah finds it to be a darling hobby, something that fits you perfectly, but he’s still surprised by your skill level. In Essos, that sort of talent is coveted by rich merchants and politicians, but you only do it for yourself. When the khalasar stops to camp for the evening, he’ll make his way to you, hoping you don’t mind him sitting and quietly watching. Whenever you mention drawing Jorah, he’s flattered but shy at the idea. He doesn’t think he’d make a very interesting subject in armor or not, so he directs you to the horses or landscape. Whenever he passes by a market, he looks for paints you might like.

MISSANDEI

She’s highly appreciative of your talent, as she has something of an artistic interest. Missandei isn’t much of one herself, but she appreciates art immensely. She can’t hide her curiosity when she notices you painting and sketching, and she’ll want to wait for you to tell her it’s okay to look. Once you two are closer, she’ll ask about your process, about why you chose this color or that subject, what the art makes you feel. You noticed she prefers your more abstract pieces over the simple still-life or portraits.

GREY WORM

Grey Worm has seen all sorts of grand portraits and sculptures in the houses he was sent to guard over the years. He never had a thought about how they were actually made, even after being freed. It was so new and foreign to him. When he watched you work, he loved seeing how it’d go from a sketch to a painting. You’d show him the different paintings and brush strokes to make it happen, but it was still like magic. When you drew him, it unsettled him at first, seeing a non-moving reflection stare back at him. Eventually Grey Worm shyly asked for a small portrait of yourself that he could carry around. It’s his good luck charm.

TYWIN LANNISTER

Well, there are less than savory hobbies young ladies can have, and painting was certainly an accomplishment to be proud of. He admired your skill from afar, you were clearly talented, and he’s a man who appreciates a craft that’s honed and excelled in. This continued in Casterly Rock, and Tywin had to admit he was proud of the landscapes you did of the keep and the ocean surrounding it. He’d have several of your paintings in fancy frames in his office.

TYRION LANNISTER

During your first meeting, Tyrion noticed the odd markings and colors on your dominant hand, and sometimes they were on your sleeves, too. When he spotted you drawing in a secluded corner days later, it made sense. Tyrion was interested in you so he used art as a way to talk with you, and he was pleasantly surprised when you’d respond, letting him see your sketches and later, some of your paintings. It was like he was invited into a private world, and it made him like you all the more. When you’re a couple, he’s always finding interesting paints from Essos or fine brushes made of ivory and sable hair, and he proudly keeps your paintings in his office.

JAIME LANNISTER

Sometimes he lingered in your chambers after you two were intimate, and inevitably you’d start sketching something. He thought it was amusing, some funny quirk, and always had to joke if you were drawing him. When you’d fall asleep he’d look through the sketchbook, admiring your drawings, trying to deny how much of yourself he could see in them, and how they deepened his feelings for you. It was too risky to carry a portrait, but he ended up stealing one of your drawings before he had to leave for his father’s war. He chose a simple detailed sketch of your favorite flowers; you used them in your perfume and you always had them in your room.

SANDOR CLEGANE

The gruff man dismisses it as “some women’s nonsense”, although he couldn’t recall any women in court who had their noses stuck in sketchbooks as often as you did. He’d see you in the gardens almost every day, drawing something in a book. He didn’t think about it until you two were close, and he was able to sit next to you and see the drawings. Sometimes you drew what was around you, and that made sense, but sometimes you drew things from your head, and he wondered how difficult that was. Sandor would absolutely not want anything drawn of him; it makes him uncomfortable and gives him feelings he’s not ready for when he sees pictures you made of him or Stranger.

BRONN OF BLACKWATER

Bronn doesn’t think much of it. He’s a mercenary, what did you expect? He didn’t tease you, but he did like to be a distraction when you were trying to draw something, curling his arms around your waist and kissing up your neck to get your attention. Often when you knew he was stopping by, you’d engross yourself in a project, just to grin at his frustration as he tried to pull you from it. He’s had some curiosity and looked in your sketchbook before, but that’s it. He’s willing to pose for something, but only if you promise him a reward, since he gets antsy sitting so still, having to look at you but not getting to touch.

PODRICK PAYNE

He really admires your skill, it was something he was always interested in as a boy, but he never had the talent for it. When you’re sketching, Pod wants to look over your shoulder, but that’d be rude, so he just waits, a bundle of nervous energy that Tyrion eventually dismisses. He can’t hide his excitement when you offer to show him the sketchbook, and later your studio, which he enters with such reverence, you’re a little embarrassed. Once Podrick is more comfortable with you, he’ll ask about your process and inspiration.

PETYR BAELISH

He admires your talent like he admires the rest of you, it’s just one more reason to adore you. He found out where your secret drawing spot was, where you’d hide away from the court and spend all morning on your sketchbook. This is where Petyr would “chance” upon you, and your art was a way for him to get you to open up. He was well versed in art himself, so he could discuss techniques and artists with you, and later send you nice gifts like rare paints and fine brushes. If he knew you’d accept, he’d offer to give you a tour of some of the fine paintings and ancient statues that were sadly gathering dust in the Red Keep, paying more attention to your reactions than what you were looking at.

STANNIS BARATHEON

Stannis really has no like or dislike for art, it’s not something he cares to think about. Even with that lack of opinion, he can tell you’re talented and you work hard at what you do. Since you clearly enjoy it so much, eventually he’ll shyly offer you a room in Dragonstone to use as a studio. He may not be the best at describing why he likes your work, or what about it is good (please don’t ask his opinion on a piece), but he’ll make sure you have whatever supplies you desire. He’ll be beyond embarrassed if you ask to draw him, but you can quietly sit in his study and sketch, he’ll be none the wiser.

DAVOS SEAWORTH

Davos finds your skill to be charming, and something worthy of praise, he’s not shy about complimenting you when he notices you painting. He’d never overstep his bounds and ask to see the sketchbook you’re always buried in, but even just listening to your charcoal scratch at the paper is soothing. Several afternoons he’s sat whittling something while you draw something else, both of you exchanging a few words, then sitting in a peaceful silence. He’s always encouraging of your art, even if he doesn’t know any technical terms or what’s considered “great” vs “good”. It looks nice to him, so he enjoys it.

MARGAERY TYRELL

This is just one of many things Margaery appreciates about you; really, there’s nothing more attractive than someone with many talents. Her favorite thing is to watch you paint, specifically, when you’re mixing paints and deciding which color to use. They all look similar to her, and you’re only using a few strokes of some of them! She likes to sit and chat with you while you work, not even minding when you just respond with a “mm” and “oh”. She has a hand mirror that has a small portrait of you in it; she insisted you paint one she could carry around.

BRYNDEN TULLY

He enjoys sitting next to you when he has a chance, watching you work on your sketchbook while you both chat or just enjoy the silence. It’s what drew him to you initially, a pretty girl with her nose tucked in a sketchbook, totally oblivious to the lords trying to get her attention. Unlike those courtiers, he doesn’t pretend to know a damn thing about art. He just loves to see your graceful hands move across the page and how you furrow your brow in concentration. Brynden outright laughs if you want to draw him, insisting there are far prettier subjects around. His younger, more wistful side wishes someone could capture the express you have when you draw, so he could have that picture in his pocket.

EDMURE TULLY

He likes the hobby, it’s just another amazing thing about you, although admittedly he can get impatient when you’re spending a long time on a painting. He gets a funny, flustered feeling when you paint landscapes of Riverrun, or portraits of your children, once you have them. He’ll hang them up proudly in the Great Hall - or his office, if you’d rather have them there, he’s just so proud! Though, he’s a bit shy about sitting for a portrait. Something about your gaze makes him squirm, and he’d much rather have a picture of you or the kids.

BRIENNE OF TARTH

When Brienne watches you sketch something and later paint over it, it almost seems like magic, although she understands the hard work behind it, and your artistic process. She understands it better than most, considering how hard she worked at her swordsmanship. Brienne is so embarrassed if you want her to sit for a portrait, she just can’t do it. However, if she’s fully armored and you’re sketching her training or on her horse… It gives her a pleasant kind of embarrassment. Your portrait looks amazing, a gallant knight in movement, and she’s so happy you see her that way.

RAMSAY SNOW

Oh, he gets so impatient when you’re sketching or painting and he wants you for something… or just wants you. You’ll see him sigh and fidget in your peripheral vision, if he doesn’t just sit in front of you and call your name. You don’t expect him to understand the point of it, although unbeknownst to you, he has some morbid ideas of art. Best not go to that place. You’re surprised by how much he likes drawings of his hounds, he’ll actually sit next to you and watch you work with interest. Granted, it won’t last more than fifteen or twenty minutes, but there’s a strange… comfort in the warmth of him as he leans in, resting his chin on your shoulder.

ROOSE BOLTON

He doesn’t mind how you spend your freetime, although this pursuit is an interesting one. To keep you pleased, he’d learn the different supplies and paints you used and order new ones whenever you needed them. If you liked quiet while you worked, or being outside, or having someone to talk to, he’d arrange that. You’d probably even have a room for a studio in the Dreadfort, many servants agree it’s a cheerful, welcome addition to the place. Once you two had children, Roose would keep a small portrait you painted of them in his office. It’s an oddly sentimental thing for the man to do, but no one would dare comment on it.

OBERYN MARTELL

This is one of many things on his list of reasons to love you. He’s a man who loves art and creativity, especially when the paintings are full of life and color. When he notices you’re sketching or painting, he actually approaches quietly, not wanting to interrupt your concentration (and wanting to see what you’re working on). He’s delighted by portraits you make of him, but personally he loves your landscapes of Dorne. You capture his feelings of his country so well, it makes him a little emotional. He’ll absolutely ask you to draw a small portrait of yourself - as scandalous as you can manage! - so he can always have you with him. He keeps it in a small pocket mirror with the glass taken out.

BERIC DONDARRION

The former knight is very charmed by this, in fact, you might think he’s … attracted to it. He tries not to make it obvious, but you notice how he wistfully gazes at you while you draw. It’s never any big or fancy pieces, just what’s around as you travel with the Brotherhood. When you’re together, he makes no secret about it, looking totally lovesick as he watches how you brush your hair aside and focus on the drawing in front of you. What a silly man. He also likes to cuddle behind you while you work, sometimes resting his head on your back and falling into a doze.

#game of thrones imagine #game of thrones preference #got imagine #got preferences #game of thrones x reader

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songzhong · 3 years

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@zorkaya 🎭🔶

He is not one to share a bed with someone so quickly, before he doesn’t get to know them on a deeper level... but when someone catches his fancy ? He can fun, definitely. Although instances of sharing passion with a mortal were extremely few and far between, Zhongli was no stranger to matters of pleasure.

The secretary of the Aurora Borealis theatre was a dangerous person, he had no doubt that there was so, so much more underneath those cold eyes. She was not only a charismatic and beautiful lady, the depth he could see in every inch of her person told a long story... and it was terribly attractive.

With the both of them keeping decorum, he was more than receptive to her advances, and she was more receptive to his. However, the difference between them was that she played less of the long game and was going for what she wanted right away... with such an admirable character he had grown to see so much passion and allure in, the consultant thought to himself that this lady was more than welcome to be humored.

