winter-eyes

170609 BTS FC

[BTS_Rap Monster] 4 O’clock

“A short work diary

I think it all started with “There’s no song where Taehyung does the intro..”
“Then I’ll make one!”
at a concert, and we laughed and let it pass by.
We just smiled away like that, but it kept lingering in the corner of my mind.

It so happened that a few months ago, I think it was when Taehyung’s desire for composing fired, he showed me a song, saying,
“Hyung, I want to try making a song like this..” and asked if I could write a track for him.
I said “Okay,” then played the chords and sent him.
But that song was all just snaps on EP chords, it could hardly be called beats,
so I didn’t like it. And then the talk about Festa came.

I asked “Shall we make one together properly this time?”
“Sounds good, hyung!”
And we started like that..
We keep going back and forth overseas.
Choosing the instrument or theme is the most important when composing, but I had a hard time focusing at first. So I asked Taehyung.

“What do you want the song to be about?”
“The dawn.”
“The dawn? What kind of dawn?”
“Just, when sitting at the park at dawn waiting for my friend.. The chirping sound of the birds.. I really like that moment.”
“Oh, that hazy, bluish moment??”
“Yeah! I like that bluish quiet moment.”
“Me too!!”

We formed the emotion bond like this, and started right away.
Later I asked him who that friend was, he said it’s mostly Jimin..*
Anyway, I really like the dawn too.
I’m a fan of the moon and the dawn.
The twilight, the moment when the day moves from afternoon to night,
And the dawn before the morning.. You know what it is.

So I thought “This would go well with guitar, let’s try guitar”.
And played the guitar and piano.
Luckly the track came out well and we decided to write the melodies separately to combine later.
I always like watching the moon,
so I thought I must start by talking about a letter sent to the moon.
Luckily when we combined later, Taehyung liked it too.

So it started with my intro and Taehyung’s B part.
Taehyung’s chorus was better too,
but it felt a little strained so I gave him a hand.

Taehyung entrusted the lyrics to me, so I wrote most of it,
but the chorus’ start was written by Taehyung. (With the deep night~)
The theme started from Taehyung’s story too, so our work portion’s about 5:5.
It’s my first time working together with Taehyungㅡ I wanted to do so since a long time ago, and I’m happy we got the chance this time.
I wanted to take a step back and let Taehyung’s emotions materialization be the center itself.
This song doesn’t show all of Taehyung’s emotions, but I hope it would show as much as it can.
Hope you can get a glimpse at Taehyung’s dawn.!

Thanks to KOXX’s SHAUN-hyungnim for awesome re-arrangement.
Personally, Taehyung’s usually in charge of powerful parts in our group songs,
but I hope he can do this kind of light songs often too.
I think Taehyung’s emotions and mine intersect more than I thought.

Working on this song together makes me think,
isn’t Taehyung the one with the lightest song and emotions in Bangtan?
You did great Taehyung, thank you for singing it so well :)”

(* removed in original post)

[BTS_V] Indeed

“A song that wouldn’t be done without Namjoonie-hyung~
I have always wanted to write about the dawn..
I like songs of this style, so I often listen and sing along to them, and even try writing them. I got so passionate about writing it that I asked Namjoonie-hyung for help, and he gave me exactly the kind of beats I wished for.

The beats Namjoonie-hyung gave me were so good that I wrote 6 melodies for it.
I used the theme of the birds at dawn.
The time before the sun rises when 4AM passes to 5AM, just me and the dawn birds (I just call them as “birds”) at an empty park, that bluish moment seems so short. I like that moment so much that I once went there for 5 days straight.
I wrote the melodies based on Namjoonie-hyung’s beats there alone, I can’t write lyrics as good as Namjoonie-hyung but I worked hard to put in my emotions.

In the midst of the dark (serene) dawn, the hollow (drowsy) sound, the icy winter blow
You close your eyes, spend endless nights with the sound
fly
The dawn birds cry, yearningly, ardently
fly
Listen to your voice, fill your voice, this dawn

It’s like I wrote the letter for the dawn birds (just “birds”).
I couldn’t write the song perfectly by myself so I thought of giving up halfway, but thanks to Namjoonie-hyung, ‘4 O’clock’ was finished~~
Poet Kim Namjoon indeed~

I’ll work hard to present more songs to you in the future as well
And all hail Vocal Monster👊🏻🤘🏻☺️
I’ll work hard to make and bring you more songs in the future☺️”

The Winter Soldier by Carolina Lta  ( @littlemorrison @mycrystalhorse

The tale of the Bard and Goblin.