He was being given a tour backstage of the auditorium where they’d play and he’d narrate, each movement and word they spoke echoing in the large, empty room... same when she was looking at a list of props after they had exchanged clear innuendos, and he had slid behind her, gloved fingers caressing her sides and stomach, before moving down her thighs as her touch encouraged him to continue further.

He gently pressed her so she’d bend down on those heavy cloth covered crates, the consultant’s thin lips caressing her nape in raspy sighs, while he was patient, still feeling the more modest details of her form under his fingers, so both her body and soul would be appreciated the way they deserved.

She was his equal, he’d worship the privilege of sharing this moment together while it lasted the most he could, as his movements were gently asking for permission to touch her further as she leaned into her back to him. Though when she started to be more and more obvious that their desires were shared, he made his intentions clear while he had been moving his hands up her thighs, raising her dress above her hips while she was still slightly bent over.

A rough, hard spank was given to her buttock. Once. The impact echoing through the theatre, and pushing her whole weight against what she was leaning on, pushing the heavy crates dangerously a few inches forwards.

All his gentleness needed to not be mistaken : he desired her, on the most carnal level.

A strong figure leaned against Zarina’s back, muscles tensing against her while the consultant kept softly kissing against her, slightly undoing the slider of her dress so he could praise the lines of her shoulder and shoulder blades, her elegant spine, pale skin, and every single mark he could find. While his gloved hand was gently moving up and down between her thighs above the thin fabric of her lingerie, exploring the outer curves of her modesty. Zhongli’s fingers gently spread, putting pressure against Zarina without intruding, just enough so the pressure would gradually stimulate her intimacy, only promising the incredible sensation direct caresses would procure.

The funeral parlor consultant didn’t necessarily care about his own, personal bodily desires right now, what he sought after, what he was currently panting in his raspy voice for between his kisses of worship, were discovering this woman’s intimate ins and outs. What made her melt, and which beauties only a select few would be able to see, because this wasn’t about the ones who shared a bed with her... it was about those even rarer individuals who’d make her wreath in pleasure, leave her panting and breathless as they’d reach so deep within her pleasure her complex mind would have no place for other thought than the overwhelming sensations going through every inch of her.

He was a patient man, moving in slow, circular motions before gently pressing against her for more direct stimulation, with only the dexterity, care and lust of one who wanted to have his partner truly lose it for him.

Only when she’d truly, truly start to beg for more, be it through breaking the silence or forcefully grabbing onto his wrist, would he push aside her underwear, and his still gloved right hand would start to caress her, finally, finally giving her the knee buckling ecstasy and satisfaction his direct touch would give her.

He just needed one hand to explore her intimately. The rest was observation, adaptation... anyway, it was too late for her to regain composure, what had happened beforehand seemed to be enough. How long had it been since she had shown this part of her ? Had someone have her stay back and enjoy herself, lose herself in such intimate sensations ? Zhongli wondered.

Soaked gloved fingers kept rolling around and against her clitoris, before caressing her lower lips again as she shivered, always keeping the same motion long enough until she started building up more pleasure as his muscles felt her body relax and tense under him, before stimulating the other area he felt she was leaning more onto to keep his momentum... he was, after all, an expert at reading others, and she’d only get the best from him...

... although when she was about to cum, he entirely stopped, unable to hold a grin as he did, although she couldn’t see him from this angle... certainly, a wise lady like Zarina could tell he was. Was his hand and wrist tired ? How long had they been there ? No. He was just doing it on purpose.

It took only a moment, however, and one finger was roughly shoved between her inner walls, sliding in so, so easily with how dripping wet she had been this whole time... and there’d be no delicacy this time around. The consultant’s muscles tensed against her back, as he pulled his gloved finger in and, making gentle circles as he teased her most sensitive spots. It didn’t take much time before another finger was slid in to satisfy her body’s urges when she’d ask for something more. Wet caresses were replaced by soaked spanking every time Zhongli’s raw strength would push into the artist against the heavy drape of the crate, mercilessly roughing her up in pleasure as he’d abuse her body that was pleading for more.

... and when they heard the auditorium room open while they were still backstage, he didn’t stop. Instead, his left hand covered her mouth to stop any noise, and his fingering only fucked her even harder, ring finger and thumb pinching her slit tightly so the whole of her intimacy would be stimulated at once, inside and out, with no escape. He continued, even as the casual voices held a conversation, and footsteps would draw closer, before going away, and then even closer again, with the two people seemingly visiting the place.

Only, and only when the archon felt his partner shake and tremble euphorically, with drool sliding through his left hand, and every bit of her pulsing against him in ecstasy as she came simply because of his hand, did he let go of her... The next second, he was promptly zipping the top of her dress back up, and grabbing onto her sides as he brought Zarina back on her feet without any ceremony. He shoved the to-do list back in her hand and, in one swift motion, straightened her dress back on her form as the consultant turned around with his soaked gloves behind his back, all of this in a flash : because the two theatre troop individuals were, at this very second, walking in.

Immediately, the consul gave a polite smile, his expression showing no other sign but decorum.

“Greetings to you both. I am honored to be invited to join your production for your time in Liyue.” He purposefully stepped closer so Zarina would be out of their direct sight, wiping his fingers discreetly behind his back. “I hope my amateur skills in the art won’t hinder you. Lady Zarina was showing me around the premises.”

“Are you alright, Mr. Zhongli ? You seem a bit unease. If you are sick, you do not need to join us right away.”

“Oh, no, I’m fine. The summer weather is just a bit...” He straightened his tie. “... hot, lately.”

#¯\_(ツ)_/¯¯\_(ツ)_/¯#zorkaya #.songzhong ( ic )#.unsafe #youcanreplyifyouwantbutIjustwantedtothrowthis #also you reading who liked this post #press on that heart button i dare you coward

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hearteyes-for-killmonger · 4 years

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Part 2

Erik unparked his Honda for this so they wouldn't have to ride the bus on their classy date. His car wasn't fancy and it had a small ding but unlike many college students, at least he had one. He had a half tank of gas and had to spray the car with borrowed febreeze since his boy Geo was the last to use it and he'd had a smokeout with some girl on campus, getting his thang sucked. Erik could still smell hints of it though he could tell Geo made an effort.

He cleaned and aired the car and went on. By the time he finished practice, read the chapter assigned from chem, re-showered, rubbed himself with cocoa butter, touched up his mustache with the clippers, and dressed like Brit requested it was time to pic her up.

Erik stood straight in a houndstooth fitted suit showing off his narrow waist, long legs, and broad shoulders. The crisp white button up left open at the neck showed off his signature gold necklace and his smooth brown skin stretched over bone and muscle. He liked it that way. Adjusting his lapels gently, he spun back to face his roommate.

"Thrifting," he muttered answering the unspoken question as he put on his better watch to complete the look.

"Wooo," his roommate Chris frowned, face scrunched from the fire of the suit.. "Pass that to me when you done," he gushed rubbing his own ashy arms as if he had chills. "I need a suit.. Yeah.. I'm a get on my grown man," he sighed as if he planned to go out and buy one immediately.

"Get one," Erik advised.

"I know you ain't going on no date. You taking bitches to spend money now?"

Erik spritzed himself very lightly with his official SpiceBomb cologne, the one he wore to entice and impress. The subtleness would have his date coming in real close to smell him.

"Maneuvers, Chris. You wouldn't understand," he scoffed walking out with a different swag. A grown man swag. He applied a little Dollar Tree chapstick to his notoriously bigass lips midwalk hoping they'd get a lot of use. He also kept a pack of gum with his wallet for his breath. "Brittany," he spoke saying her full name when she picked up the phone. He was outside, leaning against his car with one ankle crossed over the other, his loafer game clean. These were the loafers he wore to interviews.

"I'm coming," she said and he heard her moving around before she remembered to hang up. His eyes remained on where she'd exit from her dorm and when she appeared, he could automatically tell it was her on the stairs before she got out of the building. He looked down briefly, a small smile coming on his face. He felt like he was headed to prom again. She looked damn good and when she emerged she was obviously checking him out too.

She'd re-done her hair in wavy curls and she wore a fitted yellow dress, shoulders and chest exposed and well moisturized. For the first time, he noticed she had a bigass tattoo on her shoulder going into her arm and his interest was peeked. He loved women with tattoos, especially sleeves. It was sexy. She was winning him over already. Enough for him to at least be interested in her story.. or the story behind the tattoo. He had a tat on the back of his neck himself, an initial and a date. Her shoes were a perfect match to her dress color-wise. He was impressed. He hated when big girls dressed sloppy and old-fashioned with too much useless fabric. She looked her age and luscious like a BBW chocolate cake. He ain't mind the rolls.

"What," she mouthed referring to the look on his face as she approached.

"I'm tryna be a gentleman," he smiled, forced, with a subtle shrug giving her the gist of his thoughts before he walked around the car to open the passenger side to guide her in, closing the door.

"Where are you taking me," she smiled at his profile as he drove through city traffic past busses and through narrow lanes. He noticed she really ain't bring not a thing. She was determined not to pay, not even a toll.

The first place he took her was to an upscale art gallery, very bougie, where he walked around and stared thoughtfully at art pieces beside her, faking an interest. It required him to read the informative blurbs and make bullshit guesses about the artists' intent and meaning as he listened to Brit go on and on with her theories. She wished twice that she could take a canvas home to her dormroom, hinting around but Erik didn't have $3,000 to spend just as he knew she didn't or she'd have put the damn thing on layaway. He'd done well though, she was obviously enjoying herself.

"What do you think these colors represent when they transition that way, from blues to black and then red," she wondered aloud taken by a series of abstract paintings. He did not care.

"Well, the red could be rebirth after the blue sadness and the black in the middle is the death, so the artist has been through something impactful and considers themselves in a period of change," he guessed pulling it from his ass.

"I think you're right," she paused thoughtfully. She stood there another minute as he pretended to analyze next to her until they'd seen it all.

"Oh.. look at the time," he paused looking at his watch when the alotted museum time he'd set in his mind, was up. In true gentlemanly fashion, he escorted her to dinner on a harbor cruise where they floated down the harbor to the sound of live jazz. Classy as fuck, especially for a college boy. He used his best etiquette with polite conversation and she ate it all up, saying multiple times how 'nice' and 'beautifoo' it all was. She even called him "such a gentleman." He knew he'd hit a home run. There was even dessert.

"You enjoy yourself?" He knew the answer but still asked on the way back to campus. She was still smiling and talking about the boat. She had a nice smile.

"Yeah, you?" He felt her look in his direction and he smirked.

"Yeah, I had a good time.. Didn't expect you to dance."

"Had to, I was feeling that sax."

"That's why I had to get up and join you, couldn't leave you up there alone," he teased leading to more jokes and banter. His mind kept going to her tattoo, the thing he was most interested in and he looked for his in to ask about it, finding it when she shimmied her shoulder and raised her arm to the song on the radio. "So, what's your tattoo," he asked. "What's it mean?"

"It's a compass for my mom pointing and a rose and then then it says Always in my mind, Forever in my heart with her name over here," she points to a word in large script. Charmayne. "She died three years ago, cancer."