Bard: I want to try and seduce that Goblin.
DM:But why though? You’ve just slaughtered all its friends.
Bard: I don’t care, I want me a piece of that sweet Goblin tush.
DM:Fine, roll me a charisma check.

*Rolls Charisma*
*Rolls a critical fail*

DM: you have failed to Woo the heart of the goblin, but instead you have a strange feeling, it makes you shudder. It might be those long pointy ears or those tender Goblin hands. Oh how you crave to fall into those scrawny arms on cold winter nights. His eyes, they muddy browns make your heart flutter. You have Indeed been seduced by the Goblin.

And that’s the story of how Derek the Bard fell in love with his future partner Greasebag the Goblin.

british vogue quickfire questions
  • lace or leather?
  • fitted or flared?
  • white t-shirt or white blouse?
  • french or british style?
  • new york or paris?
  • hiking or swimming?
  • biker or bomber?
  • square glasses or round glasses?
  • lipstick or lipgloss?
  • denim or leather?
  • favorite film?
  • minimalist or maximalist?
  • ready-to-wear or vintage?
  • sweater or hoodie?
  • handbag or backpack?
  • always early or running late?
  • night in or night out?
  • edie sedgwick or jane birkin?
  • 60s or 70s?
  • mini or maxi?
  • heels or flats?
  • morning or evening?
  • sheer or leather?
  • suitcase or carry-on?
  • dream date?
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  • all or nothing?
  • spring/summer or autumn/winter?
  • eyes or lips?
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  • town or country?
  • black or navy?
warmth [oneshot]

[jon x sansa] In which Daenerys realizes that it is in the cold that true warmth lies. 

[2k+]


Dragonstone was cold.

It was a horrid type of cold, Jon surmised, as the sea raged outside his window. It didn’t help that the waves roiled endlessly, crashing over and over against the island’s cliffs and beaches. The winds were relentless, their howling unforgiving. Dragonstone’s cold was wet, unsettling, violent – he wondered how a man like Stannis Baratheon could have ever called it home.


“You seem uneasy, my lord.” Jon looked towards the door and saw Daenerys Targaryen standing by it. She nodded in his direction as she stepped inside, feeling quite at home to stand beside him as he surveyed the dark horizon.

“Not a surprise, in times like these.” he replied.

“Perhaps what you need is a brief respite.” Daenerys pulled a flagon of wine from the nearby table. She poured them each a cup, and offered one to him. Jon eyed it for a moment.

“Thank you.” He took the cup and nodded. “For the dragonglass, as well. The North will remember your help.”

Daenerys took a sip as a response, and once again silence settled over them. As the wine washed down her throat, she wondered what it was that she went there for. Tyrion had urged for her to get to know this King of the North, to make him feel at ease, to strengthen their relationship as allies. And as she had ascended the steps to his room, she wondered - was the alliance the only thing she wanted?

Maybe.

She studied him as he pondered over his cup. His fatigue was even more visible in the firelight. Scars and lines littered his face. Dark circles remained under his eyes. The wind caressed the furs that hung over his shoulders. They always seemed hunched, as if burdened with an immense, invisible weight. As he pulled another gulp, Daenerys noticed that even mid-drink, his lips were in a permanent scowl.

He was a mystery, she thought. A book she could not read. No other man had stood defiantly against her, without any trace of what it was that he was after. The men in her life were always so easy to read, easy to understand. Whether it was her beauty, affection, power, or name - they all wanted something from her, and they all couldn’t hide it. It had all been too easy to wrap them around her fingers.

But not him.

Daenerys fingered the hem of her sleeve.

Was it only dragonglass that he wanted? Her men? Surely there was something else?

“What was it that your Hand meant,” she started, eyes slowly roving all over him. There was still an air about him that she couldn’t place, even if they had been together for a fortnight. “About taking a knife to the heart?”

“Pay it no mind, Your Grace.” He muttered.

Daenerys took to her wine. “I am certain he wouldn’t have mentioned it if it bore no gravity.”

“It was only a trivial curiosity.”

The winds howled, the waves crashed, but Jon said no more. Daenerys sighed; no matter how warmly she approached him or how much she tried to pry, Jon never replied on the same plane. His replies were always clipped, always barely answering her questions. The topic of the knife-to-heart was one he always evaded. Other than that, she had managed to wean out small bits of information from him – his position as a bastard, as Lord Commander, as King in the North. She foraged for tiny scraps about the Starks – his family, his brothers, his sisters. He’d always dwell on his sisters.

But that was the most she could get out of him. He would always end with a strangely loaded thought, often with ‘I’m not a Stark.’ And quickly, he’d turn the conversation to her, ask about her conquests, and before long she’d realize she had done all the talking.

A beat had to pass before Daenerys had thought of what to ask next. Why was conversing with him so difficult?

“Is it this cold in the North?” she tried. Maybe getting him to talk about home would prove useful conversation.

“Well…” he started. She watched his face transform as he delved deep in thought; she then knew there something was different. His eyebrows furrowed together in frustration. His chest heaved in a heavy breath. He sighed it out and then shook his head slightly, as if dismissing a thought, and brought the cup to his mouth for a sip. But Daenerys could see it - the corners of his lips were turned upward, as if he was suppressing even the smallest of smiles.

“Winds may howl, and snow may fall,” he said. His eyes trailed off to the distance. “But even in the coldest, darkest nights…in Winterfell, there is always warmth.”

-

“If you want to win the Realm,” Tyrion had said, “You have to save it.”

And so, their journey northward began.

They had traveled for more than a month. Three weeks they sailed through rough seas. For almost a fortnight, they rode across Westerosi plains. The dragons would pop in and out of their sight, more likely enjoying their new terrain. It took a lot for Daenerys to stop herself from doing the same, from riding dragonback and going ahead. It also took her a lot to deny that she liked entertaining the idea of Jon riding with her. It was strange, this excitement that had lodged in her stomach.

Over the course of their travels, it became apparent to Daenerys that as the weather grew dourer, Jon became…lighter. There was no other word for it. More words came out of him. He exchanged more looks with Davos. There was even one time that she could swear Davos was smirking at his King, who only (naturally) scowled in response.

It also delighted Daenerys that they could hold better, longer conversations. Not as long as she would have liked, but they were improvements. It pleased her that Jon seemed to be more at ease – but it also worried her that there were times that he looked troubled, deep in thought.

“Do you think he has warmed up to me?” Daenerys found herself asking, surprising Tyrion, who was riding by her side. Her eyes were on the retinue that rode a few meters ahead. She could easily pick Jon out, with his gathered hair and broad, fur-covered shoulders.

“Your Grace?”

“Has he warmed up to me?” she repeated. She looked to her other side, at Missandei, for acknowledgement. “You do know him best, Tyrion. I am just… concerned, of course. We do need this alliance to be fruitful.”

Tyrion gave a noncommittal ‘hmm’ and glanced at his Queen before replying. Missandei held a smile as they rode on. “Don’t be too worried, Your Grace,” amusement laced her Hand’s voice; she wondered at what. “He has looked like that and brooded like that ever since I met him. I believe that how he’s now initiating talk with you is a step forward.”

Daenerys nodded and pursed her lips. It was the best she could do to stop herself from grinning. Queens do not grin. But she couldn’t ignore it, the tension that flooded her nerves at the thought of their partnership – relationship – bearing fruit. This passing fancy she had tried to deny was worth her time, thankfully.

“There it is,” Tyrion said, knocking her out of her thoughts. The snow-covered plains made the looming stronghold stand darker against the grey skies. Where is the warmth in this? Daenerys thought, curious. The cold bit at them as snow fell in flurries, the wind blowing in gusts. She had half the mind that Jon must have been jesting.

But as they caught up with his retinue, dread pulled at her stomach. In the dull winter sun, Jon’s eyes glinted with yearning, trained on the holdfast that was his home.

“Winterfell.”

 

-

The horns sounded. The gates creaked. The snow stifled the rhythm of their horses; Jon briefly wondered if the loud beating of his heart would be a sufficient replacement.

Fool. Jon bit back a chuckle and sighed. Only a fool would be this excited to come home to where the real war was.

“Is anything the matter?” Davos had finally asked, once they were well away from earshot. They were still quite a few ways away from Winterfell. “We’ve achieved quite a lot, but it doesn’t seem that way to you, Your Grace.”

That always takes some getting used to. Jon shrugged as he held onto his horse’s reins. “It all just takes a toll on me. This war, being king – I’m not made for it.”

“On the contrary,” Davos had smiled. “You bear it quite well.”

He was met with a heavy sigh – a Jon signature, Davos had noted.

“Might I offer some advice?” He had peered at his king. Jon had nodded.

“I always believe it’s good to allow yourself even a small reward,” Davos had said. His words were a welcome comfort in the cold. “There will always be problems to face, troubles to overcome. But those small rewards you give yourself may very well be the fuel you need to keep going.”