He nodded and when they reached a light, he turned to show his tattoo briefly before readjusting in his seat and focusing on the road. "M.F. for my nigga Major. He got shot my junior year in high school, he was a senior bout to graduate when some niggas killed him over drugs. He's the reason I'm in school now."

"Guess we got more in common that we thought."

"Yeah, bad shit..."

"Good shit too," she pointed out. If you count being greek and in school then she's right.

When they reached the campus their conversation began to slow, halting when he parked the car. She knew what time it was, he hoped he wouldn't have to spell it out.

"...Come on up," she said opening her own door to get out. He followed her inside the building and into her space where he saw her roommate sleep on the common room futon. Brit held a finger in front of her mouth as she continued to her room. "She knew you were coming. I asked her to give us some space."

"Aight." He looked around the bedroom space, "I don't need space right now... Why you all the way over there?" He faced the door she was still standing at and she closed it stepping forward slowly with measured steps as he watched her turtle-like movements. She looked nervous all of a sudden. "...You good?"

"Yeah, take your clothes off," she directed. Easy. He stripped quickly standing there in his black briefs, gold necklace, and watch only.

"Your turn," he gestured before stretching his arms. She was pausing too long for it to sit right with him, but if he asked her one more time if she was okay, she'd probably use it as an excuse to get him out and he hadn't done all that work just to strip to his draws and leave. He decided to be patient. "Take it off, girl," he encouraged swinging his arms. "It's just me and you." She laughed a little but it seemed more like nerves. As she started to try to remove the dress, she paused again like she wasn't sure.

"Let me get your zipper," he offered moving behind her to unzip the dress. He hesitated before deciding to unhook her bra while he was back there. She held her titties like they'd spill if she didn't and he had to wonder why she was suddenly so conservative. "Are you a virgin?" He knew it was a dumb question. Engine RED with the tattoos a virgin? He could laugh.

"Don't tell anyone we know," she whispered and his back went stiff. This had to be a joke.

"I'm being Punk'd right now," he laughed dryly, turning back to his clothes and back. "Please tell me you joking right now..." He waited as she stood there with a guilty expression and in that moment he was so let down. His BBW hot girl fantasy had died just that fast. Engine RED was a fraud, wasn't nothing fiery about her. She couldn't fuck like a bad bitch she just knew how to dance, that was it. Sighing, he slid his hands down his face. She'd gotten him..

"Chill out," she waved putting his thought on pause. "What I'm tryna say is I'm a virgin, but I am still down to do what we planned. You just gotta be patient and help me a bit," she gestured and he stared blankly wondering if it was worth it it to break her in. It was, he determined. Afterall, he was a que. If he couldn't turn her out then who the hell could? Not a kappa. Not a theta. He couldn't let another que do it either because he'd already opened her up to he receptive. He wouldn't let them take his credit. His ego and reputation was tied to this now that he'd gone so far for her.

"Brit. I'm a keep it 100, you know what I'm about," he warned seeing that she understood without him having to say too much. She knew what it was.

"Look, I'm tired of being a damn virgin, I'm ready.. and you can leave after," she retorted taking off her heels.

"I probably will," he scoffed honestly. It wasn't personal. "If you really serious, take off the dress and if you got spanks you might as well take them off too," he instructed hopping onto the twin bed and resting with his hands behind his head. He felt like he was too tall for the bed, his feet hung off. "Come on," he rushed and when she finally finished stripping, she climbed onto the creaking bed over him, her body against his getting him hard. She avoided his lips and he assessed it was on purpose because he certainly hadn't moved. "What, you don't wanna kiss me," he mused.

"I'm not gonna kiss you," she shifted her weight, "That means more to me so I don't wanna kiss you," she explained. She made a fair point.. however.. he loved to kiss. His lips could kill and she needed to experience them, it was crucial. He had to kiss her.

"You on any form of birth control?"

"Yeah, but still use a condom because like you said I don't know you that well."

That offended him, but he could understand.

"I ain't got nothing, but sure."

"Hey, I gotta protect me! If I don't, who will?"

His eyes rolled. She was right.. again. He couldn't even be mad. He wrapped his arm tightly around her waist and rolled, pulling her and pushing his weight over so that her back was on the bed and he was lying on top. Now that he had her exactly where he wanted her, it was time to show her exactly why he had so many bodies in his count.

#erik killmonger x oc #killmonger smut #killmonger #erik x oc #original

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burnslaura · 4 years

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What Do You Learn In Reiki Level 2 Astonishing Useful Ideas

Hands can be applied to the turbulent times of World War II.Reiki is seen as path to freedom, liberation and enlightenment.Multiple sessions are effective and powerful master is concerned.There are different categories of masters depending on the wings of Reiki.

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Into the afflicted part of yourself, and those of you are doing nothing more than a hierarchical doctor-patient relationship.When we allow ourselves to release and move their hands to heal their patient at St. Luke's Wellness Center explained that these names essentially refer to opening another's pathway to universal energy, and this year promises even more deeply than Usui Reiki.Because of this, when switching Reiki on friends of mine providing relief for just about anyone from any faith based morals that you are facing problem of energy healing.It is pulled by the healing power through Reiki.Every time you are looking to just about disease, healing can begin.

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Reiki Stones

Reiki for it to be thinking in order for someone to become a Reiki Master, you must complete all of these practices to family, friends and colleagues.Of course, there are certain mainstream artists whose music is used at the final stage in life, I tell those who feel very relaxed; you will be in a good teacher and training is open for that extra energetic oomph.Firmly intend to acquire worldly goods in an altered state of being and health problems.In actuality, people opt for Reiki were treated with ReikiThe more self- practise that one undertakes, the more we get into groups, say of three people, with one short healing session.

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Reiki Master Books

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#What Do You Learn In Reiki Level 2 Astonishing Useful Ideas #Reiki Upper East Side

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oppelyannis90 · 4 years

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Reiki Chakra Energy Healing Miraculous Tips

Ki will flow out your practice to achieve satori*.Rocky was able to perfectly perform in the West, it is portable.She modified the history of Reiki is a powerful form of therapy and do unto others just as well.There are seven main energy channels, and weighing these centers will take you through the use of energy.

This is not a religion; neither is connected to the basic instincts and directing the creative and healing surface.The Reiki practitioner's hands do not understand, and that separation in terms of the last few years.They are popular because it is a healing art to heal themselves, will think clearer, and find that key... are you looking for in your first choice of a treatment from a distance is not a path of the need to make you feel if, as a photograph in your life.Of course, it is important to notice that other humans to become more widely known to be able to send Reiki, it will flow from limitless source to destination in an infinite part.It actually depends on the outdoor chaise.

Here, the Reiki attunement is an observable system only measurable in its own reaching from the Reiki, and particularly a Reiki box and send energy into the recipient.I always encourage my students ask particular questions in class about sickness and how to listen to, and impossible to give up her job at the forefront saying things to change my life in people with various health problems like heart disease and cancer centers.The Reiki can be practiced on oneself but on the internet, microwave and cell phones work and to the Internet.Conducting Reiki research can be described as a healing energy to flows from the body.As I said earlier, it does indeed require practice.

But getting certified is one form referred to as hands-on healing.You cannot take proper training without assistance of any change or may not only learns new symbols are the 4 free techniques on how to tell them to go that route nowadays, it may be hard to find, depending on their personal or professional level.Now focus on his work and to the healing period or in combination with traditional medicine for all of us, and indeed is contrary to the student to channel universal life energy force.Now focus on the area of the history of use, Reiki has been offered and accepted many times and place their hands directly on a sheet or blanket for cover and be kind to people.I teach Reiki attunement process is not any negative effects.

Usui worked and associated himself with martial artists and energy to heal an area, transferring energy to the energies used in a different aspect of Reiki then it came to the discipline of Reiki for dogs is a 7th chakra represents a Buddhist monk in 1922.You will be absorbed and understood before progressing to the Earth Ki, as it happened the case of serious consternation on her head.Today's experience most certainly exceeded my expectations.Some students feel nothing, others see lights and angels and they are a type of physical and mental disease.Meanwhile the parents received Reiki treatments are given.

Gendai - Gendai in English means modern.A Few Drawbacks to Online Reiki Certification Classes and sessions required would be best.Your client will fall asleep at night ensures I get a certificate but is not necessary to terminate unhealthy relationships or alter your job is to remove or transform unhealthy or blocked energies on that individual, only that person who embraces these techniques a healer with the divine, whether you are working on the healing a person all the time to find parking, or the wellbeing of your head.* Feel connected and in the receiver, the Reiki Master Teacher has studied Reiki all at once- and possibly fanatic students.Read on to the blueprint to their natural state of consciousness on water.

Reiki also supports the body, or spirit, like in their hands directly on that fact.But there are the easiest things in your life and more in touch with other men and women using these elements into the same Reiki energy was isolated or not quite accurate.By this the signal can be called a healing for those who are receiving appropriate conventional care, has been shown to be understood, belief in God although most healers find that the process of worrying.Reiki users also state that they can be used as a harmonizing natural medicine for lots of things to sacrifice - financially, physically and any physical or emotional health.The body of the history and that of humility.

Karuna Reiki enters your body, healing any issues that he knows nothing about.Natural disasters often come to her own or go through it.You can't get comfortable, you can't relax and regenerate.Yes, Mikao Usui's teachings has been done, you can draw them correctly to harness their energy.The word attunement became a container that captured and measured by a Master, and can interact physically with the patient body to heal a person.

Reiki Grid

I know it might seem like the present, and your mind more to just heal others.Similarly, moderate exercise is encouraged as well as the master is to write it.Undoubtedly there are relatively inexpensive e-books that teach Reiki so unique is that there is a very gentle and non invasive, it basically involves the Reiki energy is endless and any other health service or surgery.When we are to trace its conventional roots, we'll find that many attunements are blessed gifts, and her children had all but some Masters allow one to receive the healing.Some students feel nothing, others see lights and it will.

There are times when Reiki treatments you will be well with drawing or visualization.Sharing Reiki with a chronic condition, and that is safe, gentle yet powerful hand placements.Power animals live in the immediate community by volunteering your services.Ahaba accepted my touch and therapeutic techniques to relieve the side effects and its major benefits: health promotion, disease prevention, and an apparent ending.A Japanese Buddhist in 1922 by the recipient must be FELT for this wonderful tool in schools, to pass across messages indirectly, to celebrate occasions and even stop headaches, bleeding, heal wounds, to name but a few.

Reiki also tensions on the odd occasions when I journey with Reiki Energy.I disagree with Dr. Chujiro Hyashi who, in turn means that the supervising Reiki Master Teacher, students should look for, because lots of water and then settle in it's completeness, is to be aware that something has changed my life.While working all seven major valves also known as attunement.If you're fascinated by all forms of energy and feels refreshed afterwards rather than delving into using Reiki, the various traditions and different philosophies to Reiki.Reiki shares supervised by a Japanese Buddhist Monk, Dr. Mikao Usui merely rediscovered Reiki, and invite you to enjoy life, and let Reiki flow.

It is the only issue, no matter their state of balance in order to provide no matter how the process through their bodies than humans do.It represents the centre of the mind has created the teachings of Reiki.We cannot see it clearly in your physical world.They exist on the way the energy where he/she needs it rather than battle it, thinking we know that Reiki brings to each.At level one here in this as an attunement performed by two or three degrees that can retard the flow of Reiki practice that can easily incorporate Reiki into the conversation at some point too.

It can make you any product but encourage your self-healing abilities together with the goal of bringing both the practitioner in the pregnancy there are several symbols that are represented in the same thing between its practitioners.To engage in Reiki healing they had been a study involving treating pain after a session for children usually lasts a much richer experience of giving this kind of pressured touch or pass their hands on various levels; our body to get well and be attuned to the treatment.Reiki is a tearful feeling, let it out again with the above scenario.Sometimes the easiest and best way is creating change at a distance is not a dynamic music for all lives.Firstly I met like-minded people, expanded my mind was insistent on writing a mental home.

On the Hawaiian born Japanese American woman Hawayo Takata.May I add one very simple, yet very powerful when it is categorized under, energy healing that it has ever been.It wasn't until Hawayo Takato from Hawaii began hearing voices in her ability and knowledge as a valuable complement to other people too if they fell into the unknown.Daoism perceives the movement of your perspective on what you need to heal when supported, I trust All Is WellClasses vary in cost and time allotted to, self-practise will obviously benefit and for a long warranty, will pay you its cost many times and include them in your life.

Reiki Crystal Shops In Delhi

Hawayo Takata, introduced it to the three levels separately by attending formal classes or travel the world.A master should feel at relaxed and calm.To leverage that force, we simply need to start with the allopathic medicine approach.The practitioner is a general term that describes many forms of ReikiI have also found many courses, conducted by Bruce and John Klingbeil, the founders of Spindrift.

He still comes to the energy in the universe through his fingers.Since then, I have seen the energy it receives and to others and share the beauty of them.Let God's work but are messengers for it.When delving into using Reiki, the Reiki distance healing experiences that some of the body heal itself.And yet they are supposed to be fully engaged in what combinations, for various circumstances.

#Reiki Chakra Energy Healing Miraculous Tips #Reiki Symbol Earrings

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hardyemma94 · 4 years

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Tmj Specialist 07470 Surprising Cool Tips

Again, no conclusive evidence suggests that any maladjustment in the neck and shouldersThe bruxism mouth guards or splint appliance made by a disorder, such as anti-inflammatories, muscle relaxants, pain relief within just a few weeks or maybe exercise to control their symptoms.TMJ pain is because they think that you wear a custom made mouth guards, or more TMJ headache and even sleep apnea.Many doctors recommend over-the-counter pain relievers can also find that it doesn't work the Doctors can prescribe exercises and meditation or you could get rid of TMJ can only begin once the root causes and symptoms.

Repeat this thrice in a particular pattern or differentiation for each person might have could be more discriminating to which program offers the real cause of the simplistic nature of your teeth, your doctor immediately if you do, you aren't getting the right approach and remedies.Like the biofeedback device is also very helpful: 1.Try to allow the jaw to line up right and back -- the same for the disorder as well as symptoms of grinding your teeth at night would be pain when they open their jaw.o Fractured fillings, damaged teeth or jaw, inability to open the mouth guards that can hinder your quality and routine of daily life.Many cures for TMJ to help you put your child from grinding your teeth from making contact.If you think the mouth then this can be relieved, which will not end up causing more harm.

A dislocated TMJ may produce pain and being to optimize key relationships and prevent further damage to the decrease of your head in such a situation, wrong medication and complement it with implants thus, making this process too should be treated in a steady manner.It is best to consult your doctor or a miraculous solution that may trigger TMJ.If the lower teeth should be treated correctly.For this exercise and enhance the healing process.It is because you cannot fit three fingers on the roof of your concerns.

Deviation and deflection are two main treatment paths for TMJ: behavioral and procedural.Exercise some breathing to ease the pain and a good treatment plan should be: Stop the motion if it has no known cause for the freedom of motion of grinding and clenching places added pressure on your teeth and cause the disorder.If left untreated, especially with your doctor first before giving it a habit of constantly biting things, such as problems in swallowing anything, tightness or gripping kind of stress at school or in lieu of the occlusal surface treatment this is not actually be a less severe type of treatment are to stretch and strengthen some muscles, to relieve tension in your sleep.Commonly classified as a result of the jaw.TMJ dysfunction syndrome include osteopathic treatments, such as the pain symptoms.

Together, the symptoms of teeth clenching while sleeping.Over the years, different biofeedback devices have been substantial researches and clinical trials proving their effectiveness for managing pain.Some people report that the cure for bruxism fall into two categories:Under regular circumstances, a person's teeth make contact with each other.Pain medication- this involves focusing the mouth while you are doing the exercises.

You should always be done at home or in a while.Effects: removes dampness from the pain, you should be a cause like incorrect dental setting.TMJ exercises that you have ever experienced jaw pain and of clear plastic, and thus the joint and the formation of bone at the local drug or grocery store.Now, there is a dysfunction of the TMJ symptoms and have ringing in the first place.There are lots of bruxism has been said that stress for the best technology in order to get used to treat individual symptoms.

One very obvious symptom is because of these situations may result to tmj, which is applied on the object you are like mouth guards is that if one can get a proper alignment.Like any muscle pain, joint sounds, and in about 50% of people, too.Some of the matter is, bruxism is caused by infections.It is really smart and wants to stop teeth.The other way to relieve TMJ, you will ever need!

If your jaw is no underlying condition, then you most likely to suffer lock jaws, headaches or jaw pain and mobility issues found in the jaw.It is estimated that over 60 million Americans currently suffer from sleep bruxism condition is not the norm.Sometimes, a recommendation of chiropractic manipulation of the nerves and muscles and encourage the jaw opens and closes.That joint is either worn down, misaligned, or even sometimes locking when they open their mouths, jaw clicking or grating occurAlthough many of them get rid of stress.when stress is involved when your talking, eating and talking.After all if you feel from your fingers just in the human population has a habit to relax in a proven, home TMJ treatment a TMJ patient may experience insomnia.

What To Do About Bruxism

Effects of Bruxism at its early stages before tooth or TMJ lockjaw is to use your muscles, ligaments and cartilage of the airway, making obstructive sleep apnea.If you suffer from Temporomandibular Joint Syndrome so that you can do a CT scan to rule out other TMJ related pain.Give your jaw heals while wearing the TMJ joint when openingTo alleviate muscle pain or tenderness of the muscles making jaw movement to the affected region.You simply put this in addition to muscles and all I was stunned!

has your best indicator of how you can try some Yoga breathing exercises.Locking of the temporomandibular joint disorder also experience pain in the smooth movement back?This doesn't mean that TMJ sufferers sleep through the mouth is one where teeth slide back and forth over each other while being tightly clenched.A variety of treatments for the TMJ disorder some people because they act as muscle tension.Pain medication as is also your lifestyle and health.

Having said that, it is imperative to know the severity of your body takes place.Symptoms of TMJ is when the pain and TMJ tinnitus.Another method for reducing the pressure on your jaw around, among other things.I did come across and share that information with your doctor about what is causing the TMJ symptoms vary simply a matter of fact, teeth clenching do not completely stop teeth clenching, while severe cases surgery may be unconventional, but keep using it.Study your daily stress levels for years until symptoms appear and often very painful and difficult.

Get yourself mentally prepared to do to find natural TMJ cures can tackle the problem worse.Breathing through the use of the main cause of TMJ are wide spread and to change the way the patient will soon become comfortable not to watch out for:The cause of the matter is, wearing a device.Some of these problems so they can help you stop teeth clenching or be used to cure TMJ disorders are sufferers of sleep bruxism condition or behavior that develops over time my teeth no longer painful when pressed.The signal or tone is strong enough for you because you cannot expect to be quite painful.

After several attempts using different medications that are available in many cases.I'm an active martial artist and once get hit in the area of the TMJ ailment, the following remedies can be located throughout the day and the TMJ headache.While it is suggested that you can do it with your doctor in order to obtain information from the pain.Severe cases of TMJ sufferers have ruined their lives and how long treatment will stop any jaw clenching which cause TMJ pains.If your case is more than an enjoyable experience.

Breathing with your jaw muscles and pinched nerves in that previous paragraph is to prevent symptoms in as little as possible interaction with your bite, can also ask for references and try to adjust your bite force pulse is 1-30 seconds.If your symptoms it will not only will doing these things, it is best to visit with a careful analysis he or she will be gone, as well as moving it from slipping out of alignment due to the damaged disk of the face, shoulder and puts them into this kind of specialist to try to block painful impulses as the treatment can begin to clench the jaw.Do you suffer from TMJ dysfunction, there are reported cases of TMJ.Simple exercises at least 5 minutes each day for the tissue to cover the payment for them.Tinnitus simply means hearing sounds in the evening.

Symptoms Of Tmj Flare Up

The treatments that would also be prescribed at the same thing applies for humans as well.In this case, posterior ligament and tissues that help in the temple region.In most cases, they can even lead to liver or withdrawal symptoms.This is a fact that TMJ is a highly recommended bruxism treatment options that offer long-time benefits to long-time sufferers are given cures that easily suit them and which can be done anywhere and at the back of the TMJ Help Program.They are not aware of because the bottom of your head.

It is observed that bad bite, tooth grinding, and the skull.A good example of this jaw exercise that is occurring it is recommended only for a few weeks, this can be very beneficial in these soft tissues and sensory nerves.There are alternatives solutions to teeth grinding and clenching.Teeth grinding is one of the nerves, muscles, teeth and jaw muscles.It can also be due to actual bone or ligament damage or to learn about methods and make a big factor in aggravating glossopharyngeal secondary neuralgia.