Jon had glanced at his Hand. Could he really allow himself those small rewards, in the midst of this war? Is it not selfish of me to want such a trivial thing?

The discomfort steeped in his mind as they cleared the forest. It grew as the castle formed in the horizon. By the time their horses tore through the powdered plains, it was stifling. Heavy. Suffocating. His heart beat quickly, laboring against an unfounded pressure in his chest.

Can I not want such a small reward?

 

The horns sounded. The gates creaked. The snow stifled the rhythm of their horses. Jon’s heart pumped blood against his eardrums. He didn’t care for the Queen he was escorting, the dragons that were nowhere to be seen, the trailing foreign army that he longed to leave. As his steed galloped into the courtyard, his eyes could only search for what he had left behind.

Jon slid off his horse and searched the ramparts. His men, Wildling or not, milled in to see the arrival of their king. They lined the courtyard and stood still in respect. Nothing good comes of a Stark who ventures South, they said, but there he was.

No, he thought, as a true smile broke on his lips. Here we are.

 

First came Arya. She had grown maybe twice her size the last time he had seen her. It warmed his heart to see his gift, Needle, hanging off her hip. She had tried to compose herself in front of the crowd, of their people, but she still broke into a run and launched herself at him.

Next was Bran. He sat on a wheeled chair, silent, observing, but there was a tiny bit of warmth in his eyes as Jon embraced him. Tears nearly brimmed Jon’s eyes – he never thought he’d see Bran again.

As he let go of his younger brother, Jon eyed the ramparts. He had a lot of questions for his siblings, but there was another matter that needed his attention.

Small rewards, the phrase repeated in his head as he looked for her fire-colored hair, the tinkling of her chains, the trails of her dress. He turned around, searching, anxious as joy and guilt clashed inside him, as violent as Dragonstone’s seas.

Please -

As the rest of their party filed into Winterfell, he saw her. Bright red against the greys, warm against the cold. Her ice blue eyes bore straight through him, rekindling a warmth in his chest.

“Jon.”


His body moved of its own accord. With a few steps and a rush of furs and leather, she was in his arms, smelling of wood, of parchment, of snow. Of home. Jon let out a breath he didn’t know he held. Joy bested his worry and guilt; it flooded his nerves as he held her close.

Fool, Jon thought, as he tightened his arms around her waist. He felt her breath hitch in her chest, felt her smile against his shoulder. He dared not question the happiness that filled him as she burrowed her face to the crook of his neck. He’ll face his demons another day.

“Thank the gods.” Her prayer was as soft as a whisper.

Jon could only smile as she melted in his embrace. Her weight against him would be the only burden he’d ever be thankful for.

Only a fool would consider this a small reward.

-

She was the fire that was to set ice ablaze. She was the beacon that was to tear through the darkness. But as they set afoot Winterfell - the key to her victory - what met her, instead of adoration, was a strange sense of defeat.

Winds may howl, and snow may fall, Jon Snow’s words came back to her as she watched him revel in his reunions. Daenerys swallowed a bitterness that rose up to her throat. The cold dread in her stomach matched the wintry wind, the furious snow.

She held back her breath. There was no time to bother with these trivialities, she told herself, but the loss was hard to ignore. The stillness and serenity of this foreign, northern cold only amplified it. Mocked it.

But even in the darkest, coldest nights…

She could see her, his fire - strong, warm, glowing bright as he held her in his arms.

 

…there is always warmth.


-




A/N: It has BEEN A WHILE since I churned out fic! I felt so bad after these leaks, I needed a fix-it fic. Which is like…I don’t know. I just word-vomited 2k, basically. Haha! Let’s fight the good Jonsa fight - it hasn’t officially sunk yet, right? :)  

Secret Identity

Stripper!Au Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Just a good old Stripper fic.

Word Count: 3,671

Warnings: Crack fic, Language, Drinking, Suggestive Stuff… (come on)

A/N: I don’t know what happened. It’s incredibly long… but I had fun ;) Since I don’t have anything better, this is my gift for 2.5k Thank you all so much ♥

Originally posted by ddee99

“Are you serious?”

“No, I’m Wanda,” your friend replied with a proud smirk.

You rubbed the spot between your eyes where you could feel a headache coming. Wanda was in charge of Natasha’s bachelorette party. You were supposed to spend the evening in a fancy restaurant, but clearly Wanda had other plans.

“I love it!” Natasha took your hand and made you follow her.

You paid the entry fee and walked into the strip club. It was noisy and surprisingly bright. You cringed as the smell of alcohol hit your nose. Wanda gave you her best innocent smile and looped her arm through yours.

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