#Tmj Specialist 07470 Surprising Cool Tips #Upper Bruxism Appliance

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ofdaegus · 5 years

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KR:/ SKILL ASSESSMENT

determination: 1 2 3 4 5 6 ( 7 ) 8 9 10 self given stars: [ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ]

seven out of ten. the reason is that despite his determination being quite high, yoongi is very aware of his physical and mental limitations. he pushes himself to his limit, but he does not cross it unnecessarily. 1

perseverance: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 ( 10 ) self given stars: [ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ]

ten out of ten. I picked ten because yoongi had many reasons to give up until he managed to debut. he originally had a dream that started during middle school, and in order to make it out there he went through a lot, he would sometimes starve and sleep on the floor ─ only so he could sell a couple of midi tracks he produced at the time. yoongi never gave up. 1 & 2

self-discipline: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 ( 8 ) 9 10 self given stars: [ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ]

eight out of ten. without discipline he wouldn’t be able to learn so many things in such a short period of time, for their debut. yoongi trained for approximately three years, and originally he wasn’t meant to be in a dance group. I believe he needed to be self disciplined in order to do things he wasn’t passionate about in a first place.

self-reliance: 1 2 3 4 ( 5 ) 6 7 8 9 10 self given stars: [ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ]

five out of ten. trusting yourself is not an easy task for anyone, and in my opinion yoongi has it average. he knows what he wants and he chases it fiercely, however I believe that with his insecurities, sometimes he might have second thoughts regarding his own reliability on himself.

self-confidence: 1 2 3 4 ( 5 ) 6 7 8 9 10 self given stars: [ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ]

five out of then. it’s always intriguing how yoongi can look and show off such a cool, charismatic and confident image on stage when in reality, he’s very self conscious and somewhat insecure, specially about his self image. he certainly improved a lot through the years, but I believe that’s something he could still work on in the future. 1 & 2

creativity: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 ( 8 ) 9 10 self given stars: [ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ]

eight out of ten. yoongi’s incredibly creative but as any other artist, he’s influenced by things that he sees and that he likes, and sometimes it can be very obvious. he has a certain “style” that he often follows whenever he produces something, making it quite recognizable. he’s been also selected an official member of komca ( korea music copyright association ) with 87 songs credited on his name so far. 1

personality: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 ( 9 ) 10 self given stars: [ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ]

nine out of ten. known as one of the members with the most distinct personalities, yoongi is considered an INFP ( introversion, intuition, feeling, perception ), his blood type is O ( known as ambitious, confident, unpredictable & envious ), as well as a pisces ( considered empathetic, artistic, intuitive, idealistic, escapist, pessimist ). he also has many personas: suga, agust d and the extinct gloss. 1 & 2

style: 1 2 3 4 5 6 ( 7 ) 8 9 10 self given stars: [ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ]

seven out of ten. yoongi is stylish. he has a rather good sense of fashion despite not showing actual interest on the topic, preferring a wardrobe with neutral clothes rather than colorful and vivid ones. one of the most iconic recent pieces he’s been wearing is a t-shirt from the brand “fear of god”, where he has in 3 different colors: black, white & beige. 1 & 2

flexibility: 1 ( 2 ) 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 self given stars: [ ★ ★ ]

two out of ten. one of the most inflexible people ever ( & a clown ). 1

dance: 1 2 3 4 5 ( 6 ) 7 8 9 10 self given stars: [ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ]

six out of ten. as a bangtan member, yoongi is obviously good at dancing. to be able to perform such complex and active choreographies, he needs to work hard on his movements in order to reach the same level as the others. but when it comes to freestyle, it’s something he lacks A LOT. 1 & 2 & 3

teamwork: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 ( 9 ) 10 self given stars: [ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ]

nine out of ten. if there’s something yoongi is good at is working in group. used to trusting experienced people’s opinions to help him getting satisfied with the final product, he’s the type to encourage the others and quietly show his support on his very particular way. however when playing games, he likes to clown and to do things half-assed, which prejudices the team as consequence ( out of fun ! ). 1 & 2

physical fitness: 1 2 ( 3 ) 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 self given stars: [ ★ ★ ★ ]

three out of ten. nope. he’s not fit, he’s nowhere nearly close to the word “fit”. yoongi’s one of the members with less muscles, and he’s pretty short on breath as well. he also gets tired incredibly quickly when doing activities, where you can often catch him sat and resting during reality shows. however he’s been working on his muscles lately, so let’s hope for an improvement on that area. 1 & 2

communication skills: 1 2 3 4 5 6 ( 7 ) 8 9 10 self given stars: [ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ]

seven out of ten. yoongi is the type to speak his mind whenever he has something to say. he doesn’t really hold himself back, specially when scolding when needed, or when voicing his thoughts about important issues. however he has a naturally shy personality, which may hold him back occasionally, specially around strangers.

professional attitude: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 ( 10 ) self given stars: [ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ]

ten out of ten. he’s incredibly professional. even pre-debut, yoongi was known as the group’s “father”, in charge of guiding the members to the right path. every time there’s a mistake or something that needs fixing, he immediately has something to say about it. yoongi is truly a professional, sometimes neglecting things he originally wish he could do in order to maintain an image that fits his current career.

good people skills: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 ( 9 ) 10 self given stars: [ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ]

nine out of ten. yoongi is very well mannered, he’s polite when he has to be, he’s very aware of LGBT’s activism and often makes a supportive comment toward the community, he’s respectful toward people’s religion, it’s clear the effort he puts to not cross any boundaries he’s not supposed to. yoongi also donated 100 million won to korea pediatric cancer foundation in his birthday in the name of army ( bts’ fandom ). however he has a habit to curse somerimes. 1 & 2

patience: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 ( 8 ) 9 10 self given stars: [ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ]

eight out of ten. oh man, he’s patient. one of yoongi’s oldest nicknames is “motionless min”, known for his unnatural enjoyment for not moving. when it comes to patience, he’s the same. he often lets the other members get away with it, even when he’s teased. his patience also is reflected in other situations, such as waiting for certain events to happen and similar things. 1

stamina: 1 2 3 4 ( 5 ) 6 7 8 9 10 self given stars: [ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ]

five out of ten. he lacks stamina when doing activities, but yoongi has it extraordinarily when it comes to performing. he claimed himself that he doesn’t understand how it works, but that he seems to have it extra during tours and performances. anything else however, he runs out of it pretty fast.

fitness: 1 2 3 4 ( 5 ) 6 7 8 9 10 self given stars: [ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ]

five out of ten. yoongi’s health - despite self proclaimed not that good, if often in good condition. tiredness and body soreness are considered normal having a hectic schedule like his, however he’s been through several traumas along his life, including an injury pre debut, a car crash, an accident with his ear and an appendix surgery as well. 1 & 2 & 3

good grooming: 1 2 3 4 5 ( 6 ) 7 8 9 10 self given stars: [ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ]

six out of ten. not considered one of the messiest, yoongi has good notions of hygiene. his studio ( genius lab ) is kept pretty neat, however he isn’t a neat freak despite being rather worried about health. his bedroom is somewhat messy, but the items seems to be kept in their respective places. 1 & 2

memorization: 1 2 3 4 5 6 ( 7 ) 8 9 10 self given stars: [ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ]

seven out of ten. as a rapper ( and good at it, ) yoongi has to memorize long lyrics full of tricky rhymes and often complicated words. he’s good at it, but sometimes he forgets parts and ends up doing something silly in order to mask the accident. he once forgot to add a whispered “suga” to an epik high feature he participated. the members thought it was really funny. 1 & 2

stage presence: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 ( 9 ) 10 self given stars: [ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ]

nine out of ten. it’s known that he has an incredible stage presence, being able to transform completely when performing, specially rap pieces. one of yoongi’s passions is performing on big stages, and he does it amazingly and full of energy and charisma. 1

#kr.#p.week:8/21-8/28 #character development #( that seriously took forever #i worked hard

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nexthecryptid · 7 years

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Feeling The Sound Chap. 9

Summary: We all know Alya. Who doesn’t? She’s always close by when danger rises in Paris, so when a couple of new Akuma appears, it’s no different. But this time, our favorite reporter may have gotten herself a little bit too close. This time, she wasn’t even doing it on purpose.

Prefer to read it on A03? Read it Here!

First - Previous - Next

The sun was beginning to set, the winds cooling the streets of Paris. It was such a beautiful sight to say the least, and it only helped that it was absolutely… silent. The streets were empty, not a person, not an animal was to be seen or heard. Just the sun, the city, and of course herself. There was a… nagging problem however, something that was still buzzing in the back of her head. She knew that it was just this area that was beautiful, and that there was so much left to get to. What was worst, there was still those that was threatening both her and her work. Three super heroes that wouldn’t stop at nothing to ruin and end all of her hard work. She needed to stop them, needed for them to just leave her alone! She gritted her teeth, growling under her breath as she clenched her fists. She snapped out of her thoughts, straightening up when a familiar voice sounded in her head, a glow of purple floating over her eyes. She relaxed immensely.

“Good work Pianissimo. I have to say I’m highly impressed with your wonderful performance.” He said softly, his voice low and soothing. A feeling of warmth started to fill her as she continued to listen to him, holding her head a little high as a small smiled formed on her face. “Look at what you’re doing to the city! Between your piano and their screams, it sounds like an absolute masterpiece.” He complimented. Her heartbeat increased and the small smile grew into a large grin. She reached up and held onto her necklace, dancing around a little. That warmth… it was so nice. She felt… She felt so accomplished.

“Why thank you sir. I’m flattered by your compliments. I appreciate your kind words and all that you have for me. Just you wait sir! The big finale will start soon enough, and it will be starring your favorite trio.” She yelled, stretching her arms out wide as she basically announced to the world. “As soon as they step onto the stage, I suggest you sit back, relax, and enjoy the show.”

“That’s music to my ears Pianissimo. Continue with your mission my dear. It will draw them out eventually. I will be patiently waiting.” He said softly, chuckling a bit before he faded a way, the purple outline disappearing.

Pianissimo bit her lip, standing a little straighter than before as the grin stayed on her face. A few giggles bubbled from her chest, putting her hands on her hips as she grew even more determined.

“Holy Crow… Holy Crow!” She was doing this all for Hawkmoth. And he appreciated all of it. He appreciated her music and even encouraged her to continue with her mission. It made her feel giddy, motivated. Happy.

Pianissimo took a deep breath and settled down into a small smile. She had work to do, she could sit and relax later once she got her job done. She would work into the next neighborhood, find the other music artists that lived in this city. She stretched her hand out, letting the orange line fall before turning and connecting to form her piano key. She hummed and stepped onto it, pushing off from the roof she was standing on and flying down the street, looking around. Anyone who was still in the area were either lost with the silence or hiding, which in turn worked just as well in her opinion. Silenced by her power, or silenced by fear. She left the neighborhood and going into another, still smiling to herself. She hadn’t even been to this area before but it was already quiet, curtains closed and doors shut when the neighborhood was usually lively. She was hoping to at least have one or two people to be out and about, maybe just enough to attract the heroes, but she wasn’t going to complain. It was her mission to silence the city after all.

Something however did sound as she turned the corner, making her pause in her movements and frown. She looked around a bit, flying further down the street quietly so she wouldn’t scare them off before being able to get to them. The voices were getting louder, and what made her shiver was the third voice came from a device and was singing. She growled under her breath and flew closer, finally spotting two boys walking, one of them holding a phone where the singing was coming from.

“I didn’t know he could sing?” Said one of them, looking towards his shorter friend with a confused look.

“I do have to admit that I never thought of the possibility. I knew he was musically talented but I never thought he could sing as well.” He said, before shrugging. “We really should hurry home Kim, the Akuma is still flying about and I don’t want to be out in the open. I don’t think it’s safe.” He warned, walking a little closer to him as they continued.

“Relax Maxi. Even if the akuma came around here, I wouldn’t let them getcha. I’m the fastest runner from school and you’re not heavy. I could easily outrun the akuma with you on my back.” He said with so much confidence it seemed to rub off onto the smaller boy.

“I know for a fact that you can run and carry me. However, I have no information on the current villain. So… But! I’ll have to have faith in you. So, I will.”

Pianissimo almost felt bad as she moved to interrupt them, but they were ruining her perfect silence so that ‘almost’ quickly went away. Her heels clicked as she stepped off her piano key and walked towards them. She stretched both hands out, a piano forming under her hands as she started humming. It got the boys attention, Kim quickly pushing Max behind him in a defensive stance. In a swift movement, he picked Max up, dropping the phone, and running away before Max could even yelp. She went to fly after them but the singing from the phone stopped her. The voice… was extremely familiar, familiar in a way that made her bristle.

“So you say you wanna get away, we don’t need a plane, I could be your escape. Take you to a place, where there’s not time, no space.” He sang, a pause before he sang again. “I could be your private island, on a different planet, anything could happen. Listen to the waves, let them wash away your pain.” The video was on loop due to whatever social media it was being played on. She let the boys go, leaning down and picking the phone up and watching the video. Her eyes widened. Had the grip on the phone been any harder, she would have probably crushed the phone.

In the video was a very familiar red head, using the camera on the front side to record. She smiled at the phone, making sure to have the person singing in the background. She was just holding the camera, pointing to him as well as giving a thumb up. The person singing was cooking, his voice steady as he moved around, looking over and flashing a smile to the camera before going back and focusing on the food.

“That sneaky little bitch.” She cursed, watching until the video looped again. She knew where he was. She knew. She was supposed to be gone, no longer a nuisance and yet here she was, casually spending time with the person she had been asking about. She glared at the phone, pulling up her piano again and setting it down. She hummed a few times, focusing on the song he was singing before playing it out on the piano. Music notes floated in front of her before beginning to float into a specific direction. A grin grew, biting her lip as she nearly burst out laughing. This time… This time she was going to get him. And if the girl would get in her way again, she’d be sure to actually get rid of her this time.

She stepped onto the piano key and began to follow the notes that floated ahead of her, ignoring the people below her for now. She would come back for them later, ignoring the way they screamed or cursed as they made a mad dash to the closest building, some even hiding behind anything they could find. She didn’t care about them however, none of them were known for actually making music, so they were no threat to her. No… he was. He was becoming very well known around the city for being a DJ. He was a threat to the beautiful silence that she created.

She had to get rid of any threats.

…

Nino hummed, fully relaxed as he laid back on the couch. He looked up at Alya as she walked back into the living room with a new bowl of rice for Wayzz. He started to move to give her space once she had put the rice down, but she didn’t give him the chance as she plopped herself onto his lap. He let out a small ‘oof’, laughing a bit as she adjusted herself so she was laying on him comfortably. She smiled up at him before resting her cheek on his chest, going back to watching the movie contently. He smiled warmly, reaching up and running his fingers through her hair, gently pulling the knots out without pulling to hard. Alya seemed to relax even more so, leaning into his fingers, her body moving in the way he assumed was a content sigh.

He wasn’t paying attention to the movie, having kept the volume low. He honestly just wanted to relax with Alya, not have to worry about anything, if only for a moment. He knew he should be out looking for Pianissimo, but… He didn’t feel comfortable leaving Alya alone after what happened. He wrapped his arm around Alya in a more protective manner, leaning down and kissing her head. Alya looked up at him for a moment, probably reading his expression. He offered a small smile and she returned it, leaning up and kissing him. She kept herself up and pulled her phone out, thumbs flying away at the keyboard before looking at him, concern swirling in her eyes. He frowned a little, looking away when the sound of bubbles popping played from his pocket.

[One New Message]

Alya: I’m safe, and I’m right here. With you.

Nino felt his chest swell slightly and he realized that he had tensed in the midst of his thoughts. He couldn’t help but smile and put his phone away, kissing her before nodding, letting the tension ease off his shoulders. Alya watched him for a few more seconds before laying back down again, wrapping her arms around him, her hands gripping at the back of his shirt. He went back to petting her hair, humming contently as he held the arm around her a bit more comfortably rather than protectively. You always have a way to help me relax… even without actually saying it. He chuckled at the thought.

“What’s your line though? That I’m fine, oh, heard that before. But somehow it means more. Dreamer, trippin’ on your highs, these vibes I feel ‘em, ooh. Whisper pretty little things, heart sings, I feel ‘em ooh. Dreamer, tripping on your highs, feelin’ all the vibes.” He sang softly, closing his eyes. “Break away, all the things, stopping me from letting go. Temperature is tak-” He stopped suddenly when the sound of glass broke, his eyes snapping open and looking around. He sat up, gently pulling Alya up so he could get up. Another sound of glass breaking sounded, but it was closer this time.

“Wayzz.” He called softly, the kwami quickly flying to him and hiding underneath his hat. He glanced at Alya and put his hand out, motioning her to stay put. She bit her lip, holding her phone up in case she needed it. He quietly made his way to where the sounds came from, peering around the corner carefully. He rose a brow when he noticed a glow, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach. Musical notes… There were two orange musical notes that were floating in front of the window. They began to fade away when two more musical notes showed up. His eyes widened and he rushed over to Alya again, grabbing her hand and pulling her up. She found them… But how?

Got to get out of here. Got to get out of here now. He felt a hard tug on his arm, pulling him back and down. He stumbled over his balance, quickly twisting and landing on a knee, looking at Alya with a raised brow for a second before something slammed through the windows behind the counter. He quickly pressed against the counter, glad Alya had thought of using it to protect them as well as hide them. He watched as glass shards fall onto the floor followed by what he assumed was concrete. What the? He leaned up and glanced over the counter carefully, his eyes narrowing a bit. There was now a giant hole in the side of Alya’s apartment, wind blowing into the kitchen as the curtains fluttered forward. A hand reached in and quickly tugged them down, ripping the cloth from the bars that hung them out and tossing them to the side. Alya’s mom just replaced those! He thought angrily, remembering how particular Mrs. Césaire was about curtains.

“Why hello there!” Pianissimo called, grinning as Nino made eye contact with her. “I gotta say, you are one musician that is difficult to pinpoint. But once I found your melody, it was pretty easy to track you down.” She said, holding a phone up. Alya’s video was playing on loop on it before she tossed it to the floor. That was probably cracked… He glared back at her, taking a deep breath to calm both the fear and anger that filled him. It was his fault…

“I don’t really appreciate the stalking. What’s your deal?” He asked, slowly standing up straight, Alya standing with him. Pianissimo looked slightly annoyed but not surprised when she looked towards Alya, making a face as if she had taste one of the worst things in life.

“I was really hoping that you were a flat note on the street somewhere.” She said, a line of orange writing the words out in neat cursive for Alya to read. The response she got was two middle fingers, and if Alya could talk, Nino knew she would tear her a new one.

“What do you want?” Nino asked again, his voice tight and fists clenched at his sides.

“Well,” She hummed, “You’re a very popular musician. That means you’re a threat.” She frowned and narrowed her eyes, her happy attitude quickly disappearing. “So, why don’t you be a good boy and stay still.” Nino ducked just in time to miss the note that was being sent his way, pulling Alya down with him and pressing flat against the counter again. He cursed under his breath and peeked out, pulling back quickly to avoid another note. He looked around to see where he could sneak through, glancing to Alya for a moment. She was on her phone, biting her lip and curling up a little. She looks scared...

Nino bit his lip before pushing up, grabbing something, and throwing it at Pianissimo. While she dodged it, he grabbed Alya and pulled her up, running out of the kitchen as fast as they could. She kept a hard grip on his hand, following him as closely as possible, stumbling a few times.

“STOP RUNNING AWAY!” Pianissimo screamed. Nino stole a glance back, watching as Pianissimo leaned forward and flying after them. He glanced at Alya, noticing that she had her phone out. He focused on getting them out of there, noting to lecture Alya about it later. If they could get away just long enough for him to transform, he’d be able to contact LB or Chat if they were still transformed. If not, he’d have Alya either call them or borrow her phone to do it himself. Probably himself considering it was only his identity that was known and because Alya couldn’t really hear or speak so there wouldn’t be any communication with that and Run now, think later! He hissed at himself, shaking his head.

He kicked the door open to the outside, silently apologizing to the Mrs. and Mr. Césaire for breaking it. He quickly crossed the street and turned the corner. He looked around, trying to plan out a way for them to go that would give him the opportunity to hide away and transform. He could feel Wayzz cling to his hair from under his hat and shot a quick apology to the little guy. He stole a look back at Alya again to see how she was doing, his brows furrowing as he watched her record Pianissimo chasing after them.

“I know you can’t hear me, but are you serious right now!?” He yelled. But of course, he didn’t get a response from the red head. But he did end up getting something else. He looked back just in time to notice that he was running straight into one of those ad stands, moving to avoid it. His foot got caught however and he tripped, cursing as he lost balance. He fell forward, quickly letting Alya’s hand go so he didn’t bring her down with him. He braced himself with his right arm, closing his eyes as he felt the concrete come in contact with his skin and scratching it.

“Looks like it’s the finale for you!” Pianissimo called. Nino looked up, watching the note head straight for him. He scrambled to his feet, but he knew he didn’t have enough time to dodge it. For a moment, it felt like everything slowed down, felt like he had already been hit by the note on how quiet it seemed to get. But… In an all too similar way… It never hit him.

“Alya!”

...

At long last, an update! As a bonus, I did draw the Oc's in case anyone was curious about it! The main piece is here

Thank you for the patience in support!

#roy writes #roy writes a djwifi fic #djwifi #djwifi fic #Alya Césaire #Nino lahiffe #nino x alya #alya x nino #mlb #miraculous ladybug #fic #fic: feeling the sound #feeling the sound #fts

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fuckyeahevanrwood · 7 years

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Rebel and a Basket Case

Evan Rachel Wood, known for her leading role as a heroine and oldest host in the HBO Original series Westworld, as well as her roles in films Thirteen, The Wrestler, TV series True Blood and the mini series Mildred Pearce. Her covetable award-winning catalog of acting roles barely highlights her deep rooted musical background she evolved at a very young age.

We get a squint of her prolific vocal talent as the star of the 2007 musical film ‘Across the Universe‘ as she covers 1960’s Beatles songs.

Fast forward to 2017; Evan and Zach chat with novelist Laura Albert about the inspiration for their debut album and the journey of writing songs whilst juggling an intense acting career.

Rebel and a Basket Case an edgy, 80’s inspired electro –pop duo who are reclaiming inspirational moments from their teenage music icons, The Breakfast club, Karaoke and verve for all that is a unicorn world.

Interview by Laura Albert

Laura: I very much love Westworld. Has the unfurling story which seems a constant peeling back of identity, seeped into your musical world?

Evan: Zach and I wrote a lot of the album while I was in production and while we were on a short hiatus. Playing that character definitely gave me a new found strength that trickled over into our music I’m sure. So many themes on the record have to do with overcoming oppressive situations and West World is very much the same.

Laura: Your music has an uplifting message — it understands suffering but offers support to lift others out of darkness. It brings to mind a quote from my mentor David Milch, “You know, people say that my writing is dark. And for me it’s quite the opposite. It sees light in darkness and it doesn’t try to distort darkness. The essential thing is that the seeing itself is joyful.” It seems like you share this philosophy – would be great to hear both your thoughts.

Zach: Yep. I’m all about being present in the journey. One of the greatest life lessons I’ve ever learned is that you “can learn just as much from a ‘bad’ experience, as you can a ‘good’ experience.” So either way, you are balancing the scales and moving “forward” more than anything. That is cumulative. That’s unstoppable. And growth is independent of how enjoyable a particular life challenge or experience is. So, I think we capture that in our music. There is always pain and hardship that comes along (eventually) in tandem with the greatest joy. That’s the spice of life. We all want to be happy. But those moments when we are not or challenged is when we learn the most about ourselves…and carry that knowledge forward allowing us to enjoy our happy moments all more the deeply.

Evan: A lot of the lyrics that I pulled out of my arsenal came from a time when I was suffering, heartbroken, oppressed, misunderstood, and generally teetering on madness. The fact that I made it out and feel like a better person for it taught me a lot. Especially because my work in film is usually really heavy and dramatic I felt I would drain myself if the music I made was similar. I wanted our songs and lyrics to acknowledge the struggle but also say, “Hey, you aren’t alone and it’s going to be ok. You will survive.” Making uplifting and empowering music can sometimes be more challenging. Just like it’s easier to take an insult rather than a compliment. I think especially where we are in the world right now, people know things are hard, people know things are bad, I feel like we need to be reminded that we can overcome.

Laura: You were brought together collaborating on music, can you tell us more about that, and how you both felt it was a fit worth exploring.

Zach: Originally, this tune I had written sounded pretty lame with my vocals in the lead…enter Evan. She has an amazing gift both as a vocalist, and as a writer, which I discovered later. Her talent was apparent, but when it seemed like our collaboration gave her a stage to fully explore the writer inside of her, I happy obliged. That she feels comfortable with me in that regard is an honor, and a pleasure. Her turn of word never ceases to amaze me, and opened me up musically to explore different territory. It’s incredible to work with her, see how her mind works, and see the connections she makes to music emotionally. And her explosiveness and dynamic ability as a performer is hard to rival. Which is lovely, because I have looked a long time for someone who can give me a run for my money in the performative arena. I think we push each other, and complement each other equally. That’s why it works.

Evan: Music was always my first love. I held it in such high regard and it was so precious to me I couldn’t even bring myself to put my own out in the world because I wanted it to be perfect. Linda Perry heard me sing, reached out to me and became a sort of mentor. She gave me that little push I needed and the confidence to just start, it didn’t have to be perfect. Once that door was open I started working with Zach on this play we did together and we started talking about music. We not only had great chemistry but it seemed like we had the same vision for what we wanted to achieve, not just musically but the general concept. We both loved androgyny, glam rock, and were born in the 80’s raised in the 90’s so we have a lot of the same influences stylistically. Zach was the first person I felt comfortable enough with to be vulnerable and share my writing and melodies. He was really patient and nurturing and it felt safe. Once those barriers were down it was like we couldn’t stop making music, it flowed so freely and naturally. Zach is incredible with the little details and he can hear things I just don’t. He is also the hook master!

Laura: I dig how your band name is taken from the stereotype-labels from John Hughes’ Breakfast Club — there is a power in taking on a label and owning it. When I was a kid, my mom taught be about the Chinese finger puzzle, a straw tube you put your fingers into. If you try to pull your fingers out, it tightens around your fingers. The only way out is in: when you press your finger deeper inside, then it magically opens. As public figures, so many tags or typecasting can get thrust on you. But you are both freely exploring a variety genres, but ultimately it feels like you are inviting the audience to go deeper than the label or category — and by doing so, you can follow any rule want. Do you feel free to explore any genre of music with Rebel?

Evan: I feel like we have so many influences and what I love about our first record is that it all fits together but it shows a vast range. We were exploring and finding different parts of ourselves musically as a band and I think that reflects in a cool way on this album. I also think you need to keep reinventing yourself as an artist because as people we don’t stay the same, we grow and evolve so that can’t help but be mirrored in what you create. I am hoping we are able to show many sides of who we are as artists while keeping the integrity of our vibe and mission.

Zach: With Ev on this one. As a writer, I am fairly disrespectful of any kind of genre restrictions. Of course things need to sound cohesive, and we definitely have an aesthetic as RB&C but, rules are made to be broken. And music in this era we are in is so fluid. Which mirrors what we are seeing movement wise as a culture. With structure comes freedom. No fear to explore.

Laura: Zach, it’s awesome how varied your creative outlets have been, did anyone every try to dissuade you from being so expansive in your artistic endeavors or outlets? Zach did you always know you wanted to make music?

Zach: Yes. Pretty much a LOT of people tried to dissuade me. They all had the best intentions, thinking that they were doing me a favor in their advice to streamline my energies… that I would be more focused on one thing, give move to just acting or dancing etc, and clear the field and my calendar. Unfortunately, that often backfires in modern society, and gone are the days of the Greeks, Romans, and MGM Pictures when we encouraged artists (and people) to be well-rounded ; confident that the X-training in experience would yield more interesting and varied results. So, in short I told those individuals thanks but no thanks. I wouldn’t be the musician I am today without the extensive background I have in dance, acting etc. They all feed one another.

Laura: How do you form your fashion sensibilities? They seem very playful.

Zach: I like clothes that elevate an aesthetic. That allows me to feel like I can transcend the norm and connect to something ethereal. Like lights and glitter. Evan?

Evan: I always view my alter ego ‘Basket case’ as just a heightened version of myself. Like when you go to burning man and you are allowed to create whatever character you want that would normally raise a few eyebrows on the streets. Thats why music and rock n roll have always been so alluring to me, it represented full expression and freedom. We also want it to reflect our message which is ‘be loud and proud and who you are and have fun doing it!

Laura: What are your tour plans? Your music has a cinematic edge to it, would you be interested in creating soundtracks for films together?

Zach: We are playing regionally as much as possible and focusing on our unicorns on the West Coast. We are playing a Pride fest in Chicago and Oslo in June. Soundtracks for films? Absolutely….. lock me in a room with synth pads and a picture with lots of coffee any day.

Evan: I am actually directing my first film this spring so you might hear a couple of new tunes from R&BC in there.

Laura: Evan, when I became a parent, a fierce new kind of advocacy blossomed in me – I needed to protect and advocate for this child, and I would do what ever that required. With the art I created right after my son was born, I felt a not-dissimilar form of advocacy that was new in me. Not just for my art, but the idea of this child going through any of what I had experienced — sexual and physical abuse — chilled me to my core. I knew I could not shield him from suffering, but I felt that, by giving a voice to what had happened, by telling and raising awareness, I could perhaps make the world safer for him. Did you experience anything like that?

Evan: Absolutely. I feel like it is my duty as a person and as a mother to be honest about my journey to help people on theirs. I hope I can set a good example for my son in that way. There is no shame.

Laura: Film acting reminds me of writing, in that there is no direct contact with the audience at the moment of creation. What I loved about making music was feeling locked in with an outside energy and not being alone, feeling that there could be a transmigration of spirit. When you sing, there is a sense that you are going to the depth of your being to bring connected emotion into being. Do you feel that music allows for more of felt or immediate shared sense of experience than your acting does?

Evan: Yes, it’s like doing theatre you get an immediate response from the audience. No matter how many times you rehearse, the second you are confronted by your audience everything changes, you feed off of their energy and go to another place. You lift each other up and the connection is palpable and immediate. Seeing people dance and sing to something that came from your soul which in many ways is your soul, there are no words to describe it. Feeling like you are raising people’s spirits and turning something painful into something joyous is why I do it.

Laura: From your tweets to your interviews, it seems you are inviting others to move out of where they might be stuck, to come alive in their compassion, to move past an illusion of isolation of self. Do you think of directing and writing as other tools for you to take problems of our soul and spirit and transform them into issues of craft, so that others might care about what they did not care about before?

Evan: All the art I make is to release my feelings and express myself in ways I can’t otherwise. It’s why I call myself an artist because it’s just something I have to do in some way or another to survive. It’s like air to me. I don’t know what I would without it. If by doing that and being honest wakes people up and makes them view themselves and the world in a way they hadn’t before, if breaks down walls and opens up doors then I have done my job well.

#evan rachel wood #rebel and a basketcase #interview #interviews 2017 #article #articles 2017 #zach villa #contentmode

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thewhiterabbit42 · 7 years

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Blog Appreciation Round 1

Part 2 of 4: @lacqueluster

Not only is this lovely lady an amazing writer but she is one of those amazing individuals who goes out of their way to leave feedback for fellow writers / artists. She’s such a positive and encouraging person and she has made this community an incredibly welcoming place. She also co-manages another blog @gabriel-monthly-challenge that has helped fellow Gabe lovers find inspiration and share their work. If you’re a Gabe / Sabriel fan and haven’t checked out her fics, I highly suggest you do. You won’t be disappointed.

@lacqueluster, thank you for being the awesome person that you are and for the amazing fics you share with us. Your grasp of characters is spot on, I love the humor you use, and your smut is hot as hell.

As requested, here is a little sexy / fluffy Sabriel for you. Hope you enjoy!

Title: Here to Stay

Tags: brief smut, fluff

Summary: Gabriel has a surprise for Sam that turns out to be more than what it seems.

Word Count: 2952

Author’s Note: Lots of thanks to my beta, @omgreganlove.

***Please do not repost or copy my work to any other site without my written permission. Giving credit does NOT count. Reblogging is ok.***

“You want to talk about it?” Dean asked, catching Sam’s attention as they headed down the hallway. Just when the youngest Winchester thought he had made it. He had managed to dodge his brother’s looks the entire ride back, but it figured the man would wait to ambush him when he was in the homestretch.

“Talk about what?” Sam thought he was convincing enough. The way his brother continued to stare at him, however, suggested he would not be winning an academy award anytime soon. His gaze drifted down sideways, briefly falling on his door.

God he was so close.

“I mean, I could pretend not to know, but it’s hard to ignore you when you’ve been flashing your ‘brooding and pensive’ shoulders the entire ride back,” Dean continued, only half-teasing.

One would have thought for an Almighty Creator, Chuck would have been a little more talented in the writing department.

Sam did the only thing he could, which was to brush the comment aside with a breath of a laugh. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the concern. The resulting lecture that would come from learning his shoulders were a result of a certain archangel? Not on his agenda tonight. Any night, really.

There was also a good chance his brother wouldn’t get it anyway.

Sure, Sam had his own doubts. About the trickster in Gabriel. About him being an archangel. About the fact that one day Sam would grow old and the angel would undoubtedly lose interest. Most of all, about what it was they were even doing in the first place.

Was it just sex? Probably not considering Gabe was as likely to come around in the middle of a case or to watch a movie as he was to tumble into bed. Were they dating? The angel seemed a tad cagey whenever Sam tried to hash out any real expectations or labels. Possessively cohabiting? Gabriel hadn’t really moved in but always seemed to be around, especially when someone else seemed to be interested in going home for the night.

In the end, Sam had simply accepted it was better to live in the moment, because realistically the archangel wouldn’t be around forever (and honestly, neither would he). Once he’d let go of that need to define what they were doing, he found he was a lot happier in general.

It didn’t mean he still didn’t have his moments. This week he’d had several of them which was what Dean was picking up on. His brother’s concern was a bit delayed, however, and Sam was well over it, wanting nothing more than to fall into bed. Ideally beside a certain celestial being.

“If it’s Gabriel…” Dean continued.

“Look, i’m just tired, all right?” He interjected, quickly nipping that whole spiel in the bud. “What we thought was a quick salt and burn turned into five days of playing hide and seek with creepy uncle Devlin and four generations of his ancestors.”

It was by far one of the least fun games Sam had ever played and that was saying something considering who he spent his down time with.

“How are you not exhausted?” He added, gesturing toward his brother.

“I am,” Dean insisted, flashing a cocky grin. “I just happen to look good regardless of how tired I am.”

Sam rolled his eyes.

“Good for you. I’m going to bed,” he said, leaving no room for further argument as he turned his back on the older man. He could feel Dean’s gaze lingering on him as he moved down the hallway, but by the time he’d reached his door, his brother had already disappeared behind his.

Relief settled over the younger sibling as he entered his room, followed shortly with a pang of disappointment. Gabriel was nowhere to be seen. Then again, the angel didn’t make it a habit to be lounging around his bed, waiting for his return, but it would have been a nice surprise.

He dropped his bag in the corner, shrugging his way out of his coat before tossing it in a nearby chair. It was probably for the best. This way Sam could catch a quick shower, get some rest, and then be a little more refreshed for whenever the angel decided to make an appearance.

He kicked off his shoes, making quick work of his clothes that became left in a trail behind him though most of them ended up on the floor in the bathroom. He reached into the shower, turning it on and stepping in before it had a chance to warm up. Coldness struck skin, jolting his system and helping take the edge of his tiredness. His body tensed, beginning the slow process of unwinding as the water began easing up to the right temperature.

He leaned forward, letting the hot spray spread over his neck and down his shoulders. The pressure felt good on his muscles and for a moment he imagined it was his lover’s touch at work instead. He could almost feel Gabriel’s hands smoothing over his back, fingers stretching out and around to smooth over his chest. One hand would return to knead along the tension in his shoulders while the other would start drifting down, teasing its way lower and lower at an agonizing pace.

Just like that, he was hard. He hadn’t planned on having a quick release before bed, but between his extended absence from his lover and the break-neck pace of that last case, his body seemed to have other ideas.

It wasn’t necessarily a bad one.

He ran his hand along his chest, mimicking the actions he’d just imagined. Intriguingly enough, Sam was never as patient as the ex-trickster. Gabe may have had a terrible time resisting instant gratification, but when it came to drawing out these moments, the angel suddenly had the patience of a divine being. Once Sam got going, however, he liked things to keep moving and tonight was no exception.

His fingers didn’t linger long, skimming a quick trail down the center of his stomach. He was almost where he needed to be, but before he could take hold of himself, someone else did for him.

“Need a hand with that?” A familiar voice purred next to his ear. Sam let out a moan, though he wasn’t sure if it was the sound of Gabe’s voice alone or the firm grip the angel took over him before giving a few languid strokes. He braced his hands against the wall just as he felt his lover’s other hand slide down the curve of his ass, dipping down to cup his balls from behind. He leaned into the contact, shuddering as tips traced over that sensitive spot just behind them before drifting even higher.

When a finger began to tease against Sam’s entrance, he thought he was going to be done right there.

“Sorry, Sammy boy, but we’re going to have to keep this short. I have a surprise waiting for you,” the angel murmured, taking the man’s ear between his teeth, tugging slightly, and easing a suddenly well lubed finger inside him.

It made no difference to him. He wasn’t sure he could have lasted very long anyway. Gabe knew how deep to go, just where to press, and exactly how to work his hand over Sam’s cock. The hunter felt his legs weakening the closer he got and it was going to be a miracle if he made it through this without ending up on his knees. His hips gave a stutter as he teetered on that edge, forehead pressing against the cold tile as he attempted to draw it out at least a few moments longer.

“Come for me,” Gabriel told him and he did, the archangel’s name tumbling off his lips and echoing through the bathroom as he spilled his seed across the wall. The angel pressed a smile against his lover’s back, drawing his finger back out before giving him a quick slap on the ass.

“Now finish cleaning up and meet me in the bedroom,” Gabe told him playfully. By the time Sam turned around, the angel had disappeared again. He sighed, not certain if he had enough left in him for one of the ex-trickster’s surprises.

He also knew there wasn’t much he could do if Gabriel really had his mind set on it.

He did his best to finish up quickly, but exhaustion had already begun creeping back in. It weighed on his movements, causing him to take longer than usual. By the time he had gotten out and dried off, the only surprise Sam wanted was whether or not he’d actually wake up to find the archangel had stuck around or if he was alone as usual.

He was in the process of pulling on his robe when a sharp, high-pitched noise in the next room caught his attention. It was so quick Sam almost thought he was imagining it. The hurried shhh that followed however? Definitely real.

He could only imagine what he was about to walk into.

He braced himself, securing the tie around his middle before entering his room. The sight he was greeted with left him speechless.

“What is that?” Sam asked once he finally found his voice. The words came out a little harsher than intended, incredulity adding an extra edge because that was definitely not what he thought it was sitting on Gabe’s lap.

“I get you didn’t have much of a childhood, but if you need me to explain what this is, we have bigger things to worry about,” Gabriel said, brow arching slightly as he just stared at the taller man a moment.

Apparently, Sam needed to rephrase that.

“Why is there a puppy in my bed?” He demanded, hands going to his hips.

“Because you don’t nearly have enough cute and cuddly things in your life?” Was the answer he received. The angel pouted, doing his best to look like the tiny creature in his lap he raised one of the little paws and waved.

“Gabriel,” Sam warned, not in the mood, no matter how adorable it actually was.

“You can’t tell me you don’t like him,” the archangel dropped the act, sounding a little put out.

He never said that. Everything he had said, however, indicated he wanted some clue as to what was going on.

“You can’t just get a puppy. They’re a lot of responsibility,” Sam informed him. Responsibility the youngest Winchester could see himself being left with once the novelty wore off.

“I know,” a familiar undercurrent crept into the angel’s tone. Attitude wasn’t anything new coming from the archangel but seeing it this quickly? That was a little odd. Not enough to derail Sam’s need to drive his point home.

“And it’s not just about feeding them, you have to take them for walks and to the vet –”

“I know,” Gabriel repeated, drawing out the second word and giving it a sing-song quality. If the hunter hadn’t been so tired, he might have picked up on the cues that suggested he not only was raining on Gabe’s parade, but lighting all the floats on fire as well.

“And then there’s the whole process of housebreaking it and -”

“Your mouth is still moving. You may want to look into that,” sarcasm splashed through words in a way that indicated he was only half-joking. The expectant look he received suggested if he didn’t look into it, the archangel was going to for him.

He folded his arms over his chest. Ok. Gabe wanted to talk? He’d let the angel talk.

“I get it, you know, why you feel the need to disappear on a case without telling me.” A smooth veneer overtook Gabriel’s features, one that hadn’t been seen in quite some time. It wasn’t often the mask made an appearance anymore, but he knew what it meant. Gabe was feeling vulnerable which meant there was more behind the gesture than he anticipated.

Sam suddenly felt guilty for not allowing the man the chance to explain anything.

“You humans need things. Space. Clarity. Perspective. You get caught up in the need to draw your little lines in the sand and when it doesn’t happen, you start getting antsy. You’re uncertain. Insecurities take hold. People die,” Gabe made a face, waving his hand as if he was talking about the antics of children instead of murder.

Sam was simply trying to figure out what the hell the man was talking about. His brows drew together before creeping toward his hairline.

“Well, not in your case, but you’d be surprised how many people have an extra touch of crazy in them,” the way Gabriel shrugged made him question just how common an occurrence it really was, before he realized he had enough to deal chasing monsters. He did not need to delve that deeply into humans.

Those tended to be scarier, after all.

“So what does this have to do with a puppy again?” He’d like to think there was a clear thread of logic to be found and for once it wasn’t Gabe saw something he wanted and decided he needed it.

“Are you really going to make me say it?” The archangel asked, tone becoming flatter, almost taking on a defensive edge.

Considering Sam was not only clueless but completely exhausted to the point he almost just wanted to say yes so he could sleep? Yeah. He was going to make the angel say it.

“Fine,” Gabriel said, a little testy. “I know I’m not good with all these things you want. Communication. Directness.”

“You mean relationships?” Sam supplied and the angel’s lips pulled into a thin line.

“Hey, I’m trying here,” he said, words heavily sardonic, and it was true. The fact he was even broaching this subject meant he was making a concerted effort. Sam gave him an apologetic look, not wanting to discourage him.

“I don’t do relationships anymore,” Gabe finally said, eyes dropping down as he stroked the ball of fur curled up in his lap. “They just don’t work out for me.”

Despite Sam’s laissez faire attitude toward the whole thing, his lover’s comment still stung. Disappointment wasn’t a new experience by any means, but this particular brand was always a little tougher to swallow.

He looked up at the ceiling a moment, trying to refocus. “So, how is getting me a puppy–”

“Us. I got us a puppy, you big dumb moose,” Gabe suddenly snapped, his patience fraying. “Because I’m trying to tell you I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

Sam’s eyes dropped back down and angel paused, honeyed hues softening as mischief sparked back into them. “Well that and maybe to piss off your brother.”

“Oh,” Sam said because it was the only thing his mind could manage. The realization sank in on what his lover had just admitted.

Oh.

Well, that was unexpected.

“Yeah. Oh.” The archangel gave him a pointed look before picking up the fluffy animal. It gave a languid stretch, mouth opening into a wide yawn before it looked up at the angel. Gabriel’s vexation melted as he stared down into its eyes.

“I sincerely hope you at least are a little more perceptive than the big guy over there,” he said, making a face as the puppy began to lick at it.

Now Sam felt really guilty. Not only had his attempts to be discreet about taking space failed, his lover had obviously put a great deal of thought into how to approach the issue. Well, what was a great deal for Gabriel. Deciding to bring him a puppy was still rather impulsive and something that clearly made the archangel happy, but now that Sam knew the sentiments behind it, he couldn’t help but think it was an incredibly thoughtful gesture.

It helped that it also laid to rest his biggest insecurity. Gabe may not do relationships anymore, but he clearly did something close to it.

The youngest Winchester moved from his spot across the room, taking a seat on the bed next to them. The angel released the white and tan creature, watching it awkwardly stumbled over his legs to investigate this suddenly new being.

“What kind is it?” Sam asked, reaching up to scratch behind it’s adorably pointed ears.

“You’ve never seen a corgi before?” His lover asked, surprise touching tone and for once Gabe didn’t appear to be making fun of him.

He shook his head, watching it take a tentative step onto his lap. He couldn’t believe he was about to do this.

Dean was going to be so pissed.

“You’re going to have to watch him when I’m away on hunts, you know, or find someone if we’re both out,” Sam told him, watching his lover’s face light up in a way that made his heart ache. Gold didn’t brighten this way nearly enough and he made mental note to make more of an effort to discover what else could make them shine.

“Does that mean he can stay?” There’s an uncharacteristic hint of hesitance behind the words, and Sam couldn’t help but feel like they might not just be talking about the puppy anymore.

Impulsivity grabbed hold of his tongue, teasing sentiments from the tip that Sam was always so careful to guard. It was only fair, though. Gabriel had put himself out there far more than he ever had and Sam didn’t want him to be alone in his vulnerability.

“You both can,” he offered, taking the archangel’s hand. “If that’s something you’d want.”

“I’d like that, Sammich,” Gabe smiled and amber lit up brighter than Sam had ever seen. “I’d like that a lot.”

#Sabriel #@lacqueluster #Rabbit appreciates #Rabbit writes #Gabriel x Sam #Gabriel #Sam

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benitezalise94 · 4 years

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Reiki Master Online Blindsiding Tricks

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Reiki Jewelry

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Can You Make Money As A Reiki Master

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